The chill from the water and mud vanished, replaced with a flood of warmth that stretched her chest. She beamed at him. There were no more doubts now. Julia had been right. She did love him.
“I’m sorry that I am not a stronger man.”
“You are the strongest man I know. How could you not be, when you have been trying to protect me all this time?”
“So you do not wish I had let Bartholomew propose?”
“You were right, he is a bore. I just feared that…that maybe it meant you would never love me.”
His eyes lost that dark, lost look that had haunted them since he’d dragged her from the river. “Does that mean…?”
“That I love you? Yes.”
“Thank the lord, I thought I’d buggered it all up.”
She giggled. “I think you buggered it all up when you fell on me, but somehow I think fate was trying to tell us something.”
“I agree. I could not have fallen on a better woman.”
She grinned. “I could not have been fallen on by a better man.” Going onto her tiptoes, she kissed him.
“Stop kissing and come and get dry,” bellowed Catherine. “That boring Bartholomew has gone.”
“I think we’d better do as she says.” Emma took Morgan’s hand. “You do not want to give her a chance to threaten you.”
Epilogue
Morgan eyed his wife who was currently buried under several balls of wool. She picked up one ball then flung it aside with a huff. He tugged off his scarf and tried to hide his relief at being free from the itchy, irregularly long, and oddly colored garment. Emma glanced up at him and her wide smile made wearing the wretched thing she had knitted for him all worthwhile.
“I am so glad I started knitting last month. The weather has turned so cold. Now everyone will need scarves!” She beamed at him from her seat in the drawing room.
“I am sure your sisters would be delighted to receive a scarf knitted by your very own hands,” he said, somehow keeping his expression utterly neutral. He unbuttoned his coat and handed it to the footman who was lingering in the doorway. “It is frightfully cold out there. I hope the snow will wait.”
She lifted another ball of wool and flung it to one side. “I cannot find the blue. Can you see it?”
He shook his head and peered at the many balls that were strewn across the room. Apparently, Emma had spent all day knitting goodness knows what.
“Are you almost packed to leave?” He strode over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a finger of whisky. He needed the drink to warm his bones. The London weather had turned utterly bitter now that it was nearly Christmas. “Do you want one?”
She shook her head. “I’m almost packed. I just need to find another case to take my wool. I’m sure I shall have plenty of time to knit at Amelia’s.”
“With her now confined, I’m sure she’ll be grateful for the company.”
“Yes, no doubt she is bored out of her mind, though she wrote to me only two days ago and said she’d using the time to work on a new book.” Emma pushed aside the needles and wool on her lap and reached for his hand. “Are you sure you want to go?”
Morgan smiled. “Certainly. Christmas with the Chadwicks, what could be better?”
“Staying here?”
He shook his head. “I hardly had any nightmares last time, remember?” He bent to kiss the concern away from her face. Interestingly, he had found sharing a bed with Emma whilst in the countryside had helped rather than hindered. If he did suffer, she was there to sooth his troubles away. Who knew all he really needed was a wife?
“If you need to, we can return early. I do not mind.”
He gave her hand a squeeze and finished his drink. “I’m sure there won’t be any need.”
“It would not bother me it being just the two of us in our little slice of the countryside.”
“It’s been too long since you last saw your sisters. Almost a month,” he said with a grin.
For many that would be hardly any time at all but for the Chadwick sisters, he knew that was long enough which was why he had suggested they go and stay. What he would not tell her yet, though, was that they would be giving up their London house before long, and making a permanent move to Hampshire. With his troubles easing, he thought it a fine idea, and they were practically in the countryside now, having rented a house on the outskirts of London so that they could both have the best of both worlds. Guy had been right, though. His priorities had changed, and he had changed, really. He was not quite ready to return to his family seat but with time, he was certain he could face it.
“You know, I really think I’m getting the hang of this.” She lifted her latest creation which looked to be an oversized baby’s bootie.
He managed to hide his grimace. “Indeed.”
“I’m so glad you encouraged me not to give up. I was sorely tempted to stop after the first week but now look….I made you a scarf and Amelia all those baby clothes and—”
“Do you think perhaps you have done enough baby clothes for Amelia?” he asked. As much as he adored Emma’s enthusiasm and only regretted encouraging her to continue with knitting a little, he was beginning to feel sorry for the niece or nephew that was due within the next month.
“Oh no, this isn’t for Amelia.”
“Julia cannot be expecting. Guy would have told me.”
Emma’s grin widened.
The glass in his hand slipped from his fingers and bounced on the carpet, dribbling what little whisky was left onto the carpet. He stared at Emma. “Do you mean…?”
Tears shimmer in her eyes and she nodded.
Morgan dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed a hand to her stomach. He stared up at her in awe. “We are having a baby?”
She nodded again.
He leant in and kissed her belly before lifting up to kiss her on the lips. “Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth.
“What for?”
“For giving me everything I didn’t know I wanted.”
She chuckled and cupped his face. “Well thank you for falling on me.”
“Anything for you, my wicked woman.” He gave her a firm kiss. “Anything.”
THE END
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Other Bluestocking Brides books
Amelia and the Viscount
Julia and the Duke
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Emma and the Earl (Bluestocking Bride Book 3) Page 11
