“Is he?” Dominic glanced over, and a smirk curved his lips as he adjusted his cuff. “They have been sniping at each other all day. She called him an arrogant peacock with more hair than sense. He called her a sharp-tongued menace who would not know a compliment if it bit her.”
“That sounds like trouble.” Nell leaned her shoulder into his.
“That sounds like the beginning of something.” His smirk widened into a grin as he took a long draught from his glass. “I recognise the signs.”
Indeed, Alistair was approaching Daphne now, cutting through the crowd with the easy confidence of a man who had never been told no in his life. Daphne saw him coming and stiffened, her chin lifting in that stubborn way Nell knew so well. Alistair said something — Nell could not hear what — but Daphne’s cheeks flushed red with anger. She snapped something back, sharp enough to make nearby guests wince, and Alistair threw his head back and laughed.
Daphne turned on her heel and stalked away, her silk skirts swishing with every furious step. Alistair watched her go with an expression Nell recognised all too well. It was the same look Dominic had worn in those early days, when he had been fighting his attraction with every stubborn bone in his body. Poor Daphne had no idea what was coming.
The children had been swept up by a group of well-wishers. Lily basked in the attention like a flower turning toward the sun, chattering happily about her flower-girl duties and displaying her pink ribbons to anyone who would listen. Oliver stood nearby, watchful as always, but there was a lightness to his shoulders that had not been there before. He looked like a boyat last — not a protector, but a nine-year-old in a new suit eating cake and trying not to get cream on his waistcoat.
Philippa was weeping into her handkerchief again, declaring to anyone within earshot that this was the happiest day of her life and that she had always known Dominic would find someone worthy.
Edmund found them near the windows, a glass of champagne in hand and a genuine smile softening his features. “Congratulations.” He clasped Dominic’s hand firmly, then turned to Nell with warmth in his brown eyes. “Both of you. I have never seen two people more deserving of happiness.”
“Thank you, Edmund.” Nell squeezed his arm. “For everything. You were there when we needed you most.”
“That is what friends do.” He raised his glass. “To the future. May it be kinder than the past.”
They drank together, and for a moment the three of them stood in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall soft against the windows. The candlelight caught Edmund’s face, and Nell thought he looked lighter than she had ever seen him — like some old weight had finally begun to lift.
“Now.” Edmund set down his glass and gestured toward the dance floor. “I believe the music is starting, and I would very much like to see Lord Westmore attempt a waltz without stepping on his bride’s feet.”
Dominic laughed. “I will have you know my footwork is impeccable.”
“We shall see.” Edmund’s eyes crinkled. “We shall see.”
The evening deepened and the candles burned low. The children were drooping with exhaustion, and Martha appeared to shepherd them off to the nursery wing.
“Be good for Martha.” Nell crouched to kiss them both, smoothing Lily’s wild curls and straightening Oliver’s already crooked cravat.
“Have fun!” Lily giggled, poking her brother in the ribs. Oliver rolled his eyes with all the world-weary exasperation of a boy twice his age.
But then Oliver hugged her. Tight and fierce, his thin arms wrapped around her neck. He pressed his face into her shoulder for just a moment before pulling back.
“I am glad you are happy, Mama.” He said it quietly, just for her. “You deserve it.”
Then they were gone, Martha herding them up the stairs with promises of bedtime story. Nell stood in the emptying ballroom with tears on her lashes, and arms wrapped around her from behind. Dominic pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head.
“Ready to go upstairs, Lady Westmore?” He pressed the question against the curve of her ear, the words a low vibration in his chest.
She turned in his arms and looped her hands around his neck. “I thought you would never ask.”
Twenty-Nine
Dominic closed the door behind them with a quiet click. The bedchamber was warm, the fire already built high, candles lit along the mantelpiece so the room glowed amber and gold. Someone — his aunt, probably — had scattered white rose petals across the turned-down sheets. He would thank her tomorrow. Or never mention it. One of the two.
Nell stood in the centre of the room with her back to him, her fingers already working at the pins in her hair. She pulled them free one by one, dropping them onto the dressing table with small metallic clicks, and her dark hair tumbled down her back in loose waves threaded with white. She hadn’t asked for help. She never did.
“I have been waiting for this.” He crossed to her slowly, each step deliberate, and stopped close enough to feel the warmth of her through the silk. His fingers found the first button at the back of her gown. “All day. All week. All my life, I think.”
“The wedding night?” She tilted her head, giving him the long, pale line of her throat.
“You.” He pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck, just below her ear, and felt the familiar shiver run through her. “As my wife. In my bed. Where you belong.”
He knew her body. He’d learned it in stolen, breathless fragments — his fingers working inside her in the storage room, him between her thighs in the maze, her on top of him when he was hurt after the accident. He knew the sounds she made when she was close. He knew the way her fingers dug into whatever she could reach — his hair, his shoulders, the bedsheets — when she lost control. But those encounters had been frantic, desperate, shadowed by guilt or fear or the knowledge that it shouldn’t be happening.
Tonight there was no guilt. No rushing. No voice in the back of his skull whispering that she would regret this in the morning.
