Her Errant Earl by Scarlett Scott

desire skittering through her. “Forgive me, my dear?”
    “I suppose so,” she conceded. “But when next I ask you, you
had better be able to tell me that I am the eldest of six daughters.”
    “Six daughters?” He looked aghast. “Don’t tell me we’re to
have all girls as well. I’ll go mad.”
    The mentioning of their future children sent an entirely
different sort of emotion washing over her. Good heavens. Even though she had
reconciled herself to the fact that she was expected to produce an heir for his
family, she hadn’t truly given the notion much thought beyond that. She thought
of their lovemaking the previous night and earlier that morning. Oh dear.
Victoria was certain she was flushing cherry red.
    She forced her mind back to the topic at hand. She’d been
berating him, not mooning over him, drat it all. “Yes, six girls,” she
confirmed. “Take note of their names as well, since you ought to know them by
now. There is Rose, Lillian, Edith, Pearl and Libby.”
    As she spoke their names, it occurred to her just how much
she missed them. They were all younger than she in age, but dear in their own
ways. Sometimes, New York and her old life there still beckoned her with its
cozy familiarity and the comfort of knowing she was well-loved.
    “Right,” he interrupted her thoughts. “Roberta, Laura,
Edith, Pearl and Louisa.” His tone was hopeful.
    “Rose, Lillian, and Libby.” She gave him a good-natured
swat. “You’ll meet them all someday, I expect, and then you’ll be able to
recall their names. I’m sure they all plan to follow in my footsteps.”
    “God help them,” he remarked, his voice drenched in
self-deprecation.
    “God and their sister,” she said, striving to lighten the
mood. “I know how to navigate the treacherous social waters on this side of the
world.”
    “Thank Christ you’re a forgiving soul,” he muttered. “Lord
knows I don’t deserve you.”
    “No,” she granted, happy he’d noticed but wanting to make
him squirm just a bit, “you don’t.”
     
    Rose, Lillian, Edith, Pearl and Libby. Good Christ, he was
going to have a gaggle of daughters before he ever had an heir. If he even
sired an heir, that was. He should have been suitably horrified. But the devil
of it was, he didn’t truly give a damn. If Victoria bore him a dozen daughters,
they would all still be theirs, bright-eyed, flaxen-haired little girls to be
cherished.
    Good Christ. He was getting maudlin. He dropped his wife’s
hands, determined to resume their walk without further sentimentality. He ought
to have known better than to have brought up her family, by God. What was the
matter with him? Had making love to her addled his mind? Very likely, for his
cock was raging just standing at her side.
    He’d thought his mad desire for her would dissipate, but it
was growing worse.
    What to do? Right, he’d been attempting to show her the
river before he’d gone hopelessly afield. He offered her his arm once more.
“Shall we continue on in our walk, my dear? Have you seen the river here yet?
It’s something to behold.”
    He recalled splashing about in it as a boy on the occasions
his family had taken up residence at Carrington House. They had come often
until that awful last visit. His mother had lost a babe, another brother, and
had succumbed not long thereafter to childbed fever. While no one had been
certain whether the father of the stillborn had been the duke or the duchess’s
lover of the moment, the babe’s death had confirmed Pembroke as the sole heir.
    Thereafter, the duke had sent him away to school. Carrington
House had been closed until he took possession of it as an adult. And now, he
was here, his unwanted-turned-wanted American wife at his side. Perhaps he’d
overlooked precisely how comforting it could be to know that another soul was
his mate for life. He found he rather enjoyed marriage after all.
    “Are you well, William?” His wife’s concerned voice cut through
his