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“The room is pitch dark, Pierce. You can’t possibly read.”
“It doesn’t matter.” A pause. “Why the hell did you wear that diaphanous nightgown?”
Daphne propped herself on one elbow. “Because our endless wait is at an end.”
“What did you say?” Pierce shot to his feet.
“Come to bed and I’ll show you.”
Pierce’s body was already rigid. “Isn’t it too soon?” Even as he asked, he was shedding his robe, crossing the room to the bed.
“No. It’s been well over a month. I’m healed.” Daphne reached for him, wrapping her arms about his neck.
“God, I’ve missed you, Snow flame.” He buried his lips in the scented hollow of her throat.
“And I you.” Shivering, Daphne gave herself up to her husband’s magic. “Let’s see if your instincts are as keen as ever,” she whispered.
She felt the rumble of laughter vibrate through his chest. “Very well, Snow flame.” He lifted his head, covered her mouth and her body with his. “And, should you deem it necessary, I promise to spend the entire night honing them to perfection.”
Long, delicious hours later, Pierce cradled his slumbering wife in his arms and settled both of them amid the disheveled bedcovers. He was utterly exhausted yet too exhilarated to sleep, inundated by a happiness he’d never in his life anticipated. His heart and soul were at peace, his body sated from a night-long reunion with Daphne. He was also a father, and his beloved children were asleep down the hall in their beds.
At long last Pierce Thornton had a home.
Raising his eyes, he gave silent thanks to the heavens, vowing never again to doubt what he now knew to be true.
Prayers could indeed be answered.
Shifting a bit, Pierce spied the copy of the Times he’d cast to the floor the instant Daphne had offered him the paradise he’d been denied for six weeks. Still wide awake, he reached for it, angling the newspaper toward the window and the illuminating glow of the moonlight.
An article on the front page caught his eye:
Lord Weberling returned from his three-month journey to India yesterday, bringing with him what he claims to be the largest, most perfect pair of diamonds ever to grace English soil.
“ ‘Neither stone possesses either a flaw or a chip,’ ” Daphne read aloud over her husband’s shoulder. “Fascinating.”
Pierce’s head snapped around. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I thought you weren’t interested in reading.”
“I wasn’t. But now that I’ve exhausted you, I am.”
“Hmm. I see.” Naked, Daphne rose, slipping thoughtfully into her robe. “Lord Weberling. Are you acquainted with him?”
“No. Are you?”
“Oh, yes. He was a friend of my father’s. One of his best informants, in fact. Every time I visited the vicar, Lord Weberling spotted me, and took great pleasure in reporting my indiscretions to Father.”
“Did he?” Pierce, inclined his head, watching Daphne from beneath hooded lids.
“Both diamonds are large and flawless—the article does specify that, does it not?” she asked, tapping her chin.
“It does.”
“I wonder what their total value is.”
“Lord knows. Probably tens of thousands of pounds.”
Daphne’s expression was the picture of innocence. “Tis hard to envision the number of children that could feed.”
