“I’ll be here.”
Something old and knotted inside him eased, loosening at last.
He lowered his forehead to hers.
“And I will be here,” he said quietly. “Every morning. Every night. For as long as you’ll have me.”
She touched his jaw, brushing her thumb along the faint roughness of his cheek.
“I intend to have you for a very long time indeed.”
His laugh was soft, warm. “Good.”
He kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—slow, reverent kisses that carried more meaning than any vow. She turned to him and kissed him properly.
A gentle kiss.
A certain kiss.
A kiss that sealed a life they were already living.
Marcus cupped her cheek, deepening the moment, drawing her closer until she felt the steady rhythm of his breath against her chest. When they parted, she rested her head against his shoulder.
“You know,” she murmured, “the Lyon’s Den will take credit for this.”
Marcus huffed a quiet, amused breath.
“Mrs. Dove Lyon already informed Richard that she always knew I’d need a woman who wasn’t intimidated by a wolf.”
Lilianna laughed softly. “Well. She wasn’t wrong.”
“No,” he said, brushing his lips to her hair. “She wasn’t.”
They stood together for a long moment, watching Henry breathe, listening to the peaceful hush that had settled over Wolfton, a hush Lilianna had helped restore.
At last, Marcus straightened and offered his arm. “Come,” he said. “Walk with me.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
They stepped onto the terrace as dusk gathered along the horizon, the last warmth of the sun pooling across the gardens. Lanterns flickered to life, casting soft halos over fountains and clipped hedges.
Lilianna breathed in the scent of evening jasmine.
Marcus watched her, making no effort to hide it.
“You know,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I once thought Wolfton would always feel half-empty.”
“And now?” she asked.
“Now,” he murmured, “it feels like home.”
She looked up at him, her eyes warm. “It is home,” she said. “For all of us.”
Marcus slid his arm around her waist and drew her gently against him as they stood at the terrace edge, watching the sky fade from gold to lavender.
Inside, Henry stirred, turning in his sleep.
A faint breeze carried the last echo of his lullaby through the open windows.
