Page 104 of Lady Scandal

She and Simon both turned as Mrs. Barton entered Delia’s office. “It’s time for Master Oliver’s bath, my lady,” the stout, red-haired nanny told her as she came toward Delia’s desk.

“Of course.” She kissed the baby’s blond head and handed him to the woman on the other side of her desk. “Go with Nanny, now. And mind you,” she added, trying to sound stern, “don’t make a fuss this time when she cuts your nails, young man.”

She watched as Nanny took the baby and departed, then turned to her husband, who was watching her closely.

“Two years ago,” she said softly as he pulled her into his arms, “I had come to accept that I didn’t need a child to complete my life. But now, I can’t imagine my life without him.” She looked up, blinking hard. “Or without you.”

He lifted a hand to her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his beautiful gray-green eyes so steady and sure. “I hope you know that.”

She nodded. “I do know.”

“Do you?” Simon’s hand fell away, and his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close. “There was a time when you were rather afraid you were fated for perpetual widowhood. I hope you’ve gotten over that.”

“I have. Truly.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Good. After all,” he added, his voice light as he pressed a kiss to her damp cheek, “it’s a moot point, since I fully intend to defy the expectations of the bettors at White’s for fifty years at least. So no more crying, my darling.”

“It’s happiness making me blubber,” she assured him.

“Are you happy? Have I made you happy?”

“More than you could ever know, and in ways I never could have imagined. I won’t say I don’t still worry sometimes about what the future might bring. I do. I probably always will, now, at least a little. After all, grief and loss have changed me, and there’s no denying it. They’ve made me more wary, more circumspect than I was as a girl. But when we met, I’d taken it much too far, holding myself apart, hiding behind a facade of glib words and flirtation—”

“Don’t I know it,” he interrupted with a groan, earning himself a gentle kick in the shin.

“The point is,” she went on, “I was convinced I could never fall inlove again. But the truth was that I didn’t want to. I’d become afraid of love, sure it could only bring me another round of pain and loss. I’d become afraid to trust myself, or to trust any man that got too close. I was resigned to a life alone. But then you came along, barreling past all my defenses, bullying me into changing my ways—”

“Bullying?” he interrupted. “Well, I like that.”

“You should, because it worked.”

“Did it?” His brows lifted in obvious skepticism.

“Yes.” She did her best to look ho-hum and wise. “I’m not afraid of love, or new ways of doing things, or—”

“Budgets, too?” he asked hopefully, nodding to the papers spread across her desk. “I hope this means you won’t be ordering thousands of pounds’ worth of flowers this year like you did last year?”

“Don’t bet on it, my darling.” She rose on her toes and kissed him before he could give her a lecture on the wisdom of proper budgeting. “Don’t bet on it.”