Prudence wondered if he could see the radiance in her heart shining through her eyes. If he knew how every word of his dressing-down had fallen like a Byronic poem on her ears. She wondered if she could ever have anything to say that could mean so much, because all she could come up with was, “I—I love you, too.”
He blinked, his features gone perfectly blank.
Then, he seized her in a lightning fast motion, buried his hands in her dark hair, and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with a desperate ferocity.
Prudence surrendered to the kiss instantly. She understood now, what his coldness out on the docks had meant. The reason he wouldn’t look at her.
He had to make sure everything was taken care of before the fissures in his composure cracked, and then shattered. He’d just killed five men with five bullets. He’d climbed a three-story warehouse and, stealthily as a cat, he’d put his deadeye to use.
When the warmth between them kindled into heat, he tore his mouth away, apparently aware of their surroundings.
He put his forehead on hers and they shared desperate breaths as he smoothed his hands down her arms to her waist, splaying his palms on her middle. “I shouldn’t have admonished you,” he admitted in a voice laced with regret. “Especially not after the trauma you’ve had. Christ, all I want is to wipe this day from your memory. To erase the bruise forming on your cheek. To coddle and cosset you. It’s damned unsettling.” His brow wrinkled with chagrin.
She nudged him with her nose. “I want to remember this day forever. I will look back on this as the day you saved my life and freed my sister from the clutches of an evil man.” She smiled, winding her arms around his neck as she clutched him close. “I’ll remember this as the day you said you loved me.”
His arms stole around her, bringing her fully against him, as if he couldn’t hold her close enough for his liking. “I promise you, Prudence, I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives together.”
Though she was still weak-limbed from the panic and strain of her ordeal, she thrilled with a sense of fulfillment and belonging. As if his love strengthened her, lacing threads of steel in the silken feminine fabric of her being. Nothing would tear them apart. Not lies nor doubt. Not villains nor adversaries nor their own wounded hearts.
Drawing back, she looked up into his dear, dear face, and thought she might have seen something of the same sentiment lurking in the silver-blue brilliance of his gaze.
“Did you hear?” she asked, hope and pain catching in her throat. “Did you hear William confess to George’s murder? And to the Stags of St. James?”
“I did, sweetheart.” He flicked his gaze to the side, shadows reclaiming some of his brilliance. “I could grovel at your feet for a decade and it wouldn’t assuage my guilt.”
She reached up and traced the fine divot in his chin with a fingertip. “I would say it’s not necessary,” she shrugged. “But if groveling is what will placate your conscience, far be it for me to stop you.”
He huffed the ghost of a chuckle against her hair as his arms tightened. “All right, my little minx of a wife…I’ll admit I’m new to groveling. How does one go about it?”
She took a full minute to pretend to consider. Not to punish him, per se, but to enjoy the circle of his protective embrace. To feel their heartbeats synchronize as she pressed her head against his strong shoulder. To nest in the one place she’d truly felt alive. And at home.
From the first night she’d given herself to him, a stranger.
“I imagine foot rubs are excellent groveling techniques,” she ventured.
“I imagine you’re right.”
“And long Sunday mornings in bed.”
“Now,” he tutted. “That’s a reward, not a punishment.”
“I suppose, groveling is neither of our strong suits.” She buried a smile in his shirt. “I want to reward you.”
“You are my greatest prize,” he said, stiffening a little as the chaos of emergency sirens and the clattering of horse hooves against the planks shook the docks beneath their feet.
She pulled from his embrace with a weary sigh, drawing her hand down his arm to lace her fingers with his. “This life of yours, it will always be thus, I gather.” She gestured to the warehouse full of chaos, the advancing lawmen, the curious milling crowds. “Whether you’re the Chief Inspector or the Knight of Shadows.”
His eyes glimmered with concern, a frown pinching his brow as he looked toward the approaching tide as if he would send them away. “You deserve more than—”
She turned him to face her. “If I’d have you promise me anything, it’s this. I know you are a hero to many, but you are only husband to me. I will not be your mistress while the law is your wife, and your children will not be bastards. I cannot live in an empty house and sleep in an empty bed and love a man who has been drained empty by the demands of this city.”
“I know,” he said.
“That being said, I’m proud of what you do,” she soothed. “Of who you are, and I’d not change that. I will send you out that door every day. But you must come home to me. I must hold you and love you and make love to you. You must eat properly, and rest appropriately, and find a bloody hobby, do you understand? Something that wastes time, but you enjoy for no reason.”
His smile tilted over to a perplexed grimace. “A hobby?”
She just shook her head. “We’ll have that row later.”
He seemed to accept this with a Gallic sort of sobriety as he turned toward the streets. “I can send Farah and the ladies to come get you. You don’t have to face all this.”
The offer was tempting, but she shook her head, looping her arm through his. “We’ll face it all together.”
Just like they would everything from now on.
As a family.
Epilogue
Four Months Later
Morley lounged in bed with his cheek against his wife’s creamy shoulder, gazing down at the mountain of her belly. He was only half listening as she, stretched on her back and naked beneath the sheets, read a Knight of Shadows penny dreadful aloud, stopping to giggle at a particularly unbelievable passage.
This Knight of Shadows business was certainly getting out of hand, but luckily, he’d recruited a few promising men to take up the occasional mantle. It was interesting to hear the conflicting reports of criminals and civilians alike who’d a chance meeting. Sometimes he was average height, lean, fair-haired and agile. Other times, a dark-skinned mountain of a man, able to meld with the shadows. He was a youth, or mature. Spoke with an exotic accent, an Irish one, or his own on Tuesdays and every other Friday.
He’d kept his word and it hadn’t been difficult for a moment. Their quiet nights together soothed his soul and excited everything that made him a man.
They made ceaseless love in increasingly creative positions, as her stomach became an impediment. Then they’d talk, or laugh, or read until one of them, usually her, drifted to sleep.
Tonight, she seemed unusually restless and uncomfortable, so they’d mounted pillows beneath her knees and he’d promised to suffer while she amused herself with one of the new rash of novels written about his exploits.
Rain tapped on the windows, casting the shadows of rivulets upon the bed. The optical effect lulled him as did the lively rendition of his wife’s voice.
“Oh, dear,” she mocked. “The Knight of Shadows is about to sweep the damsel onto the rooftops and debauch her! Listen to this…”
He levered up, clasping his hands on both sides of her belly as if it had sprouted ears. “I beg you to spare innocent ears,” he teased. “That can hardly be appropriate!”
She threw the book at him, missing on purpose. “Neither are the things you say when you’re making love to me.”
He cast her a chastised, wretched look. “Touché.” Leaning down, he gathered the sheets away from her breast, and then swept them down her belly so he could lay his ear against it and close his eyes.
He loved to lis
ten for the little one, and tonight a slight nudge pushed back against the pressure of his cheek.
His breath caught, and Pru’s did, as well, her hand reaching down to sift and stroke the strands of his hair.
“I was thinking…” she murmured dreamily. “If one of them is a girl…we could name her Caroline. Or does that cause you pain?”
He opened his eyes, an ache bloomed in his chest both bitter and exquisitely sweet. “It hurts to remember, but it would be worse to forget,” he told her honestly.
Honesty had become their default communication, and because of it, they flourished.
“Her loss has become a part of me. I’ll never forget her. But she is a part of the past I can reconcile. With this. With you. And I’d love to give her name to our child. To allow her the childhood she never had…”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” she gifted him a beatific smile, and his heart glowed.
Then stalled.
“Wait.” He sat up and looked down into her eyes with a frantically pulsating heart. “Did you just say them…?”
Her face shone up at him, incandescent with maternal pride.
“I must have done,” she said, pulling him back to collapse against her in bewildered amazement. “Because we’re having twins.”
Also by Kerrigan Byrne
The Business of Blood Series
The Business of Blood
A Treacherous Trade
A Vocation of Violence (Coming 2020)
Victorian Rebels
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
A Dark and Stormy Knight
The MacLauchlan Berserkers
Highland Secret
Highland Shadow
Highland Stranger
To Seduce a Highlander
The MacKay Banshees
Highland Darkness
Highland Devil
Highland Destiny
To Desire a Highlander
The de Moray Druids
Highland Warlord
Highland Witch
Highland Warrior
To Wed a Highlander
Contemporary Suspense
A Righteous Kill
Also by Kerrigan
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
All Scot And Bothered
About the Author
Kerrigan Byrne is the USA Today Bestselling and award winning author of THE DUKE WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. She has authored a dozen novels in both the romance and mystery genre. Her newest mystery release THE BUSINESS OF BLOOD is available October 24th, 2019
She lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with her dream boat husband. When she's not writing and researching, you'll find her on the water sailing and kayaking, or on land eating, drinking, shopping, and taking the dogs to play on the beach.
Kerrigan loves to hear from her readers! To contact her or learn more about her books, please visit her site: www.kerriganbyrne.com
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