Marrying Winterborne

“I hope it will make her happy,” she said.

Rhys unfolded his arms and approached her slowly. Warm September light, the color of ripe lemons, poured through the glasshouse panes and slid over his dark hair. “Speaking from experience,” he said, taking her waist in his hands, “the success will make Pandora very happy at first. But eventually she’ll become lonely, and realize there’s more to life than financial gain.”

Smiling, Helen reached her arms around his neck. “Were you lonely, before you met me?”

Her husband stared down at her, his gaze a simmering dark caress. “Aye, as any man would be, trying to live each day with half his soul missing.” Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers in repeated strokes, settling deeper each time until the kiss had turned deep and yearning. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured when their lips parted.

Her eyes widened as she felt his hand at her breast. “It’s time for lunch.”

“You’re my lunch.” Rhys bent to kiss her again, and she twisted in his arms with a breathless laugh.

“I can’t . . . no, really . . . I’m going to see Garrett Gibson for tea.”

“You had tea with her the other day,” he said, kissing her neck. “I need you more.”

“It’s not actually for tea. That is, we might have tea, but that’s not the purpose of the visit. You see . . .” Helen paused and blushed as she continued uncertainly. “I have . . . symptoms.”

His head jerked up with startling suddenness. Frowning, he asked, “Are you not well, cariad?”

Touched by his instant concern, Helen stroked his nape soothingly. “I’m quite well.”

His intent gaze raked over her. “Then why—” He broke off as a thought occurred to him, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if he’d forgotten how to speak.

Helen rather enjoyed his dumbfounded reaction. “We won’t know for certain until Dr. Gibson confirms it,” she said, lacing her fingers into his vibrant black hair. “But I think by next spring, we’ll have another addition to the Winterborne family.”

Rhys pulled her close, hunching over her to bury his face against the soft curve of her neck and shoulder. He sounded shaken. “Helen. Helen, my treasure . . . what can I do for you? What do you need? Should you be standing on this hard floor? You’re wearing a corset—won’t it squash the baby?”

“Not this early,” she said, tenderly amused and a bit surprised as she felt a tremor run through him. “There’s no need to be anxious. I’ll manage this new project brilliantly, I promise. The baby and I will both be strong and healthy.”

Rhys drew back until his face was over hers, his breath rushing against her lips with peppermint coolness. “I’ll need your word on that,” he said huskily. “Because you’re my entire world, cariad. My heart only beats as an echo of yours.”

“Don’t doubt it for a moment, my dearest love.” Standing on her toes, Helen touched her lips to his. “After all . . . I am a Winterborne.”