“Ambrose,” she sighed, as she felt herself brought over the edge with him, her body tingling as if a million butterflies hummed inside of her.
As their breathing slowed and the mist began to crawl up toward the windows, Ambrose pulled the heavy duvet over them, cocooning them in the dark. He tucked her head under his chin, his hand stroking the long, smooth line of her hip.
The rhythmic percussion of the cool rain against the windowpane seemed to sync with the thunder of their hearts. Ambrose didn’t just hold her as they came down, in their wedding bed. He anchored her as the world settled back into its axis. He had flipped onto his back, and Imogen lay draped across his chest, her skin flushed and hot.
“I did not know,” she whispered into the hollow of his throat, her voice a soft, velvet rasp. “I didn’t know a person could feel… unmade like that. As a girl, I read romance novels, heard people talking, but I did not know… I did not understand… Was I all right?” She asked nervously.
“You are everything, and you are more than perfect.”
“As are you, my love.”
Ambrose let out a long, shuddering breath, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine with a reverence that bordered on the sacred.
“I spent years convincing myself that my blood was made of ice, Imogen. That I was a creature of stone and statute. But with you… I am just a man. I like who I am in your arms, in your gaze.”
He shifted slightly, pulling the heavy velvet duvet higher to shield them from the midnight chill of the Shropshire hills.
“I still cannot believe that I am so lucky,” he murmured, his lips pressing a firm, lingering kiss to her temple. “After the docks, after the near scandal, after the way I almost let you walk away… you still chose this. I am the luckiest man in the world.”
Imogen pulled back just enough to look at him. She reached up, her thumb brushing the stubble along his jawline.
“My mother spent her short life waiting for a man who would never truly claim her. I spent my life waiting for a moment when I wouldn’t have to hide who I was. We aren’t just a marriage of convenience or a scandal for thetonto chew on. We are the first real thing this house has seen in a century. They will write books about our love.”
Ambrose gripped her hand, his signet ring cold against her skin, but his palm was searingly hot. “I will spend every day of the rest of my life ensuring you never regret that choice. There will be no more ghosts in these halls. No more silence. Just us, and the family we are building,” he said as he placed a hand on her belly.
“Go to sleep, my love,” he whispered, his voice a low, comforting sound in the dark.
“Your wish is my command, husband,” she said with a peaceful sigh, followed by a small yawn.
“The sun will rise on a world where you are cherished. And I will be right here, leading the charge.”
In the quiet of the Shropshire night, the Duke and his Duchess drifted into a deep, dreamy peace, finally whole in the heart of the wild English hills.
The End?
