Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 6) (30 page)

Sebastian placed a lingering kiss upon her lips. “I love you, goddess of my heart. Mistress of my soul. Lady of my everything…” He wagged an eyebrow. “I daresay I’m not capable of the same romantic words as you, wife.”

She patted him almost pityingly on his sweat-drenched back. “You’re doing quite well with your words.”

“Most of those words which were borrowed from you.”

She winked. “I did say them quite well.” Their laughter blended together and then Hermione shifted under him.

He registered her slight wince of discomfort and rolled off her…remembering too late… He grunted as he landed with a hard thump on the floor.

Hermione peered over the side of the sofa, her cheeks pink from their loving, and a quivering smile on her lips. “Oh, dear, I trust you’re uninjured?” She held a hand out to assist him up. Sebastian took her fingers and pulled her down atop him. She landed with a squeal on him, her luscious dark brown hair a silken curtain about them. She swatted at him. “Oh, that wasn’t well done.” She propped her elbows upon his chest and laid her chin in her hand. “There is something I would say to you, Sebastian.”

He shifted her sideways, upending her resting position. “Is it a request for me to make love to you again?” He palmed her breast.

“Er…well, no.” She paused. “Though I suppose I would be willing to again.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare force such a chore upon you,” he pledged solemnly and dropped a kiss upon her breast.

“N-no ch-chore, really. B-but…” Her lids fluttered closed. “Oh, dear, I-I d-do struggle to think w-when you do that.”

“Then don’t think,” he whispered. He slipped a hand between their bodies and caressed her downy thatch once more.

“B-but th-there is something I really would…should say.”

Sebastian gently rolled her under him. He wedged a knee between her legs and parted them, then lay between her warm, welcoming thighs. “What is it?”

“I-I’m…that is to say…” She moaned as he pressed into her once more. “I’m with child.”

He froze, unblinking. A loud humming filled his ears. He wasn’t one of those old, deaf dukes, yet it had sounded remarkably like…

“A babe. A child. A bairn.”

Yes, that is indeed what she’d said. Sebastian surged to his feet. He hurriedly stuffed himself inside his breeches.

She shoved up onto her elbows. “Sebastian?”

He jabbed a finger. “By God, Hermione, why didn’t you tell me? I could have hurt you.” With something akin to horror, he picked her up and ran his hands over her arms. Christ, he’d yanked her down from the sofa and—

She rolled her eyes. “Sebastian, I am not broken. I’m merely with child.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “How?”

“Oh, the usual way,” she said dryly. Then, her smile slipped. “I imagine the night you…” She colored.

The night he’d left. His heart tightened amidst the shame battering at his insides.

“Are you not pleased? I’d thought…” Her words trailed off.

Ah, God, how could she still not realize? He had been nothing before her. His happiness, his sole reason for living was intrinsically tied to her happiness. She made him want to be a better man for her, because of her… Sebastian swept her into his arms. “If I were more poetic with words, wife, I would be able to convey that I’m elated.” He kissed her lips. “Thrilled.”

Hermione laughed. “More joyous than if the king had given you sole right to the sun, moon, and stars?”

“What need have I of the sun, moon, and stars when at last I have everything I should ever need?”

She tilted her head back to receive his kiss. “And what is that?”

“Your love.”

E
pilogue

T
he carriage hit another bump. Hermione winced.

Her husband trained a glower on her. “I daresay this was a horrendous decision. You shouldn’t be in a carriage.”

She sighed. It would seem in addition to walking, dancing, and climbing stairs, she could now add riding in a carriage to all the activities forbidden by her overprotective husband. If she didn’t realize it was merely born of love, she’d have clouted him over the head long ago.

Another bump.

Another wince.

And another black glare.

“I want you to meet my sister,” she said.

“As do I, but not at the expense of you or the babe.”

Hermione drew back the curtain and peered at the passing countryside. It was indeed going to be a long seven months. Very long.

The carriage hit another nasty bump in the road and Sebastian cursed.

Hermione let the curtain go and it fluttered back into place. “Do tell me, husband, what activities are permissible for someone in my hobbled condition?”

On the opposite bench he bristled with annoyance. “There are any number of activities. Why…” He opened his mouth and then closed it.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

“Or…”

“You didn’t provide a first. An ‘or’ requires something before it.”

His mouth flattened with annoyance and he reached for the folded package on the seat beside him.

Warmth unfurled through her belly at his thoughtfulness. “You’ve given me a gift.” No one had given her anything since before her life had been flipped upside down more than ten years ago.

“It is a book.”

Amusement tugged at her lips. “Generally, a person awaits for the respective person to open said gift before revealing the contents of the package,” she said wryly.

He leaned over and tapped the package with an impatient hand. “Open it.”

She schooled her features into solemn expression. “Will it be safe for me to do so? The whole overexerting myself business and all.”

His frown deepened and he reached for the package. “I’d not considered—”

Hermione drew the gift back and laughed. “I was being facetious.”

“Oh.”

Hermione slid her finger under the ribbon holding the satin fabric in place and withdrew a leather book; the slight weight of the volume had a warm, familiar feel. Filled with curiosity, she turned the book over and skimmed the title. She blinked at her last published work, trying to make sense of the gold lettering emblazoned across the front of the volume.

The Earl’s Entrapment

By Mr. Michael Michaelmas

He set her away from him with a scowl. “You have nothing to say?”

She tipped her head, uncertain how to account for the black glower on her husband’s face. “Um, I quite enjoy this story. It is one of my favorite books of Mr. Michaelmas.” Or it had been until her sister had gone and pointed out that she’d become the dishonorable schemer who’d trapped the hero in marriage.

“That is not it.” He draped his arms over the back of his plush, red velvet seat and drummed his fingertips. “Try again.”

“I love you?”

He growled.

“Thank you?”

Another growl, this one more of a snarl really. Oh, it wouldn’t do to tease him.

“I’m sorry?” But it really was good fun.

Sebastian folded his arms in a menacing fashion. “It would seem, madam, that you are merely venturing guesses now.”

Well, that was at least true and having a good time in the process. She held the book up. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me, then as to the suitable response?”

“You promised there would be no more lies between us.”

She frowned, really beginning to take offense with his sharp, commanding tone. This gentleman bore more traces to that stranger who’d challenged her in Lord Denley’s office a lifetime ago. “There haven’t been.” And there hadn’t. The last piece of herself she’d kept from him was the omission of Mr. Michael Michaelmas. She stared down at the book. Yet Mr. Michaelmas had no bearing on their future.

He removed the book from her hands and held it up damningly. “If there are no more lies, Hermione, then what is this?”

Ah, so this was that harsh, imperious tone adopted by dukes which had young ladies quaking. Not that she was quaking. She wasn’t.

“Hermione,” he barked.

She made another grab for the beloved volume. “That is a book, Sebastian.
The Entrapped Earl
,” she pointed out. His eyebrows dipped menacingly. “Do you have a problem with the title?” She’d found it to be one of Mr. Werksman more clever ideas.

“I don’t have a problem with the damned title.” His rumbling voice steadily increased in volume. Oh, well that was something. He tossed the book onto the empty spot beside her. “I have a problem with the damned author.”

The implications of his words slammed into her with the force of a fast-moving phaeton. “You…” She pressed a hand to her breast. This rejection far worse than his opinion on Mr. Werksman’s title. “You hate Mr. Michaelmas?” The whisper was torn from her under the weight of this staggering rejection.

A startled squeak escaped her as he hoisted her onto his lap. “Mr. Michaelmas infuriates me.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t well-done of her husband. He didn’t personally know Mr. Michaelmas. Granted,
she
was Mr. Michaelmas, but he didn’t know that…

Her husband continued in a stinging diatribe and she gave silent thanks that Mr. Michaelmas was a fictional fellow or he’d really be quite offended.

“Mr. Michaelmas is obstinate and maddening and—”

She held up a hand. “You really shouldn’t have such an unfavorable opinion of him.” After all, she was he, and she’d not allow Sebastian to disparage her without justifiable reasons.

“May I finish, wife?” he growled. He dipped his head low and she detected the flecks of gold within the green irises of his eyes. “He is obstinate and maddening and I love him.”

“You love him?” she blurted. All her earlier annoyance faded, replaced with a rapidly spreading joy, similar to the moment he’d first conceded his enjoyment with
The Bitterest Baron’s Bittersweet Love
.

He closed his eyes a moment and his lips moved silently in what she believed was prayer. “I love
you
, you daft woman.” Then the anger seemed to drain out of him. “I know, Hermione.” He spoke so softly she very nearly didn’t hear. As it was—

She blinked. “You know?”

He nodded.

She touched her fingers to her mouth. “You know.” Her mind stalled and then quickly spun wildly as she tried to sort through his admission.

“I know.” He spoke with such a gentleness tears flooded her eyes. Where was the censure, the angry disapproval?

“How?” No one knew. No one but…a likely eleven-year-old traitor. She shook her head. “You needn’t worry, Sebastian, I’ve not lied to you. I did not confess to being Mr. Michaelmas because I did not intend to write as him anymore.” Even though her fingers would forever ache with the desire to pick up a pen and create another story of another tortured couple and their ultimate triumph in the face of great tribulations.

“You said there were to be no more lies.”

She shoved away from him, running a gaze over his face. “And there were none.”

He drew in a breath and collapsed back in his seat. “You believe this is about my being displeased by your writing?”

A tear slid down her cheek. “It isn’t?” She brushed it away.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I swear you’re likely the most infuriating woman in all the kingdom.” His hands fell to his side. The dark glower was back in place. “Do you truly believe I would make you stop writing?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t believe that.”

He appeared flummoxed. “Then why?”

“I believe any gentleman who promises me the sun, moon, and stars would allow me to write, and I’d not force that upon you. I know if I wanted to continue writing as Mr. Michaelmas you would let me because that is the kind of gentleman you are and—”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Sebastian?”

“Shut up.” He also happened to be
that
manner of gentleman. He kissed her. Hard. The manner of kiss that curled her toes and warmed her belly. She twined her arms about his neck, having missed the feel of him, having missed all of him. He trailed kisses down the corner of her mouth, lower. “You are not to stop writing.” He nipped the sensitive flesh of her neck. “Is that clear, love?”

Her head fell back of its own volition and a breathless moan escaped her. “Quite clear.”

“Good.” He ceased his tender ministrations so abruptly she blinked in confusion. “Here.” He slapped something hard and heavy into her hand.

She looked at the wrapped gift.

“Open it,” he commanded.

Hermione alternated her stare between Sebastian and the gift and then unfastened the ribbon. Her heart thudded to a halt. She trailed her finger over the gold lettering.

Her Charming Duke

By Mr. Michael Michaelmas

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

He touched a hand to her cheek and with the pad of his thumb, brushed away a teardrop. Then another. And another. “It is for you, Hermione. I told you I wanted all of you. I want the aggravating parts, the loyal parts; I want your smile and laugh. I want Mr. Michaelmas.”

Hermione touched her nose to his. “Do you know what, Sebastian?”

He searched her face. “What is that?”

“I shall leave the world to its dark, brooding, and nefarious dukes.” She framed his face between her hands. Their breath mingled as one. “I want nothing more than my charming duke.”

The End