The look Leeds gave her in return was every bit as lovesick. “I would most certainly concur.”
Clay found himself grinning, well pleased that the two who had begun their marriage as one of convenience had found happiness in each other after all. Once, he had disliked and distrusted Leeds, but Leeds had proven himself to be a trustworthy and devoted friend, and Clay was happy to count him one. The duchess with her heart of gold had won him over from the start of their unlikely friendship.
“Forgive me,” drawled Leo then with the full icy hauteur only he could affect. “Excessive sentiment makes me bilious. Let us carry on with the breakfast before I lose my appetite, shall we?”
“You do not appear to have lost your appetite, Your Grace,” Edward observed out of turn, and it was quite true for despite the maudlin vein of their conversation, Leo had cleared his plate of this course.
“You may call me Uncle Leo, scamp,” Leo admonished Edward without a trace of heat, his ordinarily hard exterior softening ever so slightly. “And I will thank you kindly to mind your own plate. I do not suppose you can finish yours and watch mine at the same time, can you?”
Edward smiled, undeterred. “No, Uncle Leo.”
“Just so.” Leo’s attention returned to Miss Palliser, and Clay did not think he was mistaken this time about the flare of interest he saw in his brother’s expression. “Perhaps your governess ought to teach you about manners if she has not yet done so.”
That was unexpectedly churlish of Leo, even by Leo’s standards. Clay frowned at his brother.
“Miss Palliser has only just joined us recently,” Ara spoke up before he could, flashing the quiet governess a reassuring smile.
“Plenty of time then,” Leo said mildly, his stare lingering on the governess, who flushed beneath his scrutiny. “Plenty of time.”
Clay motioned discreetly for the next course to be served. “If you were hungry, brother, you would have only had to speak for yourself. No one knows better than I what a bear you become when deprived of nourishment, and we cannot have that on a day of such unmitigated celebration.”
Leo turned his attention back to Clay, grinning. “Today is not about me, brother dear. It is about you and your lovely bride. I wish you happy, today and every day that follows.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Ara said.
Their fingers laced even more tightly together.
“Yes,” Clay agreed. “Thank you, brother.” For he wished the very same.
Eight years ago,she had written it in her journal with a flourish and a foolish heart brimming with yearning and hope.
Today, it had become a reality.
Today, she had become Mrs. Clayton Ludlow. Soon to be the Viscountess of Stanwyck, though the title mattered not to her. She was not the name she wore. She never had been. She was Ara. Ara who loved Clay with all her heart. And though everything else around her had seemingly changed, that fact had not. She was still his, now just as much as she had ever been.
She had learned a new truth in the weeks since Clay had returned to her life, and it was that though years may pass and two hearts in love may be torn apart, nothing could vanquish the fire of a love that was meant to be. Not time. Not distance. Not misunderstandings. Not lies or betrayals.
Not anything.
“Ara.”
She spun, hand on her heart, to find him there, his presence larger than his size.Dear God, how she loved him. She wanted to say something meaningful, something appropriate to the occasion. Something he would remember years later, when they were silver-haired and coddling their grandchildren. But he took her breath. He robbed her of speech. There he stood, hers at last.
“Ara.”
He opened his arms, and she raced to him as if she were a young girl of one-and-twenty all over again. As if they had never lost each other. As if this was all they had ever known. She was in the air, launching herself at him, and he caught her with ease, holding her in his arms.
Her love for him was uncontrollable. It was like a small stream that became a rushing river after a deluge of rain, transforming everything in its path. Just as he had described to her once.
It was a force all its own.
Their mouths met in a kiss of tongues and teeth and lips. Of hunger and savoring and desperation and frantic need. It was a culmination of every second they had been apart. She could not kiss him long enough or hard enough. Her hands sank into his hair. His hands clamped on her waist, holding her in place. Her legs wrapped around him.
She felt so small in his arms, and yet so fierce, so revered. So loved, so needed, so wanted. Every part of her cried out for more. She took her mouth from his to rain kisses on his face—his eyebrow, his cheek, his rigid jaw, down his chin. She found his throat and his racing pulse and licked, then gently bit.
He rewarded her with a groan. “I wish we were off on our honeymoon now. I wish we were not bound to remain here by our circumstances.”
“Mmm.” She licked a path down his neck, finding his prominent Adam’s apple. “I do not need to be anywhere other than here. Now. With you.”
