Mackenzie Family Christmas (The Perfect Gift)(50)

But he'd always been the master. He could twist and take, but when it was time to stop and soothe away the hurt, Hart had done it. He'd been excellent at that as well.

He looked at the woman he loved most in the world, knowing he couldn't take away her hurt, couldn't help her, and it killed him. Hart Mackenzie, the specialist in ultimate control and exquisite pleasures, could do nothing to relieve his wife.

Not true, he realized--he could do a few things. When Eleanor swam again to wakefulness, he got up onto the bed beside her, where he could snake his hands behind her back and gently rub it. He massaged there then worked his way up to knead her neck, and then her scalp.

Hart knew how to soothe, how to bring a woman down from unbearable ecstasy. He used the same movements as he glided his hands to her wrists, then to her ankles and back up her calves, trying to take away pain.

Eleanor, who knew what he was doing, smiled at him, her eyes heavy lidded. "I love being married to a wicked husband."

Hart gently kissed her lips. He'd spent many years mastering the art of cruelty, but then he could turn around and be kindness itself. Now he wanted to help his wife the only way he could, to let her know he was with her, and would be until the last.

"I love you, El," he whispered.

She smiled faintly. "And I love you, Hart. You should sleep. It might be a while yet."

"I'm not leaving you."

"No?" Her red brows climbed in her too-white face. "Good thing the bed is nice and wide."

"It's our bed."

"Yes, I know." She lightly patted the mattress. "Although I admit, I'm growing a bit tired of it at the moment."

"This will soon be over," Hart said. "And we'll snuggle down again, like an old married couple."

"Do hush. And sleep. You're cross as a bear when you don't get your sleep."

Hart softly kissed her again then laid his head on the pillow next to her.

He had no intention of sleeping, only of resting curled in her warmth, but the next thing he knew, Eleanor was crying out again, and the midwife bustled around, a smile on her face.

"It's now, Your Grace," the midwife said. "I believe the little gentleman is coming. Time for you and his lordship to go."

Hart smoothed Eleanor's hair. "I'm not leaving."

The midwife made an impatient noise. "Your Grace . . ."

"Let him stay," Eleanor said. "If he faints, it will be his own fault. Make certain you fall out of the way on the carpet, my love."

The midwife looked unhappy, but she subsided.

Ian likewise stayed. He remained on his chair while Beth rose excitedly to help.

Hart was surprised how much Ian's silent presence comforted him. His volatile little brother, who'd needed so much help in the past, was now a rock in the roiling stream of Hart's world.

I can always find you, Ian had told him once. He'd meant that he'd know when Hart needed him, would be there, no matter what.

Eleanor screamed. She seized Hart's hand and hung on.

She crushed his fingers with amazing strength. Hart gritted his teeth, holding her steady, while her body tightened, her face beading with sweat.

The midwife and maid helped bend Eleanor's legs, settling her knees, covering her modestly. Eleanor shoved the sheets aside impatiently, her breasts straining against her dressing gown as she arched.

"Push, Your Grace," the midwife said. "Like I explained to you. Give the little fellow a shove."

Eleanor's face twisted as she obeyed, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Hart kissed her fingers, still tight around his. "You're strong, love," he said. "You're so strong."

Eleanor wailed in pain. She clenched Hart's hand even harder, her other fist bunching the sheets.

"He's coming, Your Grace," the midwife said. "Not much longer."

"I see him." Beth said, her smile wide. "El, I see his little head."

"Or hers," Hart said. "It might be a her."

Eleanor opened her eyes and looked at him, the blue swimming with tears. "What do you know, Hart Mackenzie? He's a . . . " She trailed off into another wail.

"He's coming," the midwife said. "Here. Quickly."

A maid was there with blankets, Beth standing with fingers steepled against her lips, the midwife frowning in concentration.

Eleanor gave one final, agonized heave, and the midwife cried out in triumph.

She bent over the blanket the maid held, and after a long, breath-stopping moment, the first shrieks--loud and angry--of a new Mackenzie rang out.

"Welcome to the world, your lordship," the midwife said.

She lifted the blanket, the baby glistening and red, still attached at his tummy to his mother. A sheaf of dark hair sprouted from his head, his tiny face screwed up, and he roared.