Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (32 page)

"I would love that."

Kassidy picked up a pale pink gown, then frowned, and tossed it aside. "Not with your red hair."

Mallory touched her stomach. "I feel the baby move almost every day."

Kassidy's eyes glowed. "I can't tell you how excited I'll be to have a baby in this house again. Arrian's children are wonderful, though they are being raised in their Scottish heritage, and rightly so, but this baby will be a DeWinter."

"I hope it's a son. Michael seems to be driven by the need to have a son."

"As was his father." Kassidy sighed. "I was always sorry I couldn't give Raile more children."

"You gave him two."

"Actually, Arrian was the child of my sister and Raile's half-brother. Abigail died giving birth to her, and Raile and I took her as our own daughter. She has been as dear to us as if she had been born to us."

"I would never have guessed she wasn't your daughter." Mallory was quiet for a moment. "Do you suppose he'll come?"

Kassidy knew she meant Michael. "Oh, yes, he'll come, if not today, then tomorrow."

Chapter 34

Mallory moved through the picture gallery, looking at portraits of long dead dukes and duchesses of Ravenworth. She could only wonder at the pride that ran deeply in this family. Had she not seen that pride in Michael?

She stopped beneath a portrait of the present duke and duchess. Raile with the proud tilt to his head, stood with his hand on Kassidy's shoulder, while Kassidy, looking beautiful in a frothy white gown, had a slight smile on her lips.

Mallory moved down the hallway looking at portraits of many generations of DeWinter wives. She wondered if her portrait would ever hang there. She doubted it would.

Mallory had basked in the kindness of the duke and duchess. Raile was particularly solicitous, inquiring about her health as a father might inquire about a daughter. He was an amazing man, and she was in awe of the power he wielded in the village of Ravenworth. But if they respected the duke, the villagers loved their duchess, and surrounded her whenever she went among them, the children holding out bouquets of crumpled flowers for her.

The people had been curious about Mallory at first, but now they smiled at her and wished her a good day when she accompanied Kassidy to the village.

She paused at a huge portrait of Michael and Arrian as children. She looked into the eyes of the boy her husband had been and saw something she had not seen before. Life seemed to pulsate from him, and the smile on his lips was a smile of one who was contented, and certain of the future.

"Our portrait will hang here. Would you like that, Mallory?"

Breathlessly, she turned to see her husband. There was no arrogance on his face, no haughtiness. Was that uncertainty she detected in those green eyes?

"Michael, you have come," was all she could manage to say.

"You should have known I would, Mallory." He took a hesitating step toward her and paused, his eyes looking back at the blank wall that was reserved for his portrait when he became duke of Ravenworth.

"Imagine, years from now, some young wife will stand where you are now standing and look up into your face. She will wonder at your beauty, and her husband will say, 'That's my great-grandmother. Was her red hair not glorious to behold? Was not my great-grandfather the most fortunate of men?'"

Mallory's throat closed off with emotion because the look in Michael's eyes was soft, and she could see love shining there.

She rushed into his open arms and cried against his shoulder. "Oh, Michael, I love you so desperately. And I have missed you so dreadfully."

His grip tightened on her. "Oh, Mallory, Mallory, how long I've waited to hear those words from you. Do you remember that I once told you I wanted something from you?"

She nodded. "I remember."

"I was waiting for you to love me."

Happiness burst from her heart. "I love so much. I never knew it was possible to love this deeply, and to hurt so badly."

Michael's eyes swept her face. "The last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt is you, Mallory. That night you left, I feared I would never see you again."

There was earnestness in his eyes as he paced back and forth, trying to find the words that would make her trust him. "You must believe that nothing happened between Samantha and me. She means nothing to me, and never has. Please say you believe me."

"I have found you to be an honorable man, Michael. If you say that nothing happened between you and Lady Samantha, then I believe you."

"You are wise beyond your years, Mallory. I pledge to you this day, before my ancestors, that I will never in any way dishonor you or the vows we took"—he smiled— "twice."

She searched his face. "Michael, you haven't told me how you feel about me."

"Don't you know? How could you not? I believe the moment I first lost my heart to you was when you thought I'd just doused you with a bucket of water. There you were, dripping wet, your eyes flashing with anger." He took her hand. "Come with me, so we can be alone. We have much to talk about."

At that moment, Raile and Kassidy entered the end of the hallway, unobserved by Michael and Mallory. When Raile would have called out to his son, Kassidy took his arm and led him away.

"I wanted to talk to my son," he protested.

"Not now, dearest. They need to be alone so Mallory can tell him about the baby."

Raile nodded. "You're right, of course. Did you see the way he was looking at her?"

Kassidy nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "Young love, and first discovery, is beautiful to behold."

Raile took her hand and led her to the garden. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining so brightly that it was almost blinding, while birds were singing in the huge oak tree at the far end of the walk.

"There's also something to be said for love that has aged and mellowed, and grown until I don't know where I end and you begin."

Kassidy moved into the circle of his arms. "Oh, yes, my dearest husband. What we have is love in its purest form. This is what I want for our son and Mallory."

* * *

Michael held the door open so Mallory could enter. "We won't be disturbed here." He removed his coat and tossed it across the bed. He looked at Mallory, thinking how lovely and fragile she looked. Her cheeks were flushed, and her flaming hair fell loosely about her lovely face.

"Now, where was I?"

"You were going to tell me how you felt about me," Mallory prodded.

She watched him push a hand through his tousled hair and noticed that his hand was actually shaking. She smiled to herself, knowing how difficult this was for him. But she wasn't going to make it easy. There was no doubt in her mind now that he loved her, and her happiness was boundless.

Relenting, she went to Michael and took his hand. "What, the courageous Akhdar 'em Akraba, who faced dozens of armed enemies and laughed in the face of Sheik Sidi Ahmed, and yet you are frightened of one unarmed woman?"

"Scared? I'm petrified. I've never told a woman I loved her before."

Mallory unhooked her gown at the neck. "I'm glad to hear that. A wife likes to believe she's the only woman her husband has loved."

Their eyes met, and Michael laughed. "You have me just where you want me, don't you?"

She smiled coquettishly. "Not yet." She nimbly unbuttoned his shirt. She wanted to tell him about the baby, but had decided it would be fun to allow him to discover it for himself.

His eyes gleamed as she pushed his shirt off his shoulder and pressed her lips against his neck.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what her soft body offered. When she ran her fingers through his hair, he grabbed her hand. "If you continue to entice me, I'll never finish what I'm trying to tell you."

Mallory moved back and stepped out of her gown, kicking it out of the way. "Some things are better experienced than said, Michael."

His body trembled with anticipation. "You little vixen, don't tempt me beyond my control."

She unfastened the laces across the bodice of her petticoat, and slipped it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet.

Michael came to her, picking her up in his arms, his hungry mouth devouring her soft lips.

"Oh, you do so sorely tempt me, my lady." He placed her on the bed, his eyes raking her soft body.

He looked puzzled for a moment. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered. He dropped down beside her, his hands roving at will over her soft hips.

"I love you," he whispered against her ear. "I love you so much it's . . . like . . . pain."

"I know," she said softly, turning to her back and taking his hand and placing it on her rounded stomach. She smiled to herself, wondering how long it would take him to discover that she was going to have his child.

His lips were hot against her throat, his hand moved over her abdomen, his thoughts were clouded by the satin-soft skin. He paused, frowning. He moved back, his eyes moving from her full breasts to the roundness of her stomach.

"Mallory?"

"Is something wrong?"

He hesitated to mention what he was thinking. He was new at being a husband, but he was wise enough to know it wouldn't be prudent to tell Mallory she was putting on weight. "No, it's just that . . . nothing."

She could read confusion on his face and decided to help him. "I have a new wardrobe. Mine didn't fit anymore."

"Uh, didn't fit?"

Mallory laughed and reached up, pulling him down to her. "My wonderful, innocent husband. Don't you see the weight I've gained?"

"I . . . didn't want to mention it."

Again she laughed and took his hand, pressing it against her stomach. Nature was kind, because the baby chose that moment to kick.

Michael pulled back his hand as if he'd been burned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. With his eyes shining, he touched her breasts ever so lightly, then bent and touched his lips to her stomach.

"My God," he said in a choked voice, "a baby. My own baby!"

He tenderly took her into his arms. He was too filled with wonder to say more.

"I have come to know, Michael, how much this family cherishes its children."

He drew in a ragged breath. "Have you also noticed how we cherish our wives?"

"Oh, yes, Michael, I have noticed that."

He pulled her body against his, reveling in the swell of her stomach that pressed against him. "When next I'm in London, I want to seek out a certain Gypsy woman and reward her properly."

Mallory looked puzzled. "Surely you don't believe in fortune-tellers?"

"This one I do."

He cupped her face and stared into her eyes for a long moment. "This is what I've been searching for without knowing it. You, my dearest love, are what has eluded me for so many years. I looked for you in every woman I met. Little did I know I would find you in the least likely place."

Mallory threw her head back and allowed him access to her lips. He spoke her name with reverence, and she hugged him tightly against her. She had never dared hope this wonderful, complex man would love her.

"Mallory, you will never leave me again?"

"Never," she answered breathlessly.

As he touched and stroked her, she felt every shadow of loneliness fall away. She would never be lonely again.

* * *

It was a cold December day, with the snow falling and the tree branches bending beneath the onslaught of the north wind. But inside Ravenworth Castle, warm fires had been lit in the hearths and there was a bustle of activity as if something out of the ordinary was happening.

The servants worked quietly at their duties, while often casting anxious glances to the grand staircase.

In the upstairs sitting room, Raile handed his son a glass of brandy and smiled because Michael was so pale.

"Babies have been born since the beginning of time, Michael, and this one will be no different."

"I've heard it's painful."

"Of course it is."

"Why did I put her though this?"

Arrian entered the room, her face glowing. She linked her arm through her brother's. "What a wonderful Christmas this will be." Her eyes danced with merriment. "Father, if this baby doesn't come soon, we'll have to have the doctor tending Michael."

Michael moved to the window, still clutching his glass of brandy. He stared out at the bleakness of the day, his face a mask of misery. He suddenly panicked, wanting to rush down the hall and hold Mallory in his arms. She was going to die—he just knew she was. He knew that death often came to the women in the village during childbirth.

At that moment, a cry could be heard, and Michael stood petrified. Raile, knowing well what his son was feeling, went to him, smiling.

"It's a lusty cry. It must be a boy."

Michael took a deep swallow of his brandy. "Do you think Mallory is all right?"

"Of course. Didn't Dr. Worthington assure you many times that Mallory is built for bearing children?"

"Yes, but—"

Kassidy entered, carrying a tiny bundle in her arms, her eyes shimmering with happy tears. She passed her husband and her daughter, and went right to Michael.

"I'm happy to tell you that Mallory is doing well, and she wants you to meet your son."

Michael thought he would feel awkward with a baby, but when his mother placed his son in his arms, he could only stare at the tiny face. There was wonder in his eyes as he touched the soft hand, and he was awed by the perfectly formed fingers.

"A son," he whispered, raising the child to his face. Then his voice rose in volume as he looked at his father. "A son! I have a son!"

Kassidy and Arrian were hugging each other and crying with joy. Raile took the baby from Michael and beamed at the tiny bit of humanity as if it were the most precious possession. "Another DeWinter is born."

Michael hurried out of the room, content to leave the baby in loving hands. He pushed open his bedroom door and went to Mallory.

He was surprised to find her looking so well. Her red hair was tied back with a white ribbon, and she was propped against several pillows.