Page 40 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)
Jaxon
17 August 1816
The Italian hillside stretched out before us, a sea of rolling green hills touched by the golden hues of the late afternoon. A soft breeze rustled through the wild olive trees, carrying the faint scent of balsamic, cooling my heated skin.
Amelia’s sweet voice wafted up to me,
“Frederic offered his daughter to the new prince, which Hippolita’s tenderness for Isabella concurred to promote: but Theodore’s grief was too fresh to admit the thought of another love; and it was not until after frequent discourses with Isabella of his dear Matilda, that he was persuaded he could know no happiness but in the society of one, with whom he could forever indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.”
My gaze shifted between her face and the horizon, watching the sun dip lower, casting a warm amber glow across the crumbling stones of Ansedonia—the very same fortress ruin described by Sir Richard Hoare in Recollections Abroad . Fragments of the once-mighty structure stood silhouetted against the sky, its majestic arches and broken walls softened by elements and time.
Her final sigh lingered before she uttered, “The End.” The gentle wisp of her breath rolled over my skin, soothing and calming in its path. “No happiness in the society of one. Such a lovely conclusion to the tumultuous tale.” She closed the leather-bound book and set it aside, nestling deeper against my chest where only my shirtsleeves remained in place, unbuttoned at the collar with my sleeves rolled up to my forearms. My great coat and waistcoat had been tossed aside.
A quiet smile played on my lips—not just for the words she uttered, but for the way she breathed life into them. “Are you happy, Amelia?” I asked, wrapping one arm tighter around her while my free arm bent at the elbow supporting us both upon a worn, crimson blanket. Its edges frayed from countless moments such as this in the last three weeks since we married and journeyed to the continent for our wedding trip.
Her head tilted and her eyes lifted to meet mine. She wore a simple linen dress with a wide neck that loosely swept off one shoulder, her hem fluttering against her bare skin from the ankles down. Around us, the world seemed to hush in anticipation of her answer.
Amelia’s hand wound around my neck and drew me closer, her voice fading into a whisper, “I am tremendously happy, Jack.” The name, reserved only for her now.
As the sun sank fully behind the ruins, shadows lengthened across the hillside, stretching toward our blanket and threatening to put an end to the intimacy of our shared solitude. Brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek, my touch lingered as she faced me, her eyes catching the last rays of sunlight, and for a heartbeat, the surroundings seemed to disappear and just the two of us existed. “And you, love? Are you happy?” she asked.
Lifting her chin just enough for me to reach her lips, I kissed her sweetly, pouring my answer into that one kiss. Drawing back, I whispered, “I will have you know, Lady Amelia Gray, I will follow you anywhere—to the edge of the world and back, then again if you wish. I am yours and yours alone.”
As she burrowed contentedly against me once more, I could not imagine a more idyllic position while we watched the hillside, the ruins, and the day all fade away—one last silent witness to our friendship, our commitment, and our everlasting love.