He held back the drapes, caught her eye as she climbed through. “How on the bed?
”
She smiled, and showed him.
Had him lie flat on his back, and let her straddle him, let her take him in and ride him to oblivion.
She’d taken an hour to ransack his library; as she’d suspected, he had an excellent collection of useful guides. She had every intention of studying them extensively and putting the knowledge to good use.
As she did that night, lavishing pleasure upon him, taking her own from his helpless surrender. Hours later, when the fire had burned low and she lay exhausted, deeply sated in his arms, she murmured, “I love you. Not because you’ll protect me and our family, not because you’re wealthy, or have a wonderful house. I love you because you’re you—because of the man you are.”
He was silent for a long moment, then his chest swelled as he drew breath. “I don’t know what love is, only that I feel it. All I know is I love you—and always will.”
She lifted her head, found his lips and kissed him, then snuggled down in his arms, where she belonged.
He’d wanted a big wedding. At the Chase, with half the ton and all of the Bastion Club looking on. As he wished, so it was—the only person invited who sent his regrets was Dalziel.
Just over a week later, they all gathered to watch her walk down the aisle of the church in Great Torrington to take her place at Tony’s side. Her gown was a confection of ivory silk and pearls that Adriana, her bridesmaid, assisted by Fitchett, Mr. Pennecuik, and numerous others in London, had slaved over to have ready in time. About her throat, three strands of pearls glowed; more pearls circled her wrists and depended from her lobes—a gift from Tony, along with his heart.
As, meeting his black eyes, she placed her hand in his, gave herself into his keeping, she had no doubt which gift was the most precious to her, and in that moment, what was most precious to him.
With him, side by side, she faced the minister, ready and very willing to claim their future.
The ceremony ran smoothly; the wedding breakfast was held on the lawns of the Chase. Everyone from the staff to the Duchess of St. Ives threw themselves into the celebration, resulting in a day filled to overflowing with happiness and simple, unadulterated joy. The boys were in fine fettle; along with Miranda’s girls they dodged here and there among the guests, weaving laughter and exuberance through the throng, leaving benevolent smiles in their wake. The horrors of the wars still shadowed many minds; it was at moments like this that the future glowed most brightly.
Late in the afternoon, when the ladies had settled in chairs on the lawn to chat and take stock, their husbands, released from attendance, gathered under the trees overlooking the lake or wandered down to stroll the shores.
Together with Jack Hendon, who along with Geoffrey had stood as his groomsman, and the other members of the Bastion Club—Christian, Deverell, Tristan, Jack Warnefleet, Gervase, and Charles—Tony retreated to a spot in the pinetum from where they could keep the ladies in view but also talk freely.
The topic that interested them most was Dalziel’s absence.
“I’ve never seen him anywhere in the ton,” Christian said. He nodded toward the assembled ladies. “I’m starting to think if he appeared, someone would recognize him.”
“What I want to know is how he manages it,” Charles said. “He must be in similar straits as we, don’t you think?”
“It seems likely,” Tristan agreed. “He’s definitely ‘one of us’ in all other respects.”
“Speaking of which,” Jack Hendon put in, “what happened to Caudel once he was in Dalziel’s clutches?”
“Oh, he sang loud and long,” Charles replied. “And then sat in his library and put a gun to his head—only way left for a man of his name. Far less messy than a trial and the attendant flap.”
“Did he have any immediate family?” Gervase asked.
“Dalziel said a distant cousin will inherit.”
Tony looked at Charles. “When did you see him?”
“He called me in.” Charles grinned. “Seems this other sod who’s been using the war for his own ends has been active for the most part in Cornwall, from Penzance to Plymouth. My neck of the woods. He’s in the ministries, most likely the Foreign Office, and he’s apparently someone in the higher levels, someone trusted, which is what is most deeply exercising Dalziel. If Caudel was bad, this other has the potential to be even worse.”
“Has he been actively spying, or was it something more like Caudel’s racket?” Tristan asked.
“Don’t know,” Charles replied. “That’s one of the things I’m supposed to find out. I’m to go in and ask questions, creating the sort of ripples no self-respecting spy wants to know about, and then watch what happens.”
Christian grimaced. “A high-risk strategy.”
“But oh-so-welcome.” Charles glanced at the others, his dark blue eyes alight. “So now I must leave you and be on my way. I’m driving on to Lostwithiel tonight.”
He grinned, a touch devilishly. “Courtesy of our erstwhile commander, I have a gold-plated reason to escape London and the ton, and my sisters, sisters-in-law, and dear mama, who are all up for the Season and now fixed in town for the duration. Of course, they expected to spend much of their time organizing me and my future. Instead, I’m on my way home. Alone. There to sit in my library, surrounded by my dogs, put up my feet, and savor a good brandy.” He sighed contentedly. “Bliss.”