Page 88 of Along Came a Rogue

“I had no choice.” He glanced away toward Thomas on the far side of the room, avoiding the accusation he knew he’d see on Edward’s face. “I had to lie to you, to Thomas—to everyone—because it was the only way to make a life for myself. I never would have gotten into the Dragoons as an orphan.”

“It would have made no difference to me, you know that. Or to our friendship.”

He shook his head. “I would never have made it to Spain in the first place if I’d told the truth.” He’d still be a groom in the Henley stables. No—he’d have been dead on the street before he reached fifteen. “Thomas doesn’t know.”

“Does Emily?”

He gave a small nod and couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “She knows exactly who I am, but the brat loves me anyway. Can you believe it?” And that, more than any other reason, was why he loved her.

“Then that is all you need.” Edward gave him a knowing look and tapped his glass against Grey’s.

Thomas sauntered across the room toward them. “What are you two talking about?”

“I was in the middle of calling Grey out for being a damned liar,” Edward informed him matter-of-factly.

“I see.” Resting the cue against his thigh, Thomas leaned back against the arm of one of the red leather chairs lining the wall and waved his hand commandingly. “Then by all means, continue.”

With a growl, Grey rolled his eyes. “If you two don’t stop—”

A scream cut through the house. A high-pitched and pain-filled female cry.

Grey’s blood turned to ice, and he started toward the door.

Thomas shot out the cue stick, blocking his path and stopping him. “No,” he said simply but forcefully.

Angrily, he knocked the cue away. “Get out of my—”

“No.” Thomas stood, pulling to his full height and reminding Grey of the headstrong, reckless cavalry officer he knew in Spain. Right before he threw himself into a bar fight. “You’re staying right here.”

Grey’s dark gaze slid between the two men, noticing how Edward had also shifted to place himself between him and the door. So that was why they’d insisted he join them in the billiards room five hours ago. It wasn’t just to keep him distracted; it was also to keep him from bursting into the birthing room. By physical restraint, if necessary.

“Grey,” Edward said with incredible calmness, exchanging his still-full glass of cognac for Grey’s empty one, “why don’t you pace some more?”

He flinched as another scream sounded, then nodded faintly as the blood drained from his face. He’d pace—yes, that was exactly what he’d do. But his legs shook with each stride he took, and the damned room wasn’t long enough for a proper pace, forcing him to slow in frustration with each turn.

As the agonizing minutes dragged past, he ran a hand through his hair and considered charging the door anyway. But Thomas and Edward had moved to stand near it, like two sentinels flanking either side, and with those two men keeping guard, he wouldn’t stand a chance of getting to Emily.

How on earth could women bear going through this? He couldn’t remember a single time in battle when he’d been more on edge, more terrified, his heart pounding more fiercely than it was right now. Never. He never wanted to go through this again. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive it a second time.

Then the town house fell quiet. He stopped, freezing in mid-stride, and the terrible silence and stillness that followed turned even more terrifying than her screams. He held his breath, straining to catch any sound, sense any movement in the house around them—

And then it came, so soft and faint that he almost couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing…A baby. Its cries grew in volume and intensity until there was no mistaking its new presence in the world.

Thomas patted him on the back and grinned. “Congratulations, Grey,” he said with affection. “You’re a father.”

Collapsing into a nearby chair, he took a deep breath and stared down at his hands, only to discover that he was shaking harder now than he had before he heard the cries. Good God. A baby. Emily’s baby.

He truly was a father.

Kate Westover appeared in the doorway, her face tired and drawn. Glancing around the room, she spotted her husband, and the look of love that passed between them made Grey catch his breath. It was the same look Emily gave him in quiet moments when she thought no one was watching. Without a word, Edward went to her side and affectionately squeezed her hand.

Then the exhaustion on the duchess’s face melted into a soft smile as she gazed up at her husband. “The baby is small but healthy,” she told them. “He’s going to be just fine.”

He…Emily gave birth to a son after all. But the thought barely registered before Grey’s chest tightened with worry. He shot out of the chair and hurried toward her. “How’s Emily?” he asked.

“Exhausted.” Facing him, Kate furrowed her brows slightly with worry, and Edward’s hand tightened around hers. “There were some complications.”

Oh God. If anything happened to Emily…“What kind of complications?” Grey demanded.