The Babe and the Baron by Carola Dunn

Author:Carola Dunn [Dunn, Carola]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781410439758
Google: HR6JKQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1410439755
Barnesnoble: 1410439755
Goodreads: 1852885
Publisher: Chivers
Published: 1996-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Gareth's brief embrace shook Laura to the core. His hard body pressed against hers, his strong arms about her, reawakened the aching longing she had learned to suppress because Freddie never satisfied it.

As they walked back to the inn in an awkward silence, she struggled for control. He had hugged her in gratitude for her understanding, in a need for comfort, even with some affection. Nothing more. She was six months pregnant with another man's child.

He was even more dangerous to her peace of mind than she had supposed, yet now she could not leave Llys. The glimpse he had given her of his pain made that impossible. Within the confident, powerful head of a noble family dwelt a sensitive boy still suffering from that long-ago hurt. How could she add to his torment, refuse him the solace of taking care of her?

She glanced up at him. He was pensive, a trifle embarrassed, but behind the embarrassment she thought she saw relief, a scarcely perceptible relaxation of taut muscles about his mouth and eyes. She was glad she had pressed him for an explanation.

They turned into the Bull Ring, the oddly named street where the Feathers was situated. Stopping to allow a slow farm cart to pass, Gareth said in a low voice, without looking at her, “I beg your pardon.

For ... er ... taking liberties."

Her cheeks grew warm and she fixed her gaze on the cart's squeaking wheel. “Pray do not regard it. A

... a cousinly salute."

“And for burdening you with my troubles."

“That was my doing. I asked. You need not fear that I will tell anyone, though your aunt guesses, I believe."

“Aunt Antonia is no slowtop. I have always been surprised that Cornelius was not ... similarly affected."

“He is a year younger, is he not? At that age, a year can make a vast difference."

He nodded. The cart had passed and they crossed to the inn. The landlord ushered them into the panelled coffee room, to a corner table near a window. While waiters scurried to serve them, Gareth drew Laura's attention to the ceiling. Ornately plastered, it was decorated with James I's coat of arms surrounded by thistles, acorns, and grapes.

“The thistle of Scotland,” she said, “but why acorns?"

“The English oak?” he hazarded, “though it is not a common symbol of the nation. And why the grapes I cannot imagine."

“For the good wines served at the Feathers, my lord,” suggested the innkeeper.

They laughed, and the stiffness between them eased. It vanished entirely a few minutes later when Laura dropped her knife, clutched her middle, and exclaimed, “Oh!"

“You'll not catch me again that way,” said Gareth. “The baby is moving again, I take it?"

“Moving?” she said indignantly. “The brute is kicking me!"

“How very disconcerting,” he observed, grinning. “Perhaps the trout is not to his taste, or hers, as the case may be."

“Well, it is very much to mine.” She picked up her knife to return to her meal, but her attention was on the vigorous performance inside her.

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