“You did not mean the vow of obedience to your husband, Charles,” he wagered.
She sniffed, her lips at last softening. “Well, that is a ridiculous vow no woman ever spoke in earnest.”
Hope alit in his breast.
“And I certainly don’t expect you to be like my father, mad from grief the day I die. Not when I know you’ll quickly find another to warm your bed.”
“Well I should hope I don’t go mad.” He huffed. “I intend to poison myself upon your death, like Romeo beside Juliet.”
She poked him in his middle, hard enough that he grabbed her wrists.
“You think I jest, woman?” Wells stared fiercely into her eyes. “I do not, Charles.” He grew grave. “Do not even speak to me of death, love. I could not bear it. I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Thatis what I fear. I’ll not deny I’ve not enjoyed the chase, have not relished taming you these many months past, but life is fickle, Fox, its tempest never fair, so I will never have you in the purest sense of having.”
“Roland Rutherford Wellesley.” She raised her chin, possessed of some secret, feminine knowledge, he thought. “You will kiss me now and cease such nonsense, here in the ocean of this room. You will make love to me again and forget all your fears and worries, all that consumes you by day. Each night you will come to me so that together we may make things right, even though we shall argue and disappoint and yet again fight. For so long as love be true, husband, all other fears shall be put to bed, to rest. I promise you this.”
And in that instant he believed her, wholly and completely. Wells took her lips in a kiss leagues deep, knowing in his soul his Fox would anchor him forever, even when everything would inevitably go wrong again.
Perhaps that washavingafter all—having faith in love to steer life right.
The End
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EPILOGUE
LONDON, 1839, FOUR YEARS LATER
(Teaser toThe Bastard in her Boudoir,
book two inThe Dubious Matesseries)
Li poured Wellesley’s tea in characteristic fluid motion, the hot green liquid arcing through the air. He watched, hypnotized. No matter how often he’d seen her perform this ceremony in the backroom ofLeBrecht’sor in the hold of his ship, he remained entranced. Flashbacks from his past flooded his mind as he stared at her slender wrist.
“Remind me again why you have interrupted my day, Wells?” Li did not look up from pouring. She was businesswoman first, friend and erstwhile lover second.
He returned to the present, to the reason he’d come.“Banks wants to runThe Painted Ladyto the Americas.”
She appeared not to register his words.
“He also wants to rename her.”
Li finished pouring and bowed deeply before the tea. Wells knew he’d have to wait a good minute for her response while she finished, so he filled that minute with more talk.
“I don’t like either idea.”
She remained prostrate.
“Li . . .” He was impatient.
“Do you not have a child at home and a wife soon expecting another, Your Grace?” Her eyes finally met his.
Wells harrumphed. “How does that have anything to do with Banks?”
“Precisely.” Li’s lips made a moue as she shifted her position and raised the dish to sip delicately, wisps of steam licking her perfect, oval face. She carefully placed the bowl back upon the low table. “You gave Banks your ship, Wells. You are now the Duke of Allendale, no longerThe Painted Lady’scaptain. Your Duchess has given you a strapping male heir and is about to birth you another. Why are you even here?”
He felt like he did every time he dealt with Li: wishing to wring her elegant neck.
“I am in London on account of Charles’s family and, as you well know, for Milton’s wedding. My wife’s cousin will be presented at court in a matter of days and we must attend the girl’s ensuing coming out ball. Otherwise I’d not even?—”
