When he finally pulled away from their embrace, she looked up, still a little dazzled. “Is there really a stripper pole in the library?”
Darius gave a low laugh. “Come with me.”
Taking her hand, he drew her down the long marble hallway to the oak-paneled library. When she saw the gleaming stripper pole set in the brand-new white shag carpeting, she burst into horrified snorts of laughter.
“I told you,” he said.
“I’ll get it removed. Don’t worry. I’ll make this house just like it was,” Letty said. “Just like we remember.”
“All those memories.” He pulled her against his chest, his dark eyes intense as he whispered huskily, “But as I remember, there’s one thing we’ve never done in this house.”
And as her husband pulled her against him in a hot, fierce embrace, Letty knew all her deepest dreams were about to come true.
CHAPTER TEN
HOME. LETTY LOOKED around with satisfaction. Was there any sweeter word?
The remodel was finished just in time, too. The former owner’s monstrous decor had been removed—the shag carpeting, the stripper pole, the “ironic” brass fixtures and all the rest of it—and everything at Fairholme had been returned to its former glory.
The sitting room felt cozy, especially compared to the cold November weather outside. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Polished oak floors gleamed beneath priceless Turkish rugs. The sofas and chairs were plush and comfortable, the lamps sturdy and practical. Family photos now decorated the walls.
Letty snuggled back against the sofa. Her husband was sitting at the other end, tapping away on his laptop, but periodically he would rub her feet, so she made sure they were strategically available. Earlier, they’d had a delicious hearty meal of lamb stew and homemade bread, her favorite meal from childhood, prepared by Mrs. Pollifax.
The housekeeper had just left, saying that she needed to go visit a friend at a Brooklyn hospital. She’d had a strange expression when she said it, causing Letty to reply with a sympathetic murmur, “Please take all the time you need for your friend.”
“I just might,” the housekeeper had replied tartly, “since his own family can’t be bothered to go see him.”
“Poor man,” Letty had sighed, feeling sorry for him. She couldn’t imagine what kind of family wouldn’t visit a sick man in the hospital.
That reminded her of how much she missed her father after more than two months of not seeing him or talking to him. Darius still refused to forgive him. But surely, after their baby was born, his heart would be so full, he would have a new capacity to forgive? To love.
Letty looked at her husband hopefully. With the departure of Mrs. Pollifax, and the rest of the staff in their outlying cottages on the estate, the two of them were now completely alone in the house. The room felt snug and warm with her afghan blanket, the crackling fire and Darius’s closeness as outside the cold November wind blew, rattling the leaded glass windows.
She was getting close to her due date, and happier than she’d ever imagined.
The nursery was ready. She’d been overjoyed to discover that her great-grandmother’s precious fresco hadn’t been completely destroyed. A well-known art restorer had managed to bring a good portion of it back to life. The ducks and geese were far fewer in number, and the Bavarian village mostly gone, but the little goose girl no longer looked so sad. It was a joy to see it again, and though Darius pretended to mock it and roll his eyes as he called it “art,” she knew he was happy for her.
The nursery was the most beautiful room in the house, in Letty’s opinion, the place where she’d slept as a baby, as had her mother and her grandfather before. It was now freshly painted and decorated, with a crib and rocking chair and brand-new toys. All they needed was the baby.
“Soon,” she whispered aloud, rubbing her enormous belly. “Very soon.”
“Talking to the baby again?” Darius teased.
Holding up a tattered copy of a beloved children’s book, she responded archly, “I’m just going to read him this story.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “Again?”
“The pregnancy book said...”
“Oh, have you read a pregnancy book?”
Letty’s lips quirked. Her constant consultation of pregnancy books and blogs was a running joke between them. But as a first-time mother and an only child, she had little experience with children and was anxious to do it right.
“It’s been scientifically proven,” she informed him now, “that a baby can hear, and therefore obviously listen to stories, from the womb.”
He rolled his eyes, then put his large hand tenderly on her belly. “Don’t worry, kid,” he said in a whisper. “I have something to read you that I know you’ll find way more interesting than the bunny story.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” she said, amused.