“And I promise it will not be the last time.” He cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “Marry me. Be my wife. Tell me our love can conquer whatever troubles come our way.”
During tea with Mrs Wycliff this morning, she had learnt of Lawrence’s biggest fear. “Love can work miracles. Our children will be born in wedlock. Our sons will grow to be fine men with their father’s integrity, forward-thinking men who will change the world for the better.”
He swallowed hard and kissed her again. “And our daughters will grow into spirited women with the courage to fight against the restrictions of their sex.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “And we will love them, Lawrence, with every breath in our bodies.”
When he claimed her mouth again, lust and love burned with such intensity neither could control the hunger consuming them. One minute their tongues danced to a sensual rhythm, the next he was gathering her skirts to her waist and thrusting home.
“I’m yet to show you the ring I purchased for you this morning,” he said, supporting her weight so she could wrap her legs around him. “It’s new, not a family heirloom.”
She moaned with pleasure as he pushed her back against the bookcase, welcomed the feeling of being full. “I’m glad. This is a fresh start for both of us. Good Lord. Watch my hair, Lawrence. I’ll look like I’ve been tumbled in a hay barn.”
“Hush, love.” He nuzzled her neck as he pushed deep inside her. “Mrs Henderson is harassing the cook, but it won’t take long for her to discover you’re here. Should I stop?”
“Lord, no.”
“Good, as I cannot get enough of you.” He closed his eyes and gave a sensual hum. “You’ve yet to say you’ll marry me.”
“Of course I’ll marry you. I fear my love for you has driven me insane.”
He laughed. “We are acting like reckless youths, but you wanted an adventure, and I intend to give you one.”
“Oh, yes.” She twined her arms around his neck as pleasure coiled in her core. “After all we’ve endured, I do prefer this kind of escapade.”
They married two weeks later, a quiet affair in St George’s Hanover Square. Despite the short notice, Mrs Wycliff had insisted on arranging Verity’s trousseau. Based on Wycliff’s devilish smirk and sly taunts, Lawrence suspected his friend had offered advice regarding a man’s preference for nightwear.
After the ceremony, they headed to Bruton Street for a wedding breakfast that was more a relaxed meal with friends. Lawrence wanted nothing more than to take his bride home, lock the doors and spend the next week in bed. But his household staff were busy attending to his secret request, and the last thing he wanted was to arrive too early and spoil the surprise.
“I made Miss Trimble an offer she will find hard to refuse,” Wycliff said as he lounged in the chair in the drawing room, cradling a glass of brandy. “She certainly has the right qualities to recommend her.”
Scarlett arched a neat brow. “Might I remind you that you’re already married.”
Wycliff reached over to his wife sitting in the chair next to him and clasped her hand. “Everyone knows that I could never love anyone but you. No, I’m looking for someone to manage my home for destitute women.”
Verity smiled. “Miss Trimble would be perfect for the role. She is extremely well-educated and has worked in many grand houses. And while she is a little forthright in manner, she is thoughtful and kindhearted.”
“I can vouch for the fact that she is not afraid to speak her mind,” Lawrence said, referring to the night she marched from her hotel room to attack him verbally in the corridor. “I’d rather not think where we would be had it not been for her intelligence and keen discernment.”
Verity sidled up to him on the sofa and laid her head on his shoulder. Her dainty hand slid up his back and rubbed in soothing strokes. Clearly, she wished they were alone just as much as he did.
Cavanagh remained uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps his subdued mood stemmed from being the only one not married. There was a certain loneliness that came with being the odd member of a group. Lawrence knew that. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only person to notice.
“Had I not been keen to hire Miss Trimble’s services, the woman would have made an excellent bride for Cavanagh,” Wycliff teased. “She’s a little older than him but not as old as Mrs Crandall.”
Usually, Cavanagh would answer with a witty retort, but he simply downed a mouthful of brandy and said nothing.
“Cavanagh will marry when the time is right,” Scarlett said, though her voice carried a hint of pity for their friend’s situation. “But please don’t let it be Mrs Crandall.” A weak chuckle left her lips. “Marry for love, Cavanagh, or do not marry at all.”
Cavanagh sighed. He placed his tumbler on the side table and thrust his hand through his mop of golden hair. “I do have some news on that score.”
Lawrence jerked his head back. He had known something was wrong. “News? About love or marriage?”
“Not love,” Cavanagh mocked. He paused and squirmed in the chair before saying, “But you should all know that I am getting married tomorrow by special licence.”
A deathly silence filled the room.
Everyone’s jaws slackened, and their mouths fell open.