Rebecca Winters - Pregnancy Proposals - The Duke's Baby

Somehow the conversation had become a case of art imitating life. It was all too personal. Her eyes slid to the painting in question.

“The artist did an exceptional job of conveying their emotions. I think a woman did it.”

“I don’t know about that. A man can paint with the same amount of feeling. When I was young and hadn’t yet understood a female’s magic, I thought they were an embarrassing oddity. Several years had to go by before I let my best friend have a look.”

“By then you’d both discovered the lusty month of May had taken on new meaning. When June followed, your passion ripened.”

Rich, deep laughter poured out of him. “You’re one in a million, Andrea. I wonder which painting our child will like best.”

The conversation was getting out of hand.

“If we have a romantic daughter, she’ll tell us right away. If it’s a boy, we’ll probably be old and tired before he admits his preference.”

“Even then he’ll tell us there was no such thing as Camelot.” Lance was reading her mind.

“That’s when we’ll tell him it was only a beautiful dream.”

“I think I’m beginning to know how Arthur felt when everything fell apart. We haven’t even said our vows, yet you’re talking about us sitting around in our rocking chairs. I don’t envision us like that.”

“That’s because you grew up in the land of dreams. The truth is, Guinevere and Lancelot lost their heads. If we haven’t learned from their mistakes, then heaven help us.”

He moved closer, putting his chin on his bronzed arm. “You think their love was a mistake?”

She struggled not to be affected by his proximity. “Don’t you?”

“And miss out on the greatest love the world has ever known?” he drawled.

Her hand plucked at the covers. “They had to pay too great a price.”

“But while it was good, they knew indescribable rapture. I noticed you reading Chrétien de Troyes when I found you in the forest.”

Nothing got past Lance.

“The bedroom scene is one of the most famous passages in all literature,” he reminded her. “Wasn’t there a line about their sport being so agreeable and sweet while they kissed and fondled each other, that in truth such a marvelous joy came over them as was never heard or known?”

Andrea’s face went hot. “Chrétien got a little carried away portraying Lancelot’s feelings. Since he wasn’t a woman, he didn’t understand Guinevere. She was married to Arthur, and was always plagued by guilt.”

Lance sent her a seductive smile. “I think that’s the widow in you talking. Take another look at the painting,” he told her. “Do you see any guilt in her eyes or her body straining against him?

“She’s so eager for him, her eyes are alive. You can feel them burning for each other. All the months he’s been at court they’ve dreamed of this moment. By suppressing their passion, it has only grown into a conflagration.

“You can tell she’s completely forgotten anyone else is in the room with them. She’s begging him to touch her. Lancelot is out of his mind with desire.

“He’s been eaten alive by images of her that won’t give him rest. He burns for her in his sleep, yet now he’s awake and he’s come to her, and there’s no power on earth to stop their sweet pleasure in each other.”

Stop it, Lance.

“I’ve looked enough for one night, and now I’m tired. I should think you would be, too.” She leaned over to flick off the bedside lamp. “Good night.”

“Do you mind if I talk to you until we fall asleep?”

“As long as it’s not about fairy tales.” She turned her back on him and wished he’d plant himself in another area of the bed several feet away.

“The university is only five minutes from the house in Rennes. If you’re interested, you could take a couple of morning classes while you’re waiting for the baby to come. The term starts in August and will be over before you deliver at the end of December. I could drive you on my way to work, and pick you up at lunch.”

He’d anticipated everything. It would give her something worthwhile to do until she went back to the States to live.

“Where will you be working?”

“At the hydraulics company I told you about. Since being home I’ve made inquiries. They’re in need of an engineer with my qualifications.”

“How soon will you start?”

“Right after the wedding.”

She was glad he hadn’t mentioned a honeymoon.

“I’d be very interested.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of classes you’d like to

take?”

“French, and maybe a survey of early French literature.”

“Sounds like you’re planning to follow in Richard’s footsteps,” came the flat response.

“I have no desire to be a teacher. I was thinking I’d better know something about your language and culture since the men planning to be father and grandfather in my child’s life are Frenchmen.”

“That’s a fact.”

Andrea couldn’t tell what he thought of her choices.

“Someday I’ll decide on a career and go after it. Right now I can’t think beyond being a mother.”

“To be honest, I’m glad Papa wants to be in charge of the wedding festivities. With Helene’s help, they don’t need anyone else. That leaves us time to get the house ready and plan a nursery.”

“Is it vacant?”

“Yes, except for the caretakers Jean and his wife, Louise, who live there on the ground floor. Anything you want and they’ll take care of it.”

“What’s your mother’s home like?”

“It’s a cottage with a plaster exterior called a bastide. Two floors, four bedrooms. One full bath, and two half baths. There’s a terrace and a garden. Inside and out it’s perfect for a child.”

“I think it sounds charming.”

“When my grandparents were alive, I loved to stay there where I could run around and make messes.”

“You mean you were a normal little boy?”

“Afraid so. Papa didn’t take too kindly to my building model rockets on the grand hall dining table. The cement glue spilled on the surface and ruined it. They had to have it redone. If you got me started on the damage I did, it would take weeks.”

“Sounds like you made up for several siblings.”

He chuckled. “I wish I had a brother or sister. Maman suffered through three miscarriages. Each for a different reason.”

“She was lucky to get you. I’m living testimony of that.”

“Amen. Tell me about your cousins.”

“Julie’s twenty-nine. Sharon’s twenty-six.”

“Les Trois Mousquetaires.”

“I wish it had been like that. If I’d been adopted at birth, it might have been different.”

“What did they do? Remind you that you weren’t one of them in order to dampen your sails when you got something they didn’t?”

“How did you know?”

“Corinne pulled her ‘poor me’ stunt the first night I met her in the hope I’d feel guilty for having been born a Du Lac.”

Lance’s problems had been so much worse, Andrea didn’t have room to complain. “Now that the girls are married, things have been better.”

“I wish I could say the same where Corinne’s concerned.”

Andrea shivered. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she just gave up and went home to her mother.”

A strange sound came from his throat. “I thought you were the one who said no more fairy tales.”

“I’m sorry. What do you suppose she’s doing right now?”

“Let’s not worry about it. Go to sleep. You’re safe with me.”

Safe.

If there was anyone in the world who could protect her, she knew it was Lance. The knowledge helped her to relax. At some point oblivion took over.