Page 113 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“She has you to thank for that,” Augusta said softly. “More than she will ever fully know.”

“She has us both to thank for it.” He took her hand, and drew her gently along the terrace. “Come. I have not had you entirely to myself in above a week, and I find I have missed it rather badly.”

“We have an entire garden full of guests,” Augusta protested, though she let herself be led all the same, glancing back only once to confirm that Charity had already taken up watch over Sarah.

“An entire garden full of guests who are all perfectly capable of amusing themselves for a quarter of an hour without their hosts hovering over them,” Ronan said, drawing her out of sight of the lawn entirely. “I believe I am owed a quarter of an hour, at the very least, given how thoroughly I have been outclassed by Gregory this morning.”

“You have had a difficult day,” Augusta agreed solemnly, though her eyes were bright with laughter.

“A devastating one.” He set both their glasses down upon the little stone bench and turned to face her properly, his hands finding her waist with the easy familiarity of a man who had spent every day these past months growing more certain, rather than less, of exactly how much he wanted her there. “Though I find myself considerably restored already.”

“Is that so?”

“Entirely so.” He studied her a moment, something soft and helplessly fond in his expression that she did not think she would ever tire of seeing directed at herself. “You look happy, Augusta. I find I like watching you plan this ball of yours.”

“I want it to be perfect,” she admitted. “One last perfect thing before I am too tired and too round to properly enjoy dancing at all.”

“You will be beautiful whether you are dancing or not,” he said, and kissed her before she could argue the point.

“I love you,” she murmured when they finally drew apart, resting her forehead against his. “I do not think I shall ever tire of telling you that.”

“I sincerely hope you never do,” Ronan said, “for I intend to spend every remaining day of my life telling you the same, and I should hate to be outdone by my own wife in matters of devotion.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead, then, more lingering, to her lips. “I love you, Augusta. More than I have words to properly say, though I intend to spend a lifetime attempting it regardless.”

A fresh burst of laughter went up from the lawn, followed almost immediately by Sarah’s delighted shriek and Gregory’s exaggerated groan of defeat, and Augusta laughed against Ronan’s shoulder.

“We ought to go back,” she said, without much conviction.

“In a moment,” Ronan said, and kissed her once more instead, in no particular hurry at all to return to the world beyond the wisteria, content, for now, simply to stand there with the woman he loved and the whole bright promise of everything still to come.

By the time the final carriage disappeared beyond the gates, Ravenhill had become almost unnaturally quiet.

Augusta stood near the bottom of the staircase and removed her gloves slowly, feeling the pleasant exhaustion that followed.

“I believe we have survived the day remarkably well,” Augusta said, looking around the hall with considerable satisfaction.

Ronan had been speaking with the butler, but he dismissed the man quietly before turning his full attention toward her.

“You have spent most of the afternoon standing when you should have been resting considerably more often,” Ronan said.

Augusta gave him a look that she hoped expressed exactly what she thought about that observation.

“I have spent most of the afternoon enjoying my own guests inside my own garden,” Augusta replied, beginning to climb the staircase without waiting for him.

Ronan followed immediately, although Augusta noticed that he remained close enough to catch her should she happen to stumble.

She had noticed this new habit several weeks ago, shortly after they learned about the baby. It was endearing, she thought.

Who knew the duke was so protective? Certainly not her when she first met him.

When they reached the chamber, Augusta crossed directly to her dressing table and began to remove her earrings.

Ronan did not disappear toward his study, as he might once have done without a second thought.

“Here,” Ronan said, when the clasp proved stubborn beneath her fingers, catching in the fine hair at the back of her neck. “Let me.”

She stilled and let him work at it, his fingers considerably more patient with the small, fiddling task than she would have expected.

The necklace came free at last, and he set it carefully upon the dressing table, then turned his attention to the pins holding the last of her hair in place, drawing them free one by one until it fell loose about her shoulders.