Page 110 of Cocky August Rake

Reginald pressed himself against her from behind, then kissed his way slowly down her neck.

Rose smiled and leaned into him.

His affection came easily now. So did hers. Neither gesture demanded payment or promised pain. Love could be offered without caution—and trusted once it was given.

They were both still learning that.

And the Phantom Gale?

It had sailed the morning after their engagement, with Mr. Dyer as her new captain. Reginald had not returned to command her.

He had discovered another way to remain near the water.

While Rose oversaw the transformation of The Domus, Reginald purchased a small shipbuilding and repair yard. He claimed he could not be expected to remain idle while his wife terrorized architects and disputed the price of wallpaper.

In truth, he had taken to the work immediately. Repairing damaged hulls. Rebuilding masts. Returning ships to the water stronger than they had been before.

Rather like The Domus, Rose sometimes thought.

Reginald turned her in his arms.

“We have not yet had a proper honeymoon,” he whispered.

Rose’s smile softened.

They had married by special license three days after his proposal, and Reginald had taken her home to the townhouse he had leased for them. Since then, they had spent a rather shocking number of nights—and mornings, and entire afternoons—tangled in its bed linens and in one another.

“We have not?” she asked.

He chuckled. “That was not the proper part. I’m referring to the corresponding journey a couple usually embarks on together.”

“Oh?”

“You have spent the first months of our marriage supervising builders, disputing invoices, and preventing Nell from scaring off the plumbers.”

“They didn’t deserve her wrath.”

“That’s debatable.”

Reginald took both her hands. There was laughter in his silver eyes, but something more tender beneath it.

“Will you come away with me?”

“I would love to.” Rose smiled. “What did you have in mind?” Anywhere, for a girl who’d spent her entire life within a one-mile radius in London, would be a journey.

His mouth twitched.

“There was an old brig at the yard when I purchased it. She’d been neglected, but her bones were sound. And while you’ve been busy here, I’ve spent the past few months restoring her.”

And then he added, “She is waiting at the wharf.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “She is waiting? For us?

“The vessel. She is the Compass Rose.”

A small sound escaped her.

Reginald lifted her fingers to his lips.