Page 89 of Along Came a Rogue

Not releasing Edward’s fingers, she rested her free hand gently on Grey’s arm. “Emily is small, and it was her first child,” she said gently in a calming voice. “It was a hard birth for her, but she’s going to be fine.”

Grey blew out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging with relief. Emily was going to be fine—Emily and the baby were both going to be fine. Thank God.

His chest swelled with love, and he longed to hold her. He started past Kate for the hallway, but her fingers tightened around his shirtsleeve, his jacket long ago shed in one of the first rounds of pacing. She stopped him.

“Give Emily time to rest.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “When she’s ready, I’m certain she’ll want to see you.”

He hesitated, glancing down the hall. He didn’t want to wait any longer, not when he’d already been waiting over five hours.

“You stay here, all of you.” Her eyebrow arched in warning, expressing how well she knew the three men gathered around her and how much trouble they could cause. Especially when they were together. “I’ll come for you when she’s ready.”

With an affectionate squeeze to his arm, Kate left to return to Emily.

Edward placed his hand on Grey’s shoulder and drew him back into the room. “A small celebration is in order.” He withdrew cigars from his jacket breast pocket and passed them to Thomas and Grey.

Thomas grabbed the cutter from the fireplace mantel and snipped off the end of his cigar. “It’ll soon be your turn to be a nervous father, Colonel, pacing at the birth.” He tossed the cutter.

Edward caught it one-handed. “I’ll damn well handle it better than Grey, certainly.”

Distracted, Grey let the jab pass without comment. They would continue the game of taking shots at him all night, he knew. Just as he knew he was due each barb for how publicly he’d eschewed domesticity in the past, how mercilessly he’d teased Edward when he fell in love with Kate, and how he’d teased him even more when he discovered that they were expecting their first child. But his thoughts were with Emily.

He absently lit his cigar in the lamp and watched the tip glow red. The delivery was over, and she’d given birth to a marquess. Nothing would ever be the same for her. Her life could no longer be her own. Now she was responsible not only for her son but also for his title, his estates, his fortune…and all three hundred years of family history and social expectation accompanying it. And she didn’t deserve to have that responsibility made harder by shadows of his past.

“Do you plan on smoking that cigar, Grey, or are you just going to stand there and watch it burn to ash?”

He glanced up and found Thomas grinning at his expense, so he popped the cheroot between his teeth. His chest warmed at the thought that Thomas would truly be his brother once he married Emily. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Emily tolerates you.”

“Ironically,” her brother returned the volley with a teasing smile as he leaned back against the wall, “I was just thinking the same about you.”

Grey’s teeth sank into the cigar. Unwittingly, Thomas had no idea how much his teasing jab cut to the quick. What could a former cavalry officer and War Office agent offer her that she’d need or want now? Emily claimed she loved him just as he was, but she deserved more.

And damnation, he was going to give it to her. Flinging his cigar into the fireplace, he stalked toward the door.

Thomas straightened, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” he answered shortly. “There’s someone I have to find.”

“Tonight? At this hour?”

“Yes.” He glanced backward at his two best friends as he strode from the room. “And tell Emily that I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Grey pounded his fist against the front door of the dark town house.

“Mind your manners!” The old butler opened the front door and scowled out at him in the light of a small candle. Obviously not expecting visitors at this hour, the man had made a halfhearted attempt to dress in his uniform jacket but still wore his nightshirt and slippers beneath. “You’re waking the dead, blast it!”

“I need to speak to the viscountess,” Grey demanded.

“It’s past midnight.” The man furrowed his bushy gray brows together, peeved at having been woken from his sleep, and began to close the door. “Come back in the morning at a proper hour!”

“I need to see her now.” Slapping his hand against the door to hold it open, Grey glared down at the butler. “Tell her Major Nathaniel Grey is here. I am certain she will want to see me.”

The butler hesitated. Grey knew the man was weighing in his mind the decision of whether to send him away until morning, fearing he might be there for an important reason, or go upstairs and wake the dowager. Neither choice was appealing at half past midnight.

“Her ladyship is abed,” the butler protested. “If this can wait until morning—”

“It cannot.” He strode past the old butler into the marble foyer. “Send her maid up to wake her. I’ll wait here.”