All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue(102)

            He lifted her skirt and peered up her stocking-clad leg to examine her knee. A bruise was already beginning to form there. He tested it gingerly with his fingers.

            “It’s not broken,” she assured him.

            His stormy eyes settled back on her face, searching her features. “You’re fine?”

            A smile tugged on her face. “Yes. I promise.”

            His gaze dropped to her stomach, and his expression was both tender and terrified. “The babe?”

            Her breath shuddered out of her. His hand moved to cover her stomach then and she jerked at the contact. At the burning imprint of his hand on her. Something passed over his eyes that looked very close to pain.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head, his voice ripe with misery. “I was afraid to love you . . . to love this baby, but it’s too late for that.” He paused, his gaze locking in on her face. Moisture brimmed there, and if she wasn’t sitting down she felt certain her legs would have given out.

            He continued, “I do. I do love you . . . I love you.” His voice seemed to gain strength each time he uttered it. “I love you. I already love our baby and can’t wait to meet her.”

            She couldn’t speak. She could only stare, trying to reconcile his words with what she knew. With what she thought she knew.

            “You can’t love me,” she whispered. “Because . . . you can’t.”

            “That’s what I always thought. It’s what I wanted you to think. But how—” His voice choked on a sob. He stopped and swallowed, his rain-damp throat working. “How could I not fall in love with you?” He brought his other hand to cup her cheek, pushing back wet snarls of her hair. “Say you love me. Say you’ll come home with me. That we will be a family.”

            She moistened her lips, the lump in her throat blocking her words. “Max . . .”

            He nodded, one hand still caressing her stomach, the other holding her face.

            “How do you know we’re having a girl?”

            He laughed roughly, throwing back his head. “Wishful thinking. A little girl just like you . . . The world would be so lucky to have her.”

            “Lucky indeed,” Cecily chimed in.

            Max flashed her a grin before looking back at Aurelia. His grin faded as his eyes searched her face, his expression turning grave, and she realized she had not said anything in response to his declaration.

            She moistened her lips. “I’ve loved you, Maxim Alexander Chandler,” she said, “fourth Viscount of Camden, Max to your familiars, since the first moment I clapped eyes on you.”

            “And then you hated me,” he reminded her with a wry twist to his lips.

            “No. I was just waiting for this. Waiting for you . . . for me. For the both of us to get to this point. To get it right.”

            His chest lifted on a deep breath. “I’m here now, Aurelia.”

            She crushed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, her hands curling around his shoulders.

            She was here, too.





            Epilogue

            Max opened the door of his bedchamber and fell back against the hard length of the door with a gust of breath. He’d been in meetings all morning with his man of affairs and barrister regarding a new investment prospect. Typically, before his marriage, the prospect would have diverted him, but he’d been anxious to wrap up the meeting and return home. To Aurelia.