“Quite certain.” Cecilia patted his cheek with maternal affection. “You’ve been alone too long, my dear boy. It’s time you learned what it’s like to share your life completely with someone, without an audience.”
Ernest materialized at Aaron’s elbow, champagne glass in hand. “Might I steal the groom for a moment? Business, I’m afraid.”
Louise squeezed Aaron’s hand before releasing him. “Don’t keep him long.”
Ernest guided Aaron to a quieter corner, his expression turning serious. “Howlett sent word this morning. Didn’t want to disturb the ceremony, but thought you should know immediately.”
Aaron’s shoulders tensed. “What’s happened?”
“Wigram tried to escape during transport. The attempt failed.” Ernest’s voice carried grim satisfaction. “He killed a guard in the process. They hanged him at dawn.”
Aaron absorbed this news, feeling the last shadow of threat dissipate. “It’s over then.”
“Completely. The network is destroyed, the leaders imprisoned or dead, and George’s involvement buried so deep it would take an excavation to uncover it.” Ernest raised his glass. “You’re free, all of you.”
Aaron touched his glass to Ernest’s, but his gaze found Louise across the room. She stood laughing at something Catherine had said, sunlight creating a halo around her copper hair. His wife. His duchess. His love.
“I should return to her.”
Ernest clapped him on the shoulder. “Go. Be disgustingly happy. You’ve earned it.”
The celebration continued through the afternoon, but Aaron noticed Louise’s increasing restlessness. The way she caught hiseye with growing frequency. The slight flush on her cheeks when he moved close enough to whisper in her ear.
Finally, as evening shadows lengthened, Cecilia took charge.
“All right, everyone. The newlyweds have been patient enough. Time to let them escape.”
Good-natured laughter and a few ribald comments from Ernest followed them as Aaron led Louise from the dining room. Once in the corridor, away from watchful eyes, he pulled her against him.
“Finally,” he murmured against her lips.
“Take me upstairs.” Her voice emerged breathless, urgent. “Now.”
Aaron’s bedchamber had been transformed in his absence. Fresh flowers on every surface, champagne cooling in silver, the bed turned down with rose petals scattered across pristine sheets. Someone, probably Cecilia, had ensured every detail spoke of romance rather than the austere masculinity that usually defined his space.
“It’s beautiful,” Louise said softly, but her eyes remained fixed on him.
Aaron crossed to her in two strides, his hands framing her face. “You’re beautiful. My wife. God, I love saying that.”
Their kiss held three months of anticipation, of careful courtship under Cecilia’s watchful eye, of stolen moments that never went far enough. Louise’s fingers worked at his cravat with increasing frustration until he helped her, both of them laughing at their eagerness.
“We have all night,” Aaron reminded her, even as his own hands shook with want.
“We have forever,” Louise corrected. She rose onto her toes, catching his mouth with hers before he could reply. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as though she were savoring the knowledge that she no longer had to hold herself back. Then she deepened it, her fingers curling into his coat, drawing him closer. “But I’ve waited long enough for tonight.”
Aaron answered her without words. His hands slid to her waist, warm and sure now, pulling her against him. The world narrowed to breath and touch and the soft sound she made when he kissed her again, slower this time, as if he were learning her anew.
Her hands found the buttons of his coat. She worked them free with determined care, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. He helped her, shrugging out of it, then reached for her in return, fingers tracing the line of her spine as he drew her closer. The silk at her shoulders gave way beneath his touch, slipping down her arms as if eager to abandon its post.
Louise shivered, not from cold, but from the way Aaron looked at her — as though the sight of her had struck him silent. Moonlight spilled through the window, silvering her skin as he lifted his hands to her shoulders. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She did not.
His fingers traced the line of her neckline, then slipped beneath the fabric, easing it from her shoulders inch by inch. The gown slid down her arms, pooling at her feet, and he paused there, simply looking. Not appraising. Not hurried. As if he were memorizing the moment, committing her to some private, indelible place within him.
Louise’s breath caught under the weight of his attention. She reached for him again, palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her hands.
“Aaron,” she murmured, his name a promise rather than a question.
The sound of it seemed to undo him. With a low exhale, he gathered her into his arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all. She curled instinctively against him, her cheek brushing his shoulder as he carried her toward the bed. He lay her down with care, as though setting something precious in place, his gaze never leaving her face.
