Page 61 of Maid for the Marquess

I nodded. “Yes.”

A magnificent grin curved his lips, and he took me into his arms as if I were as fragile as Sèvres porcelain. “Oh, Maddie mine. You’re going to be a mother, and I shall be a father.”

“Does the news…please you?”

“Need you ask?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he stared down at me as if I had just performed some manner of miracle before him. “I am thrilled, my sweet. Elated. I am the happiest man in all England.”

I smiled, pleased to see him so taken with the notion already. “Good. Then I must tell you the other news as well.”

He raised a brow. “Whatever can it be?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

I held my breath, awaiting his reaction, and stared at the painting on the wall behind him, too afraid to look. A hint of dizziness returned, making me sway. A sudden burst of nervousness assailed me.

Perhaps this was too soon.

Or he didn’t return my feelings.

He had married me out of pity, for heaven’s sake. I had been naught but a maid when we met. What had I expected? Oh, what I fool I was to think the time had come to confess my feelings. He desired me, but love and desire were two discrete feelings. Could one be had without the other?

“Maddie.”

His voice was deep. Beloved.

I still didn’t dare look at his face for fear of what I’d see.

“Maddie mine, look at me.”

It was the gentleness in his tone and the endearment he used for me that granted me courage. I tore my gaze from the wall.

And my heart leapt.

Alexander was looking at me with raw admiration. With such tender caring. With love.

“You love me? Truly?”

I was sure my answer was already written on my face and likely had been this last month at least.

“Yes. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

He drew me against him and cupped my face in his hands, hands that touched me with such worshipful reverence. “My darling wife, now you have made me the happiest man in all the world. For I love you too.”

I had to cling to his shoulders to keep from swooning. Perhaps it was my condition, or perhaps it was simply the joyous surge within me.

Alexander loved me.

This man. This beautiful, caring, compassionate, wonderful man. My husband. My lover. The father of this precious babe I carried. The Marquess of Wheaton. He loved me.

“Oh, Alexander.” My vision blurred, and suddenly, hot tears were rolling down my cheeks as I sobbed.

“Why are you weeping, my love?” He dotted kisses over my cheeks, drying my tears with his lips.

I sniffled. “Because I am also the happiest woman in the world.”

His mouth found mine, and we kissed furiously, feverishly, laced with the salt of my tears.

When I was breathless, he raised his head, gazing down at me with dark, glistening eyes. “I shall have to buy you pencils and watercolors more often.”