Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

His sigh as he straightened was a great deal more heartfelt. “At least they’ll all be gone the day after tomorrow.”

She laughed, took his hand, and led him back to the stairs.

“Incidentally, don’t be late tonight.”

Pausing at the head of the stairs, she met his eyes. “Actually, tradition dictates that the bride and groom should spend the night before the wedding apart.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not wedded to tradition—and there’s something I want to give you. Unless you wish to be carried through the gallery again—this time with every room around it occupied—I suggest you find your way to my rooms early rather than late.”

She held his gaze, narrowed her eyes, then, struggling not to smile, humphed and turned down the stairs. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are some Varisey traits you’re very definitely wedded to.”

Inwardly smiling, Royce followed her down the stairs.

“So what was it you wished to give me?” Minerva flicked her hair out of her eyes, struggled to lift her head enough to squint at him. “Or have I just received it?”

Royce laughed. He hugged her briefly, then hauled himself up. “No—there really is something.” He had to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment until blood found its way back to his head, then he rose and crossed to the nearer tallboy. Opening the top drawer, he withdrew the package that had been delivered by special courier earlier that day. Carrying it back to the bed, he laid it on the sheet before her. “From me, to you, on the occasion of our wedding.”

Minerva looked up at him, then, ignoring her unclad state, sat up amid the rumpled covers and eagerly unwrapped the odd-shaped parcel; it was vaguely triangular on one side, falling away…“Oh. My.” The last piece of tissue fell away, leaving her round-eyed. “It’s…fabulous.”

That in no way did justice to the diadem that nestled in the layers of soft paper. Gold filigree of a complexity and fineness she’d never before seen wound its way around the band, rising in the front to support a plethora of…“Diamonds?”

The jewels didn’t wink and blink; they burned with white fire.

“I had the whole cleaned and the stones reset.” Royce dropped back on the bed, looked into her face. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes.” Minerva reverently placed her hands around the delicate crown, then lifted it, glanced at him. “Can I put it on?”

“It’s yours.”

Raising her hands, she carefully placed the circlet atop her head. It sank just slightly, fitting neatly above her ears. She moved her head. “It fits.”

His smile deepened. “Perfectly. I thought it would.”

Uncaring of her naked state, she scrambled off the bed, and walked to the other tallboy so she could admire the coronet. The gold was just one shade darker than her hair, presently down and streaming over her bare shoulders.

Turning, she removed the crown; holding it between her hands, she examined it as she returned to the bed. “This isn’t new—the design’s old. Very old.” She glanced at him. “I know it’s not the Wolverstone duchess’s coronet, at least not the one your mother had. Where did you get it?”

He met her eyes. “Prinny.”

“Prinny?” She stared anew at the diadem. “But…this must be worth a small fortune. I can’t imagine him parting with such a thing willingly.”

“He wasn’t exactly willing, but…I consider it ironically fitting that having pressured me into finding my bride, he should provide her wedding crown.”

She sank back on the bed, carefully settling the crown back in its paper nest. “Irony aside, cut line—how and why did he come to give you such a thing?”

Royce stretched out on his back, crossed his arms behind his head. “You remember I told you about the treasure the last traitor had acquired from the French authorities?”

She nodded. “His payment for spying.”

“Exactly. Not all of it was recovered from the wreck of the smuggling ship bringing it to England, but some pieces were found—among them, that crown. When the authorities matched it to the list of antiquities the French were missing, they discovered it was, in fact, Varisey property.” He met her startled gaze. “It was made for one Hugo Varisey in the fifteen hundreds. It remained in the hands of the principal line of the family in France, until it fell into the hands of the revolutionary authorities. Thereafter it was considered property of the French state—until it was given in exchange for information to our last traitor—who we know is an Englishman. Now the war is over, the French, of course, want the crown back, but the government in Whitehall see no reason to hand it over. However, to end any discussion, and as it was felt I was owed some recognition for my service, they had Prinny present it to me—the head of the only branch of the Varisey family still extant.”

She smiled. “So Prinny really had no choice?”

“I daresay he protested, but no.” Royce watched as she carefully lifted the crown in its papers. “That’s now mine—the oldest piece of Varisey family jewelry—and I’m gifting it to you.”

Minerva set crown and papers on the bedside table, then turned and crawled back to him, a smile of explicit promise curving her lips. Reaching him, she framed his face and kissed him—long, lingeringly—as she slowly slid one leg over him. When she lifted her head, she was straddling him. “Thank you.” Her smile deepened as she looked into his eyes. “And that’s just the beginning of my thanks.”

He looked back at her with open anticipation—and something very close to challenge. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He settled back. “Feel free.”