Page 64 of Bedding the Marquess
The night everything changed, Caroline rode out the tide of her orgasm as she rocked her body slowly atop his. She’d taken him deep and dictated the pace, chasing her own pleasure as he was content to be at her mercy. He couldn’t help but follow closely behind his wife, each pull of her inner muscles dragging blinding bliss from his body.
Well pleased and exhausted, Caroline collapsed beside him as the final tremors of her climax drifted through her limbs like ripples in a pool. He pressed a kiss to her glistening brow and held her as close to his side as her firm, round stomach would allow. They panted together in the afterglow.
“That was…” she breathed. “I feel… My goodness…”
Gideon chuckled. “My sentiments exactly.”
“I am—” Caro’s words died abruptly, and her hand flew to her stomach. She looked up into his face when the pain passed.
“Was that…?”
“A contraction. I believe so.” Their wide eyes met. Excitement and nerves roared through Gideon’s blood in equal measure.
When another contraction came some fifteen minutes later, then again at increasingly shorter and regular intervals throughout the night, they both knew Caroline’s time had come.
Bianchi had agreed to continue on as Caroline’s physician—likely thanks in part to a sizable donation Gideon had made to McCullom’s charity as a show of gratitude for all their help—and he was summoned.
It was not until the following evening, however, that Gideon was able to hold his mewling son in his arms. One look at the child’s distinctive coloring gave evidence to his father’s identity and, for the second time that year, Gideon knew what it felt like to have his family grow.
Caroline lay resting in the bed as he sat nearby in a wingback chair by the hearth. He hadn’t wanted their son to become chilled by the dampness outside, so he’d ordered the fire stoked and the room kept at a comfortably warm temperature.
Staring down into the child’s impossibly small face, examining the tiny shell of his ears, the perfection of his precious hands, the cupid’s bow of his parted lips, the dainty nose so like his mother’s, he felt supremely content and proud.
He was proud of his son’s strong wail and sturdy build.
He was proud of Caroline’s strength.
Perhaps it was strange, but he also felt pride in himself—pride that, as he stared into his son’s face, he knew he would break the cycle of neglect his parents had begun. The absolutely overwhelming love he felt for this little soul in his arms told Gideon he could never treat the child as his parents had treated him. A cloud of sadness attempted to edge in, but he refused to blight such a beautiful moment wondering if his own parents had loved him at all. Instead, Gideon looked forward to spending the rest of his days proving he was a better man than his father had been. No matter how hard the old marquess had tried, he would never have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d warpedGideon into an image of himself. With Gideon’s acceptance of Oliver and both brothers’ determination to improve upon their pasts, his legacy would forever rest with him.
Gideon ran a finger along his son’s alabaster cheek, marveling at the perfection he held in his arms, and forever grateful to the woman who’d given it to him.
Caroline woke tofind Gideon dressed only in his breeches as he paced slowly back and forth across the room. He held in his arms an impossibly tiny bundle of grunting, cooing newborn boy. She held very still so as not to alert him that she was awake; she enjoyed watching the scene far too much to disrupt it. She was exhausted, she was sore and in pain, but the sight was like a balm to all of it.
Neither she nor Gideon had had the benefit of a loving, supportive family. She’d been considered an inconvenient embarrassment while he’d been a pawn to cold, volatile parents. Still, she did not worry about their son in the least, and this belief was only solidified by the sight before her.
“Now you’ll want to look into both the dam and the sire’s lineage,” Gideon explained softly. “Some will tell you to look at only the sire, but those shortsighted imbeciles should be disregarded—especially when placing a sizable bet.” He continued on like that for several minutes, detailing all the best physical attributes to look for when selecting horseflesh. Caroline smiled; some things never changed.
Finally, Gideon’s eyes looked up from their son and he caught her watching. He had the good grace to appear slightly bashful.
“The topic is fine for now because he is too young to appreciate anything but the sound of your voice, but we will have to come up with more suitable subjects when he is older.”
Gideon chuckled and crossed the room to the bed. He pressed a kiss to her brow and she caressed his cheek in return before holding out her arms for the baby.
“He is so beautiful,” she whispered in awe, petting the black down on his head and running her finger along the sweet curve of his cheek. His eyes were a deep blue, but McCullom had said they’d likely change drastically in the coming weeks. “He looks just like his father.”
Gideon chuckled. “Poor lad.”
“We must settle on a name.”
“Percy?”
Caroline wrinkled her nose.
“Bartholomew, Hadrian, Zeus—”
“Now you are being absurd,” she said with a laugh and looked down into her son’s face. “What about Theodore?”
Gideon paused as if weighing the name. “Theodore Bray, Earl of Easton and future Marquess of Swanleigh. It does sound nice, doesn’t it?”
