Page 159 of The Boxing Baroness

He reluctantly released her and heaved a sigh. “Ask away, darling.”

“I’m just wondering about where we will live.”

“We can live wherever you like,” he said, leaning forward to drop a quick kiss on her nose. “Well, perhaps not on your new property.”

“What property?” she blurted.

“You didn’t get to that part of the letter, did you?” He clucked his tongue. “So hasty—so eager to get me into bed and—”

“I have a property? What sort of property?”

“I wouldn’t get too excited; it’s just a rocky patch on one of the Channel Islands, love.”

She gave him a haughty look. “But it’s my rocky patch. Perhaps I shall want to live there.”

“You might like it.”

She brightened. “Really?”

“If you had gills. I’m afraid it’s likely under water for a good part of each day.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, sliding his arm around her and pulling her on top of him. “I’ll find a little corner for you at Wortham.”

She chuckled and straddled his hips before wrapping a hand around his shaft. “So generous.”

He purred and began to pulse his hips. “I can be—with the proper motivation.”

“I thought you were sleepy?” she taunted.

“You came along and woke me up.”

Marianne met his serious gaze and understood what his words really meant. Her teasing expression dissolved. “Oh, St. John.”

“It’s true. Until I met you, I was just existing.”

“When you say things like that—you knock the wind right out of me.”

“You’d better get accustomed to it, darling.” He pulled her down into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Because I intend to keep delivering loving levelers every day for the rest of our lives.”

Epilogue

Saint Helena

1821

“Are you ready?” Sin asked his wife, eyeing her pallor with concern. She was three months with child and this journey—which had taken almost two months—had been difficult for her, even though the ship they’d traveled on was one of the newest and finest in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

Marianne looked up at him and smiled—it was a determinedly brave expression, though her lips quivered slightly. “I am ready.”

As they approached the inhospitable-looking prison that had contained Napoleon Bonaparte for the last five years, Sin couldn’t help being appalled. His journey here was the result of a Parliamentary commission charged with investigating allegations of abuse of the exiled emperor.

Sin had found the evidence he’d seen in England less than persuasive, but looking at this island, he realized that the harsh conditions would be their own form of torture for a man who’d been less than hearty to begin with.

“Oh, Sin,” Marianne murmured behind her hand as eight sailors rowed them toward the small stone pier. “It is so . . . brutal.”

He could only nod.