“After that was done,” Davien continued, “I managed to gain entry, by law, into the Abbey and free all of the spring initiates.”
Cosette gasped. “Oh, Davien, that’s wonderful!”
“It may take some time,” he continued somberly, “but the Order will fall. No matter how long it takes, I will make sure of that. It may start off with a few rumors dispatched here and there, but the end is near for Dashwood and the rest of the Brothers.”
Cosette reached up on her toes, threw her arms around him, and kissed him. It didn’t matter who might be standing around to observe their torrid embrace. It didn’t matter that they were in full view of the archbishop, who hadn’t yet declared that they were husband and wife. This man was incredible and she wanted to make sure that everyone assembled knew it.
Cosette could hear Charlotte whisper something to Quinn about getting a room, causing Cosette to giggle and break their embrace.
As she pulled back, she saw that Davien was grinning as if the sun would never set. More than likely she mirrored the same expression.
For years, Cosette had toiled for Madame Louvre, pushing a needle through costly fabrics, making unique dresses for the spoiled daughters of the aristocracy until her fingers nearly bled. In all that time she’d always sneered at the idea of a blushing bride, but now, she couldn’t imagine being anyone else. She had learned that no matter where life may lead, one could never place where your heart might end up.
Davien’s eyes caressed her face. “Shall we say our vows, my dear Cosette?”
She allowed a slight twitch of her lips. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
He growled low in his throat and she felt her toes curl in anticipation of the night to come—and the punishment that Davien would bestow for that little, intentional slip of the tongue.
She could hardly wait.
As they walked over to stand before the archbishop, he opened his Bible and began to read a passage. For someone who held one of the most revered titles in England, Davien didn’t appear the least bit apologetic that he was holding a private ceremony at an ungodly hour of the evening, when most weddings took place in the morning, followed by a celebratory breakfast. But if there was one thing that could be said about their relationship, it was far from conventional.
It didn’t take long for the vows to be exchanged, considering it was one of the happiest moments of Cosette’s life. Amid a flurry of well wishes and congratulatory handshakes and embraces, where even Miss Collins dared to return with a slight curtsy, Cosette was soon overwhelmed.
As if he still had the ability to read her mind, Davien came up behind her and pulled her back into his arms. He laid his head against the side of her head and whispered the words that she would never tire of hearing, the ones that made everything perfectly, and incandescently beautiful. “I love you, my duchess, Cosette.”
She closed her eyes and allowed his warmth and his scent to envelope her. It was the same one she had come to adore from his banyan, the one that was entirely . . . Davien. “I love you too, my husband.”
She smiled. Because it was the perfect end to a new beginning.
