“My Catherine,” he murmured against her lips when he finally ended the kiss. He nipped gently at her neck and nuzzled her shell-like ears.
Catherine tilted her head back more fully to receive his burning kiss. Suddenly she giggled and brought her head forward to kiss him and then rest her forehead against his.
“What is it, my love?” whispered the Marquis, still trailing soft kisses against her skin.
“A matched pair.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, pausing to look at her.
“I owe Aunt Penelope a carriage team. A Burke team. I shall depend upon you to help me choose well.”
At his quizzical expression, Catherine laughed again and told of her wager with Lady Orrick. Hearing the tale, the Marquis also laughed, and they were still chuckling when the Earl of Soothcoor knocked on the door moments later.
“Kirkson’s locked away, and Chilberlain’s brought the horses to the door. We willna make London by daybreak, but like as not, it willna matter,” he said complacently. He turned to go.
“Alan,” called the Marquis after him, “wish me happy.”
That dour Northumbrian gentleman genuinely grinned for the first time in the Marquis’s memory. “Aye, with all me heart.”
He closed the door and stood shaking his head for a moment, more than ever resolved to avoid the matrimonial state. It made a man daft, it did. He continued to where the Captain waited outside.
“Well, are they coming?”
“Aye,” the Earl said, nodding. He stopped to pull a snuffbox out of his vest pocket and sat down on the front steps. “Any year now, I’d say. Any year now.”
