Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
He had done it for Rosalind. He’d done it for this child he’d not known until now.
“You look so tired,” said Rosalind tenderly, touching his unruly hair, brushing it back from his face. “So exhausted. Would you like to go home? We ought to go home now so you can rest.”
The last thing he wanted to do was rest. He wanted to study his child some more, learn her face so he would never forget it, in case by some curse he was kidnapped again.
No, no more kidnapping. He would not live in fear. Instead, he would live each day with new appreciation for all he had. He would come to know little Sylvie over the next hours and days and months and years. He was sure he could make her smile. Rest? No. He wanted to be alone with his wife so he could kiss her and embrace her and make love to her with all the passion of his longing. How beautiful she was, a miracle beside him.
But first, he must clean up and present himself properly. He must shave and wash, and change his clothes, and catch up on all that had transpired while he was away. He must see to it that Brittingham and his criminal agents were dealt with. Then he must resume his duties as Viscount Marlow, duties he would never take for granted again after the labor he’d performed in the colonies. He must clean the dirt from beneath his fingernails. He must check upon his horses. He must buy those flowers for Rosalind, for she was beautiful as a flower. Soft as rosa damascenas, delicate as rosa gallica.
In fact, the thought of all he had to do hit him like a rusted anchor, and he realized he did feel very, very tired.
“Yes, let’s go home,” he said to Rosalind. “I could do for a bath and some sleep.”
Everyone around him laughed as if he’d said something funny, but he was quite serious. He wanted to sleep in his own bed because he never thought he’d see it again.
He wanted to sleep next to Rosalind…
He wanted to sleep in peace, after so many dark nights of terror and dread.
Chapter Nineteen
Worth Everything
Marlow and Rosalind emerged from Maitland Glen’s west meadow, smiling at one another as they walked the horses into the grassy clearing. She’d challenged him to a race and easily won, which he complained about until she reminded him that he still always won at cards.
Their families and friends picnicked near the house. She took in the pastoral tableau—the ladies in their hats, the men sprawled back on blankets, the children running about with biscuits and lemonade. Sylvie crawled back and forth between her doting grandparents. Soon she’d be walking.
“Oh, Marlow.” Rosalind sighed. “Maitland Glen is so pretty in the spring.”
“Prettier with you here, my lady. I never loved it so much before.”
They were hosting their first house party now that he was fully recovered from the previous year’s ordeal. In a bit of poetic justice, Brittingham had been transported to the colonies for ten years as punishment for his criminal schemes. He’d thought his powerful connections might save him, but Marlow’s connections were more powerful in the end.
Now those connections lounged on their lawn—generations of titled friends.
“Did she beat you again?” called Townsend.
Marlow shook his head. “Yes. Such a rider. I don’t stand a chance.”
“Come have luncheon,” said Rosalind’s mother, beckoning.
Her parents doted on Marlow now, partly because he’d given them a grandchild they adored, and partly because he’d exposed Brittingham as an unprincipled fraud. They were not too proud to admit they’d been wrong about whom their daughter should marry.
She and Marlow claimed space on a picnic blanket and dug into the many delicious offerings in the baskets. Sylvie accepted tidbits from her fingers, then fell into her papa’s arms, clinging to his shoulders and tugging his hair. Sylvie loved her papa, or poppop as she called him. Marlow was a natural father—a fun companion when she was wound up and wanted to play, and a soothing lap to slumber upon when she was worn out. Yet another reason Rosalind was assured she’d chosen her husband well.
When the food and fresh air had the younger children yawning for afternoon naps, Marlow helped carry Sylvie upstairs to the nursery. Rosalind looked on fondly as he tucked her into her crib.
“What now?” she whispered as Sylvie snuggled into her blankets.
“I want to show you something.”
Rosalind felt a moment of thrilling unease. She never knew what her adventurous husband would “show her.” A new implement hidden in the oak trunk in their bedroom? Or a new piece of furniture in their country home’s secret punishment room? She took his hand. She was always willing, whatever he had in mind.
He took her to a relatively innocent place: Maitland Glen’s spacious greenhouse. “Are you going to give me some flowers?” she teased, flirting.