Page 63 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“The lemon tarts, they were divine. Oh, but the raspberry ones were delicious too. Best bring them along as well,” she called.

Beau glanced over his shoulder and shook his head at her. Deciding to play it safe, he upended all the sweet tarts onto one plate, and brought the entire lot back, as well as the strawberries and cream.

“A feast,” she declared, her eyes sparkling as she leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you, my lord, you have provided for your wife. Well done.”

Though he knew perfectly well it was all nonsense, and she was only funning, Beau had the absurd desire to preen. Not for having provided food that had been little over twenty feet away, but for having pleased her, and made her laugh, and not least for having made her lose her wits so delightfully as she had abandoned herself to his touch.

Best not think of that, he realised as his body stirred anew. The poor girl was hungry, not to mention she’d likely be sore and not wish to repeat the act so soon.

So they ate, uncaring about crumbs in the bed—for now at least—and feeding each other, and drinking champagne, and laughing, and it was all so easy. How was it possible for it all to be this easy?

Soulmates.

The words rang in his mind as her father’s question came back to him like the clanging of a bell.

But what if you found a woman who was your equal, who entertained you and challenged you, and loved you with all the ferocity of a lioness? What if the sound of her voice made your heart sing, and the sight of her face each morning made you want to thank the good Lord for his beneficence? What then?

“What then?” he repeated, his heart pounding.

“I’m sorry?”

Beau started as he realised he’d spoken aloud. “Nothing,” he said with a swift grin to cover his confusion. “Woolgathering. Have another lemon tart.”

She took the sweet treat from him, popped it in her mouth and chewed with obvious pleasure, but her gaze remained steadfast upon him, and he felt the sudden and urgent desire to change the subject. He opened his mouth, but not fast enough.

“What were you wondering?”

Frowning, he pretended ignorance, though he knew very well what she was asking. He ought to have realised she would not let it rest. She was too perspicacious not to unravel his every thought. Good God, he was doomed.

“When I so unkindly kept you waiting, you said that you’d driven yourself mad waiting for me, wondering. What were you wondering?”

Beau tried avoiding her gaze as he racked his brain for some flippant comment, but he knew it wouldn’t wash. He couldn’t fight whatever this was, not when he wanted it just as much as it scared him. So, he looked his wife in the eyes and answered honestly, allowing her to see the parts of him no one else ever saw, or even knew existed.

“You married me for the sake of your sisters, for Caspar and Daisy, for the women of Little Valentine, far more than you did for your own sake, and… and I just wondered if you had spent the extra time steeling yourself to come to me. If perhaps it had suddenly come home to you that you had tied yourself to a vain peacock for all eternity, and the realisation was not a happy one.”

He prayed she would not be kind, for that would humiliate him. Equally, he could not bear it if she lied to him and pretended feelings that were not real. They were real, his mind insisted. Remember the way she touched you, the way you touched her… But that was passion, lust, it wasn’t—

“Idiot,” she said succinctly. “How can you be so adept at seducing women and being the toast of the ton and all that nonsense, and not know when a female is utterly infatuated with you? Well, I mean I was infatuated with you. I’m afraid the situation is far worse than that now. I’m quite besotted, unreasonably adoring. It’s quite sickening actually, or perhaps I’ve had too many lemon tarts,” she added, licking her fingers with a thoughtful expression.

Beau stared at her, a delighted smile curving his lips. “Unreasonably adoring?” he repeated, charmed beyond reason by this description.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, apparently having decided the lemon tarts were not at fault as she reached for the last one.

Beau lunged, upsetting the strawberries, which careened over the mattress and dropped onto the floor to destinations unknown. Plates clattered and Clementine squealed as he pushed her onto her back, though she somehow kept hold of the lemon tart.

“It’s mine,” she said, apparently serious, though laughter danced in her eyes.

“But you love me,” he reminded her, taking hold of her wrist so she could not devour it. “You are besotted. You said so. Unreasonably adoring.”

“It’s true,” she lamented, putting her free hand to her forehead. “However shall I endure it?”

“How about we survive the madness together?” he suggested, his heart thudding so hard he wondered it did not escape his ribcage.

She stilled, staring up at him. “Together?”

He nodded, and she watched as he leaned in and took a bite of the tart, leaving half of it behind. “I am not infatuated, Clementine. I am all the other things, though. Besotted, adoring, devoted, amorous, passionate and quite ridiculously in love with you. I didn’t see it coming, so I had no defence ready for it, and now it’s too late. Whatever shall I do?”

“Well, firstly, you may give me the rest of my tart,” she replied.