Page 93 of The Captive Duke
“Are you concerned you’ll be untidy on the ducal sheets?”
“Mustyou?”
“My father warned me about this,” he said, advancing on her. “He said women need special understanding at such a time, for they fall prey to odd notions.”
“Womenget odd notions? You steal me from my bed every night, provoke me to nightmares, and you say women get odd notions?”
“I return you to where you belong,” he said, prowling up to the bed. “To where you want to be, and yes, women get odd notions. You fret that you’re unlovely now.”
She had to look away. Some misguided female had admitted such a thing to him; he had no other way of gaining such an insight, though Helene would not have had the courage to express such a vulnerable sentiment.
“You resent the untidiness and wish you were coping with a pregnancy instead,” he went on, sympathy in every syllable. “Carrying a child, for all it leaves you ungainly and puts your life in danger, seems to agree with you ladies. Many of my comrades in arms remarked such a thing.”
“You talked about childbearing as you waged war?”
He wasn’t to be diverted. He untied the bows of her dressing gown.
“Scoot over to your side of the bed,” he said, peeling her out of her robe. “When you are indisposed, comforting you is my privilege.”
He tossed his dressing gown to the foot of the bed, and, of course, he would comfort her while he wore not one stitch, the way he usually slept. That he would trust her so easily with the sight of his nudity still moved her to ferocious tenderness, and to envy of his confidence.
“Over.” He waited while she crawled to the middle of the bed, then climbed in after her and spooned himself around her. He propped his chin on her shoulder. “Shall I fetch you a hot-water bottle?”
He’d soon have her in tears. “And inform the kitchen staff what you’re about?” But he’d do it, and not many men would.
“You don’t want me to leave you here alone in this bed,” he said. “Not until the covers are all toasty.” His hand settled low on her stomach, resting there until the warmth of it eased Gilly’s ache.
“Helene said you were a considerate husband. You can move your hand lower.” She showed him.
“Helene said I was considerate?”
“She said for all you were a great strapping brute with too good an opinion of yourself, you were considerate in the ways a husband ought to be. Still, she worried about conceiving.”
“Because our children would be great strapping brutes?” His kissed her nape, the same as he always did.“Helene was not petite—and we won’t speak of her now if it bothers you.”
Perhaps it bothered him? Gilly laced her fingers with his, because Helene should have been the one to let him know his considerations had been appreciated.
“Because her mother had very difficult lying-ins, Christian, and did not recover from the birth of Helene’s youngest brother.”
His hand went still. “She never said. In damned near a decade of marriage, she never mentioned this. Bloody hell, my own wife, and she was afraid for her life.”
Gilly set his hand away and went up on her elbow to peer at him. The night was cool, so a fire had been lit, and the coals gave off enough light that she could see his face.
“She knew her duty,” she said. “We talked about it. The family was originally considering offering you me, recall, because I was younger than Helene, and marriage would mean nobody had to pay for my come out. I offered to take you on, before Greendale had put his plans for me to the solicitors, but Helene wanted to be your duchess.”
“She wanted to beaduchess, anybody’s duchess. All the little girls want to be duchesses.” He was disgruntled, upset even. “Helene gave birth easily, the physician and the midwife assured me of that, both times.”
Gilly pushed him to his side, which meant pushing at him until he divined her purpose and complied onhis own initiative. She hiked herself up higher on the pillows and spooned herself around him, throwing a leg over his hips and tucking an arm around his waist.
He took her hand, kissed her knuckles, then flattened her palm over his heart. “Did you want to be my duchess, Gilly, my love?”
The question was wistful, the endearment devastating.
“Go to sleep, Christian. You have an appointment with Chesterton shortly after dawn.”
He rolled onto his back, his expression serious.
“Marry me, Gillian. Please.” He stroked his hand down the side of her face. “I talk to you, and were you my duchess, you would not suffer in silence over something as frightening as childbed. I’m…not as young as I was when Helene got her hands on me, but I’m not as stupid, either.”
