“I am.” At last he crossed the room to take her hand. Satisfaction filled him at how readily her fingers curled around his. “But I’ve suffered nearly a week without you. Right now, my family can go to the devil. The whole world, with the exception of you, my darling, can go to the devil with them.”
Amusement lit her eyes. He’d worried about her today, that she’d miss her father or shrink from the boisterous well-wishers. But he’d been beguiled and moved to watch her reserve disappear under the waves of open affection.
In London, he’d been outraged at the caricatures featuring a melting half-naked ice princess in the arms of an insipid blond nitwit. Now, he dismissed the world’s clamor as meaningless noise. Nobody who saw his bride tonight could doubt that she was anything but vital, generous woman. And a wife any man would be proud to call his own.
“We’re alone now. If you lock the door, we’ll stay that way.”
“Excellent suggestion.” He leaned in to kiss her. His circumspect peck during the ceremony had merely stoked raging hunger. Ever since that breathtaking interval in Jonas’s music room a week ago, he’d burned.
Her lips were soft and parted sweetly to his, but he raised his head before the kiss deepened into passion. He meant to be careful with her tonight, no matter how fiercely he wanted her.
“After I’ve kissed you.”
Her eyes slowly opened. She looked gratifyingly dazed. “You just did.”
“Again then.”
This time he briefly slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. When he turned away and crossed to turn the key, he nearly stumbled. She wasn’t the only one knocked silly by their kisses.
When he turned back, she was at the sideboard pouring two brandies. He heard a clink as her unsteady hand bumped the decanter against the rim of a glass.
“Is my gallant bride afraid?” he asked softly.
Ravishing color tinged her cheeks as she passed him a glass. “No.”
He tilted his eyebrows at her. “Really?”
She picked up her brandy. “Perhaps a little nervous. But that’s not the same as afraid.”
“Do you remember the night in the music room?” He took a sip, although he already felt intoxicated with the knowledge that this marvelous creature had consented to be his wife.
The pink in her cheeks intensified. “Of course.”
He recognized that anticipation sparked her jumpiness. “Tonight will be like that.”
“What we did then was wonderful.” Her voice lowered to seriousness. “That next night, I hoped we’d do it again. When I received that note asking me to go to the conservatory, I was sure you’d sent it.”
He paused, glass halfway to his mouth. “The idea that you met Tranter willingly never crossed my mind.”
He watched her tension ease as she sipped her brandy. “You trusted me more than I trusted you. I should have always known that you weren’t a liar.”
After his second—thank God, successful—proposal, they’d parted so abruptly that they needed to clarify some issues. He took her hand. It rested trembling in his grasp. His thumb brushed the gold ring, that tangible symbol of their triumph over the obstacles separating them.
“You were just a bit muddleheaded. And Cam’s defection had hit your confidence. No wonder you feared I was a fortune hunter.” Cam’s defection and her father’s subtle tyranny, convincing her that unless she was an obedient cipher, she had no value. But wisdom kept him silent on that subject. He wasn’t naïve enough to hope the scars Lord Baildon had inflicted had healed.
Mischief brightened her face. “Cam who?”
He laughed and slid his glass onto the sideboard. “Shall we proceed or do you need more Dutch courage, my love?”
Without shifting her concentration from him, she placed her glass next to his. “Am I your love?”
He regarded her, standing tall and proud for all her uncertainty. She was so brave. He’d noted that from the first. Fate had granted him a bride in a million. “I told you I loved you in London.”
“And I was so awful to you.”
He smiled. Astonishing how that wound no longer pained him, now that she was his. “You were rather cruel.”
She frowned, although she must hear the teasing in his voice. “I’ll make amends.”