“Except you’re exactly wrong, are you not?” Victoria’s eyes held a particular brightness. “You are methodical about investments because you care deeply about doing them correctly. You are careful because you understand the weight of responsibility. She matched us perfectly—temperaments, values, needs. She just encouraged fate rather aggressively.”
“Very aggressively,” Rees agreed, pulling her back down against him. “Though I wonder if fate needed much encouragement. We were both ready for something to change, even if we did not know it.”
They lay in comfortable quiet for a moment, the candle flame flickering as it neared the end of its wick. Victoria’s fingers traced patterns on his chest, a habit she had developed in these moments.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had answered the third riddle correctly?” The question came softly, genuinely curious.
Rees considered it, though he had turned the possibility over in his mind countless times. “Sometimes. But then I remember—I did not want to answer correctly. Part of me wanted to lose the wager.”
Victoria lifted her head, surprise clear in her expression. “What do you mean?”
“Think about it. The riddle wasn’t difficult. ‘What force can bind a man more surely than chains, yet be dissolved with a single word?’ The answer is obviously a promise, a vow. But I said ‘pride’ instead.” He paused, remembering that night. “Some part of me wanted something unexpected to shake up my comfortable life. Wanted to lose control, just once, and see what happened.”
“And what happened was me.”
“What happened was you.” His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer. “You shook up my entire world. Destroyed my careful plans and replaced them with something infinitely better.”
“And you shook up mine,” she murmured against his shoulder. “You gave me strength when I had none left. Believed in my innocence when the world condemned me. Loved me when I could not love myself.”
The candle guttered and died, leaving them in darkness save for the faint glow from the dying fire. In that intimate black space, with only touch, breath, and heartbeat between them, Rees felt the rightness of this moment—this life, this woman in his arms.
“I love you, Victoria Harcourt.” The words emerged naturally, necessary and true.
“I love you too.” Her response came muffled against his skin, followed by the soft press of her lips against his collarbone. “More than I thought possible to love anyone.”
They settled into sleep gradually, their bodies finding the perfect configuration of limbs and warmth. Victoria’s breathing deepened first, her weight going limp against him in complete trust. Rees remained awake a few moments longer, his hand moving in slow circles on her back, marveling at the peace filling him.
Whatever tomorrow brought—social obligations, investment decisions, the small negotiations of married life—they would meet it together. Not as two people forced into proximity, but as partners who had chosen each other through trial and truth. The marriage that began with a rigged wager had become something precious, and as sleep finally claimed him, Rees’s last thought was gratitude for the path that had brought them here.
Epilogue
Eight months along, this little one seemed determined to make their presence known. The cream muslin of her loose gown draped over her rounded form, catching the light and making her feel radiant. She had worried Rees might find her changing body unappealing. Instead, he had become more attentive, his hands often seeking the swell of her belly, his eyes warming with admiration as he watched her move with a new grace.
It was remarkable how a year could change everything. The woman who had stood trembling in Lyon’s Den, desperate enough to gamble her future, felt like a character from someone else’s story. Back then, she had been drowning in scandal, watching her family’s prospects crumble. Now she was respected among theton, her opinions sought at gatherings, her musical performances requested at the finest homes. The very people who once whispered behind fans now approached her for advice when they suspected their own daughters might be in similar situations.
Just last month, she had received a letter from young Miss Thornbury, barely seventeen, who had been cornered by a married lord at a house party. Victoria had known exactly what to do, whom to speak with, how to ensure the girl’sstory was believed, and how to shift blame where it belonged. She had become a protector, a voice for those still learning to find their own. The network of women she had helped create had become a shield around society’smost vulnerable. They watched, warned, and witnessed. Men who might once have acted with impunity now found themselves under scrutiny.
Her sisters had flourished in this new reality. With generous dowries provided by Rees—who insisted it was family money, not charity—both had made excellent matches. Charlotte to a young barrister with political ambitions, and Eleanor to a widowed country gentleman who doted on her. Their parents had relocated to a comfortable house in Bath, and her father’s health had improved dramatically once the burden of financial ruin lifted.
Yet her marriage surprised her most. She had prepared for a lifetime of cordial distance, but instead she had found a partner who made her laugh, who debated investments with her at breakfast, and who held her hair during morning sickness without complaint. Rees had transformed from a bitter stranger into the center of her world—the first person she wanted to share news with, the last voice she wanted to hear before sleeping.
“You should not be standing for so long.” His voice came from behind her, filled with concern. She had not heard him approach, lost in thought, but she leaned back instinctively as his arms wrapped around her, his hands joining hers on her belly.
“The midwife said gentle exercise was beneficial,” she reminded him, though she let her weight rest against him, grateful for the support.
“She also said not to overtax yourself.” His chin rested on her shoulder, his breath stirring her curls. “You have been out here for at least an hour.”
“Have I?” She turned her head slightly to see his profile, noting the worry in his eyes. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.” The teasing in his voice made her smile. “What thoughts occupied Mrs. Harcourt this evening?”
“How fortunate I am.” She felt him stiffen slightly. “How fortunate we are.”
His arms tightened around her, mindful of her condition. “We are.” He smiled against her neck. “Have you thought more about names?”
They had been circling the conversation for weeks, each suggesting possibilities the other found lacking. Traditional names felt too weighted with history, while popular ones seemed insufficient for a child who already felt extraordinary.
“Actually, I have.” She turned in his arms, needing to see his face. “For a boy, I thought... Riddle.”
