“You mean more than wooing and vexing?”
“Scheming. Wooing. Vexing.” He leaned forward, the tip of his nose touching mine, his lips just out of reach. Desire to remove the gap between us pulsed through me, and I failed to resist it. Edward teased my lips, keeping just enough distance to torture me as he whispered. “Taunting. Teasing. Kissing.”
Drat him. He was fortunate I loved him and was willing to put up with this nonsense.
He chuckled when I grabbed his coat and pulled him down. Finally, he allowed me to capture his lips, returning my kiss with equal passion before whispering, “But my most important activity of all was falling in love with you.”
Epilogue
Edward
One Year Later
Ipeekedintothedrawing room of Yardley Park, the estate father had given me as an inheritance, taking in the recently-painted sage green walls and the marble white molding that framed them. The furniture, too, was new, and even several of the paintings that hung to either side of the glowing fireplace. Thanks to my wife’s excellent taste, the room had been given new life compared to the drab, outdated wallpaper it possessed before. Finally, the estate felt like home.
Our home.
But I was not a complete fool. That feeling came more from the woman sitting at the writing desk in the corner than from the fresh paint or new furnishings.
My wife.
I drank her in, from her fiery red hair down to where her gray skirts hid her feet. Even in mourning colors, she was the loveliest creature of my acquaintance.
It had been eight months since Lord Paxton’s passing, and despite having surpassed the expected six months of blacks and grays, Annette still wore them. I did not disparage her for doing so. I, too, felt the loss keenly.
Annette’s nose wrinkled, a reaction to something she read from the letter she held, and I could not stop my smile or ignore the desire to cross the room. She glanced up, her expression twisted with mischief. “Good morning, husband.”
“It is good, indeed.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Annette’s brows furrowed with disappointment, as they often did when I did not acknowledge one of her pranks. It was almost the perfect sort of revenge.
Almost, but not quite.
I still choose retaliation more often than not.
“Do not tease me,” she warned. “It is no fun to put in so much effort to shock you, only for you to walk in here as if you are the happiest soul alive.”
“I am fairly close to such a description. Since I have you—”
She swatted my arm, but her lips twitched. “Do not flirt with me, Edward Paget. I require a reaction.”
I heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “My darling, Annette, do you truly despise the way I smell so much that you would resort to stuffing rose petals in my stockings?”
“Only the smell of your feet.” She poked at my ribs, making me flinch. “Otherwise, you smell pleasant.”
“Pleasant? I seem to recall you saying that you would rather smell alleyway garbage than me.”
Her nose scrunched. How I loved when it did that.
I leaned down again and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “What are you reading?”
“It is a letter from Margaret. She is telling me of all the mischief her son gets into. Some of it sounds rather…well, perhaps it is not so bad that we are not yet parents.”
I chuckled, taking a seat next to her. “And how are they? Besides the mischief, I mean.”
Margaret had attended our wedding, along with Mr. Wilcot, and I had made a point of speaking to the man about the way he treated his wife. He had not appreciated my words about his behavior, nor the threat I left him with. Annette cared deeply for Margaret, and while we intended to fight for reform, such things took time. If I could ease Margaret’s burdens even a little by keeping tabs on her husband, then I would do so. A little motivation to treat his wife with respect would not hurt.
Or it would, should he choose to ignore my suggestions.
