As he looked down into his daughter’s tiny face, he knew that here was another stubborn female to trouble his peace. The baby yawned without opening her eyes and settled to sleep. Jonas’s heart lurched with an astonishingly powerful tug of love. He’d protect this child as long as he lived.
“You’re both beautiful.” When he leaned down to kiss his wife, Sidonie stroked his scarred cheek. The caress had become so familiar, he hardly noticed it anymore, although the first time she’d touched his scars without revulsion it had moved him so deeply, it nigh broke his heart.
“You’ve had a terrible day, haven’t you?”
He laughed softly and turned his head to kiss her hand. The ruby signet ring glinted in the lamplight. The sight of his ring on her hand always filled him with satisfaction. She was his heart’s blood after all. “I suspect yours was worse.”
“I’m not sure.” She spoke quietly so as not to wake the baby. “At least I was busy.”
“You were, at that.” He looked down at his daughter again. “With good purpose.”
“I’m rather proud of myself.”
Jonas kissed her again. “So you should be. She’s quite the masterpiece.” His voice lowered. “I love you, Sidonie.”
She stared at him, her eyes glowing. “I love you, Jonas.” She blinked. “Curse these tears. I hoped once I had the baby, I wouldn’t be such a watering pot.”
Very carefully, Jonas perched on the edge of the mattress, never shifting his gaze from his wife and child. Who would think he’d turn into a family man? Who would think love could transform a life as barren as his? Sidonie had created a miracle when she arrived in his life—turned a desert into a lushly flowering oasis. He’d never been so happy as he’d been since she’d forced her way into his house last February and fought for her love.
He thanked God every day for difficult women.
“Have you thought about names?”
She contemplated the baby with a tenderness that made him ache. “Of course. Haven’t you?” Her eyes glinted with teasing humor as she looked up. “Richarda? Camdenette?”
“No.” Although among the rich threads in this new life was the privilege of calling fine men like Camden Rothermere and Richard Harmsworth his friends. “And not Roberta.”
When it became apparent that Roberta’s offer to stay and care for Sidonie during her pregnancy translated into a return to the gaming tables, Jonas had denied her room in Merrick House. Roberta had retired in high dudgeon to her villa in Richmond, where apparently she now dazzled a rich merchant. Over the last months, she and Sidonie had re-established a frail connection that he hoped, for his wife’s sake, would strengthen over the years. As far as he was concerned, he and Roberta would never be friends, but he wished her well. As long as she didn’t intrude into his life, he was happy to let her go to hell her own way.
Sidonie muffled a huff of laughter. “Not Roberta.” She paused and her expression sobered. “I thought we’d call her Consuela after your mother.”
The breath wedged in his throat. One by one, Sidonie healed his old injuries. Now she healed another. He tried to smile but was too moved to succeed. “That’s… that’s perfect, bella.”
To prove his true birthright, Sir Richard Harmsworth must steal a medievel relic—now in the hands of the beautiful, scholarly Genevieve Barrett who hates nothing more than a thief…
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A Rake’s Midnight Kiss.
Chapter One
Little Derrick, Oxfordshire, September 1827
Damnation!”
A loud thud followed by a low masculine curse stirred Genevieve from deep sleep. Even then she needed a few seconds to realize she was slumped over her work table in the vicarage library, her candles had gone out, and the only light in the room was the dying fire. By that low glow, she watched a dark shape below the windowsill lengthen and rise until she recognized a man’s form blocking faint starlight from outside.
Choking fear held her motionless. Fear and outrage. How dare anyone break into her home? It felt like a personal affront. Her father was out, dining with the Duke of Sedgemoor at his local estate. She’d been invited too but she’d wanted to stay and work on her latest article. The servants were away for the evening.
The man at the window remained still, as if confirming that the room was empty before he started his nefarious activities. The charged silence extended. Then she saw the tension ease from his long, lean body and he stepped across to the fire. From her dark corner, Genevieve watched him bend over the coals to light a candle.
Blast his impudence, he’d soon learn he wasn’t alone.
Quickly her hand slipped down to the desk’s second drawer and tugged it out, not bothering to mask the noise as she reached for what lay hidden inside. The candle flared into life, and he turned his head sharply in her direction. Genevieve lurched to her feet. As she stepped toward him on shaky legs, she forced a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “You’ll find nothing worth stealing in this house. I suggest you leave. Immediately.”
Instead of reacting with the horrified dismay she desired, the man took his time straightening. He raised his candle to illuminate Genevieve where she stood beside the desk. His face was mostly covered with a black silk mask such as people wore to masquerade balls. Not that she had any experience of such events. “You’re dashed well protected if there truly is nothing worth stealing.”
Her hand steady, she raised the gun. “We live on the edge of the village, as you no doubt noted when you chose this house for your depredations.” A horrible thought struck her and she waved the pistol at him. “Are you armed?”