“Will you love me for my stubbornness and my cheek?”
“I love your cheeks... and your breasts…and your hips.” He ran his open palm down the length of her torso in fond appreciation. “I love all of you.”
“Even…what?” she challenged him. “What was it that made you keep from me?”
“Even your money.”
“Hunh. I won’t give it up.”
“I didn’t expect you should or would.”
“It was my mother’s. I have a right to it.”
“I agree. Never would I say you have no right to it or the right to make decisions about it. By yourself.”
“But I will share its use and its benefits.”
He smiled, accepting what he predicted she would say. “Yes.”
“Because what we will share together will be worth more than money, Octavian. More than wealth or titles.”
“How right you are, my darling. Because love is the finest treasure of all.”
She hugged him close. “Now do make love to me, Octavian, and quickly, too. You have a ball to administer. And I have a rendezvous to keep with the man I’m to marry.”
“Do you? Where is that?”
“Here. While all the others are dancing, you will be making love to me.”
“I will. Whatever you want, I am yours to give all I have. All I am.”
She widened her eyes like a child delighting in a gift. “So if you think you will escape me now that I am naked and you are here to apologize, you are wrong.”
“Hmm.” He sank against her to show her his very ripe interest in what she offered. “What would you have of me?”
She pressed her hand to the hard evidence of his desire. “To make the finest amends, you must make love to me.”
He flicked open his flies and then discarded them. “What a fine idea.”
Watching him disrobe, she chuckled in admiration of his attributes. “The very best way to say you’re sorry.”
Epilogue
December 24, 1817
Baltimore, Maryland
United States of America
Octavian hurried down Thames Street toward home, the snowflakes falling faster than ever since he’d left the bank. He’d looked at his pocket watch as he’d left his banker. Even though it was past four o’clock, the winter sunlight had dimmed as he hastened onward. His news was ripe on his tongue and he couldn’t wait to share it with his wife.
He passed John O’Neill, closing up his shop for the night and tomorrow’s holiday.
“Merry Christmas to you, John!”
“To ye, as well!” The man shooed one of his men out the front door of his establishment and bid him happy Christmas. “Get home before it’s worse, Octavian!”
His arms full of bread from the nearby bakery and fresh crabs and shrimp from the fishmonger, Octavian laughed. “I’m going as fast as my feet can carry me. Say, there! Do you need any fish? I’ve more than enough.” He liked the big-hearted Irishman who accepted him and Eliza as equals from the first time they’d met.
