At that moment, Edwin glanced over and saw that she’d begun to tremble. His face paled. With a few words to the others, who instantly left the room, he came to sit beside her. He poured some brandy from the carafe on the table next to the settee and pressed the glass into her hand. “Drink it, sweetheart. It will stop the shaking.”
“You—you’re plying me with s-spirits again,” she feebly tried to joke.
“We’re married now. It’s allowed.”
She lifted the glass to drink and caught sight of her glove. Her red-stained glove. After setting down the glass, she tore her gloves off. “I have Count Durand’s blood on me,” she said, her stomach churning. “It’s probably on my gown and in my hair and—”
“Yes,” he said raggedly.
She looked over to see him crumbling before her eyes, his shoulders shaking, his face contorted as if he fought tears.
“Edwin!”
“If I had lost you . . .” His breath came in fractured gasps as he lifted his tortured face to her. “I couldn’t have borne it.”
“You weren’t going to let that happen.” With her heart in her throat, she cupped his cheek. “As usual, you’re my Saint George slaying the dragon.”
“I love you,” he said baldly.
He— Had she heard that right? “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
“I didn’t.” His gaze bore into her. “But I was wrong.”
Her breathing grew unsteady. Was this just his reaction to seeing her nearly killed? Fighting to keep the tremor from her voice, she said, “My goodness, that’s the second time you’ve said you’re wrong in a week. Actually, it’s the second time you’ve said it in my lifetime.” She laid her hand on his forehead. “Are you ill? Do you have a fever?”
“I mean it, minx.” Covering her hand, he pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm. “I love you, body and soul. For so long, I’ve lived with a clockwork heart, refusing to feel, because I’d seen what love—or what I thought was love—had done to my parents, and I couldn’t bear to go through that.”
Scarcely daring to breathe, she clutched his hand in both of hers.
“But I was in trouble from the moment Warren talked me into looking out for you. I told myself, ‘Beware, if you let her in, she may destroy you.’ Because deep down, I knew that if anyone could make my clockwork heart bleed, it would be you.”
She swallowed hard, not sure how she liked that.
“Instead,” he said, breaking into a smile, “you made it beat. Hard. With life and joy and, yes, love. You, sweetheart, transformed my clockwork heart into a real one.”
With tears filling her eyes, she said, “Good. Because you deserve better than life with a clockwork heart. And I could never stand for an automaton husband, even one of your exquisite craftsmanship. I much prefer the flesh-and-blood man I’ve fallen in love with.”
He kissed her then with a sweetness that made her heart soar. When they finally pulled apart, dawn was breaking through the window.
“Looks like you were right, last night,” he said as he slid his arm about her shoulders. “Ours is a love match after all.”
She slid her arm about his waist, then leaned up to whisper in his ear, “That was my heart’s desire, so you got it for me. What a clever husband you are.”
And as they laughed together, the sun rose.
Epilogue
Edwin was bent over a table in his workroom, carving a bit of cork, when his wife entered.
“What are you making now? We still have nearly four months until the babe is born. At the rate you’re going, she’ll be able to open her own toy shop.”
Ever since Edwin had heard that Clarissa was with child, he’d launched into creating every clockwork toy he could think of: a trilling nightingale, a dancing bear, a book with letters that sprang up when you opened it, and a mechanical dog that jumped through a hoop held by an acrobat. He had to be ready. This was his firstborn, after all.
He shifted in his chair to look at his lovely wife. God, but she was gorgeous when she was full with his child. Her face glowed and her breasts were even plumper. It was all he could do to remind himself that he must be careful with her. Careful of the babe she carried inside her.
“First of all,” he said, “the ‘she’ will be a ‘he.’ I feel it in my bones.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and you are nothing if not famous for your ability at predicting the sex of a child.”
Ignoring her, he settled back in the chair. “Secondly, I’m not making these for the baby, but for me.” He held up the two carved pieces of cork, then stuffed them in his ears. “Lately, you’ve been snoring.”
She cocked up one eyebrow and said something he couldn’t hear.
Excellent, they were working. He cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that?”
Marching over, she plucked the corks out of his ears and stuffed them into hers. “Thank you for these. Now I don’t have to hear you go on and on about what we need to buy for the baby and make for the baby and arrange for the baby. You’re worse than my mother, I swear.”