Page 78 of The Scottish Duke
“You’re a new mother,” he said. “You’re supposed to be that and nothing else for a few days, I think.”
“Ah, ducal wisdom.”
“Of course,” he said, and grinned at her.
In that instant she saw a hint of the boy he’d been and one that Robbie might emulate. Her heart swelled as tears came to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, determined not to cry even though she was suddenly feeling weepy. “You’ve been so kind. Thank you for taking such good care of me, and for Nan, and for being so tender with Robbie. Thank you for letting me name him Robbie and for giving me your bed.”
He looked as if he would like to say something, but didn’t.
“I’m your husband,” he said. “I should do all those things.”
She nodded, chagrined when she felt a few tears falling down her cheek.
She was weeping and something twisted inside him. One tear, that’s all it took to make it feel as if a knife were thrusting into his belly. Suddenly he wanted to answer every question she asked and more, eager to share himself with another human being when he hadn’t done that in... Had he ever done that?
She sat among the pillows looking luminous, like a painting he’d once seen in Italy.Madonna of the Milk, he thought it was called, by Verrocchio. Unlike the painting, there’d been no angels in the scene, but she hadn’t needed any.
Bending, he brushed a kiss along her forehead, an avuncular gesture and one he intended to last only seconds.
She raised her head. She reached up, leaned toward him, and suddenly his lips were on her mouth. He was kissing her, deeply, leaning down, one hand bracing himself on the headboard, the other thrusting into her hair. He heard Robbie from far away, felt himself harden, wanting her with a desperation he’d never felt for anything, anywhere, at any time.
What the hell was he doing?
Kissing her. Dear God, her lips were warm to hot, her tongue dueling with his.
She was a day away from giving birth.
He wanted her.
She was a new mother.
He was losing all control.
He stepped back, staring at her, wanting to apologize, but words escaped him. He didn’t think he could talk at the moment. Was she going to notice that he’d not been unaffected by the kiss? How did he explain being a randy monster under these circumstances?
He’d never lost his mind around a woman. The last time had been on that stormy night last year.
He needed to leave, now, but he wanted to stay there for hours watching Lorna and his son. She held him so tenderly, but with such competence. Shouldn’t a new mother have fumbled a little, been uncertain? She hadn’t been. Each one of her movements was unhurried and patient. When Robbie fussed, she simply smiled and rubbed his back, crooning to him softly.
The sight of the two of them made something open up in his chest, as if he were being carved from the inside out.
He wanted to stay and that’s exactly why he left.
Before descending the stairs, Alex made his way to his mother’s apartments. The door was open, as it often was.
“How is Lorna? And the baby?” she asked, turning to smile at him. She put down the copper atomizer she’d been using to spray the ferns and walked toward him.
“He was up all night,” he said, a little surprised that he hadn’t heard Robbie.
“That’s to be expected. You were the same. Demanding from the very first.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked with a smile.
“How did you ever get over my father’s death?” he asked. “Or Moira’s and Douglas? How do you wake up every morning, go about your day, and find something to interest you? How do you endure the pain of losing them?”
