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“The only jewel I stole was you.”
“I guess I’ll have to change my name to Granville, then.”
Colin gave a small smile. “I guess you’ll have to, if you want to.”
“What? And risk giving people, including your mother, conniptions at being styled Belinda Wentworth, Marchioness of Easterbridge?”
“I wouldn’t mind as long as you remained the lady of my heart.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like to renew our vows?”
Belinda swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’ve been a disaster at weddings, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He gave her a swift kiss. “What matters is that you’re a winner at marriage.”
“It’s nice of you to think so.”
He gave her an intimate smile. “I’m betting on it.”
Belinda smiled. “Then, yes, I’ll marry you again.”
“The local parish church would do nicely. The locals will love the show.”
“Even if I’m not dressed in red sequins?” she joked.
“Especially if I avoid a white Elvis suit.”
She laughed.
“I started out trying to put the Wentworth-Granville feud to rest by vanquishing the Wentworths. Instead, by falling in love, we’ll be the means together to end the feud in a far more satisfactory way.”
Belinda couldn’t agree more. “I can’t wait to get started together on your next strategy.”
Epilogue
It was the Christmas season in snowy Berkshire, and Belinda was surrounded by those who loved her and whom she loved in return.
What else could a woman ask for?
She surveyed the scene in the sitting room at Halstead Hall. A huge tree hugged one corner of the room, a bright star at the very top and foil ribbon gracing the boughs.
Colin was speaking with Hawk near the tree, but in the next moment, his eyes connected with hers.
A look ripe with emotion and understanding passed between them. Colin’s face said that he adored her—and he couldn’t wait to get her alone.
Then he winked, and Belinda’s smile widened.
She was six months pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl—and this time next year, they would be parents like their friends. It was nice to get a reminder that even in her current state, her husband still, well, lusted, for her.
On the floor in front of one of the sofas, Pia played with her son, William, the seven-month-old Earl of Eastchester—the courtesy title used by the eldest son of the Duke of Hawkshire. She laughed along with Tamara when William snagged a ball that had been rolled his way by Tamara’s fifteen-month-old son, Elliott Langsford, Viscount Averil.
Off to one side, Tamara’s husband, Sawyer, stood with a toddler’s juice box in hand, surveying the action.
This time next year, two children would become four, Belinda thought. She’d be playing on the floor along with Pia and Tamara, though it was hard to believe these days since her view of her feet had already disappeared.
She and Colin hoped to make this Christmastime gathering an annual event with the two couples whom they considered the best of friends.
