The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,98
it all ye like. Read it with yer marquess, for all I care.” He stormed out of the room.
Heather’s chin wobbled, and her eyes turned watery. “Oh, Dahlia! What have I done?”
Dahlia sat on the bed beside her sister and wrapped her arms around her. “Nothing that wasn’t meant to happen.” She fervently hoped so. “Just listen to your heart. The magic will happen.”
It had to happen, didn’t it?
Whether or not Heather ever read the book with Robbie.
Ronan walked in just then. “I was worried about you.”
Heather believed he was talking about her. “Only an ankle sprain,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a day or two, right Uncle George?”
“Yes, Heather.”
Dahlia kissed her sister. “I had better return to my guests. I’ll send a maid up to take care of you.”
She walked out with Ronan and turned to him just before they made their way downstairs. “Ronan, I love you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What brought that on?”
“Other than you are wildly handsome, and I cannot keep my hands off you.”
He stroked her cheek affectionately. “I’m going to remind you of your words as I lure you into my bed tonight.”
“You cannot lure me if I’m determined to go willingly. Desperately. Eagerly.”
He grinned. “Fine. And by the way, feel free to explore my body to your heart’s content. I won’t stop you.” He nodded toward their bedchamber. “I’m sure no one will miss us. Care to...”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, knowing she must have surprised him by her actions. “Oh, Ronan! I feel so off-balance. Every little thing seems to make me cry. I must have been insufferable this past week. And now Heather is overset, and it’s all my fault.”
“It isn’t. She knew what she was doing...or avoiding. Robbie’s back now, and I expect these next few weeks are not going to be dull. They are going to do whatever they are meant to do, and hearts will win out in the end. As for you...” He laughed softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Wretched. You know I am. I’ve been so worked up over this party and now Heather. My stomach is in a constant roil. I haven’t been able to hold down my food all week. Why are you laughing?”
He kissed her with aching sweetness. “Because, my love, I strongly suspect that roil you are feeling is my son or daughter.”
She looked up at him, gaping. “What? How can you be sure?”
He held out his hands, cupping them in the air and glancing at her breasts. “I know your body. You used to fill the cups of my hands, and now you spill over–”
“Ronan! That is not scientific at all.”
“But I’ll wager it is just as accurate. Dry your tears, my beautiful Queen Pea. I think I shall be a father by Christmas, and you shall be the most beautiful mother in the world.”
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE HEART OF LOVE:
CHAPTER ONE
London, England
May 2021
Whatever Heather Farthingale expected to see while in the garden at the break of dawn was not the big Scot, Robert MacLauren, tumbling over the high stone wall of Number One Chipping Way and dropping like a giant boulder onto the decorative wooden bench that stood against the garden wall. “Robbie!”
He did not tumble so much as crash down and land flat on his back atop the bench that was never going to support the muscled heft of him hitting it with such impact. Heather was not surprised when the bench began to sway precariously or when the wooden slats gave an ominous groan and sharply cracked.
She winced as the entire bench collapsed beneath his magnificent body, leaving him sprawled and dazed in all his golden glory.
Well, there was no point denying that Robert MacLauren, captain in the Scots Greys, the Crown’s most distinguished cavalry regiment, was splendid in every way.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, his words slurred as he gazed up at the early dawn sky. “Who moved the bloody wall?”
Well, perhaps this was not his finest moment.
“Robbie, are you hurt?” Heather hurried over to him and knelt by his side, ignoring the dampness of the grass now seeping through her thin robe and nightrail. The sun had barely peeked above the horizon, and she doubted any of the servants were stirring yet.
She’d only come outside to calm her betrothal jitters, especially since tonight was the night of the Marquess of Tilbury’s grand ball, and she would be standing by his side now that they were betrothed.