“We are not in the right venue to recreate that scene,” he reminded her, drawing a little closer to pluck at the amethyst-colored lace over her skirt. “And you aren’t wearing the right accoutrement.”
“Or lack thereof, I suppose,” she replied skeptically. “Suddenly you are very devoted to replacing the origin of a memory.”
“Ah, well, you’ve provided incentive,” he said with a cheeky shrug. “Intentionally or not.”
“Incentive is not always reward,” she reminded him. “A governess knows pain is just as motivating.”
He laughed, bunching more of the lace up in his fingers as he tugged her closer. “Do not threaten me with something I will enjoy, Vix.”
“Oh, you are impossible,” she huffed. “And absurd.”
“Yes,” he agreed, giving one more tug, until she was forced to halt herself against him with her hands to his chest. “And yours.”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her face up to look into his. “I suppose you think you are very romantic,” she said primly.
“Yes,” he agreed, grinning. “I am romantic and this is our romance. I am glad you finally noticed.”
“This is not a romance,” she replied. “It is a marriage. Much more enduring, I believe.”
“It can be both,” he told her. “Can’t it?”
She frowned, considering it. “Perhaps. I have always thought a girl had to choose which she wanted in life. Stability and passion do not often coexist. If I had to choose whether to keep you as my lover or as my husband, Ambrose, I would choose the latter. I would rather have you forever in partnership than for a breath in madness.”
He watched her, his grin fading into something softer, but still joyous, on his face. “And you do not think that is romantic?” he asked very softly. “Because I think it may be the very epitome of the concept.”
“Well, then I suppose that only goes to prove how little I know of such things,” Vix said with a sigh, curling her fingers under his lapels and giving a resigned little tug of them. “Will you not indulge me in my request, all the same? Just once more, correctly, even if it does not undo the first time.”
He shook his head, glancing up at the heavens as though he could not quite comprehend how he had ended up with such a creature as his wife. “Vix,” he said, his tone very serious as he returned his gaze to hers. “I am in love with you.”
“Oh, good,” she said, her shoulders softening and her brow smoothing. “Because I am in love with you too, Ambrose.”
“See?” he said, tilting her chin up and dropping a quick little kiss on her lips, here in full view of the ballroom. “This was a romance after all.”
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
“Vix!”Ambrose called, shrugging his snow-caked coat from his shoulders as the door swung shut behind him. “Vix, are you home? The post has come!”
He frowned, turning and dropping his hat on the coat tree. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg was curling through the air, a fine companion to the soft light of all the candles along the newly outfitted foyer.
In the distance, he could see the Christmas tree, still half decorated, peeking out through the open parlor door.
“Vix!” he called again. “I require you!”
“Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called back, harried and impatient as she pulled the parlor door the rest of the way open, appearing in silhouette in its frame. “Goodness, you could have just walked the rest of the way down the hall, Ambrose!”
“Yes, but I like when you obey me,” he said, grinning as she shot him a look of absolute venom, and making his way down the hall. “There was post at the door. Quite a lot of it, actually.”
“I can see that,” she said, eyeing the stack under his arm as he came to the threshold and leaned down to kiss her in greeting. “You are ice-cold.”
“Me?” he teased. “Shall we poll the staff about that?”
“Oh, shut up. Get in here,” she said, her lips twisting begrudgingly as she ushered him in. “I’m still not finished with the garland.”
He smirked, trailing her into the parlor, which was a damn sight brighter than it had been a month ago, painted a warm cherry red now on the top half, and paneled in glossy striped wallpaper on the bottom.
She almost matched tonight, her wool dress a warm plum color that could be taken for reddish in the right light. Even her hair had a burnt glow to it against the hearthfire as she took her string and needle back up opposite a bowl of cranberries with the precision of a field medic, frowning at the next cranberry up for skewer.
