He kissed her, surging for her mouth like a man dying of thirst, because there were no words in the English language that could possibly convey the depth of his love for her otherwise.
“I don’t care what people say. And if they dare to make comments to our daughter about timing, I will shoot them.”
He had never been in a duel in his life—he fought with words more than weapons, the incident in Belgium aside—but he would fight anyone who dared to hurt his family.
Letitia laughed, the sound a bit breathless. “A daughter, hm? You sound very certain.”
“Oh, I am,” he said, finding, strangely, that he was. “A playmate for Iris. A sweet, round-faced little girl with your red hair and freckles.”
“Or a boy with your storm cloud eyes,” she countered. He shook his head, but opted to kiss her instead of arguing. She would see, eventually.
When he was forced to come up for air, he looked down at her and felt his heart swell so big in his chest that it ached.
“I love you,” he said. “And I know that I have already gotten you with child...” He tried not to sound as though he was bragging, but he did not think that he managed it. “But, even so, tonight is our wedding night, and I think we should practice the deed, anyway. What say you, Your Grace?”
Her response was to pull him closer, wrapping her arms around him, and soon enough, letting him inside her until they were both unable to do anything but gasp and moan each other's names, allowing their actions to speak for them.
Later, when they were both spent, and his beautiful wife lay dozing in his arms, growing the tiny seed that would be their child inside her, Ezra wondered how he had ever thought that family was something that he wanted no part of.
He had built his own family, now. And it was the most glorious thing he had ever experienced.
No man, he thought, could ever be happier.
The End?
