Page 78 of The Bachelor Spy
So similar to some of the soldiers in this very house.
He turned his head at the sound.
“We will wait outside, Captain,” one of the men in uniform said with a dip of his head toward Grace, the slightest tip of his lips giving her added hope. “And await instructions on what you’ll need next, sir.”
Grace shifted forward a few steps, the men passing her and closing the door behind them.
And that’s when all reserve, all control fled her.
“Frederick,” she whispered, crossing the room in a rush and touching his hand that rested on the arm of the chair. “You’re … you’re here.”
He did not hesitate. Did not say anything. Merely took her hand and drew her forward, pulling her into his lap. Burying his head in her neck, he pressed his warm lips against her skin, his breath shaking from him.
And then she was crying. Laughing. Kissing every part of his face she could find, until their lips met in a beautiful reunion. His hands moved over her, delving into her wild hair, smoothing over her back, moving as if to see her in the only way he could.
She pressed into him. Held him close. Moved her hands over his hair, his face. Attempting to assure herself of his wholeness.
Suddenly, his body went absolutely still.
She pulled back only far enough to see his face, the bandages blocking any assistance those dark and lovely eyes of his could have given her for understanding his sudden pause.
“Grace?”
His palms moved slowly around her waist to her stomach, his very fine jaw dropping open for a moment. “Darling?”
Some combination of laugh and sob burst from her, and she took his face in her hands. “Yes!” She kissed his open mouth. “I had no idea, Frederick. I was too busy with everything to notice the clues and only found out myself last week. Dr. Ross said our little one is due in January.”
His shock transformed into a crooked grin before spreading into a laugh. “Our baby? In January?”
She nodded, which seemed ridiculous since he couldn’t see her nodding. “Yes. Close enough to Christmas to consider it one of the best gifts possible.” She smoothed a palm over his shirt. “But how did you know when I didn’t even—”
He cut off her sentence with another kiss, slow and deliciously thorough, and then pressed his mouth to her ear. “I know your body quite well, darling.”
A wonderfully warm tingle took a delightful trail from his words to her ear and cascaded through the rest of her body, and then the little person between them decided to move. Grace gasped and rocked back. “Can you feel him?” She took his hands and pressed them to her stomach. “He’s moving.”
“He?” His smile remained wide. Wonderful. Her darling Frederick.
“Zahra said so.” Grace covered his hands. “And I wouldn’t wonder if she was right.”
A significant thump came from her stomach, and Frederick’s breath stopped. “Was … was that him?”
She nodded again. And then rolled her eyes at her ridiculousness. “Yes, it was. I’d written to you last week to explain it all, but my letter is likely somewhere between here and France.” She kissed him again. “But I’d much rather tell you in person and benefit from your wonderful kisses.”
His palms, rougher than they’d been before, moved up slowly to cradle her face. “I’m glad to be with you, my darling. I only wish I could see your lovely face, which I’m certain is beaming with all the delights of your secret.”
“It’s beaming all the more, I’m sure, because you’re here.” Grace’s throat tightened, but she pressed a kiss to his forehead, just above the bandages. “Now, tell me what happened, and know I am quite prepared to handle the most hideous of descriptions should you need to share them.”
Frederick’s hands dropped to rest on her waist, his thumbs tracing gentle circles there—a gesture so familiar it made her want to weep. “We were inspecting bridge supports near Hooge near Ypres. Routine work, or what passes for routine in this bloody war.” His voice roughened. “The Germans launched an unexpected attack—gas shells. Chlorine. The wind shifted without warning and caught several of us before we could don our masks properly.”
She’d heard about some of the specific effects of gas exposure, mostly from what the nurses or doctors said in the hospital. It burned the corneas, the conjunctiva. And the prognosis varied widely. Some men fully recovered.
Others didn’t.
She’d even helped treat a few men who had completely lost their vision.
Exposure length gave a good indication of damage. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “How long were you exposed?”
“Perhaps thirty seconds before I secured my mask.” His jaw tightened. “Long enough.”
