Jack scoffed. “You’re a lord. You should ask Chesney or Milner.”
“I’m not friends with Chesney or Milner. I wouldn’t lay down my life for them, nor would they for me.”
Jack averted his gaze, his voice rough with emotion when he finally spoke. “To stand with you will be the greatest honor of my life.”
“You’ve always stood with me, Jack.”
Jack looked back at him, nodded brusquely. “We were quite the pair, weren’t we?”
“Too arrogant at times, I think.”
“That’s because we were so very good and so very clever.” He chuckled low. “Well, except for the time when we got caught, of course.”
Luke stepped into the room. “I believe I will have that drink.”
Jack poured them each a glass. When Luke held his, he tapped it against Jack’s. “To Feagan, who taught us how to survive the streets.”
“And to your grandfather,” Jack said somberly, “for trying to turn us all into gentlemen, and failing miserably with some of us, I’m afraid.”
Luke felt the familiar, painful knot in his chest, near his heart, as he thought of the old gent. He lifted his glass higher in salute. “To my grandfather.”
It rained on the day they wed. But Catherine didn’t care. She had enough happiness and joy inside her that if it rained for the remainder of their lives, they would always know sunshine. Because she and Sterling were still in mourning over the loss of their father, and Winnie was in mourning over the death of Avendale and etiquette forbade that widows attend weddings, Catherine insisted that the ceremony be small and intimate, held in a chapel.
Claybourne wouldn’t allow her to be denied what she requested. She’d always relished her independence, and she drew comfort from knowing that he would never attempt to stifle it. On the contrary, she suspected that he relished it as well.
In spite of the weather, a few among the nobility attended—more out of curiosity than anything. Marcus Langdon was in attendance, his mother notably absent. Frannie stood with Catherine since Winnie couldn’t put aside her mourning. Jack stood with Luke. She was glad they’d reconciled, even if Luke had done so with some misgivings.
But what surprised Catherine most was when the bishop asked of Luke, “Do you Lucian Oliver Langdon, the fifth Earl of Claybourne…”
Oliver.
Holding his gaze as he gave her his vows, she wondered how much of his youth was contained in the words of the story that she’d recently read to her father. It seemed improbable, but not impossible. But it was a puzzle for another day.
Today she was basking in the love for her that she saw reflected in his eyes. They were the window to a soul she could see so clearly, a soul that had once been dark and now glowed brightly with the promise of their future. She was astounded by how much she loved him, how much he loved her.
They’d journeyed through hell together. She knew no matter what life tossed their way, they would embrace it or overcome it, but they would never be defeated by it.
Later that night, Catherine sat at her vanity, wearing a white cashmere dressing gown, intricately embroidered with pink roses. She brushed her hair, listening intently to the sounds of her husband in the next room preparing for bed. Her husband. She nearly laughed aloud. The one thing she’d never thought to acquire, had never thought she’d want to acquire. The one thing she now knew she could never do without.
She would never take him for granted. She’d always hold him near.
The door leading from his bedchamber into hers clicked open, and he prowled into the room, anticipation lighting the silver of his eyes until they sparkled like the Crown Jewels. She rose and faced him. He’d come to her this time, and she felt unparalleled delight at the thought.
He was still walking toward her when he reached out and cradled her face between his large hands, tilting her face up, not stopping his forward momentum until his lips were locked on hers. They’d not been together for weeks, and already her body was melting with desire for him.
He slid his hands along her throat as he drew back. He began freeing the buttons of her dressing gown. “I’ve a good mind to put you over my knee for not telling me you were with child as soon as you realized the truth of your situation.”
She peered up at him, saucily. “I was hoping you would.”
His joyous laughter echoed through the room, his smile broader than she’d ever seen it, and she could only hope that it would be the first of many.
“I do love you, Catherine Langdon, Countess of Claybourne, with all my heart and what remains of my soul.”
He eased her gown off her shoulders until it glided down her body. Lifting her into his arms he carried her to the bed and set her on it. “Roll onto your stomach.”
Furrowing her brow, she peered up at him. “Why?”
“I won’t risk putting you over my knee in your present condition, but I do intend to kiss your bare bottom.”
