“We’ll marry tomorrow.” He tore himself away. “I won’t last any longer. Or we’ll have to move into the hideaway until the ceremony.”
She laughed and stood. “Let’s go and find out how soon we can wed.” She held out her hand. “I am every bit as eager as you are, but something tells me that tomorrow won’t be possible. Just ask your mother.”
Reid laughed as he took her hand and led her from the room, the two of them, some might say, surrounded by a glow of happiness.
After that? The evening went as one might expect.
The announcements were made, toasts were drunk and more dancing led to some quite boisterous reels.
Lady Jocelyn and Sir Rodney were seen to be dancing together, and comments were made as to how happy they seemed at their son’s engagement.
Brent and Emmeline thoroughly enjoyed the ball, and had some even more intimately wonderful moments later in a little parlor.
Brent declared himself forever in Reid’s debt, and Emmeline just looked…satisfied.
It was a happy time for everyone, even Lord Southwick. To Prudence’s surprise, Lady Southwick was receiving many compliments on her husband’s generosity. She took them all in stride, accepting them with modesty and managing to imply that it was her influence that had led him to make the decision to acknowledge his long-lost daughter. And wasn’t she a beauty?
In addition, it gave her chance to brag about Emmeline having landed herself a Viscount. So all in all, it was an enormous success, even for those who had experienced a variety of unfamiliar emotions.
As promised, Reid spirited his fiancée away at the conclusion of the evening’s festivities, back to the library where it was warm and secluded.
“I think I shall burst from happiness, Reid.” She walked to the window and laid her palm against the cold glass. “I ‘m quite beside myself.”
“I think I’d rather you were beside me.”
He was behind her and she felt the tapes of her gown loosening. She shivered with excitement and smiled. “Here?”
“I locked the door.”
“I said you were brilliant.”
She turned and for a moment, they stood, forehead to forehead, together and so much in love neither wanted to move. His hand was at the base of her neck and her arms were around him, one pulling his head close, the other tugging him to the rest of her.
“Happy Christmas, my Pru. I love you,” he murmured, rubbing her nose with his.
“I love you as well, Reid. Happy Christmas.” She returned the words on a whisper, finally leaning in and finding his lips with hers.
From that point, it was heat, passion and desire between them, an awareness that now they could love freely and forever lending a touch of magic to their intimacy.
The Mistletoe Marquess had found his Marchioness, and persevered through rough waters to claim her.
It could have been Christmas magic or a Mistletoe miracle. But at this particular moment, neither Prudence nor Reid were devoting much thought to that question. They were too busy devoting their thoughts to the other’s pleasure. And promising to do it for the rest of their lives.
