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Chapter 12
The last few days had been spent in bed, with Simon and Fanny feasting on each other. Admittedly they took long walk in the woods each morning, and they picnicked by the lake daily. But somewhere between those two lovely moments, he or Fanny found a reason to kiss and touch each for the simplest of reasons. Then in the nights… Simon closed his eyes and groaned. Ensconced in the intimate cottage, a warm fire blazing, the very air itself vibrating with arousal, they loved each other for long, passionate hours. Then they would snuggle into each other’s arms and chat or play chess until they grew too tired to stay awake. Last night Simon found an old copy of a poetry book under the bed, and he had been shocked to discover it was he who had usually read it to Fanny.
Simon loathed poetry.
When he told her, she had blinked in bafflement, stared at him for a moment, then erupted into peals of laughter. As he moved from behind the screen, fully dressed for the seventh and final day, the memory brought a smile to his lips. Fanny had accused him of clearly faking a few things to worm his way into her heart. And though he had agreed, last night he had still read a few pages to her. The happiness in her eyes as she listened had caused his damn heart to ache as if he were afflicted with a physical ailment.
Except he did not understand this illness that caused his heart to race and squeeze in the oddest manner. He would be a fool and a man who willfully deceived himself if he could not admit that his feelings were inexplicably engaged with Fanny Fairbanks. He did not just want her physically. He craved her smiles and even her improper behavior. Simply because he liked seeing the happy glow in her eyes.
In the wee hours of this morning, as she had murmured and shifted atop his chest, he’d had the errant thought that having her in his arms like this every night and every morning would make him the most contented of men.
“What am I to really do about you, Fanny Fairbanks?” he asked aloud.
When no answer came, Simon fell asleep again to wake to find that he was alone in bed. Glancing around the cottage, he noted there was no evidence of any food on the table. That meant she had convinced his staff to set them up by the lake again. With a laugh, he opened the door and faltered.
Simon had awoken from his battle wounds only to tragedy. His father and brother lost without him getting a chance to mourn them. His memory fractured. And a feeling of emptiness eating away at him daily. Since he’d been at the cottage, that empty well had slowly been filled up with laughter, comfort, and passion, all brought to him by a very improper but delightful hellion.
The knowledge that something precious had been waiting for him had him taking moments alone for a couple of days to think about the future. What did he want, and why did he want it?
Those precious things strolled toward him right at this moment.
With a sense of shock, he realized his hands shook fiercely. Fanny had not told him he would meet his daughter today. Somehow he had envisioned riding into Penporth to meet her at Colin’s estate. A little girl dressed in a bright yellow dress trimmed with green ribbons skipped beside Fanny. The little girl’s hair was loose and a becoming riot of midnight black curls. Fanny almost appeared shy as she approached, and her cheeks flushed when their eyes met.
He braced himself. “Who is this?”
“Your…our daughter, Lily.” Fanny cleared her throat, stooped, and scooped her into her arms. “Lillian, I would like for you to meet your papa.”
Lily smiled at him, and her cheeks dimpled. “Papa,” she said in a sweet voice.
Ah, God. Simon wanted to weep. The little girl in Fanny’s arm was a beauty. There was no doubt she was his daughter. Though she had the delicacy of her mother’s build and heart-shaped face, Lily owned his green eyes, black hair, and coloring. He felt a wave of tenderness and emotions he had never before experienced. Simon went down the few steps, took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Lily.”
She gave him a toothy grin, and Fanny chuckled.
To Simon’s surprise, Lily lunged from Fanny’s arms and toward him. He jolted forward and caught her.
“Lily!” Fanny scolded. “I am sorry, Simon. She is used to doing that with her uncles. They would catch her and then toss her high into the air and catch her again. She finds it to be great fun and simply assume—”
Her words cut off when Simon tossed Lily in the air.
“Too high!” Fanny cried, looking ready to faint.
Lily did not mind it, for she shrieked her happiness and dissolved into an excited babble that he could not understand when he caught her again. Simon grinned over her head at Fanny, who glared daggers at him.
“She liked it, Fanny,” he said conciliatory. “I do not think too high is that terrible.”
Those blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Their daughter was still chortling and clapping her hands together. Simon cleared his throat. “I…ah…of course, understand our daughter must not be tossed so high again. Forgive me. I am new at being a papa.”
Her glare vanished to be replaced with the sweetest of smiles.
“I will rest over there,” she said, pointing to the spot by the lake where a mountain of food was laid out on blankets.
Simon frowned. “What am I to do?”
“You, my good sir, will…speak with your daughter,” she said softly.
Emotions choked his throat, and he looked at the little girl in his arms who was staring at him quizzically. She seemed to find interest in his hair, for she tugged at a few strands. He deduced at that moment going bald was possibly a part of this papa business, and his nose held equal interest as his hair. “Should you not come with us?” he asked a bit desperately, unable to explain why he felt so unexpectedly uncertain.
“I had her in my belly for several months and then in my arms for two years,” Fanny said with a gentle smile. “I am also starving, and I shan’t be polite enough to await you.”
