“My excessive emoting. Mother always said—”
“To hell with your mother,” he grumbled, before continuing on as if he’d said nothing untoward. “In answer to your question, I do not mind. And I hope that you do not mind hearing from me, likely multiple times a day how much I love you.”
She sucked in a breath. “You do? Truly?”
He smiled. Winced. “I don’t know when it happened. Perhaps from the moment I laid eyes on you, when I could not seem to look away—and it vexed me. Then you arrived here and I could not stay away. The best I could do was arrange a hasty wedding so I could lay claim to you and end the torture of wanting you so badly my insides burned.”
She tried not to be disappointed by the words. “But that’s not love.”
“Annabelle, I know what love is. I know how truly blessed I am to have you as my wife. You’re ravishing, yes, but you’re so much more. You’re the most brave, most resilient, most enigmatic woman it’s ever been my honor to know and you’re mine. You’remine.
“When you told me you intended to hie off to Harrogate—”
“That was your idea,” she pointed out on a giddy laugh.
“I know, but you weren’t supposed to like it,” he said, tone sullen, as he pulled out her hair pins, one after the other. “When you said you intended to spend the entire Season away from me, I had to…had to show you what you’d be missing. What I should have done, inaddition, was tell you how much I adore you.”
As he spoke, she drank in every word, folding her hands on his chest despite his bruises to prop her chin on her hands. He loved her. Her husband lovedher.
“I don’t know why I didn’t, Annabelle. No. That’s not exactly true.” He wove his fingers into her hair, fanning it out.
She shivered in pleasure.
“I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I was…afraid.”
“Afraid?”
He shook his head on his pillow and shrugged one muscular shoulder. “It’s just one more proof that you possess more courage in your little pinkie than I can ever hope to have.”
“That’s just silly,” she said.
“Tell me again that you love me,” he whispered. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I could love a person.”
“Good. Now, if you would be so kind…”
“Yes?”
“Remove your clothing and slide under the bedsheets. I wish to make love to my wife.”
“Are you sure you should?” She regarded him dubiously. “Must I remind you that you just took on three grown men in a brawl?”
He batted his thick, spiky lashes at her. “Now that you mention it, you’ll have to do most of the work. Be gentle with me, won’t you?”
A few minutes later, naked, she lifted the bedcovers and glimpsed the profound evidence of her husband’s desire for her. She swung one leg over his hips, straddling him with care.
He groaned, but not in a way that told her she’d hurt him.
“By the way,” he murmured, shifting beneath her in a most delightful manner. “Harrogate’s off. Leastways until we can go together.”
“We’ll see,” she whispered, her lips brushing his—mostly just to tease him. And then, very gently, she kissed him.
***
London, England. One week later…
Bright and early Monday morning, the day after he, his wife, his sister Caroline, and Babette arrived home to London, Sterling banged the knocker at the front door of Montrose House, located at number twenty-two Garland Street, the home of Annabelle’s parents.
