He laughed softly, even as his heart cramped to hear her speak with such ease of the love he’d believed would never be his. “That goes without saying. Another thing.”
She combed her fingers through his hair and drew him down for more breathless kisses. He wrapped her in his arms and let himself feast on her lips.
“Giles?” she murmured after a long while.
“Hmm?” He nibbled a delicious path along her neck. “Why the deuce did you choose such a chilly spot for our reconciliation?”
“I didn’t know we were to have a reconciliation.” To his regret, she wriggled away. “As far as I was aware, you were halfway to London, after writing me a grumpy little note that consigned me to perdition.”
“I didn’t,” he said, appalled that she’d reacted that way to his stilted farewell.
“You did. But I forgive you.” Her loving look was the sunshine that melted the last frozen reaches lingering at the edges of his soul. “You said you wanted something from me.”
Before she’d kissed him to the stars and back. Still, she deserved her moment.
Very gently, he shifted her onto the bench and went down on one knee before her. The cold of the tiled floor was like a knife, even through his breeches.
“My darling Serena, I love you with all my heart.” For the first time, the declaration, so simple, so complicated, emerged freely. He caught her trembling hand. “Will you do me the great honor of agreeing to become my wife?”
“My wonderful Giles,” she said in a choked voice. “I can think of nothing I’d like better.”
“Sweetheart…” He surged up to fold her in his arms again, but to his astonishment, she leaped to her feet and evaded him. “What in Hades is it now? I should think a marriage proposal merits a kiss.”
“More than one, but let’s find somewhere warmer first.” Giddy happiness rang in her laugh, and she stretched up to skim her lips across his. Before he could lure her closer, she danced away. “Somewhere with a little mistletoe for luck.”
Giles caught Serena round the waist, and the sizzling kiss they shared made a mockery of the bleak winter weather. Dazed, he lifted his head and smiled down at the woman he worshipped. “You and I don’t need mistletoe, my love.”
Epilogue
Lanyon Castle, Devon, February 1821
Naked beneath his vermillion dressing gown, Giles knocked at the door leading from his dressing room to the marchioness’s apartments. No marchioness had occupied these rooms in over twenty-five years. Now a glorious, golden-haired woman would bring his home alive. She’d already brought the marquess alive.
After years of yearning, at last Serena was his. He’d been hers from the first.
A smile curved his lips, as he recalled this morning’s wedding. It had been a perfect winter’s day, cold and crisp, with a pale sun turning the landscape to diamonds. Yet the brightest diamond of all had been Serena Talbot, now Serena Farraday, Marchioness of Hallam.
His bride had marched up the aisle of St. Lawrence’s, like a conqueror entering a vanquished city. She’d worn a simple white gown and a long lace veil scattered with pearls. Serena had been incandescent with joy, and so beautiful and regal that his heart had threatened to burst with love. And astonished gratitude that this superb creature entrusted herself to him.
It had been a perfect day in every way. Marrying Serena, not only did he claim the woman he loved, he also became part of the family that eighteen years ago had embraced a bewildered orphan boy. When he escorted her to the altar, Serena’s father had looked like he’d won a kingdom in a lottery. Serena’s mother had shed a few happy tears during the ceremony. She’d whispered in her new son-in-law’s ear before he left Torver House that she’d always known he was the one for her daughter.
And now, his wife lay in the big bed where countless generations of Farraday brides had slept. Had any man in history been as happy as Giles was tonight? He took leave to doubt it.
During their five week engagement, Serena had preserved her virtue, if only by a whisker. His control had come near shattering so many times, during their trysts in the summerhouse. If the place hadn’t been as cold as a penguin’s parlor, Serena wouldn’t have come to church a virgin bride.
But tonight, tonight Giles’s torture ended. All those years of hopeless longing, that had turned out not to be hopeless at all, would find their consummation.
His heart pounding with anticipation, he heard her soft permission to enter the room. He opened the door and paused on the threshold.
By all that was holy, she was lovely. The breath snagged in his throat. Hunger strained on its leash, but Giles intended to spin each moment out as far as he could, to eternity if possible. The first moment was this, the sight of his bride in the bed where he meant to possess her.
Serena leaned against the carved oak bedhead, the sheets folded at her waist. Her golden hair lay loose about her shoulders, and her sheer white nightgown reminded him of the dress she’d worn when she pledged herself to him.
Her breasts pressed wantonly against the frail silk. As he watched her nipples harden, his excitement mounted.
“I’m the luckiest man in England,” he murmured in a reverent tone.
Flickering candles lit the room, and a fire roared in the hearth. The golden light turned Serena into a mysterious, exotic creature. “Only in England?”