He held her closer and nuzzled his nose against the tender skin behind her ear. “I promise,” he said, then nipped at her earlobe.
Emma squealed, then turned her head, giggling.
Archer captured her lips, drowning her laughter with his kiss.
Chapter 8
Six days later…
The local parish bells rang out as Emma took Father’s arm. Joy bubbled up in her as they started toward the aisle where she knew Archer awaited her. She’d never been more ready for anything in her life and could scarcely wait to embark on the rest of her life.
She and Archer had shared a few private moments since the night he attempted to scale her family home, but not nearly enough. Merely a few minutes here, a short walk in the garden, a quiet conversation in the parlor's corner—nothing substantial—and there had been no more kisses.
Emma wanted to kiss him. She wanted to be held close to his chest and snuggled. For the first time in her life, she understood why woman shared their bodies, their minds, and souls with men. And she could not wait to share all of herself with Archer.
Organ music replaced the tinkling of the bells as she and Father rounded the doorway and started up the aisle. Her gaze met Archer’s, and they exchanged tender smiles. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to break free of Father and run into Archer’s arms.
Joy overwhelmed her when, at last, Father handed her over to Archer. Juliet and Olivia stood off to her side while Mother sat in the first row with the ladies, Louisa, Elizabeth, and Catherine. The Duke of Thorne shored up the pew row while Lord Hiltoncroft stood beside Archer.
Most of the village’s population had gathered outside, and Emma and Archer’s close family friends filled the remaining pews. Mother had quite outdone herself with the planning and decorating. The parson stood beneath a canopy of white and green flowers and foliage, and bows of the same roses, lilies, gardenias, and sweet alyssum mixed with greenery bedecked the rest of the church.
Emma inhaled as she took it all in. Her nose filled with the scents of spring intermingled with Archer—flowers, citrus, and spice. Her heart soared as the parson began the ceremony. When the time came for Archer to take her hands in his, heat spiraled through her. And when they were pronounced husband and wife—Viscount and Viscountess Wakefield—Emma could not stop the tears of joy that rose within her.
Archer swiped a tear from her cheek, then leaned close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do not fret, love. I promise all will be well.”
“I’m not. It’s only that I am so happy.” She smiled. “They are tears of joy.” As she spoke, she noticed the sheen of moisture coating his warm grey eyes, and her smile grew. “It seems you are afflicted as well.”
“Minx,” he said, then blinked away the moisture.
Emma wrapped her hand around his arm and strolled beside him as they made their way toward the future they would share. When they settled into their carriage, she pressed a kiss to his neck, then said, “We will be happy.”
“You have my word,” Archer replied, then pulled her into his arms. He captured her lips, and they shared a soul-shattering kiss before he pulled back to stare into her gaze. Emma’s pulse raced, her body warmed all over as he said, “I love you.”
She trailed her fingers in a series of loops over his heart. Holding his gaze, she said,“Then it seems ours is to be a love match after all.”
“Is that so?” He arched one playful sandy brow.
Emma nodded. “Indeed. For I love you as well.”
Epilogue
Eight years later…
The sun shone down on Emma, warming her face as she reclined against Archer’s muscular chest. A field of newly bloomed wildflowers surrounded them while sounds of merrymaking filled the air. Emma squinted against the sun to gaze at the people enjoying the May-Day festival below.
“It looks as if everyone has come out to celebrate,” she said.
Archer stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek and jaw. “Would you like to join them?”
“No.” Emma sighed and tipped her head back against his chest, closing her eyes. “I prefer to keep you to myself.”
“Greedy, wench,” Archer teased, his voice laced with humor.
“Aye,” Emma replied, “And I am not the least bit ashamed.” She wriggled until she was sideways across his lap. Turning her head, she met his gaze. “Do you want to go down there?”
“No.” Archer shook his head, then slid his hands up her back and side. “That would defeat my purpose.”
“Oh?” Emma peered with suspicion. “And what exactly is your purpose?”
