Page 92 of Along Came a Rogue

She sat with a grace that hinted at the delicate beauty she had once possessed in her younger days and pulled open the drawer to reach for the pen set and paper within.

“I have no idea who your mother was, and I am certain that even Charles did not know he’d gotten a child on the woman.” She scratched the quill across the paper, pausing in her missive to glance pointedly across the room at him. “My son may not be faithful, but he is always careful. I assume that in this situation with you he shall be no different. Be careful in turn with him, then, Nathaniel.”

“I will.” He took the warning to heart, not imagining that the viscount would take well a forced recognition of his bastard son nearly thirty years after the fact. But the man would simply have to learn to live with it.

“I suppose I put off this moment as long as I did because it never would have made a difference before,” she admitted grudgingly, “except to hurt the family. And there will be scandal and gossip, be assured of that. All I can do is help control the damage.”

“Be assured that I never wanted to hurt your family.”

Her only acknowledgment of his comment was a small nod of her head and a tight pursing of her lips. It would cause scandal for the Henleys, yet illegitimate children were common among the ton. The news would be replaced by some other juicy scandal by year’s end, and by then, everyone would have stopped caring about his connection to them.

And God willing, by then, Emily would finally be his wife.

She carefully blotted her signature, then folded the letter and held it out to him. “There—my statement of legitimacy, officially recognizing you as my grandson.”

Giving her the courtesy of not reading it, he slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

Her tired eyes met his with an air of inevitability, as if she’d been expecting this moment for a very long time. And truly, he’d noticed that she’d not struggled with a single word in her written statement, most likely having rehearsed it in her mind for years.

“To avoid as much scandal as possible,” she explained, “we will take the initiative. Charles will quietly recognize you as his son within the next fortnight.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“I shall make certain of it. If he wants to inherit my dower when I die, then he’ll have no choice.” She looked at him incredulously, as if he were mad to ever doubt her ability to obtain exactly what she wanted. In this life or the next. “I regret the circumstances of tonight and wish there had been another way. But I do not regret helping you become the man you are. You have done well for yourself, Nathaniel, as successfully as if you had been recognized from the beginning. Better than his other sons, in fact.” She paused, and in the dim light, he thought he could see her eyes glistening. “I wish you and Lady Emily well.”

Standing regally, she reached to take his hand, and he let her. A very small but first step in reconciliation and forgiveness, for both of them.

* * *

Emily sat back in her bed, propped up by half a dozen pillows piled behind her, and held her sleeping son in her arms. The love and happiness swelling inside her nearly overwhelmed her.

A baby…she had a baby now, and she could barely believe it. A little wriggling mass of pink flesh and a dusting of dark hair, a tiny upturned nose and full lips beneath long lashes closed in sleep. Blue eyes, like hers. Ten fingers, ten toes—she knew because she’d counted them at least a dozen times since the midwife first placed him in her arms. He was a tiny miracle, and she lowered her lips to gently kiss his forehead and breathe in deep the sweet scent of him. She supposed she should put him back into the bassinet drawn up beside her bed so both of them could get a few hours of sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of him. Not yet. They had been through too much together to part so quickly, even just to lay him down for a nap.

Beyond her bedroom windows, dawn arrived over the city, the dark night fading away into muted blues and pinks beneath the growing light as the sun inched higher. She couldn’t help but feel as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the new day to break, and that a new part of her life was dawning along with the morning.

A knock sounded softly at her door, but her gaze never left her baby’s sleeping face. She smiled as he stirred in his sleep, his little fist lifting to his mouth to suck on his fingers.

“Emily.” Heat swirled down her spine at the sound of her name, spoken in a deep, reverent tone.

She glanced up to find Grey standing in the doorway, his chocolate eyes warm as he took in the sight of her and the baby in the morning light.

“Dear God,” he breathed hoarsely, a softly stricken expression on his handsome face, “you are so lovely.”

She knew she looked a fright, wearing only her dressing gown and a fresh night rail she’d tugged on after her bath, with her hair pulled back into a loose chignon at her neck to keep it out of her way. And she was certain her face appeared just as tired as she felt.

“I’m a mess,” she corrected, flushing with embarrassment.

“Not to me. To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Her throat tightened with emotion. Smiling at him, her eyes gleaming, she lifted the sleeping bundle in her arms. “Look what I have,” she teased, wonder audible in her voice. “It’s a baby.”

His lips tugged upward. “So I heard.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

His eyes flickered warmly over the baby as he stared at the little bundle in her arms. “Very much.”

Slowly, Grey came forward and sat on the edge of her bed. She turned slightly to bring her son between them. Carefully, he pulled down the baby’s soft blanket with his forefinger and stared in astonishment.