Someone to Watch Over Me

CHAPTER 19

Having bid the coachman to let her off at the end of the unpaved drive, Victoria walked to White Rose Cottage. The familiar sight of the thatched cottage soothed her, and her gaze hungrily absorbed the peaceful scene. Her small, private world was not as well tended as when she had left it. The ivory and cream rosebushes needed pruning, and the beds of thrift, marigold, and sweet pea were choked with weeds. But it was home. Her step quickened as she approached the small arched doorway, feeling as if she had been gone for a year instead of a month.

There was only one thing to mar her happiness, the image of Grant as she had left him in London. He had refused to kiss her good-bye, and had stood watching with a sullen expression as she waved at him through the carriage window. Amused and touched and yearning, Victoria had almost signaled the driver to stop and turn back. That she had still refused to accept Grant's marriage proposal had clearly caused him no end of frustration.

She desperately wanted to marry Grant Morgan, but was a union between them advisable...or might it eventually end in ruins? She feared he might tire of her someday and come to regret marrying her...and that was something she would not be able to bear.

She badly wanted to talk to her sister, the only family she had left in the world. Despite Vivien's occasional vagaries, she was a worldly, ruthlessly pragmatic woman who knew a great deal about men. And Victoria knew that in her own way her sister loved her enough to listen to her problems and give her the best advice she could offer. As Victoria's heart pounded eagerly with a sense of homecoming, she knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

"Jane?" came a voice from inside. "I hadn't thought you would be back from the village so..." The voice trailed away as Vivien appeared in the main room and stared at the newcomer.

Victoria stared at her sister with a beaming smile. She was struck as always by the sense that Vivien was at once familiar and exotic. How was it possible to love someone and yet never understand her? Vivien belonged to a world so far removed from her own that it seemed impossible they had come from the same family, much less that they were twins.

Vivien was the first to break the silence. "It turns out you were right to refuse all my invitations to come to town. London is definitely not the place for you, country mouse."

Victoria laughed and approached her with extended arms. "Vivien...I can't believe my eyes!" Her twin was very obviously pregnant, her stomach rounded, her fair skin glowing from beneath. Vivien's condition had given her an unexpected touch of vulnerability that made her appear lovelier than ever.

"I'm fat," Vivien said.

"No, you're beautiful. Really." Victoria hugged her sister with great care, and felt Vivien relax and sigh with relief.

"Dear Victoria," she murmured, hugging her back. "I thought you might despise me for the trouble I've cause you. I've been so afraid to face you."

"I could never despise my own sister. You're all I have left." Loosening her arms, Victoria drew back and smiled. "But oh, Vivien...how I hated being you!"

Vivien looked defensive and amused by turns, then laughed. "I don't doubt you were ill at ease, posing as a demimondaine. But I promise you, it was far better than being buried alive here in Forest Crest."

"I very nearlywas buried," Victoria said dryly.

Vivien nodded contritely. "Forgive me, dear. You know I would never have intentionally caused any harm to come to you. If only you had stayed here instead of coming to London--"

"I was worried for you."

"In the future, keep in mind that I'm far better at taking care of myself than you apparently are." Vivien put a hand at the small of her own back and made her way to the worn velvet settee. "I must sit down--my feet ache."

"What can I do?" Victoria asked with instant concern.

Vivien patted the space beside her. "Sit here and talk. I gather your presence here means that everything is over?"

"Yes. The man who tried to kill me is being held at the Bow Street jail. It turns out that Lord Lane hired one of the Bow Street Runners to kill me...or you, so he thought." "Good God. Which Runner was it?"

The story came tumbling out, causing a few quiet exclamations from Vivien at infrequent intervals. To Victoria's relief, her sister had the grace not to appear pleased by the news of Lord Lane's death.

"I suppose he's with his son, Harry, now," Vivien commented, smoothing the skirts of her gown with undue care. "May they rest in peace." She looked up with a troubled expression. "They were both remarkably unhappy men, Harry being the worst. That's why I had the affair with him...I thought a few days of pleasure were just what he needed. But he refused to accept that I could not stay with him forever. Perhaps Lord Lane was right...If I hadn't slept with Harry, he might still be alive."

"But then again, he might not," Victoria replied, surprised and even a little glad that Vivien was having an attack of conscience. It was a welcome discovery that her sister was still capable of remorse. "Don't fret over 'might have beens,' Vivien. Just promise me that you won't ever pursue Harry's son again--the poor boy has suffered a great deal."

"I won't," Vivien said automatically. "If I did, I suspect that Lord Lane would haunt me from the grave. However, I do care for the boy, Victoria. He is so sweet and earnest and endearing. I doubt any man that honorable has ever loved me before. I know now that it was foolish and wrong of me to even consider his proposal. But I couldn't help being swept away by him for a little while."

Victoria reached out and squeezed her sister's hand. "What will you do now? I hope you will stay with me and let me care for you until the baby is born."

Vivien responded with a decisive shake of her head. "I'll go to Italy, I think. I have many friends there, and I have need of some amusement after the past month. Besides, there is a particular gentleman...a count, actually...who has pursued me for years. And he's rich as Croesus." She smiled with pleasurable anticipation, all trace of wistfulness vanishing. "I think it may be time to let him catch me."

"But you can't continue to live that way," Victoria murmured, stricken. "Not after the baby comes."

"Of course I can. Don't worry, I shan't allow the baby to suffer in any way. He or she will have the best of everything; you can rest assured of that. As soon as it's born and I regain my figure, I'll find a new protector and figure out some arrangement for the child. Lord knows I'll have servants aplenty to help me care for it."

Victoria was aware of a sensation of heavy disappointment at her sister's words. "But aren't you tired of living as some man's mistress? I'll do whatever I can, and so will Mr. Morgan, to help you find a new situation."

"I don't want a new situation," Vivien said matter-of-factly. "I like being a courtesan. It's pleasant, easy, and profitable. Why shouldn't I continue in a profession at which I happen to excel? And please spare me the remarks about decency and honor...I think there's a certain kind of honor in doing something to the best of one's ability."

Victoria shook her head sorrowfully. "Oh, Vivien..."

"Enough," her sister said in a brisk voice. "I don't care to discuss it further. I'm going to Italy, and that's that." "You must promise me something," Victoria persisted. "If you eventually decide you don't want the child, don't give it to servants or strangers to raise. Please. I can't stand the thought that a member of our family might...well, just send it to me."

Vivien stared at her with a skeptical frown. "How odd. Why would you want anything to do with Lord Gerard's bastard?"

"Because it's your child too...and my niece. Or nephew. Give me your promise, Vivien." As her sister continued to hesitate, Victoria added, "You owe it to me."

"Oh, all right...I promise." Stretching out her slippered feet, Vivien motioned for her to bring a cushioned stool covered in petit point flowers. As Victoria removed her sister's shoes and arranged her feet on the stool, she was aware of Vivien's speculative stare. "You haven't mentioned a word about your relationship with Mr. Morgan," Vivien remarked with deceptive idleness.

Victoria glanced up at her twin's keen blue eyes. "What did he tell you when he came here?"

Vivien laughed and coiled a stray lock of glinting cinnamon hair around her finger. "What little he didn't tell me, I was able to guess. Now, fess up, Victoria...Has he come up to scratch yet?"

Blushing, Victoria gave a slight nod. "He has proposed to me, yes."

"And have you accepted?"

Victoria shook her head reluctantly. "I have a few doubts about the suitability of the match."

"Oh, good God," Vivien murmured, looking at her with a touch of loving exasperation. "You've been thinking too much again. Well, let me hear your worries."

It was a pleasure for Victoria to unburden herself to the only person in the world who truly understood the way her life had been until now. "I don't know if this is what Father would have wanted for me," she said. "I don't know if a woman like me is meant for such a life. Oh, Vivien, Mr. Morgan is such a remarkable man--I can't help fearing that he'll need more than I can provide. We're not similar in character, background, or temperament...I don't think anyone would consider us a suitable match--"

"Then why didn't you refuse him?"

"Because I love him. It's just that I'm afraid we're not truly right for one another."

Vivien made a scoffing sound. "Let's dispense with the nonsense, Victoria. This isn't a question of suitability, yours or his. You're perfectly capable of accustoming yourself to new circumstances...and marrying a man of good fortune, though untitled, is not exactly a hardship." Vivien rolled her eyes and sighed. "It is so like you to analyze a situation until you've made it ten times more complicated that it really is! Just as Father used to do."

"Father was a wonderful man," Victoria said, stiffening.

"Yes...a wonderful, virtuous, lonely martyr. After Mama left him, Father retreated into his shell and hid from the world. And you stayed with him and tried to atone for everything that had happened by becoming exactly like him. You've been living in this same damned cottage, poring over the same bloody books. It's morbid, I tell you." "You don't understand--" Victoria began hotly. "Don't I?" Vivien interrupted. "I understand your fears better than you do. It's always been safer for you to hide here alone than take the chance of loving someone and have him leave you.That's what your real worry is. Mama abandoned you, and now you expect the same of anyone else you might love."

The ring of truth in the words stunned Victoria. She stared at her sister while her eyes prickled with tears. "I suppose..." she began, the sudden tightness of her throat making it difficult to speak. Vivien was right--she had never been the same after her mother had left her. The ability to be comfortable with love, to trust someone with her heart, had been stripped away from her, forcing her to build layers of self-protection that no one could reach through. Until Grant.

But he deserved her trust. He deserved to be loved without reservation or fear, without anything being held back. All she had to do was find the strength within herself.

"It was so much easier when Father was still alive," Victoria said. "I convinced myself that he was all I needed. We kept each other from feeling lonely. But now that he's gone..." She stopped, biting her lip as the tears overflowed.

Vivien sighed and stood with difficulty, reaching into the tiny drawer of a side table to procure a handkerchief. She dropped the linen square into Victoria's lap. "That was two years ago," she commented. "It's about time to carry on with the rest of your life."

Mopping her face with the soft linen, Victoria nodded vigorously. "Yes; I know," she said in a muffled voice. "I'm tired of mourning. I'm tired of being alone. And I love Grant Morgan so much that I can't bear the thought of losing him."

"Thank God," her twin said in a heartfelt tone. "I daresay even Father would say you've done penance for long enough. And while we're on the subject, I'm going to tell you something I've always wanted to say...Loving a man doesn't make you a 'bad woman,' as you always believed Mama and I were."

"No, I never thought--"

"Yes, you did. I have a fairly good idea of the things Father said about me and Mama behind our backs. And some of them were probably well deserved." Her voice turned self-mocking. "I admit, I may be rather too free with my favors. But I know one thing for certain--giving yourself to a man when you love him, as you have with Morgan, is not wrong. Moldering here in Forest Crest, on the other hand, is a crime. Therefore, I'm leaving this godforsaken village as soon as I can arrange it, and I'd advise you to do the same. By all means, marry Grant Morgan--I daresay you could do much worse."

"Somehow," Victoria said wryly, "I had the impression you and he did not like each other. What has happened to change that?"

"Oh, I still don't like him," Vivien assured her with a quick laugh. "Not really. Except...well, it's obvious that he loves you, otherwise he wouldn't have made that ridiculous apology you had required of him."

"He did?" Victoria asked in wondering delight. "He truly brought himself to tell you he was sorry?"

"Yes, he confessed everything and asked for my forgiveness." A catlike smile appeared on Vivien's face. "I'll admit, there was something rather sweet about watching him gag on that apology, simply because you asked it of him. So if I were you, I would marry the man, if you desire to keep from breaking his heart. Or..." She paused as another idea seemed to inspire her. "Or you could come with me! We could go to Venice or Paris...Do you realize the kind of attention that two sisters with our looks would attract? I'll teach you everything I know about men, and...Good Lord, we would make a king's ransom!"

Victoria looked up at her sister's animated face and shook her head decisively. "Ick."

"It's a good idea," Vivien said defensively. "Pity you haven't got just a bit more imagination and fewer scruples."

A stew of potatoes, kidney beans, and chopped greens and onions simmered atop the small cast-iron range. The appetizing scent filled the cottage and drifted out the open windows. Remembering the many times she had made the dish for her father, Victoria smiled wistfully. Her father had never been a great lover of food, regarding it solely as a necessity for the body rather than something to be enjoyed. On the rare occasions when Victoria had made plum pudding, or brought currant buns from the bakery, he had nibbled at the treats and quickly lost interest. The only times she had ever seen him eat heartily, and with obvious enjoyment, was when she had made vegetable stew.

"Father," she murmured fondly, pausing in the task of folding clothes and packing them in an ancient leather truck, "I hope you won't mind that I want to marry a man so unlike you." Grant was a physical man with a strong appetite for life. He would never choose to hide away from the world as she and her father had done. Instead, he wrestled with dangerous, complex, often sordid problems. He saw the worst of humanity, whereas the Devanes had preferred to contemplate only the best of it. And yet...she thought her father might have liked Grant after all, if only to admire his utter fearlessness when it came to dealing with the realities of life.

Humming tunelessly, Victoria went to stir the stew and add a pinch of salt to the pot. Returning to her packing, she began to fold an old knitted shawl when she heard a demanding knock at the door. The entire cottage seemed to vibrate from the force of the blows.

Perplexed, a bit uneasy, she went to answer the door. She stepped back with a slight gasp as she saw Grant standing there. He was breathtakingly handsome, dressed in a striking black coat, black stock, silver-gray waistcoat, and charcoal breeches. The clothes were simple but perfectly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean torso. The vibrant force of his personality struck her anew...He looked large, dangerous, and even a bit irate. However, as Victoria stared into his smoldering green eyes, she felt no fear, only an instinctive desire to kiss his hard mouth and make it soften against her own.

"Hello," she said, self-consciously smoothing her hair, which hung in a disheveled braid down her back. His resplendent appearance made her conscious that she was wearing an old, worn gown, a faded flower-print muslin that was suitable only for chores in the house and garden. She smiled into his dark face, prolonging the delicious moment before she threw herself into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"You took too long," he muttered with a scowl. The statement brought a surprised laugh from her. "We agreed I would stay here a week."

"It's been a week."

"It's been precisely two and a half days," she informed him. "It seemed like a bloody year."

Victoria shivered in pleasure as she felt him reach for her waist and pull her body against his. "I missed you, too," she confessed with a smile. His hand lifted to the side of her face, gently cradling her cheek, his palm hot on her skin.

"Where is Vivien?" he asked.

"She has already left for London. She's had enough of country life. And so have I." Victoria gestured toward the half-filled trunk and the pile of folded clothes beside it. "I was coming back early," she admitted. "I found I didn't have as much to sort through as I thought."

"And our engagement?" he asked with a set face. "Do you have an answer for me?"

"Yes," she said, her voice suddenly catching with emotion. "Yes, I'll marry you...if you still want me."

"Only for a lifetime," Grant said thickly, staring into her small, radiant face.

Her eyes closed as he lowered his mouth to hers, not with the urgency she had expected, but with a slow, searing tenderness that pulled a pleasured respiration from her chest. His lips caressed hers so lightly, playfully, imparting intimate heat and moisture until she pushed herself up at him in a search for something deeper. And he gave it to her, sealing his mouth over hers and using his tongue to reach inside her. She moaned and responded eagerly, unable to get close enough to his hard masculine body, unable to hold him tightly enough.

Suddenly Grant pulled his mouth away and laughed breathlessly, his green eyes filled with tender warmth. "I'll have to teach you patience someday," he murmured, his warm hands sliding up and down her sides.

"Why?"

For some reason the question made him laugh again. "It's much better when you don't go charging into it at full tilt."

"But I like it that way," she said in a provocative tone.

Smiling, Grant kissed her again, her mouth and chin and throat, and murmured his love to her as his hands worked on the fastenings at the back of her threadbare muslin gown. One elbow-length sleeve drooped away from her shoulder, and then the other, and his mouth traveled to the freshly exposed skin.

"If I had know you were coming," Victoria said, "I would have worn a pretty gown and ribbons in my hair--"

"I prefer you to wear nothing at all."

Which was soon to be the case, she realized, as he pushed the gown over her hips and let it fall to the floor. Her chemise followed as he eased the straps down her arms and tugged it downward until it, too, was discarded. She stood before him in only her drawers, stockings, and shoes, her bare breasts trembling as she shivered in the slight breeze that came in through the window. The heat of his hands was startling as they gently cupped the pale mounds, her nipples contracting tightly in his palms. Her breath quickened, and she leaned back against the cool plaster wall behind her. He kissed her mouth, her parted lips, with deep, stroking kisses that somehow soothed and excited her at the same time. She whimpered as she felt him take the peaks of her breasts in his fingertips, pulling, softly pinching. Sliding his fingers beneath her breasts, he lifted the warm, silken weights and opened his lips over one aching nipple. He drew her deep inside his mouth, suckling the taut peak, tickling with his tongue, and she writhed as a delicious throbbing began low in her body.

"Touch me," she begged, gasping as he turned his attention to her other breast, and her hips jerked forward involuntarily.

"Where?" he asked softly, and as she felt him smile against her breast, she knew he was teasing. Impatiently she fumbled with the tapes to her drawers, longing to be rid of the garment. To her frustration, she discovered the tapes had somehow become knotted, and her efforts to free them only made the tangle worse.

Grant pushed her hands away from the tightening knots and kissed her bare midriff. "Don't move," he murmured.

"Why? What are you--" She broke off and squeaked in alarm as she saw the flash of a long spearpoint knife. Before she could move, the blade had sliced through the knotted tapes and the legs of the drawers, and the thin linen fell in shreds at her feet.

"Grant," she said, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual, "that th-thing makes me nervous."

He grinned as he slid the knife back into his boot. "It's proven to be useful on a number of occasions."

"Yes, but I don't--"

"Here, lift your foot." Sinking to his knees before her, he removed one shoe, then the other, and began to reach for the tops of her stockings. He paused, however, his hands sliding to the sides of her hips. "I think we'll leave these on," he murmured. "I like the way they frame your--"

"Grant," Victoria protested, blushing all over as he continued to stare at her. She had never felt so vulnerable, standing before him virtually naked, whereas he was still fully dressed.

The pads of his thumbs passed gently over the tender, almost transparent skin at the tops of her thighs, where a faint lavender tracery of veins was visible. "I'm going to buy you stockings of silk and lace," he said softly. "Black ones. And jeweled garters with ribbons."

Victoria could barely speak. "Let's go into the bedroom," she said faintly.

"Not yet." His fingertips combed gently through the tangle of spicy hair, separating the glinting curls. "How lovely you are."

Victoria quivered, grateful for the support of the wall behind her back as she stood between Grant's spread knees. He leaned forward, kissing her stomach, exploring the delicate edge of her navel with the tip of his tongue. His own breath was coming fast and hard, fanning over her skin in steamy pulses. She must have made some small sound, for he glanced up into her face with hot green eyes.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Victoria?"

She nodded, her wild blush deepening. Though his face was taut with passion, she saw the barest hint of a smile touch his lips. "Where?"

Ican't, she thought in mortified excitement, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. Grant was still, staring at her with a provoking mixture of amusement and desire, clearly waiting for her to make the next move. The tension increased until the very air seemed to spark with heat, and Victoria burned with scarlet color. Unable to stop herself, she reached out with shaking hands and slid her fingers beneath the thick dark locks of his hair, and guided his head to the place she most wanted it. She felt the blazing heat of his mouth cover her, his tongue searching the tender flesh, arrowing to the sensitive bud where her desire centered. Her knees weakened, and she would have collapsed had his hands not cupped beneath her buttocks, gripping and steadying her. Moaning, she strained against the sliding, tormenting delight of his tongue, until she began to stiffen at the imminent approach of climax.

With a suddenness that shocked her, he withdrew his mouth and stood to face her, his burning gaze sweeping over her flushed body.

"Please, Grant..."

He responded with a quiet murmur, fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers. To her astonishment, he did not bear her to the floor, but lifted her in his arms instead, so that her legs wrapped around his waist. He held her weight easily, bracing her against the wall for balance, one arm protecting her from the roughness of the plaster. Her eyes widened as she felt the hard, blunt shape of his sex nudging, probing, sliding easily inside her. She was filled, impaled, her body open and helpless against the heavy intrusion. Gasping in pleasure, she clutched at the backs of his shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft wool of his coat. It felt strangely erotic to be clasped against his fully clothed body, her bare skin tingling from the abrasion of fabric. Hungering for a taste of his skin, she tugged at his black stock and buried her mouth against the damp side of his neck.

"Do you love me?" he muttered, deliberately allowing her weight to press downward, forcing her even harder onto his stiff erection.

"Yes...oh, Grant..." She arched and cried out as pleasure crested inside her, spreading through her in deep, rolling waves.

"Tell me," he said harshly, moving in deeper, slower thrusts that drove straight into the core of her body. She writhed, her legs flexing as she felt the ebbing sensation build again.

"I love you," she gasped. "Love you...love you..."

The words sent him over the dizzying edge of rapture, and he drove inside her with a groan, all his senses dissolving in blissful release. His legs locked, and he stood there holding her tightly, reluctant to release the bounty of silken female flesh from his arms. "Victoria," he breathed, pressing a fervent kiss to her lips, while she struggled to catch her breath.

"Now we'll takeyour clothes off," she said, busily unwinding the black cravat from his throat.

Grant laughed and loosened his arms, allowing her feet to touch the floor. "And then?"

Victoria dropped the cravat to the floor and ducked her face against his throat, breathing in his salty masculine scent. "And then I'll show you again how much I love you." Drawing back, she looked up at him with a hopeful smile. "If you're able." He grinned and crushed a warm kiss on her lips. "I'm not a man to back down from a challenge."

"Yes, I know." And she laughed exultantly as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Epilogue

Although Victoria had thought she knew her husband well, she made many discoveries about him in the first six months of marriage. Agreeing with the general opinion that Grant was not the kind of man to take easily to domesticity, she had vowed to give him as much freedom as he required. She had decided never to render an opinion about his companionship. If he chose to stay out all hours of the night socializing, drinking, and cavorting, so be it. And if he allowed himself to be drawn into dangerous situations, she would try to restrain her criticism. After all, he had been a remarkably independent man until he had met her, and he would resent her efforts to rein him in. And Victoria had no desire to eventually be regarded as a millstone around his neck.

To her amazement, and that of everyone else who knew Grant, he took to married life as if he never known any other kind of existence. He inhabited the role of husband with ease and enjoyment, displaying the kind of devotion that most wives only dreamed of. Instead of carousing at the London taverns with friends, Grant preferred to spend his nights at home with Victoria sharing books and bottles of wine, drinking and debating and making love well into the night.

Grant took her everywhere, to balls, dinners, and musical evenings, as well as prizefights, races, and even gambling hells. He protected but did not shelter her, allowing her to see the seaminess of London as well as its beauty. He treated Victoria as a partner, a beloved companion, a lover, and because of him her life was infused with a vigor and vividness that she had never dreamed of in Forest Crest.

On the evenings they stayed at home, Victoria helped Grant to study and analyze mountains of books on law and theory, loaned to them by Sir Ross. Grant had found that the work of a police magistrate was demanding but fascinating, and offered more of a challenge than serving merely as a Runner. He relished his increased power in settling legal disputes and conducting inquiries, and had begun to accumulate a measure of political influence. That and his honorary knighthood had given him a social stature that far exceeded his previous celebrity.

Victoria, for her part, did her best to find her own place in London society, carefully selecting and accepting invitations from the piles that arrived each week. She consulted with architects and designers concerning the mansion Grant was planning to build in Mayfair, and solicited advice from newfound friends she had made in London. Before long she had also joined ladies' committees in support of charities benefiting reformed prostitutes and disadvantaged children, though it seemed that the efforts of these committees were puny in comparison to the size of the problems they sought to address.

"The numbers of women and children who need help are so overwhelming," Victoria told Grant one evening, feeling discouraged rather than hopeful about a planned charity event. "Even if the committee's efforts are successful, we'll have benefited only a fraction of those who need it. It makes me wonder why we should even try."

Holding her in his arms, Grant stroked back a stray lock of her hair and kissed her forehead. "It's always better to try," he murmured, smiling into her worried face. "I've felt the same way in the past, wondering why I risked my neck to catch one thieving bastard when there were thousands more remaining out there." "Then why did you keep at it?"

He shrugged slightly. "I thought that by taking one criminal off the streets, I might be saving someone in the future. And saving even one person is worth all the effort, isn't it?"

Victoria smiled and hugged him, feeling a great rush of love. "I knew it," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "At heart you're an idealist."

She felt him grin against her ear. "I'll teach you to call me names, milady." Drawing his head back, he kissed her until she had no breath left.

Absorbed in pages of notes on an inquiry he was conducting, Grant barely noticed the knock on the door of his office at Bow Street. "Yes," he said gruffly, resenting the disruption to his concentration.

The door opened a crack, revealing Mrs. Dobson's face. "Sir Grant, you have a visitor."

He scowled in response. "I told you I won't receive visitors until sessions are concluded this afternoon--"

"Yes, sir, but...it's Lady Morgan."

Immediately the scowl left his face. Victoria seldom ventured to the Bow Street office, which was a good thing, considering that it was frequently populated by scoundrels and criminals. However, any chance to see her in the middle of the day was greatly welcome. "For God's sake, don't keep her waiting," he said. "Bring her in at once."

The housekeeper smiled and opened the door wider, and Victoria entered. She was a lovely sight, especially against the drab backdrop of the office, her trim figure clad in a gown of pale pink muslin, its high collar and long sleeves trimmed with rose ribbons. The bodice of the gown was plaited and laced with silk cords that tied snugly over the tantalizing curves of her breasts. Rising from his chair, Grant waited until Mrs. Dobson had closed the door, and then he swept his wife in his arms and captured her smiling mouth in an ardent kiss.

"Just what I needed," he murmured when their lips parted. "A pretty wench to relieve my tedium."

"I hope I haven't interrupted some important work," she said apologetically.

"No work is as important as you." He toyed with the ribbon that trimmed her collar, and nuzzled the soft, perfumed space behind her earlobe. "Tell me what brings you to Bow Street, milady. Do you have a complaint to lodge or a crime to report?"

She laughed breathlessly. "Not exactly."

"Some testimony or information to offer?"

"In a way."

He sat in his chair and drew her down to his lap, his green eyes gleaming roguishly. "I want a full confession, milady." "Grant, no," she scolded with a discomfited laugh, wriggling on his knee and glancing uneasily at the door. "Someone might come in--what would they think?"

His hand slid beneath her skirts and wandered boldly up her knee. "That I'm a newly married man with an itch for his wife."

"Grant," she pleaded, her cheeks turning red, and he laughed, taking pity on her.

"Just when I thought I had rid you of all modesty," he said, squeezing her knee. "All right, then...I'll try to restrain myself. Tell me why you're here."

Victoria linked her arms around his neck, her expression turning serious. "I wouldn't have disturbed you, but...I sent for Dr. Linley today."

"Linley," Grant repeated warily.

Victoria nodded. "You see, I haven't been feeling quite myself lately, and rather than worry you unnecessarily, I kept it to myself until--" She broke off with a wince as his hand gripped her leg with unconscious force. "Grant!" she exclaimed, staring at him with bewildered dismay.

His heart pounded with sudden painful jerks. He found it difficult to speak through a flood of instinctive dread. "Victoria," he said scratchily, "are you ill?"

"Oh, dear, no...no, I'm only..." Victoria paused, hurriedly searching for a proper euphemism, but in her own anxiety, she couldn't think of a single one. "I'm pregnant," she said, her gloved hands rubbing his chest as if to soothe him. "There's nothing to worry about. We're going to have a baby."

Relief began to penetrate the sudden whirl of panic. He pulled her close, burying his face in the soft mounds of her breasts, and tried to slow his breathing. "God, Victoria," he said. He heard her laugh shakily, and she clasped his head.

"How do you feel about enlarging our family?" she asked.

"Just that it's a miracle." Grant turned to press his ear against her heart, listening to the fast steady beat, thinking that everything in the world that mattered was right here in his arms.

"A rather commonplace miracle," she pointed out with a smile in her voice. "It happens to families every day."

"Not to mine, it doesn't." Easing her backward, Grant stared at her slim body, imagining her belly swollen with his child. "How do you feel?" he asked in concern.

Victoria caressed his face. "Impatient," she replied. "I can hardly wait for the day when I hold a baby in my arms."

As it turned out, a baby was delivered to the Morgan household far sooner than expected. Almost a month after the revelation of Victoria's pregnancy, she and Grant were enjoying a private supper at home when Mrs. Buttons interrupted them. The housekeeper wore a strange, almost comical expression, as if something had startled her and she still hadn't recovered from the shock.

"Lady Morgan," the housekeeper said uncomfortably, "a...a parcel has arrived for you...from Italy."

"At this time of the evening?" Victoria exchanged a perplexed frown with her husband. "It might be a gift from my sister," she said. "How wonderful. It's been months since I've received word from her. Is there a letter attached, Mrs. Buttons?"

"Yes, but--"

"Please bring the letter to me now, and have the parcel placed in the family parlor. We'll open it after supper."

Before the housekeeper could reply, a strange sound caused Victoria to freeze. It was a high, mewling wail, similar to that of a cat...or a crying baby.

Grant stood from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I don't think this particular parcel wants to be left in the parlor," he muttered, brushing by the housekeeper as he strode from the room.

"A baby?" Victoria said, dazed, her gaze meeting Mrs. Buttons's.

The housekeeper nodded in confirmation. "Yes, milady. Sent from Italy with a wet nurse who doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, Lord." Victoria hurried after her husband, following the sound to the entrance hall.

Several servants had gathered in the hall to stare in amazement at the anxious, dark-haired young woman dressed in peasant clothes overlaid with a rough gray apron. The wet nurse clutched a wailing bundle in her arms, and seemed ready to burst into tears herself. "Signora," she said as soon as Victoria appeared, and a chattering stream of foreign syllables erupted.

Victoria placed a calming hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It's all right," she said, hoping the girl would understand her tone if not the actual words. "Thank you for bringing the baby here safely. You must be tired, and hungry." She glanced at Mrs. Buttons, who instantly directed one of the housemaids to have a room prepared for the girl. Victoria gestured toward the screaming baby and gave the girl a gentle smile. "May I?" she asked.

The girl handed her the bundle at once, seeming relieved. Receiving the baby awkwardly, Victoria stared into the infant's tiny, purple face surmounted with a tuft of orange-red hair tied with a bow. No one could mistake it for anyone else's child but Vivien's. "Oh, darling creature," she murmured, torn between joyous laughter and tears. "Precious, sweet girl--"

"Here, give it to me," Grant said brusquely, standing right behind her. "The head's dangling."

Surrendering the child, Victoria took the letter the wet nurse handed to her. It was addressed to her, and the handwriting was unmistakably Vivien's. Frowning, Victoria broke the seal and read the letter aloud. "Dearest Victoria, as I promised, I have sent the baby to you, as I am too busy to look after her at present. If you wish, arrange for someone to take care of Isabella and I will reimburse you for the expenses whenever I return to England. My love as always...Vivien."

Turning toward her husband, Victoria realized that the baby had quieted and was staring up into Grant's dark face with round, unblinking eyes. A miniature hand was clasped around his finger, the tiny fingers turning white at the tips from the pressure she exerted. The baby looked impossibly small against Grant's broad chest, seeming to enjoy the security of his firm clasp.

"I didn't know you had experience with babies," Victoria remarked, watching the pair with a wondering smile.

Bouncing the child in a soothing, even rhythm, Grant spoke quietly. "I don't. I just have a way with redheaded females."

"I'll vouch for that." Smiling slightly, a frown still pulling at her forehead, Victoria stroked the tuft of fiery hair atop the infant's head. "Poor little Isabella," she murmured.

"Will Vivien come for the child someday?" Grant asked without taking his gaze from the baby.

"It's impossible to say for certain, but..." Victoria paused and stared at her husband, finding it impossible to color the truth. "No," she said quietly. "She won't want a child around to remind her of the passing years...and she's never desired to be a mother. I don't believe she'll come for the baby, ever."

"Then what's to be done with her?"

"Would you have objections to enlarging our family a bit early?" Victoria asked hesitantly.

For a moment Grant found it difficult to believe he was considering becoming the de facto father of Vivien Duvall's bastard. He had no liking for Vivien, and never would. But as he stared at the small face cradled against his shoulder, he somehow didn't see any of Vivien in her. He saw only the vulnerability and innocence of a child, and he felt an elemental instinct to protect her. "I suppose no one else would take care of her as we would," he murmured, more to himself than to Victoria.

His wife moved closer to him, sliding one arm around his waist. "I suppose not," she agreed with a smile. "Oh, Grant...I knew you wouldn't refuse." She stood on her toes to kiss him. "You never disappoint me, you know."

More than a few sardonic comments came to mind, but as he looked into his wife's sparkling blue eyes, he was too suffused with love to voice any of them.

"Never," Victoria repeated, holding his gaze. "I wouldn't change a single thing about you."

"Well, milady," he replied softly, "that's why I married you."

END