Page 167 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

“She’s perfect.”

He looked at her, eyes warm and adoring despite the soot and exhaustion painting his face. “You’re perfect.”

Arabella gave a hoarse laugh. “I just gave birth after escaping a fire, Lucien. I’m the exact opposite of perfect.”

He leaned closer, voice thick with affection. “You’re perfectly imperfect.”

She blinked at him, too tired for logic but unwilling to let that pass. “That’s grammatically confusing.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s us.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The baby shifted between them with a soft sigh, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. Outside, the faint sounds of repair carried through the open window; voices, hammering, the quiet persistence of saving everything.

Arabella exhaled slowly, her gaze still on their child. “We survived,” she said, as if only now daring to believe it.

Lucien nodded, his voice quiet but certain. “We did more than survive.”

“We did?”

“We won. Harrington’s caught, the house still stands, and everyone we love is safe.”

Arabella smiled faintly. “And we have a daughter.”

“Who was born in chaos.”

“Our favourite thing.”

He tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Apparently. It keeps finding us.”

“Or we keep finding it.”

He chuckled softly. “Same thing.”

“Different thing,” she murmured, eyes closing as her head rested back against a cushion, “but equally true.”

After a moment, she said quietly, “Lucien?”

“Mm?”

“Your scars.”

He stiffened slightly, hand unconsciously rising to touch the faded lines across his cheek. “What about them?”

“You have new ones. From today.”

He glanced down at his hands, the skin raw and reddened from where he’d beaten back the flames to reach her. “Do I?”

She nodded faintly. “On your hands. From the fire.”

Lucien looked at the burns, then back at her. “They’ll heal.”

“They’ll scar,” she said softly.

“Probably,” he admitted, his voice low.

"Badges of love," she said softly. "Not shame."