“Enter yer room, lass, and await me there.” His voice dropped to a low, rough purr, and the sound sent heat rushing through her.
“Wait for you?”
“Aye.” His grin widened, a roguish gleam lighting his eyes as he stepped back. “A gentleman might spare a tipsy lady... but lucky for ye, I’m not a gentleman.”
Chapter thirteen
"An angel’s wings may soar, but a wife’s feet must remain firmly planted on the earth, lest she lose the strength to walk beside her husband." From The Polite Companion: A Lady’s Guide to Social Grace
Anne caressed Inês’ soft, downy head of white-blond hair as her daughter suckled at her breast. Light from the hearth flickered over Pedro’s form as he laid Pedro II into the cradle with a deliberate tenderness that always made Anne’s heart squeeze. His golden skin glowed in the firelight, and his hair, loose and radiant, cascaded down the side of his face, brushing against his broad shoulder. A familiar warmth unfurled in her chest at the sight—pride, love, and that thrill she felt in the presence of her ruthless warrior.
Inês’ mouth slowed, then went slack. Anne traced her rosy cheeks, smiling as Pedro took the baby from her arms. He cradled Inês with practiced ease, his brows softening and a shadow of a smile ghosting over his lips. The moment was as fragile and perfect as glass.
The room held a serene silence as Pedro placed Inês beside her brother, their tiny forms nestled together under a quilt. The soft, even breaths of their children were a balm, and Anne savored the rare closeness of having all her loves under one roof. The air smelled faintly of the rosemary oil she had dabbed onto the crib’s edge, mingling with the smoky undertone of the hearth.
Anne reclined against the pillows, feeling the day’s weariness melt as Pedro turned to her. She met his gaze, a thrill sparking in her as his expression shifted from fatherly devotion to an unmistakable hunger.
Pedro settled behind her on the bed, his solid frame pressing against her back. His lips traced the slope of her neck, leaving a scorching path down to her collarbone and between her breasts. The heat of his mouth contrasted deliciously with the cool air that prickled her exposed skin. Anne arched instinctively, a deep sigh escaping her parted lips.
“It’s time to stop breastfeeding the twins,” Pedro murmured, his voice husky and warm, brushing her skin like velvet. He nuzzled the hollow of her throat. “Pedrinho is a strapping boy. And Inês is stronger now.”
He was right, but there was a comfort in this bond, an unspoken tether to the tender infancy of their children. And she sensed Pedro knew that, too. “Perhaps after New Year’s Eve.”
He tugged her until her spine was flush against his chest, and with his sword-wielding hand, he massaged her lower back with vigorous strokes that pulled an unladylike groan from her. His breath tickled her neck, stirring loose tendrils of her hair. Theheat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her camisole, and the tension in her muscles dissolved.
“You have to stop carrying them the whole day, Anne. Pedro weighs too much for your delicate arms.”
Anne smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at the pride in his voice for their little prince. Already, she sensed in the boy all the light that shone in Pedro and vowed, with an ache deep in her heart, that he would never have to learn the same darkness.
“Why do you think Beth was absent from dinner this evening?”
She felt the pause in his touch, a moment of hesitation before his fingers resumed their slow, deliberate path. He massaged her buttocks, and heat coiled low in her belly.
“Is it relevant?” His tone was detached, but she caught the flicker of something shadowed beneath it—a guardedness that only surfaced when he spoke of politics.
“Do you think she and Mr. Sandeman will—”
“We should do all in our power to avoid such an alliance.” His voice iced over, each syllable crisp and measured.
Anne turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. The shift brought her chest close to his, the thrum of his pulse betraying his tension.
“Why?” She reached up, tracing the pleat that had formed above his nose.
“Boyd Sandeman is ambitious. He rose from nothing to one of the largest players in the wine business. I don’t trust him with such power. If he combines with Croft, he will be too big. It is not in Portugal’s best interests.”
Anne kissed the corner of his mouth. The moment his breath hitched, she felt a small victory bloom within her. “Ah, so that is why you so readily agreed to join Griffin here this Christmas. The Duke of Almoster is at play.”
His eyes softened, the glint of calculation yielding, as his thumb brushed an arc against her hip.
Anne knelt by his side, her fingers slipping under his silk robe. His scent enveloped her as she kissed his neck, the taste of his skin making her pulse quicken. She took her time, trailing her lips down slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, betraying the iron control he always maintained for everyone but her.
She brushed her nose against his puckered nipple, then trailed her mouth over his warrior’s chest, taking care to love his scars, accepting all that he was.
Pedro’s head fell back, his eyes closing.
Anne smiled, her lips teasing his navel. “Do you think we can stop love?”
“Ana,” he said, his voice dripping with a warning she loved to ignore.
