Page 94 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

Something in her chest gave way the way ice melts in the sun, all at once and yet somehow gradually, her rigid body going soft. She gave him a small, tired smile.

“I love you too then,” she said. “I have been failing not to for rather a long time.”

He exhaled and laughed slowly. He inched closer to her and brushed a stray curl off her face. He cupped her cheek.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, and it came out of her with no hesitation at all, her voice suddenly strong. “Oh yes, Frederick.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, gently and lovingly. The room went quiet around them. Not a hush. He cupped her cheeks in both hands, drew back to look at her, and she let him. She knew he’d find a pale, weak version of herself, still a good week from anything like recovery. Yet with a confidence imbued with true love, she looked back at him and did not try to hide what was on her own face. For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, she was truly, incandescently happy.

“You should sleep,” he said finally.

“Probably,” she agreed, and did not let go of his hand.

He settled back into the chair beside her. He stayed. And the quiet that filled the room this time was nothing like the quiet of the night before. This one was full of everything they finally had, and a promise of the future to come.

EPILOGUE

TWO MONTHS LATER

The church was brimming with well-dressed guests. Anna peeked through the open doors at the sanctuary, full of candles and white roses, the light catching on it all in a way that made the whole room look faintly unreal, as though someone had painted it and then forgotten to let it settle into anything ordinary. She stood in the vestibule with her hands steady around her bouquet as her heart fluttered like a caged butterfly.

This is real. This is happening.

She caught sight of herself in the narrow mirror propped against the wall and paused to actually look at herself. The morning had been such a flurry of activity she hardly had a moment to breathe. The gown was ivory silk with the faintest silver threading. It hugged her curves and flared out at the bottom, with delicate lace sleeves. Her hair had been pinned up, and away from her face, a few curls left loose at her temple, and her cheeks had color in them that owed nothing at all to rouge. She was a blushing bride.

A stark contrast to my first walk down the aisle.

Rachel appeared in the doorway, ivory silk pooling around her like moonlight. Her hair was swept into an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her heirloom diamond earrings caught the light with every small movement of her head. She looked as beautiful as a portrait in the Louvre.

“Ready?” Rachel said as she clasped Anna’s hands.

“Entirely,” Anna said. “And you?”

“I have been ready since approximately last November.”

Anna laughed as they took up their bouquets and she hooked her arm through Rachel’s. For a moment neither of them moved. They just stood there at the church doors, breathless, as if putting off the walk in might keep the morning from ending. Then Rachel squeezed her arm, and they went in together, two futures ahead down the same aisle. The quartet struck up as they entered. It was not the traditional march, but something lighter, quicker, a tune with a little mischief in it. Anna felt it suited them perfectly.

At the altar, Frederick stood with Thomas beside him, and neither man was managing composure particularly well. Thomas’s jaw was set too hard to be casual, and Anna suspected he was holding back tears. Frederick was opening and closing his right hand at his side as though it wanted something to hold. But then Frederick looked up and found her, and whatever tension had been sitting in his shoulders simply left them. He smiledbroad and true. Anna felt the full weight of his attention locked solely on her.

One year ago, I was running from a church. It turns out, I was only running toward this one.

The ceremony was conducted jointly, both couples standing together at the altar rail. This did require some ingenious management by the rector, who navigated the arrangement with an admirable lack of confusion. He asked each question once by simply turning from groom to groom, bride to bride, so that the whole service moved as a single current rather than two. It was so fitting, and so uniquely them.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together these persons—” he paused, glancing between the two waiting couples with the faintest flicker of private amusement, “in holy matrimony.”

He turned first to Frederick as the higher-ranking peer of the realm. “Will you have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony?”

“I will,” Frederick said quietly, looking only at Anna.

The priest turned to Thomas. “And will you have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony?”

“I will,” Thomas pledged with a smile.

“And shall you,” the rector said, turning to Anna, “have this man to thy wedded husband, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do you part?”

“I will,” Anna said back, and somehow did not cry.