Page 92 of Never Dance with a Marquess
His hand moved to stroke her hair. “How are you, my love?”
She lifted her head from his chest. She was a little sore and sticky and longed for a bath. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “I am very well. But I wish to know where this sea voyage we go on will take us.”
He propped his head up on a hand and studied her, his gray eyes alight with humor. “Greece.”
“Greece!” Carrie squealed. She hit him on the chest.
He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Have I married a violent woman? What was that for?”
“You might have told me. I believed I’d never get the chance to see those places Papa wanted to take me to.”
“And have Gwen learn of it? We would have half thetonat the docks to see us off.”
She found she didn’t want that either.
“It’s the fulfillment of the promise your father made to you.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “And besides, I want you to myself.”
Her tresses fell in heavy waves over his chest and stomach. He brought a lock to his nose. “Mm. Lavender. You have beautiful hair.”
“Some say redheads are difficult.”
“No.” He grinned. “Do they?”
“Am I, do you think?”
He rubbed the supposed sore spot on his chest where she hit him. “You are perfect!”
“I believe you are humoring me. No one is perfect.” She laughed as he pulled her atop him, and framing her face, kissed her until she was so breathless, she could only giggle and murmur his name.
He tenderly enfolded her in his strong arms. “Sweetheart, believe me when I say, you have my heart and soul forever.”
Epilogue
At full sail, the big schooner surged through the waves, the hot Mediterranean sun dappling the sea with golden lights, the distant shoreline smoky gray. Nicholas stood at the rail, his arm around Carrie as the sea breeze ruffled her hair and threatened to steal her hat. Above them, seabirds wheeled about in the azure sky.
They were both tired, having spent the last few evenings in their cabin discussing those places mentioned by the poets they intended to visit, while drinking the prince regent’s champagne, eating his foie gras, and making endless love.
Nicholas couldn’t get enough of his beautiful wife. Her loving and passionate nature, her curiosity, and her desire to please him had been a wonderful surprise. Although perhaps not such a surprise, he’d seen glimpses of it that night when Carrie danced in the garden beneath the full moon.
“What shall we do at Elm Park when the moon is full?” he asked her.
She turned shining eyes to him. “Why dance with the fairies, of course.”
He raised his eyebrows. “As long as we don’t have to dance naked, Carrie. The nights can be cool in Surrey.”
“You are entirely too prosaic,” she said with a pout, but her loving gaze betrayed her.
If his bride wanted to dance naked under the full moon, so be it. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” And he meant it with all his heart.
