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“So do I,” he growled. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I doubt you’ve ever begged for anything in your life,” she told him breathlessly.

“Oh, I’ll beg if that’s what it takes. Do you want that?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I love you.”

His gaze softened instantly, and they kissed again lingeringly. “I still don’t know how I finally made fortune smile down on me at last,” he sighed.

She shook her head. “You do know,” she insisted. “For I told you what it was that inspired love in my breast.”

“My losing,” he scoffed, but only lightly.

“Not just losing, but losing honorably,” she corrected him. “You were pleased for Sir Renlow, and that touched my heart.”

“Hmmm.”

“Will you let me put lotion all over you after our bath?”

“Gods, yes,” he groaned. “But you must let me return the favor, wife.”

“I will,” she smiled up at him. “But first, Konrad,” she said so shyly that he tensed at once. “Would you – would you very much mind saying it to me, please?” she asked, feeling like she might die of embarrassment.

He sucked in a shocked breath. “I told you that I love you!” he thundered. “Didn’t I?”

Aimee shook her head. “No, not in so many words.”

He looked horrified. “When I told you about that trunk?”

Aimee shook her head again. “You told me that I was precious to you, but you did not actually –”

“Gods, I am a bloody fool!” he said shakily. “I love you, Aimee. So, so much …” Then he lifted her hand and pressed it to the scarred side of his face and held it there, and she finally believed him.

*

After Konrad had gathered up every last one of the one hundred tokens and added them to his chest, they bathed in the tub which had been set up in Aimee’s old bedchamber. It was a squeeze, but they both about managed to fit in. Then they applied lotion to each other with many caresses and whispered words of love.

Konrad let her do his face without a murmur, though every time her face came close to his, he seemed to expect a kiss. As for Aimee, she was not at all sure that Konrad would not soon surpass her in the skill. He rubbed and circled all her sore spots until she could think of a saddle once more without wincing.

“I suppose I really ought to practice some more horseback riding,” Aimee admitted with a heavy sigh. “It does not really become a baroness to be so bad at it.”

Her husband grunted, swinging her up into his arms and making for the door of her old bedchamber. “My robe!” Aimee squeaked, for they were both still naked from their bath. She was not at all sure she would ever be as comfortable with her nudity as her husband was. He caught up a mantle from the chair and flung it over her front.

“There is no one around to see you,” he pointed out as he strode down the corridor to his own bedchamber. “We are the only ones with rooms on this floor.”

“One of the servants could come along!”

“They would have the sense to avert their eyes,” he pointed out, which was probably true.

Aimee raised her head which had been resting against his chest, suddenly remembering something. “Konrad?” she asked as he closed the door behind them. “Do you really think I’m a managing woman?”

“Gods, yes,” he said setting her down on the bed and climbing on after her.

“Oh.” She sounded as put out about it as she felt.

“I don’t mind it personally,” he shrugged. “Any wife of mine needs to be able to hold her own. We Bartrees are a contentious lot.”

She frowned, drawing down the sheets to clamber beneath them. “What about when you said I was an overbearing sister?” she asked. “Just lately, I have been thinking that I probably should not have forced Ursula’s hand. Do – do you think she might be unhappy in her marriage with Sir Renlow?”