“Is that a proposal?Because it made no sense.You cannot simply mention the master alchemist.We don’t even know who he’ll be yet, and?—”
“I know whoshe’llbe.One day.My wife.”
“I think I’m going to marry you, but it’s despite a concerning lack of verbal clarity.”
“Think hard, princess.”He moved his lips down her jaw, her neck, placing words there with soft, hot kisses.“If a former marquess can be a shopkeep and a spinster can become a marchioness in her own right, then a very cunning lady alchemist can one day be…”
“Master alchemist,” she breathed.“Me?”The word came out as a gasp.Not because of the absurd notion he kissed along her skin, but because he’d found her bodice and freed her breast and it felt oh-so-very good.
“If you want it.But right now, I’d rather talk about me.”His tongue on her nipple.She’d almost forgotten how good it felt.“Becoming your husband.Mr.Sybil Grant has a ring to it.What do you say, princess?”He slipped out of their embrace and hit his knees before her.“I’m going to worship you the rest of my life.Let me do it from the same house”—he kissed one of her palms—“the same bedroom”—he kissed the other—“as you.Marry me, Sybil?”
She hit her knees in front of him and wrapped her arms around him, hid her face in the curve of his neck to keep him from seeing her eyes.“Yes,” she whispered there, laughing through her tears, “Yes, I’ll marry you.After you court me properly, you scoundrel.”
He rested his forehead against her with a crooked grin.“You always did like things to be done the proper way.Such a delicious little contradiction you are.”He stroked his knuckles down her cheek, and she felt the heat of his ring caress her skin, too.
“It’s funny,” she said, pulling back enough to take his hand in hers, “all alchemists who marry forge binding rings of the metal the man has carried in his pocket since youth.”
He rubbed his thumb over her ring.“I didn’t carry it that long.”
“And we forged them separately.But…”
“We forged the same thing, it seems.I could feel you through it, Sybil.So odd, but… it was the only connection I possessed to you, so I didn’t damn well care.Do you mind that we didn’t do it how it’s usually done?That I didn’t toil in a forge and present a ring to you in a pretty little box?”
“No.It’s better this way.We both needed to find the right shape.I love you, Apollo Chester, and I think I have for a long, long time.”
His grin was slow and lovely, bright as a flash of light and deep as the soil he tilled.“I adore you, Sybil Grant, and I will till the day I die.And probably after that.I’ll probably haunt you.I hope you’re prepared for that.”
She kissed him.And when she laughed, the vines curling above them seemed to giggle, the leaves shaking around them saidshhh, and the light soaking through the glass retreated a bit because the heat Sybil and Apollo made together rivaled even the sun.
EPILOGUE: THE SOUL FINDS A HOME
Four weeks later
Apollo had done everything the proper way.He’d met with Sybil’s parents on his own, asked their permission to marry their daughter, and he’d met with Temple and Diana, the latter who smoothed Apollo’s way more than Apollo had any right to expect her to.
Those meetings had been stiff, formal, and punctuated by gratitude for Apollo’s help in Stone’s forge.Gratitude set like an ill-fitting cloak on Apollo’s shoulders.He didn’t need thanks for that.Sybil was his; he’d have razed the entire British Museum if it would have saved her.
Hell, he’d faced the queen for her and behaved well enough to earn her grim and provisional approval.If he misbehaved in any way before the wedding, she would rescind it.And he’d only gained that much by complimenting her conservatory and helping to heal a sick palm.
The Grant Army must have realized how desperate he was because the fools had also agreed Sybil could marry him.
And now he was surrounded.He’d never been made the center of attention by so many people all at once.Oh, there had been the servants when he’d been marquess, but they’d been paid to attend to his needs, and they’d never done so at the same time.And in the streets and ballrooms, he was surrounded, no doubt, but few were acknowledging his existence the way ten sets of eyes now did.Eleven if one counted the dog, and since old Merlin’s gaze was as steadfast as the others, Apollo did.
He cleared his throat.
Sybil squeezed his hand, and it gave him courage to continue facing the onslaught of curiosity and… oh yes.He knew that particular gleam well enough to recognize it, having seen it in the mirror so often.The Grant Army no doubt ran on curiosity and produced nothing but mischief.
Then again, the Grants were good, upstanding alchemists.Their home a lovely little thing on Hampstead Heath, the entryway cozy with glowing fairy orbs mounted on the walls instead of candles and thick, ornately decorated rugs beneath his feet.This paragon of the modern family would not resort to… mischief!
He cleared his throat again, not feeling at all confident in that assumption.
Sybil squeezed his hand again, encouragement to end the now almost fatal silence that was stretching out between her introduction of him to the Grant Army and his inability to greet them.
No more clearing his throat.
He squeaked out a “Good evening.Thank you for having me.”Oh God, he’d reverted to the indignity of boyhood when his voice could not decide on a pitch.
Diana slapped a hand over her mouth, not quite hiding a laugh.
