"Oh, God,
Claire
." He groaned as he came into her hard one last time. Then he held himself inside her, shuddering. Claire cried out too, holding him tight as the whirlwind carried her away again.
Later, a long time later, he lifted himself off her and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She snuggled against his side, her head pillowed on his uninjured shoulder, her hand disposed comfortably across his nightshirted chest. Her hair was in disorder and her skirts were in disorder and she didn't care because she felt so wonderfully, marvelously alive, so certain that right here, with this man, was exactly where she was supposed to be.
"I hope we didn't reopen your wound," she murmured a little self-consciously, because she had actually forgotten all about it once he had started kissing her.
"It's fine. Best medicine it could possibly have."
His hand slid up to grasp her chin and tilt her face up to his. Her lashes lifted, and she looked at him with sleepy inquiry.
"Puss," he said, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "I want you to marry me. Next month."
Claire looked up at him, up at the gray eyes that were anything but cool now as they met her gaze, at the lean dark cheeks, at the long, smiling mouth. She loved him to the point of madness. He was hers without possibility of change or mistake. And she was actually dying to marry him.
"All right," she said. "Next month."
Then he smiled a very self-satisfied smile, and lowered his head to kiss her again.
Epilogue
June 1813
Yorkshire was beautiful in early summer. The moors stretched away from the vast stone mansion that was Morningtide in a rolling sea of purple heather. The afternoon sky was cloudless and blue, the sun was shining, and the soft scent of the heather rode on the gentle breeze.
It was five minutes past two on Claire's wedding day. The ceremony, which was to be performed in the drawing room, had been scheduled to start at two o' clock sharp.
But the prospective bride stood on the front steps of her sister's home, taking deep steadying breaths of the crisp air.
"My goodness, Claire, we've been looking for you everywhere. The vicar is ready to start." Gabby appeared in the doorway, looking most fetching in a frock of olive-green sarcenet with her thick chestnut hair wound into a soft knot at the back of her neck. She was slender as ever despite the baby sleeping on her shoulder, and had a glow about her that came from happiness. At the moment, however, she did not look particularly happy as she shook her head reprovingly at her younger sister.
"You're not nervous, are you?" Beth slid out around Gabby to stand on the steps beside Claire. Like Gabby, she was wearing green, but her simple muslin frock was a delicate celadon that made the most of her vivid coloring. "I don't see how you can be. You're marrying cousin— I mean, you're marrying Hugh."
There was only the very faintest note of envy in Beth's voice. Claire nervously smoothed the slim skirt of her white silk and lace wedding gown and adjusted her veil even as she opened her mouth to reply to her sister.
"I know, and…"
Gabby's husband, Nick, was the next one to step outside. His arrival interrupted Claire's less-than-truthful disavowal of any nervousness. "Gabby, what…? Oh, there you are, Claire. And Beth too. What the devil are you three doing out here?" Tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome as always, Nick made a beeline for his wife, who smiled at him as he relieved her of their child. He smiled back at her, and the long-familiar intimacy of that quick exchange caused Claire to take another deep breath. Transferring the sleeping baby to his broad shoulder, Nick turned to look at Claire.
"You're not having second thoughts, are you? Christ, I know how this family works! If you are, I'll be the one who has to tell Richmond you're leaving him at the altar."
"I am not…" Claire began indignantly, glaring at Nick, although the thought had certainly occurred to her.
"You're leaving me at the altar?" Hugh asked in a mild tone as he joined the group on the porch. He was looking so devastatingly attractive in his gray coat and black trousers that Claire's heart skipped a beat. He did not seem particularly alarmed as he surveyed his slightly panicky bride.
"No, of course I'm not," Claire said stoutly, crossing her suddenly chilled arms over her chest.
"You are certainly entitled to change your mind if you wish," Hugh said with the beginnings of a smile.
"I don't wish to change my mind. It's just— I'm not sure I'm ready…." Her voice trailed off, and she turned to look out over the moors.
"Uh-oh," Nick said. "Gabriella, Beth, I think that's our cue to retire."
A moment later she and Hugh were alone.
He came up behind her and turned her around to face him, his hands warm on her arms as he looked down at her searchingly.
"You're not sure you're ready to marry me?"
"No. No! I'm not sure I'm ready to become the Duchess of Richmond." Claire shivered. "She sounds much more grand than I could ever be."
"Too grand for you, hmm?" To her relief, Hugh was smiling. Relaxing slightly as she remembered that he was kind and familiar and dear, she took a step closer and rested her forehead against his chest.
"Suppose I was just plain Hugh Battancourt? Would you be ready to marry me then?" His arms slid around her waist.
"Yes." She glanced up.
"A rose by any other name…"
Reminded of their argument aboard the
Nadine
, Claire smiled, and felt the tension that had gripped her all morning start to ease.
"Under the circumstances, I think the skunk part was more accurate," she said tartly. Hugh laughed, and Claire found herself laughing with him. Looking up into that lean, handsome face, seeing the tenderness for her in the narrowed gray eyes, Claire realized that, whatever else she may have doubted, how she felt about him had never been in question.
"I love you," she said.
His eyes took on a triumphant gleam. "That's better," he said gruffly, and bent his head to kiss her mouth. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself as close to him as she could get, and kissed him back.
"Ahem." James had stepped out onto the porch without their hearing anything at all, and now, as they stepped apart, stood watching them disapprovingly.
"What is it, James?" Hugh sounded resigned.
"Everyone is waiting, Master Hugh. Miss Claire." With a sniff that made his opinion of bridal couples who were late to their own weddings clear, James went back inside the house.
Hugh's mouth curled into an impossibly charming smile as he glanced at her.
"Well, puss, are you ready to go inside and marry me?"
She smiled back at him with her confidence restored and her heart in her eyes.
"Yes," she said.
And she did.
***************************