EPILOGUE
December 1815
“You cannot seriously mean to eat that. There are men working all day in mines who don’t fill their plates half as high.”
Caroline smiled extra sweetly at her husband as she left the well-stocked sideboard and made her way to the breakfast room table. Dumping the large helping of coddled eggs, bacon, buttered toast and fried potato on his head was so very tempting, but what a terrible waste of heavenly scented food. “The baby is hungry.”
“According to you, the baby is always hungry. I’m starting to suspect you are carrying an entire regiment at the very least.”
“That is not in the slightest bit amusing,” she growled, pressing a hand into the small of her back to relieve the near-constant ache caused by a very rounded belly.
In his last examination Dr. Murray estimated she still had about two months to go and she’d nearly belted him with his medical bag. It already felt like she’d been pregnant for at least three years and between the nausea that still plagued her occasionally, the insistent middle of the night tap dances on her ribcage, and constant need to use the chamber pot, she was more than ready to squeeze this active darling out of her body. The only positive aspect in the whole palaver was the cold weather. Heaven knew how women coped with this nonsense in the heat of summer.
“Perhaps not,” Stephen replied, almost contritely. “Times like these I’m very glad to be a man.”
“Yes, well, God in his infinite wisdom knew men were complete milksops, that is why women are tasked with pregnancy and childbirth. However I’d be delighted to kick you twenty times in the groin, wake you half-hourly at night and pour purging liquids down your throat so you can experience some of the excitement though.”
He went green. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
“So it is,” she replied serenely, carefully lowering herself into a high-backed chair and digging into her food.
Unfortunately she’d barely cleared half the plate when Innes poked his head through the door.
“Your pardon, but there is an urgent messenger here to see you, Lady Westleigh.”
Anticipation flared. Was it the investigator Stephen hired to discover the identity of her real father? The dapper, bespectacled man had only been given the vaguely dated family portrait which was hardly a great deal of information to work with, but she still clung to hope that one day he would come calling with a bulging folder to answer all her questions once and for all.
“Who from?” she said quickly.
“Master George.”
“Oh. Inform the boy I will see him in the foyer presently.”
Innes bowed. “Very good, my lady.”
Dabbing her mouth with a white linen napkin, she glanced at Stephen. “George never sends messengers. It must be important.”
“Indeed.”
“Maybe Sir Malcolm is dead.”
“I think if that were the case we’d be hearing a brass band, and fireworks.”
“Talking of fireworks, or lack thereof, Mama mentioned that her life with Sir Malcolm has improved immeasurably, in fact, she hardly sees him anymore. Ever since a day when there was some sort of violent altercation in his library. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Stephen swallowed a forkful of bacon. “Violent altercation? No, no. I was amiable. In a particularly amiable manner I demonstrated my extreme displeasure with the tea tray incident, and that if anything similar happened again involving you or your mother, there would be severe consequences. And in case Sir Malcolm wondered, Southby, Standish, Liverpool, Castlereagh and White were all more than happy to provide me with an alibi.”
“Most amiable of them.”
“I thought so. Now, the sooner you go and see what George’s messenger has to say, the sooner you can conquer the second mountain range on your plate.”
“Have I told you lately how splendidly humorous you aren’t?” she asked, bracing both hands on the table and hauling herself to her feet. “I actually feel a little sorry for the baby. I’m not sure my far superior intelligence and wit will be enough to counteract your pitiful contribution.”
Her husband nodded sadly. “Poor wee thing. And poor me. Inadequate in so many areas. A decent wife would attempt to cheer me up.”
“When you find such a paragon, give her my regards,” Caroline said pertly, ambling past him. But before she’d gone two steps, Stephen grabbed her hand and pulled her sideways into his lap.
“One moment please, countess.”
“I’m getting too big to hug,” she groaned, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing deeply at the thought of having to forgo the absolute pleasure of being securely wrapped in his arms.
“Nonsense,” he replied, reaching down to knead either side of her spine with the knuckles of his left hand, right in the sore spot, until she whimpered at the soothing deliciousness of it. “I’ll just grow longer arms.”
“The least you can do.”
He grinned, cupping her cheek and turning her face towards him. Then his lips brushed hers and as it always did, heat flared. In seconds they were devouring each other, she loosening his cravat and stroking his chest, him tugging down the sleeve of her gown and cupping the generous fullness of her breast.
Caroline moaned, rubbing herself against Stephen until he took the hint and began to pluck and tease her swollen nipple. Their increased sensitivity made this particular activity a sheer delight, how divine it was to settle on a pile of pillows and let him play for hours. Of course they had to be rather creative nowadays to accommodate her ever-growing belly, but in the process had made some exquisite discoveries. Like the time he’d braced her against the…
“A-hem.”
They both froze.
“As requested, my lady, the messenger is awaiting your arrival with great anticipation in the foyer,” intoned Innes, his face carefully blank.
Caroline bit her lip, keeping her gaze fixed on a painted seaside landscape while she adjusted her gown and clumsily scrambled off her husband’s lap. “I will be there directly.”
“The boy will be delighted to hear such welcome news, ma’am.”
Glaring at the butler’s retreating back, Caroline scowled. “Why haven’t you fired him?”
“Because he knows too much,” replied Stephen. “Probably just as well Innes interrupted us though. Since you won’t permit her to retire to the dower house, Mama will no doubt be down for breakfast soon.”
“Her first grandchild will be arriving soon. At least I hope so. And, now she has learned to clomp her heels or cough when approaching communal rooms. Besides, between all her charity committees and finally being allowed to sponsor your cousin’s come out…”
“We’re all going to help with that. With her parents, poor Samantha will need all the heavyweights she can get.”
She sniffed. “Heavyweights? Exactly what are you implying—”
“Caroline. Messenger.”
“Yes, yes, I’m getting there.”
“Caroline.”
“What?” she said irritably, waddling towards the door.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Pfft!” she replied, waving a hand so the infernal man didn’t see the smile tugging at her lips.
The foyer was far cooler than the morning room, and she rubbed her arms.
“You have a message for me?” she said politely.
The young, dark-haired boy swung around. “Please, Lady Westleigh, you need to come now. Mr. George said right away. That it’s an e-mer-gen-cy.”
Exasperation filled her.
Oh God. What had her twin done now?
~ * ~
To Love a Hellion was book 1 in The London Lords series. Book 2 (Rake to Riches, George's story) will be releasing late 2016. In the meantime try my erotic Regency romance .