EPILOGUE
“Hold on, Max, I’ll open the door for ye!”
Laughing, Lysander hurried past Max to reach the front door of the house.
Our new home.
Grinning, Max turned and offered his hand to Ember. “Coming, wife?”
One slim leg emerged from the carriage, the cut of that lovely silver gown showing off not just the revolutionary shoes, but the trim, stocking clad ankle as well. It was a bold sort of dress to wear to a wedding, but Max loved it.
In fact, when Ember reached down to take his hand, he changed his mind about allowing her to walk into their home on her own. Instead, he stepped closer, and disregarding his fancy suit, swept her into his arms.
Ember squealed and threw her arms around his neck, but the sound quickly turned to laughter. “Whatareyou doing, Max?”
He turned and hurried toward the front door. “I’m carrying my wife across the threshold. Then I’m carrying her up the stairs and into our bedroom, where I’m going to very carefully remove this lovely dress from her.”
She’d stopped laughing. “Oh?” she squeaked, and he shot her a wicked grin.
“Indeed. It’s a beautiful gown, full of sentimental value, and I don’t want it to be crushed.” Her lovely eyes had gone wide at the hint of what was to come, but from the way she squirmed in his arms, she wasn’t afraid. “I suppose I should be glad you decided not to wear the mask to our wedding,” he teased, stopping at the front door.
“I could not very well announce I was the mysterious lady at the ball, could I? My stepmother was glowering the whole time anyhow. I think she suspects.”
He dropped a kiss to her nose. “It doesn’t matter, love. After today, nothing your stepmother does should matter to you at all. She’s part of your past.”
When she sighed slightly and rested her head against his shoulder, he nodded firmly and stepped over the threshold. He hadn’t expected a fanfare, but Lysander clapped loudly.
“Bravo, you two! I arranged for the leftovers from the wedding feast to be delivered.” Grinning, he nodded toward the kitchen. “They’re waiting in the pantry. Takes a lot of energy, a wedding night does.”
For a brief moment, Max wished his arms weren’t full of his wife, so he could grasp his brother’s hand. “Thank you, Lysander. It means a lot to me that you?—”
“Dinnae get mushy, brother.” Lysander’s grin grew as he swaggered toward the door. “I’m glad to ken ye too, but I’ll not further my acquaintance tonight. Good luck!”
Laughing, the other man ducked out of the house.
“Shut the door behind you!” Ember called out, and Max heard the ill-disguised laughter in her voice.
“Have fun!” Lysander hollered, before the door slammed.
Ember stifled her giggles against Max’s shoulder.
“He’s a good man,” he muttered, feeling as if he should defend his brother, even as he strode through their house.
“He is.” Ember’s fingers were playing with the curls at the base of his neck. “I hope he is not still too irritated with Tiffany.”
Better not to admit the extent of Lysander’s simmering anger, especially on their wedding night. Instead, Max merely hummed and took the stairs two at a time, anxious to get Ember to their room.
Once there, he kicked the door shut behind him and lowered her gently to the floor. Her arms were still around his neck, so he kissed her. It was difficult to hold back the intensity of his desire, and for the first time since she’d accepted his proposal, he didn’t feel like he had to. His tongue delved between her lips, in mocking mimicry of what hewantedto be doing, and he smiled as he felt her match his speed.
Tonight, everything would be perfect.
Gently, he kissed her one last time, then straightened. She was staring up at him, her eyes clouded.
“Max?” she whispered, and he grinned at how dazed she sounded.
“Yes, love?”
“Have I told you how handsome you look in the Oliphant kilt?”
