Page 69 of Her Beautiful Bastard
Her eyes went wide, and she blushed, taking his hand and pulling him farther into the room. Michael had perched on the arm of a sofa, one arm around the slender shoulders of a woman who could only be Amelia. She wore trousers and a well-tailored frock coat, the swell of her midsection showing against the fabric of her shirt. Beside her sat a slender, mousy woman, who must be Lydia’s other sister-in-law, Hesper. Sharing a loveseat nearby was a man not quite as large as Michael, but with similar coloring who could only be Archie, and Lydia’s mother, Perdita Darling.
Lydia had written about them so much, he felt as if he already knew them, so found it easy to be brought into their midst, settling into an armchair while Lydia pulled a matching one from across the room so she could sit beside him.
As he was introduced to Lydia’s mother, the woman took his hand and gazed at him with eyes so open and wise that he nearly wept. He felt as if he was seeing Lydia in thirty more years, with grey strands turning her hair silver and smile lines enhancing her eyes.
“Welcome, Sinclair,” she said with a warm smile he felt to his soul, easing the last of his trepidation. “Lydia thinks the world of you, so I am anxious to come to know you better. Oh, and you should leave whatever stuffy old inn you are occupying immediately and bring your precious son here. I will not have you staying anywhere else while you are in Norfolk. Our home is your home now.”
Sinclair glanced to Lydia, who gave him a little nod and a reassuring smile. This would take some growing used to, this warmth and camaraderie that felt so foreign to him.
“I would be delighted, thank you,” he managed.
Lydia made the rest of the introductions, and before long, Amelia had sent for champagne to toast to Sinclair and Lydia’s engagement.
While they waited for it to arrive, Lydia reached out to take his hand, giving it a little squeeze. As he turned to look into her eyes, an overwhelming sense of rightness fell over him in that moment. And for the first time in his life, he realized why he’d never felt as if he belonged anywhere. It was because he hadn’t found this yet, this woman, this family.
At last, Sinclair was home.
EPILOGUE
Nine Months later …
Lydia dashed down the opening between the trees, her skirts gathered in both hands, little giggles escaping from between her lips as she let the shadows claim her. The pounding of footsteps behind her warned of Sinclair’s approach, which only made her heart pound faster, her breaths come swifter. The moon hung high over them in a cloudless summer sky, casting the shadows of the trees against the ground. It illuminated this year’s cherries, ripe and red and nearly ready for harvesting.
Ducking between two of the trees, she dashed farther into the groves, leading Sinclair out of sight of the house and anyone who might happen to peer through one of the windows. She had spent her entire day being gawked at and fawned over, congratulated over champagne toasts and wedding cake. But now, tonight, she did not want any other eyes on her. She did not need well wishes or champagne. Just now, she only needed Sinclair, moonlight, and the rather sturdy-looking branches of the cherry tree nestled in a far-flung corner of the orchard.
Taking hold of the lowest limb, she hoisted herself up, doing her best not to ruin the custom-made gown her mother had insisted upon for this day. Lydia was her only daughter, after all, and Michael and Amelia had ruined her opportunity to plan a lavish wedding by procuring a special license and getting married in a London drawing room.
So, Lydia had married Sinclair in a church, though their own special license had allowed them to host the wedding in the evening instead of the morning, which both of them preferred. Lydia had wanted moonlight shining down on her as she left the church, the exact lighting in which she’d first laid eyes on her husband.
As she climbed, holding the short train of her silver and pale blue gown over one arm, she thought back to the ceremony with fondness. It had been everything she’d ever wanted in a wedding—Amelia standing up with her, Michael giving her away, Sinclair’s deep, solemn voice wrapping hypnotically around her as he said his vows, her mother looking on with tears in her eyes.
All the waiting, the wanting, the trials that had preceded this moment, had been worth it. As she settled on a limb halfway up the tree, her legs dangling over the side, the moonlight catching on the tiny clear gems embroidered into her gown, Lydia decided she would not have done any of it differently. Even the four years of longing and loneliness had been worth it.
The sudden appearance of Sinclair below sent her heart spiraling up into her throat. He was resplendent in black, much like on the night she’d met him—only now, his waistcoat was a robin’s egg blue with a silvery sheen to match her gown.
A sudden thought occurred to her, a memory brought to life by the sight of him under her, head turning left and right as he searched for her.
Bracing her toes against the heel of her opposite foot, she pushed her slipper off, allowing it to dangle for a moment, before flicking her foot and allowing it to fall. It landed true, striking Sinclair’s shoulder and drawing his attention upward.
His white teeth glowed in the dark when he smiled, his laughter floating up toward her. That sound sent warmth suffusing through her from the depths of her belly out to the far reaches of her body. With each day, week, and month that had passed since Drucilla’s death, she’d watched Sinclair transform. Still brooding at times, because it seemed such a part of his nature, but also less burdened, no longer sullen. He smiled often, he laughed with a freedom she’d never before noticed in him. If she’d thought she could not love him more, she’d been unprepared for this.
Retrieving her shoe, he tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat and began to climb, bringing back a flood of bittersweet memories. He reached her in no time at all, swinging one leg over the limb she perched on, leaning back against the trunk as he studied her, his dark eyes glittering with desire and love.
“Ah, a fallen angel right here in my own groves,” he teased, reaching out to caress a curl that had fallen free of her coiffure. “May I keep you forever?”
She gave him a coy smirk. “That all depends, sir. You see, angels need certain things to thrive, and I must be sure that you can provide them before I promise to stay with you.”
Leaning forward a bit, his lips curving into the most deliciously wicked smirk, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Whatever you need, I feel more than up to the task of providing it.”
A little thrill went through her as he took her hand, tugging at her gloves to free her of them.
“Well, we need laughter and freedom,” she told him, watching as he divested her of first one glove and then the other.
“I shall endeavor to keep laughter dancing on your lips,” he murmured, kissing the back of her hand and working his way up her arm. “And you are free to be whoever you want to be with me, even if who you wish to be just now happens to be a wanton slut.”
Lydia gasped, slapping playfully at his chest. “Sin!”
“What?” he countered with a shrug. “I have not seen you in weeks and haven’t had you to myself all day. But, do go on. What else does my angel need?”
