Chapter 34 #2
Wesley held Mary out to him, as though a gift. An offering. “Here she is, Captain. Your daughter.” His voice hitched as he said it, and Sophie’s heart twisted in reply.
Stephen’s eyes flashed to his brother’s, and a look passed between them. He held out his large hands and gingerly accepted the bundled infant, carefully gathering her in his arms.
“Hello, Mary Katherine. How beautiful you are.” He gave his brother another look, begrudging humor in his eyes. “Lucky for her she looks like you rather than me.”
“Do you think so? I think she looks like Kate, as Sophie said.”
“Yes, I do see a bit of Kate in her.”
Wesley inhaled. “Well, I shall leave you. I hope you three shall be very happy.”
Stephen asked, “And what about you? Will you go home and make things right with Angela?”
“I will try. But how can I, really? Seeing Mary now gives me an inkling of what Angela went through because of me. What she gave up. Forever . . .” Again he shook his head.
Confusion flared. “What do you mean?” Sophie asked.
When Wesley hesitated, Stephen murmured, “I’ll explain later.”
Wesley drew himself up. “I will at least apologize. Truly apologize. Even if I had a mind to do more than that, I imagine CK has won her over by now.” He managed an unconvincing grin. “Not my week with women.”
“And after that?” Stephen asked.
“Oh, I think I might sail back to Italy, now that Napoleon is exiled again. See if my Mona Lisa is still out there somewhere.”
“If you think that’s the best course.”
Wesley gave his brother a wry look. “I’m surprised you aren’t prodding me to stay home and do my duty by the estate if not Angela.”
“Are you really surprised?”
“Ah. Want me gone, do you? And the more miles the better?”
“For now, yes.”
Wesley’s gaze rested on the child once again. “I won’t forget Mary. In fact, I shall bring her something back from Italy. A christening present, perhaps. I will strive to be a proper uncle to her.”
“That is good of you.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t accomplished the feat yet. I may need some time first. Some distance.” He pressed a kiss to Mary Katherine’s brow, then turned to Sophie and pressed a twin kiss there.
He whispered, “I wish you happy, Mrs. Overtree.”
“Thank you, Mr. Overtree.”
Stephen added, “Take care of yourself, Wesley.”
“I shall. I had better—CK won’t be tagging along to keep me out of mischief this time, and you won’t be there to bail me out of trouble.”
“No.”
“As it should be. You have new concerns to attend to.”
“Yes. Thank God.” Stephen shifted Mary to one arm and held out his hand.
Wesley shook it. “I hope you will endeavor to deserve her.”
“Indeed I shall.”
When the door closed behind Wesley, Sophie turned almost shyly to Stephen.
He sat down on the upholstered chaise and deftly and gently repositioned the infant on his lap. He’d obviously had experience helping to care for his much younger sister.
She asked, “What do you think of her?”
“I think I am falling in love all over again.”
Sophie dipped her head as self-conscious pleasure ran over her.
He pulled forth a little fist that had been trapped in the swaddling blanket. “Such long fingers. Like her mother’s.”
He loosened the blanket further, exposing her full face and neck.
Sophie held her breath, waiting for him to notice the strawberry birthmark.
His finger traced the spot. “Ah . . . a kiss from God. A special sign of favor.”
“Do you think so?”
He nodded. “Whatever it is, it’s precious. She is precious. Perfect.”
Relief warmed Sophie. “Mavis said I must have craved strawberries while I carried her. And the midwife said the birthmark is in the shape of a heart.” She swallowed. “And that means I craved . . . love . . . while I carried her.”
He looked up and held her gaze, intensity smoldering in his eyes. “Oh?” Then he looked down and pressed a kiss on the rosy heart.
Sophie’s breath caught to see his scarred cheek so close to her little girl’s birthmark. Stephen, with his scarred face and body, apparently found the mark endearing. She could have kissed him then and there.
“Heart-shaped, you say?” he mused aloud, eyes on Mary Katherine. “I’d say it’s shaped like lips.” His voice lowered. “Perhaps her Mamma craved a sound kissing while she carried you, hmm, my little beauty?”
Sophie’s pulse raced to hear his words, and her chest tightened. Again she dipped her head to hide her flush, then looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I . . . cannot deny it.”
His eyes flashed to hers, warm and glimmering with hope.
“Sit with me, my love.” He secured Mary in one arm, and Sophie sat on the chaise beside him. He reached a hand toward her, gently stroking then cupping her cheek. “My Sophie . . .”
“I am yours, yes. And dearly wish to be.”
His gaze held hers like an embrace, then moved slowly over her face before settling on her mouth. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, and a tingle of pleasure whisked up her spine.
“You don’t know how I’ve missed you,” he said.
“Oh, I think I have an inkling, Captain.”
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss on her forehead. Then he placed a warm kiss to one of her cheeks, then the other.
She lifted her chin, hoping, hinting . . .
He murmured, “Surely you might call me Stephen by now?”
“Kiss me, Stephen.”
“My three new favorite words.”
He lowered his mouth and touched his lips to hers softly, then again more firmly. He held her face, his long fingers threading into her hair. Then he angled his head and deepened the kiss.
Safely nestled between them, Mary let out a little cry of protest.
Hoping the child would remain content a while longer, Sophie ignored the first squeak and pressed her mouth to her husband’s. She knew it was almost time to feed Mary again, but oh, she wanted this kiss to go on and on.
He broke away first, resting his forehead against hers.
“Is she all right?” he whispered.
“Yes, just hungry. Blasted timing.” She managed a shaky chuckle.
“Shall I leave you?”
Sophie bracketed his face with both hands and slowly shook her head. “Never again.”
She rose and took Mary, stepping to the cradle to retrieve a muslin cloth.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder.
He sat on the upholstered chaise longue, propping one knee on its length, while his other stocking foot remained on the floor.
Because Mrs. Thrupton had insisted he remove his muddied boots, he could at least relax and put his feet up while he waited for her to nurse Mary Katherine.
But he did not look relaxed. In fact, he looked quite the opposite.
Feeling self-conscious, she wanted to turn her back. But she was the one who’d told him not to leave.
Hitting on an idea, she walked back to the chaise. “May we join you?”
His brows shot to his hairline and his lips parted. “I . . . of course. How will you . . . ?” He retreated as far against the backrest as he could.
She turned and sat down between his knees.
Her back was to him, affording her a bit of privacy while staying near.
In fact, they had never been in such an intimate position.
She loosened the front flap of her gown, lowered the fabric cup of her corset, and positioned Mary to nurse.
If he watched or averted his gaze, she could not tell, which was somewhat of a relief.
It meant he could not see her blushing face either.
Mary latched on easily, and Sophie felt the sweet sting of milk coursing through her.
They had become accustomed to one another, and Sophie was ever so glad those awkward early days of trial and error were over.
As Mary began to suckle, Sophie’s attention lifted from baby to the man behind her.
She could almost feel his tension, his uncertainty.
Tentatively, she leaned back against him. Understanding her intention, he exhaled and some of the tension eased from his body. She slowly allowed herself to rest fully against him, her legs paralleling his on the chaise.
He slid his outside arm around her, drawing it up her arms, so they both shared Mary’s weight. He gently eased her back more firmly against him. She found it comforting, holding her little one close, while being held close to her husband. She felt cherished. Protected.
She looked down and tried to see what he might see. Mary’s content face, eyes closed, lashes against pale cheeks. Little red lips bowed over Sophie’s white bosom, Mary’s small fist, gradually relaxing open.
Could he hear the sounds of drawing and swallowing? She could, over the muffled beating of his heart.
Stephen raised his hand and ran a gentle finger over Mary’s soft cheek and the curve of her neck. Then he bent and placed a kiss at the sensitive juncture of Sophie’s shoulder and neck. A shiver of pleasure rippled through her.
He cradled her close. Cradled them both close. And Sophie closed her eyes to savor the warm wonder of his embrace.
Eventually, Mary’s mouth popped off in a wet sigh of satisfaction.
Sophie kissed her soft, downy head. Then she repositioned her corset cover and bodice. She stood and held Mary at her shoulder, patting her back. She was more nervous now than when preparing to nurse Mary in front of Captain Overtree—this husband she was only coming to know.
What now?
He rose to his feet as well, his steadfast gaze holding hers.
A knock interrupted them, and Sophie jumped. She prayed Wesley hadn’t returned.
Mrs. Thrupton’s muffled voice came through the door. “May I take Mary for you?” she offered. “I thought she and I might call on your Papa for an hour or so, if that suits. . . .”
That would give them privacy, without fear of an audience in the next room, or the baby awakening at an inopportune moment.
Stephen murmured, “It’s up to you. I’m in no hurry to send her away.”
Sophie went to the door and cracked it open. “Thank you, Mavis. That is very kind.” She settled the child into Mavis’s arms.
“It’s good of you, Mrs. Thrupton,” the captain added.
“No trouble.”
Mavis turned away, but not before Sophie saw the sparkle in her eyes and heard her coo to the child, “Better late than never . . .”
Sophie closed the door and turned to face him. Gripping her hands, she looked up at him shyly. “I, um . . .”
Stephen stood awkwardly, several feet away from her, a line between his brows. “Sophie, I don’t want to rush you. Mary Katherine is only, what, five or six weeks old? We can wait. I would never want to hurt you.”
“I feel perfectly well. But . . . perhaps we could be very careful?”
“Of course. I will be as gentle as I can, but I confess I have had little experience, so . . .”
“Well, thankfully we have our entire lives to practice.”
His gaze flew to hers. “As you wish.”
In two strides, he closed the gap between them, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her soundly. Her lips parted as she returned the pressure of his kiss. He melded his warm mouth to hers, her body to his, until her legs felt weak, and her heart . . . strong.
He was gentle with her and wonderfully patient. Her time with Wesley seemed like a distant and regrettable memory.
Late that night, the three of them fell asleep together—her and Stephen in the narrow bed, and Mary Katherine in her cradle beside them. As her eyes drifted closed, Sophie thanked God again for His forgiveness and self-sacrificing love—as well as her husband’s.