He sounded nervous to her, so she leaned over and put her arm around his. “That sounds fine. What about my parents?”
“I invited them, but your father insists on returning to England. They will leave in two days.”
“What about—”
Karl smiled at her, and it struck her suddenly that this was her husband. She’dmarriedhim. This competent, giving, strong, kind man. “Herr and Frau Moon will be returning to England at the same time as your parents and your brother. Lord Rascomb’s health will determine when they return. Moving him to Zurich is too difficult at the moment.”
Justine nodded. They might stay for weeks, but Justine knew the second they could safely get Lord Rascomb down the mountain, they would return to England as well. Ophelia needed her parents more than she needed Justine right then anyway. She might as well go to Augsburg.
Karl pulled the cart to a stop in front of a gorgeous chalet. It was meant to be a herder’s hut, but this was if the herder were a prince in disguise. It was larger, and had massive windows—a terrible idea for keeping warm in the winter, but it was summer and beautiful. Pretty red and white flowers had been planted, making the building as welcoming as any she’d ever seen.
Karl got down and held out his hand as if to hand her down, but instead, he blocked her path, pulling her into his arms. “You are my wife.”
Justine leaned down to put her arms around his neck, reveling in being taller for once. “And you are my husband.”
He threaded his hand up to her cheek, pulling her down for a kiss. What started out as tender and full of the excitement of the day quickly turned passionate as they both realized what this night was meant to be for them.
When Karl pulled away, Justine was gasping, feeling a now-familiar ache in her belly and between her legs. Karl handed her down, as if he were a gentleman. “I have to deal with the cart,” he said, his eyes roving over her in a way that was most definitely ungentlemanly. “You go inside. Start unbuttoning.”
Justine blushed, and he chuckled.
“I like making you blush,” he said, pride showing in his expression. “Challenging, but worth it.”
“I hate you,” she said, even though they both knew she meant the opposite.
“I love you too,” he said. Was he staking a donkey? Yes. But he was staring into her eyes, connecting in a way she’d never connected with anyone else.
She swallowed hard, stopped short by his clear declaration. “I love you,” she whispered, testing out the words on her tongue. When they flowed out of her mouth, she realized that she meant it. She loved him in a way she’d never expected to be able to do. It almost felt like a parlor-trick—the way it had snuck up on her. The way he’d so easily slipped through her defenses, earned her esteem, and then quietly made her love him.
He beamed in response to her whispered declaration, and it didn’t matter that the sun was behind the mountains, because Karl was her light.
**
Epilogue
Augsburg, Bavaria
“This is your parents’ house.” They descended from the hired hack in front of a tall, flat-front, ornate baroque building.
“Yes.” Karl smiled at her as if there was nothing surprising about the filigreed front of the five-story building.
Each window was topped with inlaid stone ornamentation, and painted filigrees to draw the eye to them. The top of the house was nothing like what she might find in London, even in the most expensive Belgravia. These top floors looked carved, like a mantel clock, making it difficult to see the rooflines. It was ostentatious. It was curls upon ornamentation and—was that gold filigree?
It was downright shocking. She loved it.
“I thought your parents were traders. Merchants.” Justine hadn’t bothered pressing Karl about his family. Why would she? When they were waved down by the hack driver to go straight to his parents’ house from the train, instead of stopping at the apartment Karl had leased for them, she was expecting a cottage on the edge of town. Not . . . this.
But then, when she’d thought of Augsburg, she’d pictured a farm town the size of Zermatt. Not a beautiful, bustling city full of ancient watchtowers and churches and guild halls. London prided itself as being the center of the world, but it could learn from the beauty of Augsburg.
“They are traders. That’s how my Onkel Peter met my Tante Greta. He was bringing goods to Switzerland.”
“I have noticed that when I ask something about you or your direct family, you end up trying to distract me with things I already know.”
Karl grabbed her hand, and kissed the back of it.
“Does this mean we can afford a cook?” she asked.
“Yes,” Karl said, not elaborating.
