Page 101 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“Now then,” Jessamine said, addressing him as though he were a fully grown adult. “What was all that fuss about, hm? You know Kate and you like her. There’s no need to be so fussy.”

“It’s a hard life,” Irene said. “Being a baby. He doesn’t understand the world yet. All he knows is you.”

Jessamine stroked her finger down William’s cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered. “We will always be there for you.”

William’s face twisted. First one side of his mouth, then the other, curled up, until his gums were exposed and he was offering Jessamine a delightful, impish, adorable smile.

“Oh, my darling!” Jessamine glanced at Andrew, her eyes wide and her smile breaking across her face. “My sweet boy. Do you like looking at your mama? Do you know I love him?”

She tickled his sides, then dotted kisses over his face. He gurgled something that could, if one were being generous, be called a laugh.

Andrew took one of William’s hands, and the way the baby’s fingers curled around his own never failed to awe him. This tiny being trusted him implicitly. Perhaps William didn’t love Andrew as much as he loved Jessamine, but that was all right. Andrew could wait until the boy was older, and then they would bond over other things. Andrew would ensure William had the life he never got, and was prepared for whatever the future would entail.

Andrew would never ever treat his son the way his father had treated him.

“Did you see that?” Jessamine demanded in a whisper. “Andrew, did you see that?”

“I saw it,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of William’s tiny, soft hand. “He smiled.”

“His first smile!” Jessamine rested her head against Andrew’s shoulder.

It was a small gesture, but he would never stop taking the small gestures for granted. They meant she loved him, and that was more precious than words.

That, and William’s smile.

Irene and Lady Marwich tugged everyone away so Andrew and Jessamine could sit in this moment a little longer, William balanced on her knee.

“I’m so happy, Andrew,” Jessamine said with a sigh. “Sometimes I think it’s too much.”

“I think it’s just enough,” he told her. “Exactly as much as you deserve.”

“And no more?” she teased.

“You can have as much as you like.”

Her hand went once again to her stomach. “Do you know, Andrew,” she said, her voice hushed. “I really think I will.”

Jessamine stared at her naked reflection in the full-length mirror, her hands going to her stomach. The moment she had first discovered she was with child, she had gone to the mirror, half expecting to see a change. But although she felt different, there was nothing to be seen as yet.

Irene hadn’t started to show at all until four months, so Jessamine expected she would soon start to see a very something.

Or was that the slightest curve above her pelvis? Once again, she ran her hand over herself. Inside her womb, somewhere, was a child. Or at least, the beginnings of one.

Andrew came up behind her, wrapping both hands over her waist and splaying them across her stomach as though there was something to hold. In a way, she supposed there was, even if it lurked invisibly there.

“I hope it’s a girl,” she said, watching his face to get a sense of his disappointment.

But he merely pressed a kiss to her neck. He wore only his breeches, slung low on his hips, and she adored these moments where he did not feel the need to be his usual starched-up self.

“A girl?” he asked distractedly, finding a sensitive spot of skin just below her ear. “Why is that?”

“Because then we can pick out gowns together and I can accompany her during her very own London Season and she can find a husband and… Oh, won’t it be exciting?”

“A little girl with your hair and eyes?” He considered this for a moment, his hands sliding across her skin in the most delicious of ways. “I like the sound of that.”

“Maybe she’ll have your nose.”

“Heaven forbid.”