Eugenia shuddered delicately. “Yes, well. I shall be perfectly happy never to hear either of those names again.”
“Quite so. And now Edward’s word is as good as any nobleman’s,” Thornton added. “The marchese’s heir, no less.” Thornton’s voice gentled. “And yet here you are, responsible for the restoration of Edward’s birthright and uniting him with his true love.”
Eugenia felt a glow at being so honored. But then,toying with the fringe of her shawl, she sighed. “I suppose my work is done,” she said. “To what worthy cause do I now turn my attention? I am in danger of becoming idle. Or worse, redundant.”
Thornton’s brows drew together as he assumed an expression of exaggerated gravity. “We cannot have that. Let me think.” He tapped his chin. “Catherine and Count di Montefiore, perhaps? I begin to suspect they deserve one another.”
A laugh burst from her, quite against her will. “A union made in purgatory,” she said. “How could I be so cruel? Though Heaven knows both of them displayed a callous disregard for the feelings of others when it suited them.” She considered. “Still, perhaps that is reason enough to leave them here to torment one another. Catherine di Montefiore?” She practiced the title with a frown.
“Quite so,” Thornton said mildly. “But if you mean to remain here in order to supervise Miss Bentley’s moral reform, I must protest. I cannot be banished back to England alone.”
“Alone?” Eugenia replied. “You would never be alone when you have your club and your… horses.”
“All very worthy companions,” he allowed. “But none of them to tell me when I am sorely in need of the truth. None of them to talk me into some absurd wager. And none of them, Eugenia, to laugh with me quite so charmingly as you do.”
She felt a ridiculous sting behind her eyes. “Thornton,” she said, striving for levity, “are you flirting with me?”
“Good heavens, no,” he replied. “I am proposing a joint venture.”
She blinked. “A joint venture?”
“In matchmaking,” he said. “We have between us quite a record. First there were Sir Frederick and Miss Fairchild. Then Caroline and Henry. Now, Venetia and Edward.” He listed off on his fingers their successes over the past three years. “And we can absolutely count Sofia and her Paolo as a bonus.”
“You would make a profession of it?” she teased. “Advertise in thenews sheets, perhaps? A joint venture—”
She stopped, fearing from the look on his face that she had taken levity too far.
Thornton stepped closer, so close she could see the tiny lines fanning from the corners of his eyes.
“You said the words, and I fully concur, Eugenia. A joint venture sounds just the ticket. I am weary of Venice,” he said quietly. “But I am not weary of you. I do not think I ever could be. If you are resolved to return to England, then I shall be at your side. If you wish to haunt Venetian salons for another year and terrify wayward noblemen, I shall happily play the Greek chorus. Only—” His voice roughened. “Do not speak of our ‘work’ as if it were finished and you and I were to go our separate ways. I find I have grown rather attached to my partner in crime.”
Her throat tightened. “Partner in crime?” she repeated.
He took her hand very gently and pressed it to his lips. “And that is only the start of how to describe what you are to me.”
She couldn’t seem to breathe. “What… else?”
“Everything,” he said simply. “Friend. Confidante. Coconspirator. And, if you can find it in that formidable heart of yours to accept me—with my creaking joints and my tendency to lecture—the woman I call my wife.”
For a moment, the room blurred. The sensible reply—to tease him, to demand details, to ensure he understood exactly what he was asking—deserted her.
Instead she lifted her free hand and cupped his cheek, feeling the rasp of his evening stubble against her palm. “You foolish, wonderful man,” she whispered. “I have been your wife in all but name for years. It will be a relief to at last have the matter settled.”
He laughed then, a sound of pure, startled joy, and bent his head.
The kiss was not the headlong, desperate fusion of youth, but something slower and deeper, shaped by sharedyears and battles fought side by side.
When at last they parted, she rested her forehead against his. “Very well,” she said. “We shall return to England together. We will brave the gray skies. And we shall continue our matchmaking—though I warn you, I mean to be very particular about our subjects.”
“I should expect nothing less,” Thornton replied. “We have a reputation to uphold.”
Eugenia slipped her arm through his as they turned back to the canal. Outside, a gondola glided past, its prow lifting over the wake.
“Our lovebirds have flown,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he agreed, giving her arm a tender squeeze. “But there are still two old birds left to tend the nest.”
Side by side, minds spinning with the excitement of future adventures, they watched the Venetian light fade.
THE END
