Page 84 of His Wicked Little Christmas
Her lips were curled at the edges. Delight and a hint of mischief transforming her face. For some reason, the latter gave him the courage to spill his secrets. Machiavellian tendencies, he understood. Could work with. That she wasn’t the typical proper English miss perfected the moment. “The viscountess part won’t be fun. I can guarantee that much,” he mumbled and tunneled in his pocket. The signet ring was warm from its press against his chest.
Taking a breath, he presented it to her. A promise. A future. Like Macaulay had said, his heart for the taking. Possibly to be cut into slivers. “It’s all I had time for. I’ll find you the most glorious in London when we return.”
Her smile grew to incredible proportions. She had the loveliest one he’d ever encountered. She slipped it on her ring finger, when he wore it on his pinkie, and the fit wasn’t horrible. Not horrible at all. “I love it.” She wagged her hand, catching a ray of sunlight on the ruby. “I want it. I wantyou. I have, I think, from the first moment. Caressing that escritoire at the earl’s fete. I could only imagine your hands running all overme.”
“You will then?” He gave the ruby a light tap, trying to control what was happening—hardening—behind his trouser close. The future promise of her body closing around his was becoming the loudest thing in his head. “Marry me? Help me raise Kat. Have more children if we’re lucky.”
She wound her arms around him, tunneling her fingers through his hair and bringing his lips to hers. “Yes.” She nipped his bottom lip, then backed way, causing him to follow. “Although, you’re missing three words every girl likes to hear.”
He pressed his brow to hers, roping his arm around her waist and settling her against him. Letting her feel what she was doing to him. “Francine Shaw, if I adored youless, I’d be able to say more. Say it better. I love you quite madly and without hope of recovery. I only know I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in this life.”
“Yes, then,” she whispered and pulled him into another sinking kiss. “I will marry you. Because I love you, too. Madly. If the easel arrives by Thursday, that is. If not, all bets are off.”
He laughed, his heart breaking. But for the first time, in a good way. “Happy Christmas, my sweet viscountess.”
Epilogue
Where a fantastically happy couple make big decisions
Ten Months Later
Derbyshire
Franny took a step back, tilting her head and squinting. “I think the darker shade works. Kat wanted a color close to a bluebell. This is close to a bluebell, isn’t it?”
Chance lowered the paintbrush, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “Hmm…”
Her stomach clenched, heat traveling directly to its chosen spot between her thighs.
Her gaze roved the length of her husband and back. Light hit him just so, perfect for sketching if she’d had her supplies handy. He was dressed for the country in a pair of form-fitting buckskins and a worn linen shirt that clung deliciously to his shoulders and back. Wellingtons polished to a high gloss. He’d been working around the estate the past year, and his body had gotten more muscular if that was possible.
Her need grew with every moment she spent with him. Her love. They were trying for a baby. Still newlyweds, in a sense. Chance hadreturned from London this morning, so they’d not been able to try forfivenights. The longest they’d ever gone. “I suppose it works,” he said, so earnest it made her heart ache. “But we could try the lighter, too. Or maybe use it on the window frames.”
Their adopted daughter, Kat, wanted a blue bedchamber for her seventh birthday. They’d decided to redecorate as a surprise while she spent the day shopping in the village with Ada. Chance had picked the task over the quick romp they both desperately desired, which made Franny love him more. He placed his family’s happiness above everything else. Above his own. Adoration he freely showed his girls every day.
“Wait until she finds out about the kitten. I can’t wait to give him to her.”
“You’re spoiling her, Remy.”
Shrugging happily, he tapped the windowpane with his brush. His gaze tracked a man galloping a black bay across the fields. “Why is Xander Macauley here again?”
Franny came to stand beside him, snaking her arm through his and leaning into his side. He turned slightly to kiss the crown of her head. He smelled wonderful. Leather and the crisp scent of wood, scents that were Chance’s own. His furniture was selling like mad, although thetonstill had no idea Viscount Remington had a side business. He’d yet to have a desk placed in Carlton House, though the king had expressed interest in having one at Windsor Castle, which Franny assured Chance was even better. “He’s having woman troubles, or so he implied. Who was the last one? An actress?”
“Opera singer. Italian, I believe,” Chance murmured, drawing his wife close and nuzzling the side of her neck. “Coincidental timing, isn’t it? When the Duke of Leighton, his new duchess, and sisters are arriving tomorrow. And Arthur, finally, has agreed to stay until the summer.”
Franny watched Macauley halt his mount and slide from the saddle, a towering beast of a man. She liked him. He was genuine in a sea of pretenders. Rough around the edges, cynical, demanding. But he’d been a good friend. A sound business partner to her husband. He had love in his eyes waiting to be unleashed. “What does Leighton coming to pay a visit have to do with Xander Macauley?”
Chance chuckled, a sly ripple of sound. He and Macauley were constantly trying to one-up each other. Wagers on billiards, hunting, hazard. Fisticuffs on the lawn. Fencing in the ballroom. Pushes and shoves and outright brawls. It seemed almost brotherly in nature. “He’s got his eye on Lady Philippa, though he wishes like hell he didn’t. I’m going to seat her right next to him at dinner and watch him squirm.”
Franny’s lips parted, a gasp shooting free. Thiswasnews. “Pippa? Leighton’s little sister?” She eyed Macauley as he led the horse toward a stable they’d just outfitted with a new roof.
Thetonwould accept Macauley pilfering their ducal coffers about as well as they’d accepted Franny plundering this viscountcy. Society didn’t call her the American Enchantress with great affection. “Will the Duchess Society clean him up? Straighten him out? Leighton would never let him marry her as his reputation stands.”
Chance tossed the brush into the bucket by his feet and swept her into his arms, his lips seizing hers.My, the man could kiss. “Oh, my naïve darling. Desire isn’t love. He’ll never tell a soul, make an offer, or a move. But he watches her whenever she’s in the room. Everytimeshe’s in the room. I can’t believe Leighton hasn’t seen it. But when he does, he’ll knock Macauley flat on his arse.”
“Let’s seat them next to each other, let’s do. I want to watch what happens.”
“That’s my girl,” he said and kissed his way down her jaw. “Later, after Kat is in bed, you could meet me at my workshop at the edge of the woodland. You can scream as loudly as you’d like. And you know, I’ll do anything you ask.”