Chapter 16 #3
“In that, you would be right.” Giovanni laughed, rubbing his nose into her soft, scented hair. How did she always smell of lavender? “But I would not be beastly. I would be delighted by you and hold you just like this.”
He let his hands wander down to her belly, stroking the flat smooth surface, feeling the slight swell of air inside her as she breathed in and out. Touching her in this way, feeling her completely relaxed in his arms, did something to him. He didn’t know if he had ever been so happy.
“I would watch you carefully, so closely,” he whispered in her ear. “For every change in your body. Of your belly, of your breasts...”
As he spoke, he let his hand drift slowly up to her stays, tracing the line of her bosom where her breasts were pressed together from lying on her side. He felt her moan softly, her hand stroking his naked thigh rhythmically.
“I would make love to you and feel close to the child inside you, feel how you were changed there, too,” Giovanni kissed her ear, astonished by how quickly his own arousal was returning.
“I would see everything.” He let out a shuddering breath and reached to entwine his hand with hers, snuggling against her neck. “And we would lie like this together, wondering about who our child would become.”
“Would you want a girl or a boy?” Beatrice asked breathlessly.
“I should be happy with either.” He smiled. “As long as they had your dark hair and eyes. Those flecks of blue are so astonishing in your irises.”
“I would like them to have your skin tone,” Beatrice said, and Giovanni could feel her smiling as she rested her face on his arm. “If it was a girl, she would be a diamond of the first water.”
“She would be that with your skin tone,” Giovanni said, enjoying the fantasy. “What would we call her? Could we name her after your mother? What was her name?”
“Persis,” Beatrice frowned and shook her head. “I am not sure it is suitable for a little girl.”
“I think it is beautiful,” Giovanni smiled.
“Or we could name her for your mother?” Beatrice kissed his arm. “Evelina? Evelina Persis Amante?”
Giovanni could see her so clearly. A small girl, maybe five or six years old, with dark eyes and hair and Beatrice’s glowing smile.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat with emotion.
“And if it were a boy, we could call him Silas,” Beatrice continued enthusiastically. “He would be a wonderful cousin to Caleb. They would grow up together.”
The mention of Silas brought the fantasy crumbling down inside his mind. I can’t do this to her. I can’t do this to myself. I can’t let this go on.
“They wouldn’t.” Giovanni pulled away from her and flopped onto his back, staring at the canopy above.
“Why not?” Beatrice asked, rolling over to look at him.
“Because Caleb will be the Marquess of Willington.” Giovanni let out a deep breath. His hope, fantasies, every dream he and Beatrice had been weaving together tore apart in the wake of cruel reality. “Our son would be lowly Mr. Amante, someone of no consequence.”
Unless you took Grafton’s title. Then he could be titled—and so could you.
“He would not be of no consequence,” Beatrice protested. “He would be your son. He would be our son.”
“And that would be enough to put him in danger.” Giovanni blinked up at the ceiling, refusing to look at her. If he looked at her, he was worried she would see his tears.
“That’s what Silas said to Anna about the Klane name,” Beatrice grabbed his hand, “but it was enough for her. Your name would be enough for our son and me.”
“I am not Lucifer of London. Money is more powerful than a title.” Giovanni pulled his hand away. “I could not protect you. Or our child.”
Not even if I was the Marquess of Bath could I save you from the demons that might come from my past.
“You could try,” Beatrice whispered. Giovanni closed his eyes against the tears in her voice. “For me. For little Evelina or little Silas, or whomever they may be.”
“They will never be,” Giovanni said tightly. “Because your child deserves to be protected, you deserve to be protected.”
“No one protects me like you.”
“Milton could.” Giovanni hated to say his name.
It made him feel physically sick, but he forced himself to.
Something about the intimacy of discussing their potential children had shaken him deeply.
Was this what Silas had felt when Anna had been taken?
This desperation to do anything to protect the one dearest to you?
Even if it meant giving them up entirely?
“No, I am a risk, amore,” he breathed heavily, fighting his tears. “I couldn’t keep our children as safe as a man like Milton could. Silas is right. Silas is always right.”
“Why are we talking about him?” Beatrice exploded. “Gio, look at me!”
He didn’t want to, but his head moved without his volition. She was leaning upon her elbow, staring at him with eyes glittering full of passion and despair.
“I would do it, risk everything!” She said breathlessly. “I would. For you.”
He would die for Beatrice if he had to, he would fight to keep any child she bore safe, but he knew it would never be enough. Nothing would wash away the stains of his past and save her from the real threat to her wellbeing. Him.
“I won’t,” he said.