brows.
The woman across the room smiled, a hint of resignation in her expression. “Do not worry, I will not implore you for another session as this afternoon. She did it because you requested it, and I know she enjoyed it to a certain extent, but I was simply an extra on the stage, not a star in the play. Your passion simmers like a hot summer afternoon and all you need in that bed is the two of you. However, I am grateful and will always remember it.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “Of course, you will have to forgive me if I use the future comtesse in my fantasies, Anton. I know you agree, she is incomparable.”
He said softly, “Yes, I do know. I have used that word myself to describe her.”
78
Emma Wildes
Chapter Seven
He she reached for another pastry, Lara couldn’t help but notice the amused expression on Anton’s face. “I’m starving,” she said defensively, then sighing, she conceded, “It is my third one, I suppose.”
“By the time you have this child, you’ll be too large for me to carry you upstairs and ravish you.”
Frozen with the sweet halfway to her mouth, Lara stared at the man sitting across from her at the breakfast table. She stammered, “You also think…that is…I have been praying it’s true.”
His smile was all lazy male grace, his dark eyes steady. “I am a worldly man, though I have never nurtured a pregnant lady before.
However, even if it weren’t for all the other signs, my sweet, you could rest assured I would notice that your breasts are getting larger and more sensitive. How could I not come to the same conclusion you have yourself? I suppose my only question is, why didn’t you say something to me?”
Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, the onslaught of emotion unsettling. “I didn’t dare to dream it. I was afraid if I said something, it would curse my hopes.”
In an instant, she found herself lifted and settled into his lap, enfolded in his arms, his mouth pressing against her temple as he cradled her tenderly. “ Our hopes,” he corrected, whispering against her hair. “I have always been careful to make sure conception did not happen with other women. Perhaps, since I took no precautions from the beginning, I knew in some way how different my feelings were for you. So, you are happy about the baby?”
Incomparable
79
“Infinitely, universally, and joyously happy,” Lara admitted, blinking her sticky lashes.
“It will have to be legitimate. I am Roussel,” he said authoritatively. “I do not run around siring bastards. My son will need my name and one day will have my titles and estates.”
Loving the secure feeling of being in his arms, Lara hiccupped a laugh. “Your son? I believe I would like a girl.”
He grinned, his eyes teasing. “I’ll indulge you and our second child can be a girl.” His expression softened at once. “You agree?
You’ll be my wife?”
“I agree,” she said instantly, wanting to admit she loved him, but not certain how to say it.
“You’ll be French.” He made a face. “Though I certainly have never met a Frenchwoman named Lara.”
“Monsieur de Comte!”
Not hearing anyone approach, the breathless interruption was a surprise. Lara glanced up and saw a disheveled young man, hatless, his jacket stained and mud covering his boots, dash onto the terrace.
In his trembling hand, he held an envelope. “I am sorry to interrupt,”
he mumbled almost incoherently, seeing Lara perched as she was in Anton’s lap, color coming into his face. “But I was told to give this to you at once. It’s about Pegasus.”
“What about him? He won yesterday, Bernard sent a messenger.”
Taking the missive as Lara stood and moved back to her own chair, Anton scanned the contents, the blood first draining out of his face, then two high spots of color coming back to stain his high cheekbones.
“ Diable ,” he said lethally, “what kind of madness is this? My horse is ill unto death, and they suspect
The woman across the room smiled, a hint of resignation in her expression. “Do not worry, I will not implore you for another session as this afternoon. She did it because you requested it, and I know she enjoyed it to a certain extent, but I was simply an extra on the stage, not a star in the play. Your passion simmers like a hot summer afternoon and all you need in that bed is the two of you. However, I am grateful and will always remember it.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “Of course, you will have to forgive me if I use the future comtesse in my fantasies, Anton. I know you agree, she is incomparable.”
He said softly, “Yes, I do know. I have used that word myself to describe her.”
78
Emma Wildes
Chapter Seven
He she reached for another pastry, Lara couldn’t help but notice the amused expression on Anton’s face. “I’m starving,” she said defensively, then sighing, she conceded, “It is my third one, I suppose.”
“By the time you have this child, you’ll be too large for me to carry you upstairs and ravish you.”
Frozen with the sweet halfway to her mouth, Lara stared at the man sitting across from her at the breakfast table. She stammered, “You also think…that is…I have been praying it’s true.”
His smile was all lazy male grace, his dark eyes steady. “I am a worldly man, though I have never nurtured a pregnant lady before.
However, even if it weren’t for all the other signs, my sweet, you could rest assured I would notice that your breasts are getting larger and more sensitive. How could I not come to the same conclusion you have yourself? I suppose my only question is, why didn’t you say something to me?”
Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, the onslaught of emotion unsettling. “I didn’t dare to dream it. I was afraid if I said something, it would curse my hopes.”
In an instant, she found herself lifted and settled into his lap, enfolded in his arms, his mouth pressing against her temple as he cradled her tenderly. “ Our hopes,” he corrected, whispering against her hair. “I have always been careful to make sure conception did not happen with other women. Perhaps, since I took no precautions from the beginning, I knew in some way how different my feelings were for you. So, you are happy about the baby?”
Incomparable
79
“Infinitely, universally, and joyously happy,” Lara admitted, blinking her sticky lashes.
“It will have to be legitimate. I am Roussel,” he said authoritatively. “I do not run around siring bastards. My son will need my name and one day will have my titles and estates.”
Loving the secure feeling of being in his arms, Lara hiccupped a laugh. “Your son? I believe I would like a girl.”
He grinned, his eyes teasing. “I’ll indulge you and our second child can be a girl.” His expression softened at once. “You agree?
You’ll be my wife?”
“I agree,” she said instantly, wanting to admit she loved him, but not certain how to say it.
“You’ll be French.” He made a face. “Though I certainly have never met a Frenchwoman named Lara.”
“Monsieur de Comte!”
Not hearing anyone approach, the breathless interruption was a surprise. Lara glanced up and saw a disheveled young man, hatless, his jacket stained and mud covering his boots, dash onto the terrace.
In his trembling hand, he held an envelope. “I am sorry to interrupt,”
he mumbled almost incoherently, seeing Lara perched as she was in Anton’s lap, color coming into his face. “But I was told to give this to you at once. It’s about Pegasus.”
“What about him? He won yesterday, Bernard sent a messenger.”
Taking the missive as Lara stood and moved back to her own chair, Anton scanned the contents, the blood first draining out of his face, then two high spots of color coming back to stain his high cheekbones.
“ Diable ,” he said lethally, “what kind of madness is this? My horse is ill unto death, and they suspect
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