Page 243 of Labor of Love

Lothian rounded on him, eyes narrowed. “I was in heat!”

A woman walking passed tutted.

Dante shrugged.

Ryland sighed and thrust a hand into his hair. “Perhaps we could go somewhere else and talk about this.”

Lothian drew back his shoulders. “There’s nothing more to say.”

Dante scoffed. Ryland scowled.

Ryland spread his hands in front of himself. “You’re carrying my child. There’s quite a bit to cover.”

“Let’s go back to Lothian’s,” Dante said. He put an arm around Lothian’s waist and leaned in close to his ear. “You don’t want to do this on the street.”

Lothian swallowed the angry words that sprang to his lips. Dante was right. He didn’t want to have it out on the street foranyone to hear. His heart was hurting. That was private. “I don’t want to do this at all. Good day, Sir Ryland.” He gave a quick curtsy. “Dante?”

Dante looked from Ryland to Lothian. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and shook his head. With an apologetic glance at Ryland, he stepped into the waiting carriage.

Lothian refused to look at the alpha until he was concealed behind curtains. His heart twisted at the way Ryland’s shoulders sagged, but he didn’t relent. He knocked on the roof of the carriage, and they pulled away. Lothian swallowed the sob that rose to his throat.

4

3 Months Later

Lothian woke to a strange sensation.

It took him a moment to realize what it was.

A fluttering in his belly, like wings, or —

His hands flew to the swell of his abdomen. Instinctively, he turned to his side. But of course, the bed was empty. Just as it had been since the morning after his heat. His lungs grew tight and he forced down the cry that sprang to his lips. He blinked away tears. It seemed he was always crying these days, about something or other.

Yesterday, he’d had a weeping fit because his housekeeper had cleaned up tea before he was finished. Before that, it had been when his favorite shoes no longer fit his swollen feet. Most nights, it was because he went to bed alone.

A light tap came on the bedroom door. Lothian wiped his eyes. “Come in, Dante.”

His friend entered carrying a bouquet of flowers. “Aren’t they lovely? White roses and lily of the valley, for new beginnings and a return of happiness.”

Lothian pulled the covers over his head. “No.”

“Don’t you at least want to smell them?” Dante sat on the side of the bed.

The scent of the flowers wafted over Lothian. His stomach turned. He waved Dante away, pressing fingers to his mouth. “Take them away!”

Dante sighed and carried them to the other side of the room. He replaced the wilted bouquet on the dresser with the fresh one. “I can’t believe the scent of flowers is making you ill.”

Lothian stroked his hand over his burgeoning belly. “Too sweet. Now if they smelled like pickles, I wouldn’t mind.”

Dante snorted. “I’ll be sure to tell Ryland that for next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.”

Dante shrugged. “That’s what you’ve said almost every day for the last three months, and every day he’s sent something new.”

“I’ve told him not to!” Lothian stood and wrapped himself in a dressing gown. “It’s absurd.”

“It’s not. It’sromantic. He’s trying to apologize. Why don’t you forgive him?”

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