by Jane Lark
“Yes, poppet?”
“Papa said Aunt Jane is expecting a baby like Mama.”
“She is, sweetheart, so do not ask either your Mama or Aunt Jane to pick you up.” His eyes went to Jane across the room, as he felt warmth bloom in his chest. God, he longed to hold his own child.
His eyes left Jane and looked at the clock on the mantel.
Half an hour later, standing in the rose garden, surrounded by hedges with the start of summer growth, Robert waited, hands in his pockets. The tepid spring air held expectation and budding life, and birdsong rang about the quiet garden. He heard the crunch of light footsteps on the gravel. It was his wife.
When he saw her, the air caught in his lungs, just as it had done that night in London when she’d first returned to public life, dressed in her blacks. Her dress was gripped in a fist to hold her hem away from the damp ground.
She smiled and made a face before saying, “I have no idea why you like to play these silly games. We could have just gone up to bed, and no one would have said a word. Most of our guests have retired in any case.”
He smiled, too, with a wicked, wolfish edge he knew she’d spot. “Forgive me. I just can’t stop myself from testing to make sure you’ll still come.”
She stepped into his open arms, looking up at him as he embraced her. “Of course, I shall still come. How could I not?”
“Ooo!” Her palm pressed to her stomach, and he felt concern spin through him as he let her go.
Both her hands were on her stomach. “Oh my goodness!”
His hand braced her arm. “What is it? You should not have hurried.”
She laughed. “Oh Robert, it is nothing to be worried over. Feel.” She caught hold of his palm and pressed it against her belly.
He felt a sharp little jerk of movement. “What is it?”
“The baby is moving. Ellen told me it would happen, but this is the first time I’ve felt it. She said sometimes, later, when it grows bigger, you can actually see the shape of a hand or foot.”
Robert stretched his fingers out, spreading them across Jane’s stomach.
He watched his hand. “I cannot wait to see you,” he whispered, then looked up. “Having Edward’s family here only makes me more desperate for our own, Jane.”
“Patience,” she whispered.
“Was always something I lacked.” He gave her another smile. He’d expended enough. They’d had to endure Ellen’s announcement, then Violet’s, before Jane had finally followed suit.
It had turned out that Violet’s disappearance from London at the time he’d married Jane had been due to an unforeseen circumstance. She’d disappeared into the country to hide her condition, even from Geoff. But Geoff had followed, brought her back and married her. The child had been born only three and a half months later.
Jane had been glad for Violet, but there had also been jealousy. Jane had longed for children; Robert had, too.
It was happening now.
Jane slipped her fingers about Robert’s midriff beneath his morning coat and smiled. His head bowed and his mouth claimed hers. They’d not once been at odds since they’d come back to Farnborough.
She broke the kiss, caught up his fingers, and tugged. “Come on, come to bed.”
“An offer I cannot refuse,” he stated. “But do you think we should?” His gaze dropped to her bulging stomach; he didn’t wish to hurt the child.
“Yes, absolutely. Ellen said it does no harm.” Stepping backward, she tugged on his hand again. “And if you think I would make my impatient, rake of a husband wait—” she teased.
“I could wait, if I must. Did I not wait long enough for you?”
Lifting one eyebrow, she chided, “That, my Lord, does not persuade, for as I recall, waiting was not what you did.”
“You injure me. I have said a dozen times I wish that undone.”
Jane smiled. She knew how desperately he longed to be able to change the past; he’d made sure she did. Yet he could not.
“A rake, known for deserting woman, with regrets and a tender heart. Who’d have known,” she mocked. “Violet will be exclaiming over how domesticated you have become when she arrives tomorrow. I keep telling her you have not changed at all. You are the real Robert. The rakehell was the fraud. I know how much you love me, Robert. I was only teasing.”
He nodded, but he still felt emotion welling in his chest, guilt and pain as well as love.
She gripped his nape, pulled him down, and kissed him, cherishing him, he could feel her love. Then she whispered, “Come on,” tugging his hand once more and stepping back.
He smiled. “Do you know, I think you’re worse than me now, woman.”
“That is impossible,” she threw back.
Epilogue
A loud wail launched from the chamber along the hall, and, instantly, Robert was on his feet, his heart pounding. He did not even look at Edward, but just ran to Jane’s chamber, thrusting the door wide. The scene before him froze him on the spot. Ellen stood before the window, folding a dirty sheet, her dress stained.
His eyes turned to his wife, who lay in the four-poster bed. She was pale, and her eyelids drooped with obvious exhaustion. Her hair was plastered to her brow, damp with sweat, but she smiled broadly as she looked at him.
“A son,” she whispered.
His eyes passed to the midwife who was handing Jane a wriggling bundle. As Jane took it, the infant kicked, and the linen slid back, revealing Robert’s naked son.
The child opened up his lungs and wailed.
Robert felt his heart stop in silent surrender. He’d never forget this moment, the first sight of his son. Bobbing in a shallow curtsy, the midwife pulled away.
The bed had been straightened and the sheets tucked in about Jane, but as he watched, she drew the babe to her chest, and by some instinct, his son sought and found her breast, nuzzling for her nipple. Then all Robert heard was the sound of sucking.
Emotion welled in his chest.
“Come and see him,” Jane urged.
One arm cradling their son, she held the other out to Robert. He barely noticed the other women leaving the room with muted words of congratulations. He was simply too stunned.
“Come and sit on the bed and look at him.”
He did, drifting in some odd dream. He kicked off his house shoes and sat beside her, the soft down mattress giving way beneath him. His fingers reached in wonder to touch his son, mentally counting every toe and finger, following every perfect line of every limb, to the mop of black hair atop his head. Robert’s finger slipped to the boy’s palm and his son’s little hand closed tightly.
Robert’s heart ached, about to burst. He’d never thought it was possible to feel this happy, so overwhelmingly full of emotion.
His gaze lifting to Jane’s, he saw her look at their son. “He’s beautiful.”
Her head lifted. She had tears in her eyes. “Isn’t he? Henry.” She said the name they’d discussed so often when the boy was still invisible, tucked inside her womb.
He was named for Robert’s father, the man who’d been like a father to her, too, more so than her own. If the child had been a girl, she would have been named for his mother.
“He’d be proud of you,” Jane continued, speaking to their child. Then she looked up at Robert. “He’d be proud of you both.”
Robert arched a brow at that, but it wasn’t a moment for old anger.
My son – Henry.
He looked at the tiny boy. When the babe stopped sucking and looked in Robert’s direction, he felt his heart lurch again.
Jane covered her breast, then wrapped the sheet back about the wriggling child, and held him out towards Robert. “Hold him.”
With wonder and self-doubt, he took the infant, tentatively cradling the child on his forearm.
He’d held small children before, Mary-Rose and little Robbie, but this precious little bundle was his own son. His and Jane’s. Every breath Robert took, from this day forward, would b
e for his family, his wife and his son, and any other children that came along.
Still clasping Robert’s finger, the boy’s dark grey eyes stared up at him, absorbing everything. Beside them, Jane slid down the bed and rolled to her side, her cheek resting into her palm as her other hand lifted to stroke the child’s head.
“Can you believe it?” she said with a dreamy smile, already half asleep. She looked exhausted.
Robert bent and kissed her forehead. Her eyelids lifted as she clearly fought to stay awake.
“Sleep, darling, you’ve earned a rest. I’ll take him to meet his uncle. Besides, you need to build your strength back up. I want a dozen more.”
Her lips lifted in a sleepy smile and she whispered, “Not on your life,” before nodding off.
~
When Jane woke, Robert was lying beside her, on his side, his head supported on his palm, over his crooked arm. Henry lay on the covers in between them, free of the sheet, and Robert’s brown eyes were intently focused on their son. He hadn’t even noticed she’d woken.
Robert held Henry’s hand, and Jane’s joined the embrace, covering it. “Hello, you.”
Robert looked at her, and she looked at Henry. “And you, little one.” She kissed her son’s brow. He smelled delicious.
Robert smiled. “Feel better?”
“Much. But now I am starving. How has he been?”
“Fine, but missing his mama, I think, which is why I brought him back.”
She smiled, watching Robert get up. “I like being called that.”
Henry gripped her hand. He was so beautiful, so perfect – hers and Robert’s – the life they’d both created. The infant’s dark eyes turned to her, scanning his new world with a visible thirst for information.
“Henry.” She breathed his name as Robert pulled the cord of the servant’s bell, presumably to send for some supper. “You are more than precious to your papa and I, little man—”
“Just as precious as you are to me.” She looked up as the mattress dipped and Robert knelt back on the bed.
“And you to me,” she replied.
“I love you. I’ll never be able to say it enough.” Robert leaned over Henry and kissed her forehead then pulled back to lie down again, beside their son.
Her fingers touched Robert’s cheek. “I love you, too.” Her voice was croaky.
Robert turned his head and pressed his lips into her palm. “You know, you’re my saviour, Jane, don’t you? God knows what would have become of me without you. Certainly not this.” His eyes were shining. “My estate would have gone to Edward. I’d never have wed, never have known what this felt like. You’re my hero, Jane Marlow. That is what you are.”
“Heroine,” she corrected.
“No, that’s far too tame a word for my Boadicea. You’re a bloody hero.”
“And you’re just in an accommodating mood because I bore you a son.”
A knock struck the chamber door. Her maid.
“Just for the record,” he said as he moved off the bed again. “Be prepared. I am liable to be in an accommodating mood for the rest of my life. I do hope you won’t get bored.”
“Never,” she breathed with a wicked laugh. “All I longed for before I met you again was a peaceful life.”
He smiled.
“Robert, I think we were always meant to be, weren’t we? No matter what happened, we would have found each other in the end.”
The End
Don’t miss the first in this intensely emotional Regency series, The Illicit Love of a Courtesan!
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
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