Page 43 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

Seven and a half months later…

She was suffering and it was all his fault.

Tristan dropped the glass of brandy his father-in-law had pressed into his hand minutes ago at the muffled scream behind the closed door. The glass shattered at his feet, but he was oblivious. Imogene needed him, but he had been ordered by the females attending his duchess to stay away.

“Tristan, you have done your part, let her do hers without you hovering over her like a thundercloud. Imogene will worry about you when she should be saving her strength for the birth,” had been his aunt Ruth’s calm response when he had initially refused to leave his wife’s side.

His aunt had been sympathetic to the fear she noted in his wild gaze, but nothing he had said would alter her decree.

“You should be waiting for the good news in your library, Blackbern,” his father-in-law grumbled. “For my daughters’ births, I left the house and distracted myself by playing cards at my club.”

With Imogene so close to giving birth, Tristan had been reluctant to stray far from the house for weeks.

It had been the middle of the night when he had awakened with Imogene standing beside the bed.

She had taken the time to light a branch of candles so he could see her clearly.

Her chemise was damp with sweat and her hands had been splayed over her swollen abdomen that felt like an impenetrable shell when he touched it.

“Your son is coming, Tristan,” she had told him.

Twelve hours had passed since she made her stark announcement.

“Your nerves are sturdier than mine. I would lose a bloody fortune if I played cards, Trevett,” he said, glaring at the closed door while a servant picked up the broken glass and mopped up the brandy.

“Why do you think I suggested it?” Imogene’s father said, cuffing him on the back of the head with undisguised affection.

“What was that for?” Tristan demanded harshly.

“I am not senile, Blackbern, and I can count on my fingers.” The duke shook a finger at him.

“If I had learned early on about the kind of mischief you were indulging in with my elder daughter, I might have paddled her backside before I tucked her away in one of my country estates to keep her out of your reach.”

Tristan snorted at the obvious falsehood.

“And deny yourself the pleasure of a grandson to spoil? I doubt it. And, just to clarify, your daughter threw herself at me first. Your duchess will confirm it. You cannot blame me if I was shrewd enough to recognize a rare find when I had it wriggling against me and decided to keep her.” He aimed a finger in the older man’s direction. “You should be thanking me.”

“I do in my prayers every day, son.” He clamped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder and for a few seconds his fingers tightened.

“My lower back is beginning to ache so I am heading downstairs. Are you sure you do not want to join me? If I pour enough brandy down your throat, you might actually feel better for it.”

Tristan shook his head and waved him off. He crouched down and settled on the floor so he could be close to the brave woman who was strong enough to bring his son into the world.

He let his forehead rest against his forearm and murmured a few whispered prayers.

The past seven and a half months with Imogene at his side had been incredible.

He loved her so much, and as the end of her pregnancy drew nearer, his anxiety had increased.

Since he did not want to upset her, he had kept his fears to himself.

If I lose her now… how will I go on?

“Tristan?”

He blinked and stared blankly at his mother-in-law. Then he noticed her tears. He scrambled to his feet. “Is it Imogene? Is something wrong?” he asked, while his rising panic made him clumsy.

The dragon smiled at him and then did something most unexpected. She grabbed his face and kissed him firmly on the lips. “Imogene is fine and she is asking for you. Go inside, while I find my husband to share the good news.”

Tristan rushed into the room and discovered a very pale Imogene sitting in their bed. Someone had dressed her in a fresh chemise and a sheet had been pulled over her legs. She cradled their child in her arms. He ignored his aunt and the midwife as he strode directly to his duchess’s bedside.

Imogene.

Their gazes locked and he could not conceive of loving her more than he did in that moment. She pushed back the blanket to reveal a thick cap of dark hair. “You have a son, Your Grace,” she softly said. “I cannot fathom why I doubted you. You always get your way.”

He supposed anyone who was listening would assume he and Imogene were referring to a friendly debate on whether they would have a boy or girl. Although they never spoke of Norgrave, he had been unable to completely banish her worries.

“I do my best.” Tristan sat down on the mattress beside her. He tentatively stroked his son’s hair. The texture felt like down, and his relief that Imogene and his son were healthy threatened to unman him.

“It was kind of you to give me my heir first. I do not know about you, but I am not sure I can go through this again,” he said, half serious. The women behind him chuckled knowingly, but there were tears in his eyes as he stared down at the miracle they had created together.

Imogene clasped his hand and squeezed, quietly assuring him that she was fine. “In time, your son will want brothers and sisters to play with and torment. Will you deny him?”

And me? Imogene’s expression seemed to ask.

If she desired more children, how could he deny his duchess when she had given him everything? Tristan laughed as he leaned forward and kissed his wife. “Not at all, darling.”

***

Hours later, Tristan and Imogene introduced their son to his family. They had given the new Marquess of Fairlamb the name Mathias Ellis Rooke.