Ancona, Italy. Two months later.
“Nick. Wake up, or you’ll miss it.” Alex pressed her lips to his cheek. “It’s moonrise.”
Thorne eased his eyes open to find his wife leaning over him, a soft smile on her face. Behind her, the sky was the deep blue of twilight, but the air was still as warm as daytime. Hours ago, they had hiked the cliffs near the port of Ancona and came to a stop that overlooked the Adriatic sea. They polished off a bottle of Italian wine on arrival, and when his wife kissed him, her lips were as sweet as the moscato blanc.
How had he ended up here? As he stared up at his wife, he marveled at how his life had shifted. Thorne never had the opportunity to relax, to share the burden of his responsibilities. After killing Whelan, he’d wanted to give Alex that future she’d longed for, the ship that took them to distant places.
After all, they’d never had a honeymoon.
O’Sullivan had taken over the club’s duties in Thorne’s absence. From his letters, the business appeared to be running smoothly; the factotum had even hired a proper bookkeeper. It seemed strange, to wake up without the weight of his obligations. To see this woman every day and wonder at the gift she had given him: a lifetime with her.
Her expression softened. “What are you thinking?”
Thorne smiled and shook his head. “Just admiring you.”
She had lines in the corners of her eyes from laughing. He traced them with his fingertips, amazed that he would get to watch them deepen with time. That, though they had spent years apart, they would spend years more together.
“Admire me in a moment.” Alex pulled away and gestured at the sight. “Look. It’s just as beautiful as the guidebook’s description.”
Thorne sat up and stared at the sight with her. The full moon rose over the sea, its light spilling across the calm water below. The palate of colors were an artist’s dream: gold and blue, purple and orange, each color set in a vibrant gradient of shades he did not know the names of. The waves sighed against the rocks, filling the night with the breathing rhythm of the sea.
Alex sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “ ‘I do not remember ever so enchanted by any view as that now presented to us,’ ” she recited from her memorized passage in the guidebook, in a voice that was as calm and beautiful as the tide. “ ‘I know not whether daylight would rob it of any portion of its beauty and soothing influence; I can only speak of it as it impressed me then—so calm, so pure, so still.’ ”
“Perhaps you’ll write a memoir of our travels, “ Thorne said. “An Englishwoman’s Adventures At Sea, With An Irish Husband And A Writing Desk In Tow.”
He had never seen the sea before they set off in the steamer weeks ago. Had never travelled beyond the sprawl of London before he met her. Three weeks ago, they had been in Paris. A week ago, in Cadiz. Within the next fortnight, they would find their way to Venice, and wherever she wished, thereafter. He had purchased a second writing desk for her, portable, that neatly folded into a trunk they brought from port to port. The trunk itself had hidden compartments.
After all, his wife still needed a place for pens, ink, sweets, and secrets.
Alex laughed. “A memoir of our travels would cause a moral outrage. Two parts travel, one part erotic tale.”
“One part? You issuing a challenge?”
Her smile turned wicked. “Maybe.”
“Good,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. “Because it ought to be at least two parts erotic.”
Later,as they lay naked on the blanket, Alexandra pressed a kiss to Nick’s shoulder. His skin was warm, and he tasted of salt from the sea. His soft moan gratified her, for she had spent these last few weeks learning him. Memorizing the texture of his skin beneath her lips, the sounds he made when she touched him. These were lessons she hoped to carry with her through the years of their marriage, when they had settled into their lives. When they fit beside each other like two stones that had scraped together long enough to sand their rough edges.
“After Venice,” she said quietly, “I wish to return to Stratfield Saye. Anne wrote that she and Richard will be staying at Roseburn with James and Emma until their babies are born.”
Nick’s fingertips brushed her neck. “All right.”
Alexandra lifted her head so she could stare down at him. His black gaze glittered in the darkness, a sky full of stars so like the one above them. “Will you come with me?”
“Leave the club in the extended care of O’Sullivan?” He made a face, then gave a long sigh. “I’ll come.”
“Good, because there’s something I’ve been thinking . . .”
“Oh ho!” Nick grinned. “My wife’s been thinking. Dangerous words, those. Very well, let’s hear it.”
Alexandra grazed his cheek with her fingertips, her expression suddenly serious. “Marry me.”
Nick gave a little frown, his smile fading. “If you’re wondering whether our marriage lines are legitimate—”
“I know they’re legitimate. Years ago, I visited the parish in Gretna. I saw the registry. This would not be a ceremony of legality. I want to say the vows to you in front of my family. I want to say them again knowing everything that you are, and that I love you beyond measure. I want to marryyou, Nicholas Thorne. Will you say the vows with me?”
Nick rolled her beneath him, his lips coming against hers in a fierce kiss. He tasted like the sweet wine from earlier and he smelled like the ocean. As he gathered her against him, pressed her to the hard line of his body, he whispered, “I love you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
Laughing, she kissed him again and kept him in her embrace until the sun came up over the sea.
