Page 98 of Her Protective Viscount

He cupped her face in his hands with reverence bordering on worship, thumbs brushing away the tears dampening her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed as he bent toward her, and when their lips met, the world shifted on its axis.

This was different from every kiss they’d stolen in libraries and gardens. Different from the desperate embrace in the carriage after the ball. This kiss held promise and permanence. It was a beginning rather than stolen moments that might be taken away.

She was his wife.

The thought sparked through him like lightning, brilliant and consuming.

When they finally broke apart—driven by the vicar’s gentle cough and the congregation’s delighted applause—Tobias rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“Mine,” he whispered against her lips.

“Ours,” she corrected softly, and glanced meaningfully toward where Henry had abandoned all pretence of sitting still and was attempting to climb over Clara’s lap to reach them.

Tobias laughed—genuine, joyous laughter that seemed to rise from somewhere deep in his chest. He swept Henry up into his arms, and the boy immediately demanded to know why Mama was crying.

“Because she’s happy,” Tobias explained, settling the child on his hip and reaching for Amelia’s hand. “We’re all happy.”

“Even me?” Henry asked seriously.

“Especially you.” Amelia pressed a kiss to her son’s—their son’s—forehead. “You now have a papa who will teach you thoroughly improper things and love you outrageously.”

“I promise to be at least moderately responsible,” Tobias added solemnly.

“That’s all I ask.”

The congregation rose as they processed down the aisle—a family now, legally and irrevocably bound. Tobias caught glimpses of familiar faces as they passed. Clara, still crying happy tears. Daniel, grinning with unmistakable satisfaction. Various members of the ton who’d come to witness the scandal and stayed to witness something else entirely.

Outside, sunlight and autumn leaves greeted them. The carriage waited, bedecked with flowers that Clara had undoubtedly arranged. Henry squirmed to be set down so he could chase the golden leaves swirling across the churchyard.

Tobias pulled Amelia close, tucking her against his side as they watched their son’s delighted pursuit.

“No regrets?” he asked quietly, needing to hear it.

She turned in his arms, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not a single one. You?”

“Only that I didn’t have the courage to do this months ago.”

“We found our way here eventually.” Her smile was radiant. “That’s what matters.”

He kissed her again, there on the church steps with half of London watching and Henry giggling somewhere nearby and the future spreading before them like an unwritten page.

And Tobias thought that being reformed—being redeemed through love—had never felt so much like finally coming home.

The End?