Sitting at the vanity that my new husband said was mine, in a room that was mine with a tiny closet full of new gowns, I stared in the mirror.
“Not a ragamuffin today.” Not that I thought I ever was, except in hospitals.
The faint glow to my ruddy cheeks remained. I held up the new band on my finger, shiny gold with a pomegranate-shaped ruby, round with fiery facets.
I was Lady Ashbrook, Daniel’s countess.
He said Finchely was ours. That Hope was ours. When would it feel that way, not borrowed, which meant it could be taken?
One stare at the girl in the mirror rallied my spirits. Though my past was a blur, I deserved joy. I deserved more of all the good things. I wouldn’t disqualify me from life, not again, not as long as I had breath.
Daniel opened the adjoining door to his bedchamber. “Good, you’re not asleep. That second wedding breakfast might be enough to make you tire.”
He chuckled with hands behind his back in a dark emerald robe. No nightshirt. I saw bits of chest, chiseled, sun-warmed and brown, tufts of hair as fine as the curls on his head.
“My lord, I liked meeting your friends, the Richmonds and Mr. Gerard’s granddaughters, and so many others. I felt welcomed.”
I loosened the ribbon Patience had threaded through my braids. They all came undone. Springy tresses unwound and fell about my pink robe.
With one hand behind his back, Daniel came forward, scooped up my silver brush and swooped it through my slacked braids. “Soft. A little like Hope’s. I believe she too will have a lot of hair.”
He bent a little closer. The dark hue of his robe drew out tiny flecks of green in his black eyes. “How do you find your room?”
“Perfect,” I said. “But I do remember this room from before. The incident on the steps, that is unforgettable.”
“I wanted you to stay forever then.” His smile was full, gap and all. With a quick slip to my neck, his palms skimmed my throat, and he set down the brush. “Does my Lady Ashbrook require anything? Something to nibble.”
“I’m full from the feasts. I’m fine.”
“Just fine? I think I know how to make time perfect. Close your eyes.”
My middle clenched. My pulse sped. I latched my eyes tight. Well, almost so. I had to peek.
He knelt and slipped a bowl from behind his back. Taking a shiny spoon from his pocket, he scooped into it. His pomegranate ambrosia danced on my tongue.
I gobbled it. I loved it. I reached for him, and let my kiss say what I wasn’t brave enough to voice.
He had suggested that I was too loud sometimes.
Daniel tasted of cherries, sweet and tingling to my tongue.
The bowl found a home on the vanity, and I went into his arms. He stood, lifting me with him, kissing me, backing me across the boundary between our chambers.
Against the footboard of his bed, we settled.
Daniel had his strong hands on my face. Everything waspurr-fect.
Then he stopped.
Across my lips, he brushed them with his, then whispered something.
I didn’t hear. My heart pounded too hard.
He bent to my ear. “That noise, Jemina?”
“Nothing, darling.” My arms settled against his shoulders.
His hands worked away the knot of my sash. I caught his thumbs. I was a widow, a grown woman. Yet I only possessed two years of memories—none of them was this. Nothing had my heart spinning with the anticipation of being loved by this man.
