“I’m not very good at obeying orders.” But even with the words, she buried her face in his chest.
He tasted the salt of her tears when he kissed her. Nothing felt better than to hold her in his arms again.
“I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m going to make you a solemn promise.”
“You’ll never leave me?”
Stephen shook his head. “I swear I shall never drink a cup of tea prepared by your hand, unless you have drunk from it first.”
A startled laugh escaped her, but she nodded. Stephen turned to the marquess. “There is another matter. You have not treated my wife with the respect she is due.”
The marquess looked pained at the observation.
“You will treat her as you would my sister Hannah, and Mother is to give Emily her full support. Is that clear?”
With great reluctance, Lord Rothburne acceded. “I suppose sheisa baron’s daughter and could be a suitable wife.”
A wailing noise cut through their conversation, followed by the sound of a boy running down the stairs. Stephen ordered Michael and the other men to conceal the bodies. He saw no need to frighten the children. After ripping down the heavy curtains, Nigel’s body was hidden.
Quentin cleared his throat. “Am I to be rescued now as well?” In his arms, he held Victoria.
“Da-da-da!” she sobbed, reaching for Stephen. He took the child into his arms, relieved to have her safe. Royce clung to Emily, who was smoothing his hair while he chattered nonsense about a horse.
They exchanged looks, and he saw the worry lines ease from her face at the sight of the children.
“Did you kill Great-Uncle Nigel?” Royce asked Stephen, tugging upon his waistcoat.
“No,” he answered in all honesty. “But he was not a good man. He brought about his own demise, and he won’t trouble you again.”
Stephen knelt down before the boy, and Royce gripped his neck tightly. “I want to go home, Uncle Stephen.”
“We will, my boy.” With a quick rumple of Royce’s hair, Stephen stood.
Emily took Royce by the hand and led him toward the marquess. “This is Lord Rothburne.”
Royce stared at the gruff marquess, his mouth pursing into a frown. “He hasn’t got much hair, has he?”
“Royce!”
Stephen stifled a laugh at his wife’s mortification. Pulling her into his arms, he rested his chin atop her head. “I think it’s time to go home.”
That night, when they were alone at the inn, Emily stood before her husband in her chemise. His eyes grew hungry, and she warmed beneath his admiration.
The darkness of the room cast an intimate spell. She came closer, touching the healed scar on his chest. Stephen bent down and kissed her, a melting kiss that pulled the pieces of her heart back together.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Shivers of desire and need overcame her, as he lowered his mouth to the soft part of her nape. “I love you, too.”
“And you’re very lucky, you know.”
“How am I lucky?” he asked as she lifted her chemise away. Skin to skin, she reveled in the hardened male body pressing against her softness.
She pulled him toward the bed, bringing him down on top of her. “Let me show you.”
As Stephen pulled his wife into his arms, he thought that no man in the world could ever be as lucky as this.
Epilogue
