“Indeed,” Tristan agreed with a kiss on his own wife’s hand. “Violet and I are both grateful and proud to call you family.”

A round of toasts followed that statement.

When Ivy, the Countess of Ravenswood, leaned in to embrace Celia, Gabriel clearly overheard the lady’s amused comment.

“See? You found your prince amongst frogs, after all, Celia.”

CHAPTER 43

Celia fell back on the bed in an exhausted heap.

It was late and their guests had all departed, but it wasn’t just the festivities from this evening which left Celia so tired. No, the previous few weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. Despite her husband’s notoriety, or perhaps because of it, she and Gabriel had attended more parties, balls, and soirees thrown on their behalf than she could count. It seemed everyone wanted the Marquess and Marchioness of Rosenthorne as their guests of honor.

Gabriel was enfolded into society with very little question, despite his unusual inheritance. The news chronicles romanticized him, gave him the moniker of the Hero of Mayfair. They unabashedly celebrated the daring rescue of his wife from a dangerous attacker.

Gabriel leaned over her, tickling her nose with a feather he’d pulled from her coiffure. “Shall I let you sleep, ma dragee picquante?”

She still suffered some nights from nightmares, but with Gabriel’s love and attention, those events were fading into the past. The knowledge she was safe did much to aid in her healing, and slowly, the memories were being forever erased.

Celia laughed, raising her arms and looping them around Gabriel’s corded neck. “Don’t you dare, husband. You know full well I’ve no intention of falling asleep after you kissed me the way you did just now in the corridor.”

“You mean how you kissed me, don’t you?” he murmured, running the feather down from her nose to the Cupid’s bow of her lips. “As if you cannot get enough of my mouth.”

Tracing the feather over the outline of her mouth, he moved the delicate instrument even lower. It trailed down her throat and across her collarbone until, finally, he reached the swell of her breasts, rising and falling above the neckline of a lowcut bodice.

Celia squirmed at the ticklish sensation, a giggle catching in her throat when Gabriel’s eyebrow lifted high at her response.

“You are ticklish. So sensitive… so responsive. I wonder where else I might touch your body and receive such a reaction?”

“I’m not ticklish,” Celia protested, then began laughing uncontrollably as Gabriel dropped the feather and nuzzled his face into the tempting hollow between her breasts. “Stop it, you incorrigible man! Oh!” She giggled harder, grabbing Gabriel’s shaggy head between her hands to halt its back-and-forth motion. His own rumble of a laugh vibrated against her chest.

“Cry for mercy, little wife. Cry and I will surely grant it. For the price of a kiss, anyway.”

“Yes,” Celia breathed in amusement. “A kiss I shall gladly pay.”