Perhaps he could. She made him want to try.
He held her against his chest, breathing in her scent of sun-warmed lavender.
Her contented smile lit a gentle, warm light inside him.
She’d taken up permanent residence inside his heart, and there was a stubborn little flame of hope that he couldn’t extinguish, no matter how hard he tried.
He was cold when she wasn’t nearby, and the thought of spending the rest of his life without her would be consigning himself to a barren wasteland.
He was weary of fighting it, weary of living in this prison of his own design.
“Sandrine?”
“Yes, Dane?” she murmured sleepily.
A distant, piercing shriek rent the air. And then another. Animal noises, a woman screaming, and the sound of doors slamming, footsteps.
Dane sat up, bringing Sandrine with him. “Piety. She’s giving birth.”
“It sounds dreadful.”
Another scream and the sound of sobbing. “She can’t die like my mother did.” Dane left the bed, searching for his clothing.
“We’ll go to her, Dane. We’ll be there for her.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lead a blameless life and you will never need to beg forgiveness.
—Mrs. Oliver’s Rules for Young Ladies
“Is she going to live, Sneath?” Dane asked the harried-looking doctor outside of Piety’s bedchamber.
“She’s perfectly healthy,” the doctor replied.
“Thank God!”
“That’s such good news, Doctor.” Sandrine smiled. “We heard the screaming and feared the worst.”
“It was a difficult delivery, but the duchess is strong, and a healthy child was delivered. The piercing screams you heard were uttered when her grace discovered that the babe was a girl.”
Damn. He was the duke.
“May we visit her and meet the baby?” Sandrine asked.
“Only briefly.”
They knocked on the door, and a maidservant answered. “Oh, your grace,” she said, dropping a curtsy.
And so it began.
“Is that Lord Dane?” Piety called. “Come to gloat, have you?”
Dane and Sandrine entered the room. “Not at all,” Dane said. “We were concerned about you.”
“It’s a girl,” she said bitterly. “I failed. I don’t want it.”
“You don’t mean that,” Sandrine said. “Oh, there she is.” The nursemaid held the red-faced babe near Sandrine as she cooed and fussed.