Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

“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.”

“Because you’re unhappy?”

“No.” He gave her a look that said, Isn’t it obvious? “Because lovemaking in a moving carriage isn’t all it’s purported to be.”

“Oh.”

He hauled her into his lap and swept her into a passionate kiss.

“Pauline.” His voice was a dark murmur against her lips. “My heart, my dearest love. We are done with this cab. To do every wicked, delicious thing I mean to do to you, I need a bed. And hours.”

Chapter Twenty-three

There was no denying it. Despite a week’s worth of duchess training, Pauline remained a farm girl at heart. Once again she woke before first light.

Griff lay tangled with her, snoring softly. His dark head lay heavy on her breast. She wished she could let him sleep all morning. After his efforts in this bed last night, he’d certainly earned his rest.

But all too soon it was dawn. She could hear servants stirring on the lower level of the house.

“Griff,” she whispered. She teased her fingers through the dark, tousled waves of his hair. “Griff, I have to go. It’s nearly morning.”