A Secret Love

Chapter 21

Chillingworth let Gabriel and Alathea down in Brook Street.

"I'll go straight home," Alathea called to Charlie as she went up the steps beside Gabriel, her grip on his arm firm and supporting. "I don't know how long this might take. Tell your mama there's no need to wait up for me."

Gabriel grinned as he reached for his latchkey. He could just imagine Chillingworth's face. Chillingworth had somewhat curtly offered to drive Charlie back to Marlborough House. That probably entitled him to yet another quota of Cynster gratitude. Given they could never be sure just how incapacitated Crowley had been before Chillingworth shot him, tonight had seen the earl's stocks rise high indeed.

Charlie called an acknowledgment. Chillingworth's horses stamped, then the carriage rattled away. Sliding his key into the lock, Gabriel turned it. Glancing at Alathea, he twisted the knob and opened the door.

This would, after all, shortly be her home. He was simply jumping the gun a trifle. He wasn't, however, foolish enough to sweep her off her feet and carry her over the threshold.

He let her shoo him in, instead, fussing like a mother hen.

Chance appeared at the end of the hall. He was in his shirtsleeves, clearly taken aback to see his master returning so early. When he saw who his master was with, he goggled, and started to silently back away…

Alathea saw him and beckoned. "You're Chance, I take it?"

"Hmm." Chance ducked his head, warily edging closer. "That's me, mum."

Alathea shot him a sharp glance, then nodded. "Yes, well, your master has been injured. I want a bowl of warm water-not too hot-brought up to his room directly, with some clean cloths and bandages. And some salve, too-I assume you have some?" All the while she'd been progressing down the hall, towing Gabriel with her.

"Umm." Falling back before her advance, Chance looked helplessly at Gabriel.

"This is Lady Alathea, Chance."

Chance bowed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, mum."

"Indeed." Alathea waved him away. "I want those items, and I'll need your help upstairs momentarily." When Chance stared at her blankly, she leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Now. Immediately. Sooner than soon."

Chance jumped back, all but tripping over his feet. "Oh! Right. Straight away, mum." He scurried through the baize door.

Alathea watched him go, then shook her head and tugged Gabriel on toward the stairs. "Your eccentricities never cease to amaze me." She proceeded to propel him up the stairs.

She couldn't have done it if he hadn't been willing-very willing-despite the fact that he hated being the object of any woman's fussing. Her fussing he was willing to endure given that she'd yet to make any formal statement-a clear and unequivocal acceptance of his heart.

He wanted to hear it, but she was perennially stubborn; encouraging her to let her feelings run riot, as they presently were, would make it all the harder for her to draw back, to balk at the final hurdle. So he meekly climbed the stairs, biding his time, letting her imagine he was weak. He did feel a little lightheaded, relieved that it was over, that Crowley was dead, never to darken their horizon again, and eager, buoyed with anticipation like some callow youth at the realization that she was his.

All he needed now was to hear her admit it.

"Here." He stopped by his door and leaned against the door frame, letting her turn the knob and set the door wide. Without the slightest hesitation, she urged him inside, steering him to the wide bed.

She pushed him to sit on its side. Her fingers going to the improvised bandage, she glanced frowningly at the door. "Where is that man?"

"He'll be here in a moment." Gabriel stood to ease out of his coat. She stripped it from him and promptly pushed him back down again, then busily set about unlacing his cuffs.

Gabriel twisted his lips to hide a grin. How far would she go if he let her?

"Are you in pain?"

Hurriedly straightening his lips, he shook his head. "No." He searched her face, drowned in her eyes, in the concern that filled them, the love that gave it birth. "No." He reached out and closed one hand over hers. "Thea, I'm all right."

Frowning, she shook off his hand and slapped a palm to his forehead. "I hope you don't develop a fever."

Gabriel dragged in a breath. "Thea-"

Chance rushed in, balancing a bowl of water on his wrists, a towel over one arm, cloths balanced upon it, with a pot of salve clutched in his other hand. "Is this all you wanted, mum?"

"Indeed." Alathea nodded approvingly. "Just bring that table nearer. And the lamp, too."

"Oooh! Lot of blood there." Chance moved the table closer. He glanced at Alathea. "Perhaps you'll want some brandy, mum? To clean the wound?"

"An excellent idea!" She lifted her head. "Is there any here?" Her glance fell on the decanter on the dresser.

Gabriel stiffened. "No! That's-"

"Perfect!" Alathea enthused. "Bring it here."

"Thea…" Horrified, Gabriel watched Chance dart to the dresser and bring back the decanter filled with superbly aged French brandy. "I really don't need-

"Do be quiet." Alathea stared into his eyes, peering into one, then the other. "I keep worrying you'll start raving any minute. Please-just let Chance and me fix this. Then you can rest. All right?"

He looked into her eyes-she was perfectly serious. Gabriel bit his tongue, glanced at Chance, then nodded.

For the next fifteen minutes, he suffered their combined ministrations. He'd forgotten that Chance had reason to want to repay him with kindness. Sitting silent on his bed, he was smothered by kindness, by concern, by love. It was pleasant, even if he felt a fraud.

With Chance's help, Alathea stripped off his shirt, then gently tended his wound, apparently unaffected by the sight of his bare chest. Gabriel itched to change that, but… Chance was still in the room. Alathea lovingly cleansed the long cut, then bathed it.

He kept his gaze glued to her hair. Despite all she'd gone through, the three blooms were still firmly in place, his declaration acknowledged. He wasn't about to remove them, not intentionally. Not until he'd had their promise converted into words. Multiple times. While she fussed over his arm, he fell to rehearsing all that was to come, and how best to wring from her the words he wanted to hear without disturbing those blooms.

Leaving his arm to dry, she straightened and stepped closer, the warmth of her breasts bare inches from his face. He tried not to breathe while she investigated the bump on his head.

"It's the size of a duck egg," she pronounced, suitably horrified.

Gabriel shut his eyes as she probed, and tried not to groan. The cool cloth she laid upon the bump helped, easing the dull ache in his head. There was only one remedy for the ache in his groin. When she finally turned her attention to binding up his arm, Gabriel caught Chance's eye. It took a moment for Chance to understand his message. When he did, he looked shocked, but when Gabriel scowled, he hurriedly collected the cloths, towels, and bowl and eased himself out of the door.

The click of the latch coincided with Alathea's benedictory pat to the knot she'd tied in the bandage around his arm. 'There." She lifted her gaze to his face. "Now you can rest."

"Not yet." Gabriel clamped his hands about her waist and took her with him as he fell back on the bed. Her surprised yelp was smothered as he rolled, shifting them further onto the cushioned expanse, simultaneously trapping her beneath him.

"Be careful of your arm!"

"My arm is perfectly fine."

She stilled beneath him. "What do you mean, it's 'fine'?"

"Just that. I did try to tell you. It's only a surface cut-I'm not likely to die from it."

She scowled at him. "I thought it was serious."

"I know." Bending his head, he nibbled at her lips. "That did become apparent."

He surged over her; the sensation of her long, supple form tensing beneath him sent a wave of primitive possessiveness through him. A possessiveness colored by desire, by need, and by another emotion almost too vital to contain.

Still frowning, she braced her hands against his bare chest. "It must hurt. Your head must be throbbing."

"It aches, but it's not my skull that's throbbing." He shifted suggestively, thrusting his hips to hers.

Her eyes widened slightly as she shifted beneath him to cradle his erection at the apex of her thighs. Confirming his state. The look she sent him was the epitome of feminine-wifely-resignation. "Men!" With renewed vigor, she pushed him back and struggled to sit up. "Are you all the same?"

"All Cynsters, certainly." Gabriel rolled to the side, watching bemusedly as she reached for her laces. She was doing it again-taking a tack he hadn't foreseen. It took him a moment to fathom the why and wherefore, then he decided to follow her lead. He reached for her laces. "Here, let me."

He'd fantasized about peeling the white-and-gilt gown from her; in it, he could easily see her as some priestess, some pagan female designed to be worshipped. As he eased the gown from her shoulders, he worshipped, his lips anointing each silken inch of skin revealed. She shivered. Surging up beside her, he filled one hand with her breast, the soft flesh firming at his touch, heating as he kneaded. His other hand rose to cradle her head, long fingers searching for the pins that anchored the tight knot of her hair, careful not to dislodge the three white flowers adorning her crown-the evidence of his adoration. Her hair fell loose; his fingers tightened about her nipple. On a moan, she let her head fall back, offering her lips. He took them, took her mouth greedily, hungrily, aware there was no longer any need to hold back. She was with him. The same need drove them both, a fervent desire to hold, to possess, to reassure their souls they had survived the threat whole, still hale. To take a first tantalizing taste of the future, of the freedom to love that they'd won.

His plans degenerated into a sweet, reckless flurry of searching hands, of incoherent, breathless moans, of sweet caresses and heated kisses, of urgent fingers and quivering flesh. They stripped each other of every last stitch, content only when they lay skin to skin, long limbs entwined, cocooned within the chaos of his covers. He gathered her to him, moving over her, surrounding her. With one stroke, he sheathed himself in her heat.

She gasped and welcomed him in, her body arching, tensing, easing, then melting about him. Her surrender was implicit. Gabriel held tight to their reins. Tonight, he wanted explicit. So he rode her slowly, joining with her in long, slow, rolling thrusts, melding their bodies as they would meld their lives-deeply, completely. When he would have risen over her, she clung to him, holding him to her. He acquiesced and stayed, their bodies in contact from chest to knees. She undulated beneath him, all shifting silk and velvet lushness, a glory of womanly need.

He filled her again and again, until she gasped and clung.

He stilled, savoring her glorious climax, luxuriating in her satiated sigh. He waited until she'd softened fully beneath him. Then he moved again.

Still slow, still unhurried. He had all night and knew it. Not even this-the glory of her giving-was going to distract him tonight.

It was a minute or two before she stirred, before her body instinctively searched for, then found his steady rhythm. Her lids lifted, just enough for her to stare at him. Her tongue touched her lips; he delved deeper and she arched.

A glint of surprise glowed in her eyes.

An instant later, he felt her hands trailing, gently questing down the planes of his flexing back, down to caress his pulsing flanks.

She caught his gaze. "What?"

His grin was partly grimace, over gritted teeth. She was warm and soft and so inviting beneath him. "I want to hear you say it."

The words were low, gravelly, but sufficiently distinct. She didn't ask what it was he wanted to hear.

Beneath him, beneath the steady, relentless onslaught, she stirred. "I have to go home."

He shook his head. "Not until you say the words. I'm going to keep you here, naked and hot and needy, until you admit you love me."

"Needy? It's not me-"

He cut the words off with his lips. When he'd wiped them from her tongue and her brain, he drew back, rising up on his braced arms to drive deeper into her slick heat.

She gasped, panted, bit back a moan. Writhed just a little. "You… you know I do."

"Yes. I know. Even if I hadn't known before, I'd certainly know now, after your performance tonight. Now even Charlie and Chillingworth know."

Her state made her slow to respond. She stared at him, blinked, then weakly asked, "What? Why should they think…?"

He couldn't grin, although he wanted to. It was hard enough to find the strength to answer. "You half killed a man to save me tonight, and for the last two hours, you've been fretting and fuming over what anyone could see was little more than a scratch. You nearly made poor Chillingworth bilious."

Alathea wished she could summon a glare, but her body was prey to the sweetest heat, her senses far too interested in the glory building between them. Her mind was clinging to sanity by a thread. "I didn't know it was just a scratch. I was being led by the nose-"

"You were being led by love." He lowered his head and found her lips in a kiss laden with sensual promise. "Why don't you just admit it?"

Because she'd only tonight come to a full understanding of what this joint love of theirs entailed. The shared joy countered by the fear of loss-the sudden desperation when he, her life, had nearly been slain before her. There was a lot more to loving than she'd imagined. Loving this deeply was a frightening thing.

Lifting her head, she brushed her lips along his jaw. "If it's so obvious…"

He lifted his head out of her reach. "Obvious it might be. I still want to hear you say it."

He was filling her with long, slow, languid thrusts, enough to keep her fully aroused but not enough to satisfy. Her temper, unfortunately, was thoroughly subsumed by desire. "Why?" She arched, desperate to lure him deeper yet.

"Because until you do, I can't be sure you know it."

She opened her eyes fully and looked into his. Beneath his heavy lids, she could detect not the slightest glimmer of humor. He was serious. Despite all, despite the way her heart ached simply when she looked at him. "Of course I love you."

The set of his face-features etched with passion but with his expression somehow driven-didn't change. "Good. So you'll marry me."

There was no question in the words. Alathea sighed, struggling not to smile. He wouldn't appreciate it. The reins were in his hands and he was driving hell for leather for the church.

He didn't even appreciate her sigh. He stilled within her, looking down at her almost grimly. "You're not leaving this room until you agree. I don't care if I have to keep you here for weeks."

Despite her best efforts, her smile dawned, even though she knew the threat was not an empty one. He would do it if she pushed him.

He was a Cynster in love.

Letting her smile deepen, she reached up and brushed aside the lock of hair hanging over his forehead. "All right. I love you, and I'll marry you. There-is there anything more I need say to get you to go faster?"

She only just glimpsed his victorious smile as he bent to kiss her, but see it she did. She made him pay for his smugness by demanding more and even more of his expertise.

She nearly drove them both insane with wanting.

But it was worth it.

Later, when they lay wrapped in his sheets, not asleep but too deeply sated to move, Alathea lay with her head on his shoulder and hazily considered a lifetime filled with such peace.

For it was peace that filled her, an unutterable sense of having found her true home, her true place-her true love. That his love surrounded her, and hers him, she had not the smallest doubt. Only that, a deeply shared love, could fill her heart to this extent, so that she could not imagine any joy more fulfilling than lying naked in his naked arms, his breath a soft huff in her ear, his arm heavy about her waist, his hand splayed possessively over her bottom.

They were so alike. They would need to go slowly into their future, eyes open, careful not to step on each other's toes. There would be adjustments to be made by both of them-that was implicit in their natures. Yet while that future beckoned, rising like a new sun on their horizon, she was too comfortable, too sensually sated, to attend to it just yet.

She was comfortable, yes, and that was a discovery. That even now, fully aware of the latent strength in the body beneath hers, in the muscled arms that yet held her so gently, in the steel-sinewed limbs that pressed all along her length, even now, she was soothed, relaxed. Aware of the crisp hair beneath her cheek, exquisitely aware of his hair-dusted limbs tangled with hers. Aware to her soul of the warmth within her, of the firm member angled against her thigh. The entire reality left her deeply content.

Profoundly happy.

In bliss.

She closed her eyes and indulged.

He eventually stirred, his arms tightening about her, tension returning to his limbs. He held her close, then pressed his lips to her temple. "I'm never going to let you forget what you said."

Alathea smiled. Was she surprised?

"So." He shook her fractionally. "When are we getting married?"

They had, apparently, arrived at the church.

Opening her eyes, she dutifully turned her mind to weddings. "Well, there's Mary and Esher, and Alice and Carstairs, too. A joint wedding might be best."

His snort said no. "They may be your stepsisters, but they're sweet, innocent, and full to bursting with the usual romantic notions. They'll take months to decide on the details. I have absolutely no intention of waiting on their decisions. You and I are getting married first." He tightened his grip on her. "As soon as possible."

Alathea grinned. "Yes, my lord."

Her teasing tone earned her a finger in her ribs. She gasped and squirmed; he sucked in a breath. He settled her again, his touch converted to caress, idly fanning her hip.

"I've already spoken to your father."

Alathea blinked. "You have? When?"

"Yesterday. I saw him at White's. I'd already arranged to send you the flowers."

His hand continued its slow stroking, soothing, subtly calming.

Alathea looked into the future, the future he was so swiftly carrying her into. "They'll miss me. Not just the family but the household-Crisp, Figgs and the rest."

The slow stroking continued. "We'll be close-only a few miles away. You'll be able to watch over them until Charlie takes a bride."

"I suppose…" After a moment, she added, "Nellie will come with me, of course, and Folwell. And Figgs is your housekeeper's sister, after all.

"Tweety's sister?"

"Hmm. So I'll certainly hear of any problems."

"We'll hear of any problems. I'll want to know, too."

She lifted her head to look into his face. "Will you?"

He trapped her gaze. "Anything that happens in your life from now on, I want to share."

She studied his eyes, read his feelings on the years gone by, on the question that would always be with him-could he have saved them those eleven years if he'd known, if he'd opened his eyes and truly looked at her?

She lifted her hand to his cheek. "I don't think anything serious will happen, not with both of us watching."

Stretching up, wantonly undulating in his embrace, she pressed her lips to his. He lifted her and settled her, stomach to ridged abdomen, then filled her mouth with caresses that stirred her to her toes.

She was simmering when he drew back. Brushing his lips across her forehead, he murmured, "I fantasized for weeks about having the countess reveal herself to me." His palms skimmed down her naked back to cup her bottom, making it abundantly clear just how forthcoming he'd wanted the countess to be.

"Are you disappointed?"

His hands closed possessively. He shifted her, then rocked his hips, his erection parting her curls, impressing her belly. Alathea caught her breath.

He chuckled. "The revelations I've suffered were better by far than any fantasy." She looked up; he trapped her gaze. "I love you." The words were simple and clear. He searched her eyes, then his lips relaxed. "And you love me. As revelations go, those are hard to beat."

Alathea tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder so he couldn't see her eyes as the words slid through her, into her heart. After a moment, she sighed. "I still can't quite believe that our troubles are all over, that Crowley is dead. We don't need to worry about him anymore-I don't have to worry about the family's finances any more."

Abruptly, she stiffened and went to sit up; Gabriel restrained her. She lifted her head. "The notes! Charlie has ours, but all the rest… we left them in Chillingworth's carriage."

Gabriel started to stroke her again. "He'll send them around. Don't worry. Stop worrying. You've been worrying for the past eleven years. You don't need to worry about anything anymore."

Alathea subsided back into his arms. "That's not going to come easily, you know."

"I'm sure I can find any number of engrossing subjects with which to distract you."

"But you manage your own estate-there won't really be anything for me to do estate office-wise."

"You can help. We'll be partners."

"Partners?" The idea was strange enough to have her lifting her head to look into his face.

He continued to stroke her bare back. "Hmm."

She frowned. "I suppose…" Turning over, she settled comfortably, wrapping her arms over the hand he splayed over her waist. "I'll do the household accounts, of course. Or does your mother do those?"

"No-by all means, you can do them."

"And if you like, I can do the estate tallies. Or does your father do those?"

"Papa handed over the Manor estate to me two years ago. Neither he nor Mama is any longer involved."

"Oh." Alathea wriggled. "So it's just the two of us, then?"

"Mmm. We can divide the duties any way we like."

She drew in a breath. Held it. "I'd like to continue actively managing my own investments. As I did with my family's funds."

Gabriel shrugged. "I can't see why not."

"You can't?" She tried to look up at him but he held her fast. "I thought you'd disapprove?"

"Why? From all I saw, you're good at it. I'd disapprove if you weren't. But if we're going to be partners generally, there's no reason we can't be real partners in that sphere, too."

Alathea relaxed. After a moment, she murmured, "Who knows? We might even be friends."

Gabriel closed his arms about her. "Who knows? Even that." It was a peculiarly attractive thought. "I'd enjoy that, I think."

Another moment passed, then she murmured, "So would I."

Lips curving, Gabriel tightened one arm about her, splaying his other hand over the smooth curve of her belly. "Given our present circumstances, I suggest we concentrate on the most pertinent-the most immediate-aspect of our partnership."

She sucked in a breath as he slid his fingers further, twining through the springy curls to reach the softness they shielded. With one broad finger, he stroked. She shuddered.

"I really think you need to pay more attention to this." With a grin, he rolled and lifted to come over her. She reached for him and found him. It was his turn to groan.

"Convince me."

The words were a challenge-precisely the sort she knew his Cynster soul delighted in. He threw himself into meeting it, heart and soul.

When she was writhing beneath him, hot and ready and yearning, he filled her with one long thrust. Braced above her, he watched her face as, eyes closed, head thrown back, she arched and took him in. His flowers still glowed against the rich brown of her hair. He withdrew and thrust slowly again, just to watch her accept him, to see the flowers quiver, then he settled to a steady, easy rhythm, rocking her relentlessly, taking the longest route he knew to heaven.

She gasped, clung, but there was a subtle smile flirting about her lips. He bent his head and laved one furled nipple, then nipped it. "By the time Jeremy and Augusta have grown, I can guarantee that if you pay attention to this aspect of our partnership, you'll have a tribe of your own to watch over in their stead."

Her lids lifted fractionally; she seemed to be weighing his words. "A tribe?"

She sounded intrigued.

"Our own tribe," he gasped as she tightened about him.

Alathea grinned. Reaching up, she curved her hand about his neck and lifted her lips to his. "Just as long as that's an iron-clad guarantee."

The laughter started in his chest, erupted in his throat, then spilled over to her. They shook and clung, giddy as children. Then abruptly the laughter was gone; something much stronger swirled wildly about them, through them, then closed upon them and lifted them from the world.

Finally they settled to sleep, the city silent about them, the future settled, their hearts at peace.

Alathea slid into Gabriel's waiting arms and felt them close about her. Whatever the future, they'd create it together, manage it together, live it together. That was so much more future than she'd ever thought she'd have.

She slid her arms about him, hugged him once, then relaxed, content in his embrace.

The next morning, Lucifer stood on the front steps of the Brook Street house and watched the departure of the lady who, somewhat to her surprise, had spent the night warming his bed. And him. Raising a hand in salute as her carriage rumbled off, he turned inside, letting his victorious smile show. She'd proved a challenge but he'd persevered and, as usual, triumphed.

Success had proved very sweet.

Replaying honeyed memories, he headed for the dining room. Breakfast was just what he needed.

Courtesy of Chance, the door was ajar. Lucifer pushed it wide; it swung open noiselessly.

On a scene guaranteed to freeze the blood in his veins.

Gabriel sat at his usual place at the head of the table, sipping coffee. On his right sat Alathea Morwellan, dreamily staring straight ahead, a tea cup in one hand, a piece of nibbled toast growing cold in the other.

She looked radiant. And a trifle flushed. As if…

Stunned, Lucifer looked again at Gabriel. His brother appeared a great deal too well fed for someone just about to tuck in.

The dread conclusion hovering in his mind grew weightier, steadily taking on substance.

Gabriel sensed the draft from the door and looked up. He met Lucifer's astonished gaze with one of transparent unconcern, raising a querying brow as he gestured to Alathea. "Come welcome your sister-in-law-to-be."

Lucifer plastered a smile on his face and stepped across the threshold. "Congratulations." Alathea, he noted, still looked a trifle lightheaded, but then, he knew his brother. "Welcome to the family." Leaning down, he gave her a brotherly buss. He couldn't help muttering as he straightened, "Are you sure you haven't both run mad?"

It was Alathea who frowned him down. "We were never the ones to run mad, as I recall."

Lucifer abandoned that tack, along with any hope of ever understanding. He made all the right noises, said all the right words, while he floundered to make sense of any of it. Alathea and Gabriel? He knew he wasn't the only one who had never thought it. Which just went to show.

"The wedding," Gabriel informed him, "will be as soon as we can arrange it, certainly before we or the Morwellans, or indeed, the rest of the ton, desert the capital."

"Hmm," Lucifer returned.

"You will be there, won't you?"

At Alathea's pointed look, Lucifer summoned a smile. "Of course."

He'd be there to see his brother, the last of his confreres still free, take up the shackles of matrimony. After that, he'd leave.

He was going to disappear.

London-indeed, the ton in its broadest sense-was far too dangerous for the last unmarried member of the Bar Cynster.

The Season ended as it always did, with a rash of tonnish weddings, but this year, amid the many, one stood out, very definitely "the wedding of the Season." The tale of how Lady Alathea Morwellan had turned her back on her own prospects to help her family in the country, only to return eleven years later to tame the most distantly aloof member of the Bar Cynster, fired the romantic imagination of the ton.

St. Georges Church off Hanover Square was filled to bursting on the day Lady Alathea took her vows. The crowd outside the church was just as dense, those not invited to the festivities finding reason to be passing at the time. Everyone craned to catch a glimpse of the bride, regally radiant in ivory and gold, three unusual flowers anchoring her long veil. As she appeared at the top of the church steps on the arm of her proud husband, flanked by a troop of imposing Cynster males and a bevy of beautiful Cynster wives, the crowd let out a communal sigh.

It was just the sort of fairytale romance the ton and all of London delighted in.

At three o'clock, long after the crowds had retreated to savor all they'd seen, to recount the details and embellish their memories, Gabriel was still giving thanks that they'd managed to fight clear of the crowd of well-wishers before the church and repair to Mount Street for the wedding breakfast.

Standing by a window in the drawing room of Morwellan House, he peered through the fine curtains, reconnoitering the street. There was a small crowd waiting to watch them leave, but it was manageable.

"Almost free?"

Gabriel turned as Demon strolled up. His cousin looked disgustingly pleased with himself; Gabriel reasoned that Demon was yet too newly wed for his expression to ease into the deeply content expressions Devil and Vane now habitually wore. Richard was harder to read, but the glow in his eyes when they rested on Catriona was equally revealing. Gabriel knew a vain hope that he would not be quite so easy to read. "Almost." He turned back to the window. "Add the guests inside and it'll still be a goodly crowd, but hopefully we'll make it away in reasonable time."

"Where are you headed? Or is it a secret?"

"Only from Alathea." Briefly, Gabriel outlined his plans to whisk Alathea off on a quick tour of the shires, visiting cities like Liverpool and Sheffield that she'd never visited before but that featured prominently in his business dealings.

"We'll end by going directly to Somersham for this summer celebration our mamas have planned."

"Miss that at the risk of your life-or worse."

Gabriel grinned. "Richard's obviously taking no chances." He nodded to where his cousin's black head was bent over his wife's fiery locks.

"Not on any count," Demon agreed. "He says they'll be on the road north the day after the celebrations. He's not at all sanguine about having Catriona traveling in the condition she'll be in then."

"I'm sure Catriona will have everything precisely planned. Even if she hasn't, she'll just pass a decree and matters will fall out as she wishes-comes of being Lady of the Vale."

"Hmm. Still, I can understand Richard's feelings."

Gabriel glanced at Demon, wondering if that meant…

Before he could form a suitable question, Alathea appeared.

She swept into the room, and his heart stopped. She'd changed into a traveling gown of watered mulberry silk, the high upstanding collar a frame for her hair, rich and lustrous in the afternoon light. Her mother's pearls were coiled about her throat, the matching drops in her ears. She wore no other decoration, acquiescing to his anathema toward anything covering the glory of her hair. No other decoration except for the three white blooms fixed in a spray trailing over one breast, a filigree gold ribbon looped between.

They were the flowers from her veil, the flowers he'd sent her that morning, with another note even simpler than his last.

I love you.

That was all he'd wanted to say, but he knew as only a Cynster could that he'd be looking for ways to tell her that for the rest of his life.

She scanned the room, saw him, and immediately smiled. Her fine eyes bright, she glided to his side.

Gabriel raised a brow as she slid her hand onto his arm. "Ready?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "We have to give Augusta and Jeremy a few more minutes."

Not even that news could dim his anticipation; he knew his wife well enough to know the younger Morwellans would not have stepped over the line. All he wanted to do was to leave, and have her to himself again.

Flick, Demon's young wife, joined them in a froth of blue skirts, face animated, her eyes lit with an inner glow-an inner glow, Gabriel suddenly realized, now he'd grown accustomed to the sight in Alathea's eyes, that all the Cynster brides shared.

Interesting.

"Come on!" Flick claimed Demon's arm. "It's almost time for them to leave."

"Why are you so afire?" Demon asked. "It's not as if you need to catch any bouquets."

"I want to see who does." Flick tugged. "The steps are filling up."

Demon gave a little ground, looking back at Gabriel. "Where's Lucifer?" His demonic grin surfaced. "Thought I'd give him a little advice."

Gabriel scanned the crowd, then lifted a brow at Demon. "I suspect he's already fled."

Demon snorted. "Fool!" He cocked a brow at Gabriel. "Care to wager it'll do him no good?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Some things are meant to be."

Demon acknowledged the comment with a swift smile and a nod, then surrendered to Flick's impatience.

Gabriel turned his gaze on Alathea, and simply smiled. After a moment, she looked up at him. "Ready?" he asked.

She held his gaze. "Yes."

"At last." He covered her hand where it lay on his sleeve.

They walked out of the room, out of the house, and set out on a journey to last the rest of their lives.