“And do not be so certain it won’t. But if it turns out you are right, I will never be disappointed. Whatever my future holds, it will be a future with you in it. Withustogether, as we were always meant to be. I found my fairy princess when I was barely a lad out of leading strings—she just took a little longer to find me.”
“Rob…”
“Yes, love?”
“Do you think it is possible for us to marry tomorrow?”
Chapter Fourteen
The door toRob’s guest chamber opened as Gawain’s valet entered to assist him in preparing for his wedding day. It had taken only two days to get everything in order, allowing the ceremony to take place on the morning of this third day, which was filled with sunshine, soft white clouds, a gentle breeze, and the bluest sky.
All was moving along smoothly until Rob heard Fiona’s shrieks resounding through the halls of Northam Hall, where they were all still staying, since the house party had yet to draw to a close.
“What the…?” He tore out of his bedchamber and raced to hers.
“Your Grace! You are not dressed!” the valet cried, running after him.
Perhaps not fashionably dressed, but Rob had on his trousers and shirt, although the shirt was not buttoned. Fortunately, his trousers were. And what did the state of his attire matter when Fiona was in danger?
He reached her bedchamber slightly ahead of Gawain, Reggie, and several other guests. Her door was open and she was seated beside her vanity, her little derriere perched on the vanity’s stool.
She looked quite lovely, wearing only her robe, which hugged her every delightful curve, and her hair was in a riotous tumble down her back.
Cherish’s maid stood in the center of the room, wringing her hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Your Grace.”
Rob nodded and looked around the room. Nothing appeared amiss.
His heart was still in his throat as he strode forward and knelt beside Fiona. “What in blazes has you so overset?”
“Can you believe it?” she wailed, holding up her hand.
He had to peer closely to notice the lone strand of hair snared in her fingers.
A mouse hair?
A rat hair?
“No! It’s mine!” she exclaimed when he dared mention those rodents.
Rob scratched his head. “Yours? So what?”
“Look!”
He was staring at it and still had no idea what she was talking about.
“Can you not see? It is agrayhair!” She closed her eyes and sobbed again. “It isn’t even a pretty silver color, just drab, and how soon before my entire head is covered in gray and I look like an old charwoman?”
“You are never going to look old or like a charwoman,” he said, relieved the issue was not Milbury’s deranged sister escaping and coming after Fiona. “You will always look beautiful to me.”
“You’re just saying that because you love me.”
He laughed. “How is that a bad thing?”
She allowed him to wipe the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “It is awful because you are so young and fit. I wouldnot mind nearly so much if you were dumpy and had warts. But just look at you. There is no one handsomer.”
He had rushed in with his shirt undone, and she was now staring at him and muttering something about his perfect chest and rippling muscles.
“Is this in any way fair, Rob? Your hair is freshly washed, too, and…” She traced a finger along his skin, following the trail of droplets sliding down his neck, onto his shoulders and chest.
