Page 77 of The Duke's Match

Anna waved the suggestion away. “We shall not go far, and you are all here. You will serve quite well as distant chaperones.”

Percival offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes, my love, we shall.” She took the proffered arm and, together, they walked through the gardens of her childhood.

It was a unique situation, in that there was not a corner of those grounds and barely a room in that manor where they did not have some sort of shared memory, in all the years they had known one another. They told stories as they walked, reminding one another about this incident and that remark, both laughing at their former enmity.

“You tripped me here,” she told him, pointing to a bench at the far end of the rose garden. “I had come to show Max my debutante gown.”

“I did not trip you,” he protested. “You tripped on the skirts and blamed me.”

She frowned, wondering if that could be possible. “The hemdidneed shortening, but I still say you tripped me.”

“Itmayhave been a little of both,” he conceded, smiling. “I promise never to trip you again. Goodness, how can you love such an idiot?”

She stopped him and reached up to stroke his cheek. “Because you are not an idiot anymore. And even if you were, you would be my idiot.” She chuckled, but it faded as she gazed deeply into his eyes, marveling at his sweetness, his beauty, his humor. “I could not love you more, my darling. My heart is so full, and I cannot wait to be your wife.”

“I would say thatIcould not love you more, but every morning I wake up, I remember that this is not a dream, and I find that I love you twice as much as I did the day before,” he told her. “You are a gift, Anna, and I shall never stop thanking the heavens for you.”

Happy tears pricked her eyes as she rose up on tiptoe and pulled his head down, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gathered her up in his arms, meeting her kiss with a hunger that thrilled her. After a month, she was still discovering all the kinds of kisses that were possible when one was so very, very loved.

She kissed him in kind, feeling as if the rest of the world did not exist. There were only the gardens and the two of them, enveloped in their own bubble of bliss that could never be burst.

In the summer warmth, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the buzz of honey bees, they held one another close and kissed as if it might be their last. A feverish, searing rush of ravenous lips, slowing to something fiery and powerful, before slowing again into a kiss so intimate and magical that it was as if everything around them was holding its breath.

“Careful,” she whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment.

He paused. “Careful?”

“I do not want to crush the orchids,” she told him, smiling.

He grinned and gently set the flowers down on a nearby bench, before walking back to her and sweeping her up into his arms. “Never again,” he murmured.

“I love you, dearest Barnacle.”

He kissed her lips. “I love you more, my sweet Catchweed.” He kissed her again. “And please, do not argue. I cannot be distracted from the very important task of kissing you well and kissing you often.”

“Very well, I shall not protest one bit.” She laughed and as they swayed and kissed in the afternoon sunlight, as if they were alone upon a dance floor, she kissed the man she loved and knew that eight long and nerve-wracking years had been worth every minute. For thiswasa love to last a lifetime, and they were only just beginning.

The End?