Page 118 of The Devil Baron

She collapsed onto her back next to him on the bed, her hand splaying out over his bare chest just above the bandage that wrapped around his waist and held his broken arm in proper place to heal.

His right elbow curled up on top of her chest so he could grasp the side of her neck as she pressed her lips onto his outer shoulder. He craned his head downward, kissing her brow in a long, leisurely kiss. “You are ready to become my wife?”

She tilted her face up to him, excitement shining in the deep blue of her eyes. “I was ready weeks ago. The world has finally caught up.”

He chuckled. “Then let us get on with it.”

He’d never dreamed of this—never had the capacity or imagination for it.

But this—Victoria, her world, her breath, her life—had descended on him and bound to every shred of his being. The blessing of a clergyman was courtesy to her family. For he already knew that he would spend the rest of his life making this woman happy.

His life had purpose, where once it had not.

And that felt right, deep in his soul.

The soul he never believed he had.

{ Epilogue }

Victoria set both of her palms on the back of the flat stone bench, watching the wind send ripples across the water of the long rectangular pond in front of her. Sunlight streamed down, sparkling off the tiny waves.

The edges of the pond were knee-high and built with formal bluestones, the severe lines of it juxtaposed to the wild land just beyond that dipped off, swaying with a thousand different shades of green.

The manor house to her right had been plunked down into Staffordshire directly between the transition from where the low and undulating land gave way to hills and peaks.

Rafe appeared far to her left, walking toward her from where he had gone to investigate the stables. The distance between them gave her ample time to watch him walk toward her, his look set on her but his steps unhurried.

That had been one of the most glorious things of the past year, watching how her husband could slow his feet, slow his life. He did that when he needed to concentrate fully on her. Which was often enough, for the man could still read every one of her moods a furlough away.

Somewhere along his route around the estate, he had lost his overcoat and waistcoat, probably because of the warm sun, but most likely because he just preferred to be in his lawn shirt rolled up at the sleeves with nothing else binding him in.

She couldn’t read what was on his face, even as he drew closer. The line of his lips had been neutral since he’d started toward her, and hadn’t flickered from placidness.

He slowed as he stepped in front of her, then settled himself between her knees and dropped down to rest on his heels.

Both hands clasping either side of her waist, he leaned forward, setting his forehead on her protruding belly. Her largely protruding belly.

“Do you think this is it?” he asked the babe so very close to making an appearance.

She smiled, threading her hands through his wind-tousled hair.

“You do?” His head shifted so he could press his lips against her belly. “Your mama will be happy here?”

He paused for a long moment, turning his head to press his ear against the drape of her skirt over the mound. He nodded as though he agreed with whatever he’d just heard gurgling deep within her. “And you? Will you be happy here, my sweet girl?”

Victoria laughed. “Why are you so insistent it is a girl in there?”

He looked up to her. “Will the saints do anything but give me a girl—probably ten of them—after what I put your father and uncles through?”

She chuckled. “Probably not. That will most likely be your fate. But ten? Truly?”

“Ten is not a good number?” His eyebrows cocked.

“Ten is a lot coming from my body.”

His hands moved over her belly, rubbing the tight skin through the folds in her dress. “Then I’ll take one—this one. Or three. Or five. However many you want to give to me. Twenty even.”

She laughed and pangs shot alongside her ribs where there was no space to laugh for the babe folded within. “I can guarantee you it won’t be twenty. I’ll throw you out of our bedchamber before that happens.”

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