Page 105 of The Wicked Duke's Wallflower

Blanche nestled closer, her head resting on Heath’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchoring her in that perfect silence.

“I was thinking,” she murmured, her voice half-wrapped in sleep. “This may be the warmest winter I’ve ever had.”

He smiled against her hair. “That’s because we finally stopped weathering the cold alone.”

Her fingers traced lazy patterns over the silk at his collar. “Did you notice when Fanny was singing carols in the solarium, Percy was pretending he didn’t like it.”

“I did. Though I also heard him request a second verse at one point.”

She laughed softly, “He was trying so hard to look bored. Sitting there like a disgruntled statue.”

Heath snorted. “And yet, somehow, his foot was tapping along under the settee.”

“Oh, I saw it!” Blanche’s fingers slipped lower, tracing a button at his sternum. “Fanny was pretending all night not to notice that he was watching her. Singing louder, flipping that curl behind her ear…”

“She was glowing,” Heath murmured. “And Percy looked like he’d been kicked in the head by a horse.”

Blanche giggled. “Poor sots…”

“What are the odds that your sister will devour him alive?”

“Fairly high, I’d say,” she said, her eyes drifting close, while he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I love you, Blanche.”

She opened her eyes just long enough to meet his. “And I love you, Heath,” she echoed.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in quiet beauty. Inside, two souls who had survived grief, silence, and longing curled into the kind of warmth no hearth could match.

Tomorrow, there would be letters to write. Dances to arrange. Futures to shape. But tonight—this night—was theirs.

And for the first time, both Blanche and Heath knew with unshakable certainty:

Every winter from now on would be warm.

The End?