Page 98 of His Arranged Duchess
Their baby boy was one year old and already had the marks of a little scholar. Books fascinated him, and there was a kind of serious, weighty manner about him that was most amusing to see in a child.
His godfather, Benjamin, was most determined to “teach the little man to have some fun,” and Frances was so glad that their son had so many people to love him so much. And she was glad things between her husband and his best friend had worked out. It had only taken a few awkward meetings before they became as close as ever. Only now Frances was included in their little company.
When they announced to Benjamin that she was with child, he was extremely happy. He asked if he could become the baby’s godfather, and he was determined to set a good example, growing more mature and sweet by the day. Of course, he still liked to have some fun, and he was the only person who could get little Matthew to play. Her sweet boy. He was not with them today, having gone to visit his grandmother.
Mama visited frequently, of course, as did Aunt Emily and Uncle Cassian. Mama lived in the house she’d been so proud of and happily ignored the cruel rumors about her.
The rumors were, after all, mostly true.
One piece of gossip claimed that the infamous Baroness Rawdon had begun to sing again. Just at small, intimate gatherings, but still. She wassinging. Frances desperately hoped that it was true.
“I felt as though I wrote my best work when I was with child,” Frances observed thoughtfully, reaching out to pluck a couple of grapes from the bowl beside her. “I think perhaps that state would suit me again.”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. “Oh? How interesting. Perhaps we should read on, then? At the end ofEleanor’s Path,the titular heroine is with child, is she not? Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Timon was about to touch Eleanor…”
Trailing off, he slid his hand up Frances’s naked side, inching towards her breast. Frances sucked in a breath, feeling desire peak once again.
I will never be tired of this man. I can never get enough of him.
Then somebody knocked on the door to the East Tower stairwell. Eleanor gave a squeak, snatching up her robe to cover herself.
Lucien sat upright, frowning.
“Who is it?”
“Only me, Your Graces,” Gray called, his voice muffled. “Don’t fret, I am not coming up. I came to tell you that she is here.”
Frances sucked in a breath, eyes wide, and glanced at Lucien. “Already?”
Lucien’s face was very white, his jaw set.
“Thank you, Gray,” he answered at last, his voice cool. “We’ll be down momentarily.”
“Very good, your Grace.”
They heard the shuffle of Gray’s footsteps retreating. Lucien bounded up from the chaise, snatching up his clothes and dressing hurriedly.
Frances sat up, watching him dress, and nibbled her lower lip.
“You have nothing to be nervous about, Lucien. She's your sister. She'll be happy to see you.”
“You don’t know that,” he murmured. “Things have changed. I… I don’t know what to expect.”
Frances climbed up from the chaise and positioned herself in front of her husband. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she forced him to look at her.
“Whatever happens,” she said, her voice cool and firm, “We’ll face it together. You and I. That, at least, I can promise you.”
Some of the anxiety faded from his eyes. Lucien smiled, reaching forward to cup her cheek with his palm.
“I do not deserve you,” he murmured. “Not one bit.”
She dimpled. “Why, of course not. Now, let’s get dressed and go downstairs, shall we?”
Lucien’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Since the day he had left England, he’d made a point to banish all anxiety from his life. His father had made him anxious enough for a lifetime.
Now, however, anxiety came rushing back in, forcing him to constantly calm himself down.
Having Frances by his side helped more than he could ever have imagined. Her cool, strong presence was like a rock he could cling to in times of need.
