Page 94 of What a Lord Wants

She sighed as he lowered his lips to hers. A tear of happiness slipped down her cheek.

Epilogue

One year later

Venice, Italy

The warm afternoon breeze wafted through the open balcony doors of the palazzo. The briny scent of salt and seaweed from the Grand Canal below mixed with the lingering odors of pigments and linseed oil in the third-story studio that was awash with sunlight. The soft tolling of bells from the campanile in San Marco drifted over the rooftops and canals, mingling with the sounds of ships and boats, the occasional burst of muted laughter, and calls between the gondoliers as they guided their slender, black boats through the city.

From behind his easel, Dom applied careful brushstrokes of color to the canvas, the form taking shape before his eyes. This was the moment he loved most, that miraculous change when the paint transformed from simple brushstrokes into a true vision.

He simply couldn’t imagine a more beautiful vision than the one unfolding before him.

“How is it coming?” Eve called out from where she sat on the gold brocade settee positioned in front of the three sets of French doors. The sunlight fell over her shoulders and lit her face, and her hair shined like flames against her white cotton dress.

“Nicely,” he murmured and used his thumb to subtly blend the paint.

“Just nicely?”

He grinned as he glanced up at her, taking in the way the thin gown fell off her shoulders and billowed over her breasts, how it revealed the curves beneath in soft shadows and the long stretch of smooth neck gliding into her bare shoulder. She sat with her legs drawn up beneath her, one elegant calf revealed to the light. Dear God, she was beautiful.

“Verynicely,” he amended dryly.

In the past year and a half since they married, he’d learned exactly how to bait her and loved doing it, because he thrilled at seeing the fire in her. He loved that expression of exasperation she gave him—like she was doing right now. He prayed he’d never grow tired of it.

She carefully stood, then crossed the top floor of the palazzo they’d purchased for their Venetian home, where he could spend his days painting. He still had to return to England when Parliament was in session, still had estates to look after there. But they planned on spending as much time here as possible, in the city she’d come to love as much as he did. A city full of adventure.

She came up beside him and peered down at the painting.

“Oh, Dom,” she whispered, awestruck.

He paused in his brushwork and stepped back to evaluate the emerging image. The golds of the sunlight and the settee, Venice in the background, the beauty of Eve’s shining face…and their baby son whom she cradled in her arms.

This painting encapsulated all that he held dear in his heart, everything he loved most in the world. A true masterpiece.

“Do you like it?” he murmured, taking one last assessing glance at the painting.

Then he looked at Eve. The joy he saw in her stole his breath away.

“It’s simply wonderful, my love.” She touched his cheek. “Youare simply wonderful.”

The baby gurgled soft sounds of agreement. A knot of emotion tightened in his throat. Unable to speak, Dom cupped his son’s head in his hand and placed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

She raised up onto tiptoes to kiss him, and on her lips, he tasted far more than love. He tasted the promise of a happy future, the joy of more children to come, the excitement of more paintings and more adventures. They would grab life by both hands and never let go.Together.