A Rose at Midnight Read online

  The wariness darkened his midnight-blue eyes, and she knew she shouldn’t tease him. She couldn’t resist.

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’re no longer going to have the romantic cachet of considering yourself the last of the mad Blackthornes.”

  He simply stared at her for a moment, before her meaning sank in. “You’re going to have a baby?”

  “By late spring. Not long after Ellen gives birth, I expect.” She tried to control her sudden knot of anxiety. He was staring at her, his face absolutely expressionless with shock.

  And then he reached down and hauled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she thought her bones might break. He was shaking, she was shaking, and all she could do was cling to him, as close as he was holding her.

  He lifted his head, reaching down and catching her chin, tilting it up to his face, and there was a wicked gleam in his suspiciously bright eyes. “Does this mean you’re going to have morning sickness for nine months?”

  “Most likely,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Bloody hell,” he said cheerfully.

  And then he kissed her, hard. And they both began to laugh.

  The End

  About the Author

  I’ve been writing since the dawn of time. A child prodigy, I made my first professional sale to Jack and Jill Magazine at the age of 7, for which I received $25 (admittedly my father worked for the publisher). Since then I’ve written gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, historical romance, series romance -- anything with sex and violence, love and redemption. I misbehave frequently, but somehow have managed to amass lots of glittering prizes, like NYT, PW and USA Today bestseller status, Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romance Writers of America, and a decent smattering of Romantic times and RITA awards.

  I live on a lake in Northern Vermont with my incredibly fabulous husband. My two children have flown the coop, but the three cats do their best to keep us from being lonely.

  In my spare time I quilt and play around with wearable art, and the rest of the time I write write write. Apparently women of a certain age get a rush of creativity, and I’m currently enjoying it. Too many stories to write, not enough hours in the day.