‘Yes.’ Her voice was a little unsteady. ‘And I have you to thank for that. I realised that you were right. That you didn’t say things you didn’t mean—and your praise has somehow managed to resurrect my crushed self-belief.’ She smiled. ‘I may never be able to sell any of these—I may not even want to. But you made me believe in myself, Conall—and that’s worth more to me than anything.’
‘I’m hoping this might be worth something to you, too—in purely romantic terms, rather than monetary ones,’ he said gruffly as he produced a small box from the back pocket of his jeans.
And to Amber’s shock he went down onto one knee as he held up a ring with an emerald at its centre—big as a green ice cube—surrounded by lots of diamonds. ‘Will you marry me again, Amber? Only in a church this time. Properly. Surrounded by family and friends?’
Amber felt like a princess as she stared at the glittering ring, even though Conall had once reprimanded her for behaving like one. But this was different and she suddenly realised why. She was his princess and she always would be. He’d changed her in many ways, but she’d helped change him, too. He’d tamed her—a bit—and somehow she’d managed to tame him right back.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, Conall, I’ll marry you again today, tomorrow, next year or next week. I’ll marry you any way you want, because you have given me back something I didn’t realise I’d lost—and that something was myself,’ she said, and now she didn’t bother to hide the tears which were welling up in her eyes, because how could she berate him for not showing emotion and then do exactly the same herself? Even so, it was a couple of minutes until she had stopped crying enough to be able to speak. ‘You made me realise that there was something inside the empty shell of a person I’d become,’ she whispered. ‘And I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart. It’s one of the many reasons why I love you with every cell of my body, my darling. And why I always will.’
EPILOGUE
OUTSIDE, THE NIGHT was dark and the snow tumbled down like swirling pieces of cotton wool. Conall looked at the layer of white on the ground which was steadily growing thicker. In a few short hours it had transformed the Notting Hill garden into a winter wonderland.
‘I really think...’ he turned away from the window and walked over to where his wife was just finishing brushing her hair ‘...that we ought to think about leaving.’
Amber put the brush down and looked at him, a lazy smile on her face. ‘In a minute. There’s plenty of time—even with the snow. The table isn’t booked until eight. Kiss me first.’
‘You, Mrs Devlin, are a terror for wanting kisses.’
Her eyes danced in response. ‘And you’re n
ot, I suppose?’
‘I confess to being rather partial to them,’ he admitted, pushing her hair away from her face and bending his head towards her, kissing her in a way which never failed to satisfy and frustrate him in equal measure. He never kissed her without wanting her and he couldn’t ever imagine not wanting her. They couldn’t get enough of each other in every way that mattered, and he thanked God for the day he’d walked into her life and seen her lying fast asleep amid the debris of a long-forgotten party.
His vow to marry her properly had remained true and deeply important to him and their wedding had taken place in a beautiful church not far from their country house. He remembered slowly turning his head to look at Amber as she walked down the aisle, his heart clenching with love and pride. She’d looked like a dream in her simple white dress, fresh flowers holding in place a long veil which floated to the ground behind her. As Conall had remarked to her quietly at the reception afterwards, if there was any woman on the planet who was qualified to wear virginal white, it was her. And when challenged on the subject by his feisty wife, he agreed that it gave him a feeling of utter contentment to know he was the only man she had ever been intimate with. And although she might have teased him about his old-fashioned attitude, deep down he knew she felt the same.
Ambrose had returned from his ashram in time for the ceremony, bronzed a deep colour, with clear eyes and looking noticeably thinner. He’d announced that he’d fallen in love with his yoga teacher and she was planning on joining him in England, just as soon as she got her visa sorted. Amber had briefly raised her eyebrows, but told Conall afterwards that she had learnt you had to live and let live, and that nobody was ever really in a position to judge anyone else. And Conall had opened up her mind to the realisation that her father wasn’t all bad—he just had flaws and weaknesses like everyone else. They all did.
And families could be complicated. She knew that, but she also knew it felt better when they were together, rather than apart. She’d encouraged Conall to trace some of his mother’s relatives, discovering that the world had moved on and nobody was remotely bothered by the fact that a grown man had been born not knowing who his father was. Several of his aunts were still alive and he had lots of cousins who were eager to meet him, which was one of the reasons why they’d chosen Ireland as their honeymoon destination.
Her half-brother Rafe even made it back from Australia in time for the wedding—causing something of a stir among the women present. Almost as much as the guest of honour—Prince Luc—who could be overheard telling Serena that he had played matchmaker to the happy couple.
The Prince had bought the Wheeler portrait and it now hung next to its sister painting in his Mediterranean palace and next month Conall and Amber were visiting the island of Mardovia, to see them together—at the Prince’s invitation. Amber was very excited about the prospect of speaking Italian in front of her husband, very aware that it turned him on to listen to her saying stuff he simply didn’t understand! Just as she was excited by the part-time art course she’d started to attend in London, where her tutor encouraged her distinctive style of painting just as much as her husband did.
But tonight they were going to Clos Maggiore—their favourite restaurant—where they’d had the furious row which had been such a flashpoint in their relationship, but where tonight they would sit happily beneath the boughs of white blossom, as contented as any of the other couples who ate there. And Amber would refuse her customary glass of pink champagne and tell Conall what she suspected he would be delighted to hear, even though it had come as something of a shock to her when she’d found out. She thought they’d been so careful...
She looked up into his shuttered eyes. Would he be a good father? A lump rose up in her throat. The very best. Just as he was the very best husband, lover and friend a woman could ever want.
‘I love you, Conall Devlin,’ she whispered.
His eyes crinkled into a smile—a faint question in their midnight depths. ‘I love you, too, Amber Devlin.’
And suddenly she didn’t want to wait until they were in the restaurant, gorgeous though it was. This was private, just for them, just like the time when he’d knelt on the bare floorboards of her tiny room in Bath and produced an emerald ring as big as a green ice cube. Feeling stupidly emotional, she tightened her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his as the excitement grew and grew inside her. ‘And this might be a good time to tell you my news...’
* * * * *