Page 125 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Or perhaps he was nervous about what he would have to say.
I love ye.
He’d blurted it out, as if he couldn’t hold it in, and changed Ellie’s world.
In the three days since the birth she’d spent her hours cloistered with her sister, or in Demon’s library, where she finished translating all the codes. Her notes and the complete back issues of the newspaper had arrived by courier the day after the birth, a complete surprise.
Something else to thank Fawkes for.
He’d taken a room in Banchot, the nearby village, and had traveled to Endymion only once a day to check on Georgia’s recovery and administer tinctures made of witch hazel and other herbs, to help with her healing.
Ellie hadn’t seen him, other than in passing.
Hadn’t spoken to him, other than to hear instructions for her sister’s care.
And definitely hadn’t kissed him.
She was feeling the loss.
Reaching out now, she gathered her sister’s hand in both of hers, and watched Rourke and Thorne find their seats. The new Duke of Stroken lounged, although she doubted Thorne capable of doing anythingbutlounging, while Exingham lowered himself gently to a chair and rubbed at his knee, as if it pained him.
And Demon…?
Demon paced, murmuring under his breath to the precious parcel he carried, asleep in his arms.
“Do ye think, Demon,” Thorne drawled, “we might get around to this discussion sometime soon? No’ that I havenae enjoyed the opportunity to spend this time with some of my favorite people, but I have a god-forsaken dukedom I have to get around to figuring out how to run.”
“Go ahead,” Demon said, attention fixed on his sleeping daughter. “I’m listening.”
“It’s hard to believe that.” Rourke winced slightly as he shifted one leg over the other. “What with ye no’ looking at us.”
When Demondidlift his head, it was to glare at the man who’d once been his best friend, then tried to kill him, and was now a begrudging acquaintance once more. Georgia had told Ellie the full story. It was complicated.
Rouke merely chuckled at the glare.
Thinking to ease the tension, Ellie released her sister’s hand. “Demon, may I hold Rosie?”
“Nay,” he snapped, gathering the newborn even closer. The sudden movement startled the baby, who began to mewl and root at her father’s chest.
Georgia snorted softly, eyes still closed. “I suppose I am lucky that he allows me to nurse the wee thing.”
“Come now, Demon,” Ellie argued, sitting straighter. “Youmustknow she is a distraction to you?”
Her brother-in-law’s frown was fierce. “Fine. Have ye washed yer hands?”
“Yes,” Ellie sighed.
“In the last ten minutes?”
She glanced down at her impeccably clean fingernails. “I mean…no?”
Demon stepped backward, crushing the baby to his chest, nose turned up as if he could protect his daughter from Ellie’s aggressive germs.
From the distant corner came a snort of laughter, which made Ellie’s lips curl.
Georgia sighed and struggled upright. “She is rooting, Demon. Give her to me, let me nurse her, and I promise she will be fine. And yes, I have washed my hands.”
There was no argument from Demon, although he did look reluctant to hand the wee bundle to his wife. As Georgia arranged her daughter at her breast—and Ellie helped her drape the covering modestly—he watched his wife and daughter with almost hungry eyes.
