Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(83)

She laid one hand flat on his shuddering back and touched the other to his hair.

Though her heart yearned to soothe him with crooning words, she resisted the urge. There was no good in telling him she understood, or that everything would be all right. It wasn’t true. She couldn’t possibly understand his loss—the sheer agony racking his body was beyond her comprehension—and everything would not be all right. He’d lost someone who could never be replaced, and he’d been holding in the sorrow much too long.

“God.” His voice was muffled by her skirts. “God damn it. God damn it.”

She wrapped her arms about his quaking shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and embracing him as tightly she could.

They stayed like that as the coach rattled on through streets and neighborhoods she’d never seen before and would never visit again.

Pauline had never dreamed how much a father could love his child—her own upbringing hadn’t given her a clue. But Griff showed her today. If one took every battered hope in a grieving father’s heart and laid them all down end to end—they could stretch across London.

Mile after mile after mile.

Sometime later, emptied of all that pent-up emotion, he lay sprawled with her on her seat.

“Tell me about her,” she whispered. “Tell me everything.”

“She was exactly this big.” He touched the tip of his longest finger, then the crook of his elbow. “Her hair was like little wisps of spun copper.”

“She must have taken after you.”

“My hair is dark.”

“But your beard is ginger when it grows in.” She grazed his cheek with her fingertip. “I noticed it that first day. Did she have your fine brown eyes as well?”

“I don’t know. They were that cloudy blue-gray, but the midwife said they’d darken.” He rubbed his face with one hand. “She rarely opened her eyes while I held her. I don’t think she ever saw me at all.”

“She knew you were there.” Pauline laid a hand to his chest. “She could feel these strong arms holding her. She would have known your voice. And your cologne. You have the most wonderfully comforting scent. I don’t think I’d have ever left Spindle Cove with you if you hadn’t smelled so marvelous. She probably kept her eyes closed because she felt so safe.”

He let out a deep breath. “I was so happy when she was born a girl.”

“Truly? I thought men want sons.”

Her own father had wanted sons. When he received daughters instead, he’d never recovered from the disappointment. He even refused to give them names other than those he’d chosen for boys. It was only by the grace of the old vicar’s pen that she and Daniela weren’t named Paul and Daniel.

“I wanted a girl,” he said. “An illegitimate son would have had a harder time of it. He could never have been my heir, and I would have worried he’d feel lesser, no matter what attempts I made to be a good father. But a daughter . . . a daughter, I would have been free to spoil and cherish. I had so many plans. You can’t imagine.”

She bit her lip, grief-stricken for him. “Oh, I can imagine.”

“It wasn’t just the nursery room. I had birthdays, holidays, outings all planned out. Nursemaids already hired.”

“Had you chosen her finishing school yet?”

A wry smile tipped his mouth. “I’d started investigating possibilities.”

“I’m sure you had.” It eased her heart to see him smiling. Even a little.

He closed his eyes. “She lived less than a week. It’s been the better part of a year. How can it be that I still mourn her this much?”

“I can’t pretend to understand how love works.” Pauline sifted her fingers through his hair, smoothing a touch over his brow. “How many days have I known you? Not many more. And I doubt I’ll ever go a day without thinking of you, even if I should live to see ninety. I . . .” She couldn’t help it. “I love you so.”

His eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a poor time to say it.”

“When would be a better time?” He rose to a sitting position next to her.

“I don’t know.” She knotted her hands in her lap. “Probably never. But I’m not good at hiding these things, and you deserve to hear it. I fell desperately in love with you this week.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. We had an agreement, Simms. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. Vauxhall, the bookshop, those first kisses in your library . . . When I try to understand how it began, I go back and back. I don’t know how it started, I just—” She made herself look at him. “I just feel rather sure it’s not going to end. Ever.”

“Pauline.” He cupped her face.

“Still, I can’t be sorry for it. I won’t be. I know we have to part, and my heart will break. But even if it’s aching, at least I’ll always know it’s there.” She gave him a weak smile. “And the naughty books will make so much more sense.”

His mouth thinned to a solemn line. He inhaled slowly. Then he raised his fist and banged on the coach top to signal the driver. “That’s it. We’re going home.”