Page 117 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

The minister smiled.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife." He looked at Matthew. "You may kiss your bride."

Matthew didn't move.

Florence frowned. "Matthew?"

"Wait." His voice was hoarse. "I need to say something first."

The room stirred. This wasn't part of the ceremony. The minister looked uncertain.

Matthew turned to face her fully, taking both of her hands in his.

"I had a speech prepared," he said. "Spent two days writing it. Crumpled up enough paper to start a bonfire."

A soft laugh rippled through the room.

"But I'm no good with written words. Never have been. So, I'm just going to say what I should have said months ago."

He drew a breath. His hands tightened around hers.

"I didn't know what love was. I told you that. Told you I couldn't say words I didn't understand." He swallowed hard. "I understand now."

Florence's pulse quickened.

"Love is you, Florence. It's watching you blow your nose into a hearth and thinking you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. It's lying awake at night in my brother's house, counting the hours until I could come back to you. It's knowing I'd burn the world down if anyone ever hurt you and knowing you'd do the same for me."

His voice cracked.

"I'm not a poet. I can't give you pretty words. But I can give you this." He pressed her hands against his chest, over his heart. "All of it. Every broken piece. For as long as I live."

Tears spilled down Florence's cheeks. She didn’t use her sleeves to wipe her face.

"Those were pretty words," she whispered. "Because they were true."

"Aye." He smiled, one that glowed. "Bodyguard by day, poet by night."

He swallowed her laugh with a kiss.

Not a polite, ceremonial kiss. Not a gentle brush of lips.

He kissed her like they were alone. Like the room full of aristocrats and fighters didn't exist. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

She kissed him back.

Someone wolf whistled. Duff, probably. Someone else cheered. The fighters stamped their feet until the floor shook.

When they finally broke apart, both smiling, Matthew's eyes were filled with tears.

The minister cleared his throat, looking both amused and flustered.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr and Mrs Carrick."

The room erupted.

The celebration spilled through the Raines residence, filling every room with laughter and music and the clink of glasses.

Someone had produced a fiddle. Someone else had produced several bottles of whisky. The fighters had pushed the furniture against the walls and were teaching the aristocrats to dance. Or trying to, with varying degrees of success.