Well, there were worse things for a child than confronting the evidence that his parents were in love.

“Everyone’s returned to the dining room. They’ve likely lost their appetite, but one way or another—supper will nearly be over by now.” Lady Parkhurst smoothed her hair and skirts. “Considering the events of the evening, perhaps we should skip Vernon’s toast and proceed straight to your announcement?”

Piers stood. “That would probably be best.”

They followed their hosts down the corridor, but Piers stopped her just outside the dining room.

“As I see it,” he said, “there are two ways we could handle this.”

“Oh?”

“I could make a staid, proper announcement of our intended nuptials, kiss the air above your hand, and engage you for the next minuet.”

“Hm. Very lordly. What’s the second?”

His left eyebrow quirked with wicked intent. “It involves declarations of mad, passionate love. Ample application of lips. Multiple waltzes where I hold you indecently close. Your brothers’ mild displeasure, a possible swoon from your mother’s quarter . . . and enough gossip to fill the next three issues of the Prattler.”

Charlotte pretended to think about it.

“What will it be, my love?” He offered his arm. “Shall we make a few stitches in your tattered reputation? Or do you want to start a scandal?”

She threaded her arm through his. “With you? I’ll take the scandal any day.”

Epilogue

Three months later

They rolled away from each other, collapsing on the pillows and bed linens, slick with sweat and panting for breath.

For the moment, they were mutually sated—but only for the moment.

Three months of abstinence couldn’t be undone in one go.

Charlotte nestled her head on her husband’s bare chest. His strong arm wrapped around her, cinching her close. A gentle caress up and down her arm sent warm ripples of comfort through her languid body.

There was nowhere else in the world she would have wished to be.

He squinted up at the chandelier. “How the devil did my glove get all the way up there?”

“I’ve no idea.”

She looked about the bedchamber. Discarded garments were everywhere. His shirt and waistcoat had been flung over the dressing table. Her stockings hung from the bedposts. Pools of petticoats lay on the floor, tangled with a pair of gray trousers. Her silk wedding dress with the delicate lace and seed pearls had been reduced to an exquisite heap on the carpet.

“I promise, I will make an effort to be tidy,” she said. “But only after we spend the honeymoon tearing apart every room in your house.”

“First, darling—it’s now our house. Second, I feel obligated to warn you that Oakhaven has forty-six rooms.”

“I’m up for the challenge if you are.”

He rolled to face her and swept her naked body with a slow, desirous gaze. “Have no doubt. I will rise to the occasion.”

She laughed. They’d seen each other regularly in the months leading up to their Christmas wedding. There’d been flowers to choose and menus to sort out and Mama’s lavish tastes to appease. They’d even managed to attend a few balls and make two appearances at the opera. However, they’d never been without a chaperone. Aside from a stolen kiss here and there, they’d been reduced to clasped hands and longing glances.

How she’d missed this—not only the carnal pleasure he gave her, but simply cuddling and talking with him in bed.

“Perhaps we’ll take on the bathing room next.” He rolled to a sitting position and dropped a sweet kiss on her lips. “But first, we could do with a bit of sustenance.”

As he rose from the bed, Charlotte collapsed back on the mattress.

Forty-six rooms. Lord.

The scale of this bedchamber alone was palatial.

Soon, she would have to reconcile herself to this grand house and the intimidating duty of being its mistress.

However, for tonight, she need only pay attention to Piers. Her husband. Her friend. Her dearest love.

Her expert tupper, on the right occasion.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself on one elbow to watch him. She’d missed this sight, too. His lean, masculine body was a thing of beauty.

She eyed him with possessive, shameless interest as he walked away from her—loving the way the muscles of his thighs and backside bunched and flexed—and stared with even bolder interest when he started back, bearing a silver tray laden with champagne and refreshments.

A sigh escaped her. She was a lucky woman indeed.

And, suddenly, a ravenous one.

She sat up and tucked her feet beneath her thighs, and they enjoyed a sort of picnic in the center of the bed. Sandwiches, iced cakes and currant-studded scones, an array of cheeses and fruits. How did his cook find ripe, sweet apricots in December? A marvel.

“I almost forgot.” He set aside a roll stuffed with butter and wafer-thin ham. “I have presents for you.”

Charlotte swallowed the last of her champagne. “Wedding presents?”

“Wedding presents, Christmas presents. However you wish to think of them.”

“You have my interest piqued.”

He stretched to open the drawer of a bedside table and rummaged through it. “Well, first there’s the expected one.” With a bored, careless air he drew a gleaming rope of gold and jewels from the drawer and held it out to her.

Charlotte was almost afraid to touch it.

Almost.

Her fingers did tremble a bit as she took the necklace into her own hands, turning it over to catch the light. A cluster of exquisite sapphires, each as big as her fingernail, hung from a diamond-studded chain.

“My goodness. Piers.”

She held it to her décolletage, and he helped her fasten it in back. She craned her neck to catch her reflection in the mirror across the room. Even at this distance, the necklace flashed and sparkled like a night full of stars.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s made beautiful by you wearing it. But as I said, it’s the expected thing.”

“I certainly didn’t expect it.”

“There are a few more gifts, less traditional.”

Charlotte reluctantly tore her gaze from her own reflection. “More?”

“See that bureau?” He nodded toward an immense burled-walnut chest with inlaid flowers, taking up one full corner of the room.