Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

KINGDOM OF VARROS, ONE MONTH LATER

E leanora had been hoping a carriage would be awaiting her when she disembarked from La Reina . Perhaps even Nando himself. That had been a fanciful notion, particularly when he had failed to answer any of the letters she had sent him over the last month. And it had never seemed more dubious than now, as she and her lady's maid stood in the midst of the bustling Varros docks with a pile of her trunks and a makeshift cage bearing a thoroughly unimpressed Benvolio. The sea journey hadn't been easy on any of them.

At last, they were all on land where they belonged. Even if her body still felt firmly as if it were rocking along on the sea. A wave of dizziness assailed her, and her stomach tightened, bile rising up her throat, as the wind blew and the combined scent of dead fish and horse manure reached her. She fumbled in her reticule, searching for a scented handkerchief.

"Your Royal Highness, are you going to be ill?" her lady's maid asked worriedly.

A young, lively, intrepid thing, Southill had not balked at Eleanora's request to accompany her on the arduous journey to Varros. And fortunately for Eleanora, her lady's maid had proven far less inclined to suffer seasickness. Although, to be fair, Eleanora wasn't certain how much of her illness had been caused by the sea and how much had been caused by her delicate condition.

"Perhaps," she muttered, unable to manage more words as a second wave of wind sent an even more pungent cloud in her direction.

She held her breath, her fingers not working fast enough to find the blasted handkerchief she kept for just such occasions. Not a foolproof method of keeping her rebellious stomach from embarrassing her, but one that often succeeded. Thank heavens Southill had suggested it, with the kindly observation that it had worked wonders for her own mother whenever she had been expecting. Since Southill was the second eldest of eleven children, her mother had been expecting quite frequently.

"Here you are, Your Royal Highness," Southill said now, offering a fresh square of linen.

Eleanora accepted it and pressed it to her nose with haste, breathing in the calming, floral lavender scent, a marked improvement over the docks' aroma.

"Thank you," she murmured into the handkerchief.

The waves of nausea had yet to completely subside, but now she was more confident that she wasn't going to cast up her accounts all over the pier.

"Do you think His Royal Highness will be sending a carriage for you, then?" Southill asked calmly after a few more moments had passed.

"I fear that he may not have," she admitted.

Eleanora skimmed her gaze over the crowds and realized how ill-prepared she truly was. She had set off on this journey despite the concerns of her friends and even Dr. Crisfield, who had warned her that traveling newly with child could present some difficulties for her.

The discovery that she was carrying Nando's baby had been unexpected. The doctor had initially feared she had acquired some manner of contagion from her injury. However, after a fortnight of similar symptoms without fever or festering in her healing wound, the doctor had made the stunning pronouncement.

Eleanora had been cautiously happy at the news. And more determined than ever to go to Nando as her letters went unanswered. He was going to be a father. He had claimed in the note he'd left behind that he loved her, and whilst his manner of attempting to protect her had been thoroughly foolhardy, his attempts to give her everything he thought she needed had confirmed that.

But he'd been wrong.

She didn't need a town house or all the wealth he had foisted upon her. She most certainly didn't need—or want—an annulment. All she wanted was him . The man she loved. The one who laughed and teased and charmed and flirted, who cuddled her at his side, who rescued stray cats from the street, who had taken care of her when she had been wounded and broken. The man who loved her enough to give her almost everything he had because he thought she would be better off without him.

He had been wrong about that, too.

She wasn't better off without Nando—she was better off at his side. And she had crossed an ocean to prove it to him. But before she could, she was going to have to find a means of transportation.

"Perhaps I should see if we can find a hackney," Southill said at her side.

Benvolio meowed urgently, as if in strong agreement.

Just then, a carriage approached, a dashing young fellow at the reins with golden hair and blue eyes that reminded her of Nando.

He called out something in his native tongue, which made Eleanora realize anew just how foolish it had been to embark on a madcap journey to Varros without knowing the language or having a true plan in place.

"Do you speak English, sir?" Southill asked on her behalf.

Which was just as well, because another lifting of the breeze had Eleanora's throat going tight. She breathed slowly, shallowly, into the scented linen, trying to think of anything but horse dung and rotting fish.

"Of course I do, milady," the young coachman called, smiling and revealing dimples. "How may I be of service?"

At her side, the ordinarily stalwart Southill was flushing a becoming shade of pink beneath the man's regard.

"Can you take us to the Hotel de Varros?" Southill asked, just a touch breathlessly.

The man grinned. "But of course, madam. I can take you anywhere."

Southill blushed even more.

Holding her handkerchief tightly to her nose, Eleanora moved toward the beckoning confines of the carriage, carrying Benvolio with her.

"You look as if you've been shot by a highwayman, thrown off a boat and nearly drowned, and then been dragged behind a carriage."

"That pretty, am I?" Nando winced at the light brightening his apartments at the royal palace and glared up at his brother. "Why are you here, Maxim?"

"Here in my own palace, do you mean?" Maxim's tone was as severe and harsh as his countenance. "Because I am the king, lest you have forgotten."

His head was throbbing, his mouth was as dry as the sand in a desert, and his stomach was a sickly stew that was threatening to erupt. "I know you're the fucking king. What I meant was, what are you doing in my private apartment?"

"Keeping you alive." Maxim raised an imperious brow as he handed Nando a cup laden with a light-colored liquid. "Drink."

Nando shook his head and felt the room swim around him. "I don't want another drop of anything. Ever."

"But only just last night, you were demanding more whisky be brought to you whenever your glass was empty. You were terribly thirsty."

"Deus."

What he had been was terribly somber. Missing Eleanora. Miserable. Faced with a packet of letters that had arrived in her neat, tidy script—even her handwriting was prim and perfect—he had not been able to read them, for fear of what he would find within.

The missives had all arrived at once, a sure sign that they had been upheld somewhere along their meandering journey before proceeding on to him. He had been terrified that she would tell him she despised him. That she was relieved he had gone. That she never wanted to see him again. That she had found another man to warm her bed.

And so, after a month of self-imposed exile in Varros, which he had spent doting on his nephew to distract from his misery and abstaining from every vice, Nando had succumbed and drowned himself in drink. Anything to postpone the moment when he would read Eleanora's letters.

He had also been despicably stupid, he thought darkly as his stomach churned and his head pounded.

"Do you remember falling off the garden wall?" Maxim asked conversationally, still holding the cup at Nando's nose.

Perhaps that explained the pain in his shoulder and hip, then.

"Everything is a mystery after dinner."

"That is because you drank yourself to oblivion before the fish course," Maxim observed. "Now, drink this bloody elixir. It will help you to feel better."

"I doubt that anything could ever make me feel better, ever again."

"Last night, you seemed to be persuaded that whisky would."

Maxim's tone was sly.

"Shut up," Nando growled, taking the cup and bringing it to his lips.

The liquid tasted vile. He gagged, choking it down.

Maxim presided over him, arms crossed.

"What in the hell are you doing, trying to poison me?" Nando sputtered.

"As tempting as that is, I would fear your ghost would haunt me."

He glared at his brother. "An excellent reason not to murder your sibling. I'm not drinking another sip of this devil's brew."

"Yes, you are. You're going to drink it all. Every. Damned. Drop." Maxim enunciated succinctly, his tone stern.

Nando's stomach gave a violent lurch at the thought of drinking more of the disgusting potion in his hand. "Why should you care if I do?"

"Because there is a woman who has come to see you, and I don't think you would want her to witness you looking as if you've just been dug up from the grave," Maxim said.

"Tell her to go to Hades. There's no woman I want to see. Ever."

There was one, but that was impossible. Eleanora was in London where she belonged, living the life she deserved—one without him in it.

"I do believe you'll want to see this one since she is your wife," Maxim told him calmly. "Drink before I force it down your throat."

She is your wife.

Eleanora.

Shock pierced the haze of misery that had settled over him. Eleanora was here? In Varros? She had traveled here alone, and so soon after she had been wounded? What the devil had she been thinking?

"You were right about one thing, brother. I do want to see her. More than I want to take my next breath."

"Then get your arse out of this bed, drink the elixir, and go to her," Maxim said, his tone gentling before he sniffed the air. "Bathe and shave first, however. You smell like a distillery, and you look like a wild dog who's been infested with fleas."

He might have taken umbrage at his brother's words, but Nando was too busy pouring the foul potion down his throat. Eleanora had come to him.

He didn't know what it meant.

All he knew was that he had to see her.

"It is lovely to meet you at last." The queen smiled over her dish of tea.

Eleanora was so nervous that she could not keep her hand from trembling. She had scarcely been settled at the Hotel de Varros—thanks to the hack driver who had slyly left his direction should they need further assistance during their stay—when she had sent a missive to the palace announcing her arrival. It had been met with an instant response and invitation. And although it hadn't come from Nando directly, she had been hopeful that she would see him. She had accepted, willing her stomach to obey and keep from humiliating her.

She had a reticule full of lavender-scented handkerchiefs at the ready, but fortunately, the palace smelled like a summer rose garden on account of all the vases of fresh blooms, and nothing at all like the docks.

"It's my honor to meet you, Your Majesty," she returned.

"You must call me Tansy, please," the queen insisted, seated opposite her in a cozy solar, a tray laden with sweets on the table between them. "We are sisters now."

A brown-haired woman with gray eyes and a regal air, the queen was undeniably lovely. Not nearly as intimidating as her husband, however. King Maxim was tall and stern, with a wall-like chest and black hair with hints of silver flaring at his temples. He was the opposite of Nando in so many ways, the dark to Nando's light.

How she missed her husband.

"I have always wanted a sister," she confided to Tansy, trying to distract herself from thoughts of Nando and how she would be received.

Misgiving returned, swirling, making her question herself, question her actions. What if he had not truly left her because he loved her, but because he had grown tired of her? What if he no longer wanted to be a married man? What if the recklessness he was so known for had overtaken him?

"We shall be fast friends, I have no doubt." The queen took another sip of her tea.

Her easy manner and unfettered kindness had been a pleasant surprise to Eleanora. She hadn't known what to expect, and Eleanora was relieved that the queen had accepted her presence with such grace and ease.

"I must thank you for welcoming me," she said politely. "Particularly since I can only assume my visit must come as a surprise, given Nando's failure to return any of my letters."

"You must forgive us for not giving you a proper welcome. Your letters did not arrive until yesterday. Please know that we are so pleased that you've come to Varros and are more than happy to have you here at the palace with us. Tell me, how did you find the journey?"

Her letters had only arrived yesterday? That knowledge certainly soothed some of her concerns. Nando hadn't ignored the missives she had sent him, then.

"Long and arduous," she admitted, thinking of the sometimes storm-tossed journey she had made over the sea, along with the challenge of traveling so far while carrying her first child. "But I am happy to have arrived."

And desperately anxious, too, an ocean of uncertainty rising within her by the moment. Despite learning Nando hadn't received her letters until the day before, she still scarcely knew what to expect from him, or how he would react to the news she brought with her.

"You look overset," Tansy observed gently. "You need not be. Nando will be overjoyed to see you. He has been in misery these last few weeks without you."

She hoped he would be. But she wouldn't be sure until she saw his beloved face. Until she could touch him, speak with him. Box his ears for leaving her as he had.

"I understand the misery," she admitted. "I have been lost without him as well."

Lost did not begin to describe the way she had felt in his absence, as if a gaping hole had been torn in her very existence and there was no conceivable means of mending it.

"Nando is stubborn, just as Maxim is," Tansy said, her tone conciliatory. "I expect he believed he was acting in your best interest by leaving you in London as he did. He was devastated over what had happened to you when he arrived. I have never seen him so disconsolate."

Nando was always quick to smile, to make a jest of everything, especially himself. It wasn't gratifying to hear he had been unhappy and grim, even if it was the same way she had felt without him. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. But she didn't dare to allow her mind to drift any further.

Not until she saw him for herself.

Her heart was already fragile, bruised and battered as it had been by his abrupt departure. She was too afraid to even contemplate what would happen if his mind was unchanged and if he remained unmoved after she had traveled all this way for him.

"I have missed him," she admitted quietly.

"You love him," Tansy said.

Eleanora could not deny it. "I do."

"I believe that he loves you too." The queen settled her dish of tea back upon the table. "Love is stronger than distance and stronger than pain. It is the single strongest bond two people can share. Love tore you apart, and now love will bring you back together again. Trust me, Eleanora. You shall see."

"I hope you are right." Eleanora replaced her own dish of virtually untouched tea on the table as well.

Before they could indulge in further discussion, the heavy footfalls of the king heralded his return to the salon.

"Did you find him?" Tansy asked expectantly, brightening at the sight of her husband.

It was plain for Eleanora to see that the king and queen shared a love match. Their mutual admiration was almost palpable whenever the two were in a room.

She turned to the king, holding her breath as she awaited his answer.

"I did." The king was solemn as he turned his attention to Eleanora. "You will have to forgive my rogue of a brother. He is presently indisposed. He will come to you as soon as he's able, however."

The news did nothing to reassure her. Indisposed? Did that mean he had moved on to another woman? Or, worse, to multiple women? Her gut curdled as she recalled the rumors she had heard about him in London. Rumors he hadn't denied. Perhaps it had been foolish of her to believe he could fall in love with one woman and remain faithful.

"I see," she managed, rising from her chair. "I think that maybe I should not have come. This was a dreadful mistake."

He had asked her for an annulment. And what had she done? She had boarded a ship and crossed the ocean for him, only to find him indisposed when she arrived. But then, she had always known, had she not, that he would break her heart?

"You mustn't go," Tansy said urgently, reaching for Eleanora's hand in a beseeching gesture. "My husband was being politic with his explanation just now, but let there be no confusion. Nando was thoroughly in his cups last night after receiving your letters. I suspect he is suffering the lingering effects of overindulgence this morning."

"Indeed," the king said, inclining his head. "I can assure you that Nando has not been himself since his return to Varros, which is to say I haven't even seen him look twice at a woman, when before…well."

She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble forth. She knew what Nando had been like before—a rakehell to the core. The king did not spare her sensibilities.

"Eleanora, are you well?" Tansy asked, concerned.

"Quite," she managed, feeling the room spin.

Her emotions were running wild again, sadness turning to amusement, then back to deep, abiding sorrow. Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked furiously in an effort not to humiliate herself utterly. She hiccupped, then felt her cheeks go hot with mortification.

"My dear." Tansy wore a troubled expression as she linked her arm through Eleanora's. "Come and sit down. I suspect I know what is amiss."

She swallowed hard. "You do?"

"Yes." With a meaningful look at the king, Tansy told her husband. "Leave us for a few moments, my love. There is something I must speak to Eleanora about in private."

"Your servant, spitfire," the king said with a courtly bow before straightening. "I'll tell my brother to make haste before I have him thrown into the dungeons."

Eleanora's eyes went wide, but Tansy waved a hand as the king took his leave. "Don't listen to my husband's bluster. He is only jesting." She guided Eleanora back to her chair. "Sit, if you please."

Feeling suddenly weary, Eleanora did as her hostess ordered, sinking into the chair once more. Her travel had left her exhausted, but it wasn't merely the journey that had left her feeling that way. Tansy seated herself and gave Eleanora a look that was equal parts sympathetic and knowing.

"You're with child, aren't you?" the queen asked.

Eleanora closed her eyes against a rush of emotion, struggling to compose herself before she opened them again. "Yes. But please don't tell Nando. I want him to make his decision based upon his feelings and not out of a sense of duty."

"My dear woman, you have just crossed an ocean for him while you're carrying his child. If he doesn't fall to his knees and kiss your feet, I'll push him out the nearest window."

Eleanora chuckled, thinking she liked the eccentric queen. Yes, she liked her very much indeed.

"How do I look?" Nando asked Maxim nervously.

He had made his ablutions, dressed, and shaved with more haste than he had known he possessed, desperate to see Eleanora. It had only been the desire not to come before her, bedraggled and stinking of his misdeeds of the night before that had him shaving and washing at all. Every atom of his body had been roaring to see her, to the devil with how he appeared.

But this was Eleanora, and she had come to Varros.

For him.

He owed her every respect.

Maxim cast a narrow-eyed look over his form, hands clasped behind his back. "Less like a corpse."

Nando ground his jaw. "That is all you have to say?"

"I'm not a woman. I don't offer flowery platitudes. What would you prefer me to say?"

"Something a bit nicer," he groused. "But never mind that. I don't want to waste another second bickering with you when I could be with the woman I love."

"By all means, let us proceed," Maxim said wryly. "Forgive me, I hadn't realized how much you loved her, given the way you abandoned her."

He turned on his brother, ready to do battle. "I left her because I love her. For her own sake."

Maxim smiled. "There is something I've learned about women, brother, and it's that they prefer to be asked their opinion on matters rather than having it decided for them."

Nando's hands had balled into fists at his sides. "What are you saying?"

"That you should have asked her what she wanted before you got on that damned ship. That's what I'm saying." Maxim nodded. "And I'm also saying that she appears to be a good woman who loves you enough to travel an ocean chasing after your stupid arse. If you don't fall at her feet and kiss her slippers, I'll push you out the nearest window."

"No need for threats." Nando scowled at his brother. "We both know you love me too much to toss me out a window."

Maxim held up his hands and mimicked a double-handed shove, his countenance devoid of expression. "Thud."

Nando strode past with a growl. "Tend to your wife, brother. And let me tend to mine."

His brother's irritating chuckles chased him as he fled his private rooms and all but ran to the salon where Eleanora was awaiting him. The familiar distance felt as if it took a lifetime to traverse until, finally, he reached the marbled hall of the first floor. A liveried footman flanked the closed salon door. He offered Nando a bow.

"Your Royal Highness."

Nando brushed past him when he moved to open the portal with a grand flourish. "Thank you, but no need to stand on ceremony."

The man looked startled. "Of-of course, yes, Your Royal Highness."

Another bow that Nando couldn't bother himself to acknowledge, and then he was bursting through the door, racing over the threshold, heart pounding.

She was seated at a table laden with tea and sweets, along with Tansy, but at his graceless entrance, both ladies stood. He had eyes for only one.

"Eleanora." His voice was hoarse with emotion, with need.

He wanted to cross the rest of the chamber and haul her into his arms, but he somehow restrained himself.

"Nando." Tansy's voice, like her smile, was warm and welcoming. "I'll leave you and Eleanora to your talk."

"Thank you, Tansy," he managed.

She went to Eleanora's side and whispered something unintelligible to her before departing from the room.

He was moving before the door to the salon clicked closed at her back, eating up the distance keeping him from the woman he loved. "You're here."

Regardless of how many times Nando gazed upon the seemingly endless glory of the sea, he always found himself in awe, marveling at it anew, captivated by its innate allure. And he experienced that same sensation deep within now as he looked upon her. Starting in his marrow and blossoming outward.

He reeled.

Eleanora was beautiful. More breathtakingly beautiful than she had ever been, even if her skin was a touch paler, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. But everything else, from her lustrous golden hair to her elegant posture, was just as he had remembered every night as he had gone to sleep to memories of her, wondering when their separation would hurt less, if indeed it ever could.

"I'm here," she said quietly.

"How are you?"

He needed to know. He had left when she was still healing, and the silence between them had been torture.

"My wound has healed well enough, if that is what you're asking." She was serious, somber.

"Yes. That is what I was asking."

She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Well enough for travel to you."

Another step, and she was within reach. He wanted to seize her hands. To touch her. But he didn't dare. He didn't know if he had the right. His fingers flexed, useless, at his sides.

"Why?" he asked, needing to know, afraid to allow his reckless heart to dream that she had come for him, to him. To believe that she could love him, despite what he had done.

She cocked her head, her light-blue gaze searching. "I might ask the same of you. You left me. Why?"

He clenched his jaw against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm. "You were nearly killed because of me."

"I didn't see a flintlock in your hands that day."

"I may as well have been the one to shoot you." He raked a hand through his hair, self-loathing threatening to choke him. "I was the one Levering was after. I dallied with his wife. I made him a cuckold. I was a ne'er-do-well scapegrace without a thought for consequence, and you paid the price for my sins. It was my fault that you were vulnerable that day. Tierney had warned me, but I was too prideful to believe the earl would be bold enough and mad enough to come for me again after the first time. I was wrong."

"You couldn't have known what he would do," Eleanora said softly. "You didn't know. No one has ever championed me or protected me as you have. I have no doubt that if you'd had an inkling of what would unfold, you would have done everything in your power to keep me far from Lord Levering."

"I should have been wiser, stronger. I should have remained at Tierney's until we could formulate a plan. But I was foolish. Reckless, just as Princess Stasia warned you. I left Tierney's protection because I wanted you as my wife. I was selfish and greedy, and look at the cost. You. My God, Eleanora, if you had died that day…"

"I didn't." That stubborn chin he loved went up. "I'm still here."

"No thanks to me," he snarled bitterly.

"I have brought something for you," she said, surprising him.

"A gift?"

A small, curious smile played at her berry-pink lips, and he had to tamp down the urge to seize her and take her mouth with his. "Of sorts."

She flitted to the table, retrieving a small, carved wooden box.

Turning back to him, she offered it. "Here you are."

He accepted it, staring at the small box in his hands, then at Eleanora.

"Open the lid," she urged.

His fingers found the smooth underside of the lip carved into the box, and he pulled, the top coming off with ease. Within was a tidy bundle of gray bits. It looked like…

"Ashes?" he asked, more confused than ever.

She nodded. "The annulment documents from Varros and the deed to our town house in London, along with the letter concerning the transfer of your funds in trust to me."

Hope rose within him.

"You burned them."

Another small smile curved her fetching lips. "I burned them."

Nando swallowed hard, the smooth box in his hands scarcely any weight at all, worth almost nothing and yet utterly priceless. "Why did you burn them, minx?"

His pet name for her fell from his lips without thought, naturally.

He didn't correct himself.

"Because I don't wish for an annulment, nor do I want your money. And I certainly don't want to live in the London town house unless you are in it with me."

Her eyes grew wide as she finished her pronouncement, and he could see that she had stunned even herself with her stern words.

He had to take a moment to gather his whirling thoughts.

"Why not?" he asked when he could find his wits and his tongue again.

"Do you not know?" Her brow furrowed, and she took the box from him, replacing it on the table, before she reached for his hands.

He allowed her to take them, threading their fingers together. Sweet God, to touch her again. It was Elysium, pure and simple.

"You'll have to tell me, I'm afraid," he said thickly, more of that hope squeezing his throat, rising inside him so large and so out of control that he was amazed he could fashion words at all.

"I love you, Nando. I have never been happier than as your wife. Levering has been punished as he deserved. There is no more fear of danger, and what happened was not your fault. He was a madman incapable of reason. He wanted to hurt someone, anyone, and he would not stop until he had."

She had said a great deal, but what was sticking with foremost tenacity in his mind were those precious three words she had begun with.

I love you.

Eleanora loved him.

For the second time since entering the room, Nando swayed on his feet.

"You…you love me?" he repeated.

"I do. I love you, and I want nothing more than to be with you, wherever that may be, whether here in Varros or in London. All I want is to be your wife, Nando. To be with you. Not because you're handsome, or because you're a prince, and not for any reason other than you have my heart. You've always had my heart, from the moment I first saw you, only I was too scared to admit it to you or to myself, even when you told me you loved me in your letter. I can only hope that it's not too late for us. That you still love me as much as I love you."

She loved him.

She wanted to be his wife. She had been shot because of him. She had nearly died because of him, and yet here she stood, his brave and glorious wife, laying her heart before him.

He gathered her to him, holding her tightly. Too tightly, he knew, but he couldn't seem to banish the fear that she would change her mind or that she was nothing but a product of his feverish imagination and that he would awake from a dream to find none of this had been real. He had to cling to these precious seconds.

"I do love you," he murmured, pressing his cheek to her smooth, soft hair. "I love you more than words can convey. I love you more than I even knew was possible. I love you so much that it hurts, and enough to know that you are better off without me."

She leaned her head back at once. "I am better with you. Never tell me such nonsense again. And never make my decisions for me. I am perfectly capable of rational thought, you know. I understand your intentions were noble, but if you make me chase you across the world again, I won't be impressed."

He chuckled, for that was his Eleanora, strong and determined and unafraid. And she was not wrong. He should have let her make the choice instead of making it for her. He had believed he was doing the greater good, but in the end, he had only torn them both to bits.

"I promise never to make you chase me again," he assured her. "That is to say, not across the world. If you wish to chase me in our bedroom for sport, however, it could prove vastly diverting."

She laughed, crystalline and melodious, and Deus, how he loved that sound. Dear God, how he loved the woman. Full stop.

"Excellent. Because should I ever have to chase you again, I cannot promise I won't be tempted to push you out a window for your obtuseness."

Nando laughed too. "Maxim said something oddly similar to me before I joined you here."

"He threatened to push you out a window?" Eleanora asked.

"Yes. I don't suppose he meant it, though."

Her eyes widened. "Tansy said the same thing to me. She said that if you didn't fall to your knees and kiss my feet, she would push you out the nearest window."

"Hmm. Astonishingly bloodthirsty of them. I do believe they're turning into the same person. I'm not certain whether I should be alarmed or impressed."

"It is Machiavellian of them, isn't it?" Eleanora agreed, smiling.

"Do you know what else is Machiavellian?"

"What is?"

"Following me to Varros, telling me you love me, burning the bank and annulment documents and house deed and then bringing them to me in ash, before standing here in this salon, still wearing all your clothes."

Charming color crept into her cheeks. "Nando! I'm not disrobing in the queen's salon."

He was happy. So damned happy. Deliriously, ridiculously, wonderfully happy.

"Then come to my bedroom," he urged. "To our bedroom. I'll happily strip you naked there just the same."

She laughed again. "Does this mean you want to remain married to me?"

"God yes, it does." He drew her closer again and bowed his head to nuzzle her temple. "I only left you to protect you, because I love you enough to let you go."

Her arms were around his waist, a tight, wonderful band he wished he could wear always, for all the world to see.

"And I love you enough to keep you, and to tell you that you're going to be a father."

Everything within him froze. "What did you say?"

He must have misheard. Had she said what he thought she had said? Because, sweet Lord, the thought of Eleanora growing round with his child, of soon having a little girl with her wild golden curls to love or a young lad with her dimpled chin, brought tears to his eyes. He blinked furiously, not wanting them to fall, but it was useless. They slipped down his cheeks, heedless of his masculine pride.

She tipped her head back, smiling shyly up at him. "You're going to be a father, Nando."

Joy seized him. For a moment, he could not speak, so intense was his reaction.

"You're with child?" he managed.

She nodded, biting her lip. "Are you weeping?"

"Not at all," he lied. "There was something in my eye."

Her countenance turned somber. "I know it is unexpected. I didn't intend to tell you so bluntly, and I've only just made the realization. If the news displeases you?—"

"Not another word," he interrupted tenderly. He withdrew from her enough so that he could press a hand over her belly, wondering at the life that was growing within her, even if there was no discernible change to her form just yet. "I couldn't be happier, my love. Words can't begin to describe my elation."

Eleanora placed a hand over his, lacing their fingers together. "Promise me that the next time some wrongheaded notion to do what you think is best for me enters your mind, you'll consult me first."

Nando didn't hesitate. "I promise. You're thoroughly stuck with me now, minx."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Smiling wickedly, she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.