The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘It is, although as I recall, the memory of my naked body gives you nightmares.’

‘Did I say that?’ She tipped her head back, her breath coming in short bursts as his lips found her throat. ‘Well, I didn’t mean every night.’

‘Ah. There’s still hope for me, then?’

‘A little...perhaps.’

‘I’m glad you wore our shell.’ He lifted his head again, trailing a finger over the hollow of her throat where the jet pendant nestled on its thin, black ribbon. ‘It suits you.’

‘Unlike this contraption, you mean?’ She gestured to the diamond-encrusted tiara on her head, an elaborately wrought silver band in a strawberry-leaf motif. ‘Lydia lent it to me. She said John gave it to her and I didn’t have the heart to say no. It must be worth a small fortune, but I think she and Mama got carried away.’

‘Not at all. It’s quite impressive, only...’

‘It’s not me?’

He pressed his forehead tenderly against hers. ‘Diamonds are all very well, but jet is something special. Like you. You’ll always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, Frances.’

She smiled, peering up at him through her lashes. ‘What will people think if we leave now?’

‘That’s we’re strange and eccentric and all the other things they’ve been saying about us for the past few years. We might as well prove them right.’

‘They’ll know where we’re going.’

‘And why, too.’ He took her face in both of his hands and kissed her full on the mouth, letting his lips cling for a moment. ‘Do you know the last time I gave a damn about what anyone thought of me?’

‘No. When?’

‘It was during our picnics on the beach. I cared what you thought of me. I cared because I was already in love with you back then. You opened the door to my prison that first day you walked into my house, Frances. It took me a while to walk out, but you made me want to start over again, to be me again. Now I think it’s about time I took you upstairs and showed you just how grateful I am. We need to start early because I intend to be thorough. It might take all night.’ He pressed one last kiss against the tip of her nose and then stepped back, holding a hand out towards her. ‘Do you really care what anyone else thinks of us, Frances?’

‘No.’ She gave the widest smile he’d ever seen, folding her fingers around his and leading the way to the door. ‘You’re absolutely right. I don’t.’

Epilogue

5 years later

‘Ow!’ Frances winced as something heavy jumped on the lower part of her body and then wriggled its way up the bed. ‘Iris?’

‘Is it time for the party yet?’ Her daughter’s face, bright-eyed and framed with a mass of chestnut curls, appeared over the top of the quilt.

‘Not quite.’ She nudged the shoulder of the man snoring softly beside her. ‘Explain to our daughter that it’s too early.’

‘Hmmm?’ Arthur rolled on to his back and gave a wide yawn. ‘Explain what to whom?’

‘Iris is awake.’

‘Ah.’ He opened one eye and lifted his head, his shoulder-length hair tousled from sleep. ‘It’s still night-time.’

‘But can I get up now, Papa?’

‘No!’ This time they spoke in unison.

‘But...’

‘No buts...’ Arthur pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Back to the nursery with you.’

Frances smiled groggily, burrowing her way back under the covers with a sigh of contentment as Arthur hauled their squirming daughter over one shoulder and carried her, giggling, back to bed.

‘Remember when we used to wake up all by ourselves?’ He climbed back in beside her after a few minutes. ‘I’ve said that if she gets out of bed again before daylight then she won’t get any cake later. I know how her mind works. She takes after her mother.’