A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(107)

Slowly … gingerly … easy now.

Bel lowered her sleeping baby to the bedding. She rocked his cradle gently, keeping one palm flat on his tiny belly until his rhythmic breaths told her he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Still she stood there, admiring the tiny notch carved in his earlobe, and the sweet curve of his eyelashes fluttering against a rounded, cherubic cheek. Such a beautiful, perfect boy. Love swelled within her, until her heart ached.

“Duérmete, mi amor,” she whispered. Sleep, my love. When she’d first married, Bel had been terrified by the intense emotions her husband inspired in her. Gradually, with Toby’s patience and care, she’d learned to delight in their shared passion rather than fear it. But nothing could have prepared her for this—the fierce, boundless love a mother felt for her children. There was no controlling this emotion, and certainly no way to separate it from fear.

As she watched her baby sleep so innocently, guarding him with the light pressure of one palm, it pierced her heart to acknowledge that, no matter how she and Toby tried to protect him, no matter how tightly they wrapped him in love—this child would inevitably know pain, illness, danger, sorrow.

But he would never know them at his mother’s hand. Of that much, Bel felt assured. The door creaked softly behind her.

“Only me,” a familiar voice whispered. “Don’t be startled.”

The door clicked shut just as quietly, and moments later, strong arms cinched around her waist. Toby settled his chin on her shoulder. “Is he asleep?”

“Yes, just.”

“Good.” His lips grazed the sensitive place beneath her ear, and the kiss echoed in the soles of her feet. Bel released a sigh of pleasure. He always knew just where to kiss her, to set her knees quivering.

“Lyddie’s down at the stream with the others,” he whispered. “We have some time to ourselves.”

She leaned back against his chest, and his hands slid to cup her br**sts. They were emptied of milk now—soft, and sensitized at the tips.

“I don’t want to wake the baby,” she protested feebly, and insincerely.

“We won’t,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the adjoining bedchamber. “We’ll be very, very quiet.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. He knew as well as she, it was difficult for her to be quiet when they made love. Being in Toby’s arms—it was the safest place in Bel’s world, and the one place she released all her inhibitions. He delighted in making her cry out in bed. Sometimes he made her scream. Oftentimes lately, he made her laugh.

And sometimes, like this afternoon, when a sleeping child was nearby and they needed to be very, very quiet—he loved her so gently, so sweetly, he made her weep silent tears of pleasure and joy.

Afterward, she lay in his arms, breathing deep, labored breaths scented with his comforting masculine spice. The afternoon sunlight gilded the sculpted contours of his shoulders and chest and painted amber streaks through his light brown hair.

“You are beautiful,” she told him.

“Darling,” he replied, “I was about to speak those exact words to you.”

Together they floated in that magic, idyllic space between wakefulness and sleep.

“Toby,” she asked softly, “will we always be this ridiculously happy?”

“Probably not.” His voice was drowsy. “Will you still love me anyway?”

“Yes.” She hugged him tight. “Oh, yes.”

No sooner had she whispered the words than the baby woke crying. A quarter-hour after that, in came Lyddie with tears in her eyes and two scraped knees. Then an express arrived from Wynterhall, bearing news that meant Toby must leave at once … some sort of crisis with the sheep.

Their afternoon idyll was over, the perfect enchantment broken—

But the love remained, beneath it all. Always.