"Traveling into a storm is certainly surprising."
James stood, coming around the table to kneel beside her chair; a gesture that still made her heart race, remembering another time he'd knelt. "Catherine, it's been five years since that night. Five years since you walked into that inn, soaking wet and furious, and completely changed my life."
"You changed mine too."
"Then come with me. Let's go back. Let's stay in the same room...I've already written to Mr. Hartwell to reserve the corner chambers. Let's remember who we were then and celebrate who we've become."
Catherine looked at him; this man who'd been her stranger, her lover, her husband, the father of her children. He still had that edge of wildness that had attracted her from the first moment, that suggestion that beneath the ducal propriety beat the heart of a man who'd scale garden walls and throw pebbles at windows.
"This is completely impractical," she said.
"Yes."
"Possibly dangerous, given the weather."
"Probably."
"Your mother will think we've lost our minds."
"Definitely."
"When do we leave?"
His face lit up with that boyish grin that appeared all too rarely these days, usually hidden beneath ducal responsibilities and parliamentary duties.
"Really?"
"Really. But James, if we get stuck and freeze to death, I'm haunting you for eternity."
"Deal." He kissed her, quick and fierce. "Peters has already packed for us. The traveling coach is being prepared with hot bricks and extra blankets."
"Of course it is. You were that certain I'd agree?"
"I was certain I'd convince you one way or another." His hand slipped to her waist, pulling her closer. "I can be very persuasive."
"Not now," she laughed, pushing him away. "If we're really doing this insane thing, I need to say goodbye to the children and give the household instructions."
"Already done. The housekeeper has detailed lists."
"For how long?"
"A week."
"A week? James, it's only a day's journey to..." She stopped, seeing his expression. "You're planning for us to be stranded again."
"I'm planning for us to have a proper anniversary. Without interruptions, obligations, or small children demanding attention at inopportune moments."
Catherine thought of last week, when Margaret had toddled into their bedroom at a particularly passionate moment, and had to admit he had a point.
"Fine. But I'm bringing several books."
"I doubt you'll have time for reading."
"James!"
"What? I have five years of anniversary enthusiasm to make up for. Our first, well, that was the time we were pregnant, our second was interrupted by Edward's cold, our second by the twins' arrival, our third by that crisis in Parliament, our fourth by..."
"I remember," Catherine said softly. Their fourth anniversary, James had been called away to deal with a family emergency; a cousin's scandal that required ducal intervention. He'd been gone for two weeks.
