She gave him a radiant smile. "Next month, I thought. No, don't frown at me. I wanted to be certain. How did you know? You're a man."

"Even a man notices if his wife doesn't have her monthly flow. That, and your breasts. They're fuller, more sensitive, more tender. Haven't you noticed how careful I've been when I've caressed you?"

"No," she said quite honestly. "When you touch me, all I notice is that I'm wild and hot and aching for you."

"Ah," Knight said, his hand going to her belly, his fingers splaying over her. "That is very nicely said. When can I expect my fourth child to enter this world?"

"The end of November, I think."

"You're feeling well?"

"Oh, yes, extremely fit. I haven't been at all ill in the mornings."

"Doubtless it's due to your remarkable husband's care of you." Knight glanced at the puckered scar on her shoulder. He felt a shock of memory, then resolutely shook it off. That was over, long over. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. Now, I've decided I'll give you the reward and not keep it for myself, even though I am certain I earned it."

Lily blinked up at him. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"The reward. For the return of Billy's Baubles."

"What reward? From the Prince of Orange?"

"Certainly from the prince. I got a letter this morning from Burke. Billy, my dear, wants us to accept a token of his esteem and profound thanks for the return of his sparklers, in the form of a small seventeenth-century manor house he owns in Cornwall, near Lostwithiel, I understand."

"A house for the return of some paltry jewels?"

"Not quite so paltry. Evidently they were worth something in the neighborhood of sixty thousand pounds."

"Goodness," Lily said. "And they were sewn in the ermine lining of my cloak. What if I'd lost the cloak? Sold it? Oh, dear-"

Knight's fingers were on her lips; then he leaned down and kissed her. "When will I stop wanting you all the time? The manor house is called Swan's Grange. I was thinking we could change the name to something more noble. Perhaps-"

Lily lightly caressed him and he forgot everything except her soft hand and her soft mouth on him.

"Perhaps what?" she asked, her breath warm in his mouth.

"Attila's Hall? Napoleon's Chase? The Turk's Abbey? I don't know, I don't care."

Lily didn't either at that moment.

"I know," he said some thirty minutes later.

"Know what?"

"We'll christen it Medici Manor. We could build old, dank prisons. We could sell poisons, import the Italian concept of vendetta."

Lily giggled. "You're making me laugh too much."

"My mission in life. Get used to it."

"All right," Lily said and kissed him.

About the Author.

CATHERINE COULTER is a perennial New York Times bestselling author of both historical romance and romantic suspense novels. She lives in Northern California with her husband Anton and her cat.

Do let her know which of the novels in the Night Trilogy you like best. Write her at P.O.Box 17, Mill Valley, CA 94942, or e-mail her at ReadMoi@aol.com. Visit her website at www.Catherine Coulter.com.

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