“Ela!” He carefully removed the baby from her arms.
“Something isn’t right.” She gasped and arched back on the bed as pain knifed her lower back. She might not remember everything, but this . . .
It had not been like this the last time. Of that she was absolutely certain.
“What is wrong?” Colin demanded of the midwife as he cradled their son. “Is this normal? Is this—”
Ela cried out again. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want anyone to fret, but this was as bad as the labor itself. It shouldn’t still hurt like this.
She met Colin’s eyes. He looked beautiful holding their son, and her heart clenched. Could she be dying? Could she be leaving them both now? Leaving Clara?
The midwife pressed and felt her drum-tight abdomen and then examined between her legs. Ela peered down at her, reading her anxious expression and trying to comprehend what was happening.
“What is it?” Colin demanded, his voice hard and panicked. She’d never heard such a tone from him before.
Their son began to cry, his plaintive wails filling the air over Mrs. Silver’s voice as she feverishly spoke to Mrs. Wakefield, her voice too low for Ela to comprehend.
She dropped her head back on the bed, a keening moan ripping from her as the pain in her back spread over her hips to seize hold of her stomach.
Colin called to her between shouting at the midwife and Mrs. Wakefield.
Mrs. Silver lifted up from between her thighs, a perplexing smile on her face that was in direct contrast to the pain and fear that held Graciela hostage. “My lady, it appears your work here is not done.”
She raised her head off the bed. “What?”
“You’ve one more baby to deliver.”
Garbled speech escaped Colin, his expression almost comical for all its astonishment.
She looked from his eye-bulging face to the midwife. “You cannot be serious!”
Mrs. Silver nodded. “Indeed I am. I missed the second heartbeat. My apologies, but I should have suspected. You were a little large.” She stopped and directed Mrs. Wakefield for more fresh towels and water. The housekeeper quickly turned to the maid standing behind her, sending her to fetch more supplies.
Mrs. Silver continued, “There’s also a greater amount of multiples born to women of your age.” She shook her head, still grinning madly. “Not sure the reason behind it. I always thought it was God’s last gift to women who were unlikely to bear more children . . . or his sense of humor.” She chuckled.
Ela shook her own head and moaned, “This cannot be happening. I don’t think I can do it again.”
“Oh, you can. And you are.”
The maid returned with the needed materials.
Ela turned to Colin and reached for his hand. “Colin.”
He shook his head as though coming out of a stupor. “Ela.” A slow smile spread across his face.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Silver proclaimed. “I can see the head.”
The head. Another baby.
She struggled around this new reality. All these months she had struggled with the notion that she could even have another child. Now she was having two.
“Can you give me another push, my lady?”
She shook her head, quite exhausted, but then she looked at Colin and saw him holding their son. He nodded encouragingly at her. Her heart swelled with fresh love. She had to do this. She had to bring their remaining family into the world.
She rose up, gripped her knees and pushed.
Her third child was born, howling possibly even louder than the last one she’d just brought into the world.
“Another boy!” Mrs. Silver cried.
Two boys? Two sons? Sobbing in joy, she looked at Colin . . . only to see he was crying, too.
Mrs. Wakefield took the second baby as the midwife tended to Ela. Colin sank down beside her, placing their firstborn son in the cradle of her arm. Soon their second son was placed in her other arm, tucked into her side.
Colin leaned over and pressed gentle kisses on each of their boys before turning and pressing a slow, tear-laced kiss to her lips. “I love you, my beautiful wife.”
Epilogue
Three months later . . .
Graciela eased out of the nursery, shutting the door carefully behind her and releasing a sigh at the blessed silence, however short-lived it would be. She had just placed Nicholas down beside his brother for a much-needed nap. Unlike James, who cherished his sleep and could hardly be roused even for a feeding, Nicholas fought it, preferring to stay awake, his wide eyes watching the world as though fearful he might miss something.
Turning, she strolled down the corridor, grateful for the quiet and hoping it lasted long enough for her to catch a moment alone with Colin. She knew she could leave the care of the babies to servants, and while she did often accept their help—sometimes exhaustion demanded it—she was there for the babies as much as possible. She wanted it that way. She had not known a life such as this could be hers and she did not intend to let a moment of it go by unappreciated.
“Ah, my lady, there you are,” Minnie called out, rounding the corner. “This letter just arrived for you. It bears the Duke of Autenberry’s mark. I knew you would want it at once.”
Her heart leapt. She had not heard from her stepson since he discovered the truth of her affair with Colin. She’d sent letters to all their various properties, detailing the news of her marriage, hoping at least one of the missives would reach Marcus.
With a hurried thank you, she eagerly accepted the envelope and tore into it as hope beat hard in her chest.
Colin assured her Marcus would forgive them and come home eventually. She hoped this would be the evidence of that.
Her fingers fumbled as she unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned Marcus’s bold scrawl. The missive was short. To the point, but no less shocking. Gasping, she let it drop from her fingers. Lifting her skirts, she raced to find Colin, eventually locating him in the library.
He looked up as she burst inside the room.
“Colin,” she finally cried breathlessly, coming to a stop. “Marcus sent word.”
He rose from behind the desk swiftly and approached, concern knitting his forehead. “Is everything all right? Is he well?”
She nodded and swallowed as she fought for air. “He is. At least I think so. He’s coming home.”
Colin clasped her arms and squeezed warmly. “There now. That’s brilliant news. I told you he would come around.”
She shook her head, smiling uncertainly. “He’s not coming home alone.” She cleared her throat. “He’s bringing a woman with him.”
“Is he now?” Colin’s expression reflected his surprise. “Well. That is . . . interesting.”
She nodded, her heart still pounding. “Indeed. He says she’s his wife.”
About the Author
SOPHIE JORDAN grew up in the Texas hill country where she wove fantasies of dragons, warriors, and princesses. A former high school English teacher, she’s the New York Times, USA Today, and internationally bestselling author of more than twenty novels. She now lives in Houston with her family. When she’s not writing, she spends her time overloading on caffeine (lattes preferred), talking plotlines with anyone who will listen (including her kids), and cramming her DVR with anything that has a happily ever after. You can visit her online at www.sophiejordan.net.
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By Sophie Jordan
The Rogue Files Series
The Scandal of It All
While the Duke Was Sleeping
The Devil’s Rock Series
Fury on Fire
Hell Breaks Loose
All Chained Up
Historical Romances
All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue
A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin
How to Lose a Bride in One Night
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bsp; Lessons from a Scandalous Bride
Wicked in Your Arms
Wicked Nights With a Lover
In Scandal They Wed
Sins of a Wicked Duke
Surrender to Me
One Night With You
Too Wicked to Tame
Once Upon a Wedding Night
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
the scandal of it all. Copyright © 2017 by Sharie Kohler. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-246363-0
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-246362-3
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HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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