The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,159

know.”

Although her eyes remained locked with his, her body stirred, eager, impatient, restless and reckless. Her hands tensed, but she kept them where they were, her arms draped over the pillows above her head, while she debated.

Then she made up her mind and, slowly lifting her arms, wound them about his neck, clasped her hands at his nape, used the leverage to evocatively settle herself beneath him, and smiled.

Cornflower blue glory met his gaze. “Yes,” she murmured and, stretching up, she touched her lips to his chin. “I believe I’m pregnant.” She pressed her lips to his briefly, then drew back to whisper, the words a wash of sensation over his lips, “With your heir.”

She kissed him again—and he kissed her back, the sudden surge of emotion catching them both.

Then she pulled away again, lay back, lips lightly swollen, eyes darkening with desire, and imperiously waved down his body—at his trousers. As he shifted to strip them off his long legs, she said, “Of course, it could well be a girl.”

“I don’t care.” Naked, he lifted the covers and slid beneath—and found her, all silken skin and firm curves, waiting to draw him into her arms. Coming over her, propping himself on his elbows above her, he looked into her eyes, saw her faintly skeptical expression, and smiled. Kissed the tip of her nose. “I truly don’t care—girl or boy, they’ll be the first new bud on our family tree.”

She smiled, then laughed, then she pulled him down to her and their lips and desires met, fused, merged.

And joyously, with open hearts, with minds attuned and souls committed, they gave themselves over to what waited for them—to the power, the passion, and the solid, abiding love that now anchored them.

Their future was clear, the journey defined; as they loved and laughed, they had one goal, one aim, one desire to which they devoted themselves. To which they renewed their commitment with each gasp, with each frantic, desperate clutch of their hands, with each heady, hungry beat of their hearts.

Neither needed any longer to even think of that desire, to shape it with words. It was forged within them and branded on their souls.

They would create a family of their own.

They would fill their house with their children, and work to draw in and encourage their siblings, to build the network of uncles, aunts, and cousins to form the branches and twigs of a healthy family tree.

They would reinvigorate and revitalize and reestablish the Cavanaughs.

Soaring on cataclysmic sensation, they raced, then flew, then tumbled from the peak, spiraling through ecstasy, riding the surging tide.

Hands locked, fingers entwined, in that moment when their hearts beat as one, they breathed in and, from beneath heavy lids, met each other’s eyes.

They would do all that, and then take it further.

Into the future.

Breaths mingling, they held tight to the moment, to the promise in each other’s gazes, then their lips touched, brushed, in a wordless vow. Together they had so much strength, so much passion. So much they could bring to, could devote to, the task.

Family. Forever.

There was no greater, no more satisfying goal.

Epilogue

August, 1837

Somersham Place, Cambridgeshire

The Cynsters gathered that summer, as they had for the past seventeen years, to celebrate the bounties the year had brought. The weddings, the connections, the children—as always especially the latter. To welcome, to give thanks for, to appreciate all the blessings being such a large, well-anchored, and fruitful family had wrought.

Honoria, Duchess of St. Ives, hostess and chief instigator of the gathering, stood on the porch of the sprawling mansion that was her home and surveyed the sea of heads dotting the lawns with deep satisfaction. “For the first time in a very long time—since the triple wedding, I think, and that was in ’29—every last one of us is here.”

Standing beside Honoria, Patience Cynster smiled. “You can thank Henrietta, and even more, Mary, for that. Their timing really was impeccable. With two weddings to attend in such quick succession, and then the death of the king, and Victoria’s ascension, all those who traveled from a distance for the weddings had no chance even to ponder going home before the timing made it too tempting to remain for this event.”

“Indeed.” Catriona strolled along the porch to join them, Phyllida and Alathea ambling beside her. “As one of the second furthest-flung party, while I hadn’t planned on being away for so long, I’m grateful Mary and her Ryder kept us here. If they hadn’t, we would have been in