Page 73 of The Duchess in His Bed
Lifting his head, he captured her gaze, frowned. “Why the tears?”
Her eyes were glistening with them. He watched as one rolled along her cheek.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I don’t know. Silly, isn’t it?”
With his fingers, he brushed the damp strands of her hair away from her face. “Nothing about you has ever struck me as silly.”
“I suppose I just didn’t expect—”
Gently, he placed a finger against her lips. He didn’t want to discuss how he’d arrived at his decision or what it meant for their future—separately or together. “A gift horse and all that.”
He’d expected her to laugh. Instead she appeared somewhat bewildered and sad. Still, she nodded.
He rolled off her, taking solace that she rolled right along with him until her head was nestled in the curve of his shoulder, her leg resting across his hips, her thigh nudging against his flaccid cock that immediately perked up. Not to the extent it was ready for another go, but it was definitely hoping to be in short order. Her fingers trailed lazily along his breastbone.
“What do you like best about the estate?” she asked.
“You.” He was aware of the movement of her head as she tilted it up to look at him. He glanced down. “My favorite part is that you’re here.”
Her cheeks blossomed into a pink that mirrored the shade of the sky just before the sun disappeared behind the horizon, coating everything in a blanket of darkness. As long as he lived, he’d never forget the sight of that sunset or the feel of her hand nestled in his.
She kissed his shoulder before settling back into its curve. “You make me wish things were different, that I had no responsibilities, that—” She scoffed, laughed. “I was going to say that I wished I was a shopgirl, but we’d have never met if I were.”
“I go into shops sometimes.”
“But what are the odds that you’d go into mine?”
“My businesses are built on the premise that the odds always favor the house but that does not mean that the house always wins. Even if the odds are one in a hundred, someone has to be that one. Those are the dreamers, the ones who believe they could be thatone. The realists are more practical, know they probably aren’t.”
“I’d have not thought you would be so whimsical.”
“Normally I’m not. But I’ve known men to bet their last shilling and walk out with their pockets stuffed with their winnings. So if you were a shopgirl, we might still have met.” But she wouldn’t have needed him and wouldn’t have sought him out.
“I’m afraid my parents’ deaths ensured I became more of a realist. I don’t like to take chances that things will work out. I need to know they will. I could never start a business, risk failure.”
“That is what makes the success so sweet—to know you might have failed, but you didn’t.”
Pushing herself upright, she straddled his hips and his cock came to full attention. “I doubt you’ve ever questioned your ability to succeed. I can’t say the same. I’m afraid I’ll fail now, that I’m barren.”
“You’re not a failure if you don’t conceive. You told me that you wanted people to see that you were more than your beauty. Lena, you’re more than your womb.”
Sitting, he claimed her mouth even as he lifted her up, brought her down, and filled her heated tunnel with the long, hard length of him, determined to give her all she longed for. He now understood that love made one reckless. And he embraced the knowledge as he embraced her, with all that was within him.
Chapter 20
They journeyed back to London in the carriage in silence, but it was a comfortable quiet. Sitting across from Selena, Aiden wore a small satisfied smile that no doubt matched the one on her face.
She fought against folding her hands over her belly and holding close what might already be growing there. After seven long years, the odds were against her. She knew this. Yet still she held out hope, hope he’d given to her when he’d spoken about odds. Even when they were low, it still meant there was a chance. While the realist in her revolted, the dreamer she’d long ago been peered out as though from a lengthy sleep and refused to retreat.
Being with him was like running barefoot over clover, wild with abandon. It was joyous. She would find a way to keep him in her life while protecting their child.
“Why have you grown sad?”
His voice brought her from her reverie, and she wondered if anyone else in the world would ever know her as well as he did.
“I’m not sad.”
“What are the other estates like?”
