Far above, the sky was azure blue, marked only by a few clouds drifting on a lazy breeze. Somewhere close to them bees were building a hive, their warm buzz adding to the afternoon’s small sounds of crickets and birdsong. After a minute she closed her eyes and simply let her hands do the looking: wandering their way over the smooth muscled expanses of Patrick’s bare skin, feeling the little shivers that followed in the wake of her hands, the gravelly roughness of the hair on his chest.

Afterword

Afterword

December 1807

Sophie woke with a start and propped herself up on one elbow. It was the middle of the night, and the only light in the room was the glow cast by firelight. For a moment Sophie drowsily watched the dancing shadows cast on her bedroom walls. The room was warm, even though it was an unusually chilly December.

Then she heard it again: a low, rippling gurgle, followed by a deep chuckle. Sleepily, Sophie narrowed her eyes and squinted at the back of the high rocking chair next to the fire. Sure enough, it was tipping cozily forward and back.

“Patrick?”

“We’re here.”

Sophie smiled and propped her pillows up against the high mahogany back of the master bed. She and Patrick had seen the bed in the royal suite of a Turkish palace, and Patrick had bargained fiercely, finally buying it from the pasha who owned it. When they returned home, he kept to his promise and had the bed in Sophie’s chamber removed.

“This is the only bed that the Duchess of Gisle and her devoted husband have to sleep in,” he had said, winding his arms around Sophie and pulling her backward on the silk counterpane. “If you are angry enough to banish me, you will have to contemplate my sleeping outside the door on the bare boards.”

Sophie had laughed, and since then the duke and duchess had shared a bed that was, in truth, built for a king.

Another trill of chortling syllables rang out from the rocking chair.

“Oh, Patrick, you shouldn’t,” Sophie said. It was hard to be severe when a baby’s laughter filled the room. “She’ll never go to sleep after playing with you.”

“Yes, she will,” Patrick said lovingly. “You’ll go to sleep, won’t you, sweetheart? Won’t you sleep for your mama? Yes, you will.”

The baby gave a little squawk in return, and then a trilling, laughing string of syllables.

“Time to eat?” Patrick said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose we might.”

He rose and turned toward the bed, carrying a snugly wrapped bundle. All Sophie could see was one happily waving fist.

Patrick walked slowly, rubbing noses with his daughter as he came. “Ouch!” The fist had closed on his hair.

“Katherine?”