“Well,” Charlotte said with a lopsided, teasing smile, kissing the honey-dark skin of Alex’s shoulder, “can you imagine sleeping with me?” She trailed small, heated kisses along the ridge of Alex’s collarbone and up his neck to his beating pulse. Then she stopped, throwing back her head and looking straight into her husband’s coal-black eyes.

“I love you, Alexander Foakes. I love you so much that I will undoubtedly forgive you again and again and again, for anything you do.”

Alex’s eyes burned down into hers. “You couldn’t love me as much as I love you.”

The words hung in the air between them. Now Charlotte’s eyes were dewy. Alex lowered his head, passionately kissing her eyes, her cheeks, the whirl of her ears. As each tear slowly slid down her creamy skin he kissed it off. Finally they fell back onto the bed together.

Charlotte’s hands clutched Alex’s shoulders as he sunk into her warm depths.

“We’re together,” Alex said.

“Together.” In Charlotte’s voice was a promise.

“With my body,” Alex said hoarsely, looking straight into Charlotte’s eyes. “With my body I thee worship.” In his voice there was a promise—a promise, a vow, a benediction.

Postscript

Postscript

August 1803

Alex rode through the warm twilight with Lucien Boch and Will Holland, all three men silently enjoying being outdoors at the very moment when the sun began to wink under the edge of the heavy woods surrounding Lord Holland’s country estate. Their horses pranced, sensing that they were finally heading home after a long day.

“This is a lovely spot you have, Will.”

Will smiled and then checked his horse as they approached the gatehouse. “Excuse me a minute, won’t you? My gatekeeper’s wife has been ill and I’d like to inquire about her.” Will jumped off his horse and disappeared into the thatched cottage.

Lucien pulled his horse up and turned to face Alex. “You have never let me thank you properly,” he said, his voice lilting slightly with a French intonation.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Alex replied.

“Yes, there is,” Lucien insisted. “I know, of course, of the scandal that your wife had to suffer in our absence. Had I not asked you, you never would have left her, especially at such a delicate time. If only you had told me she was pregnant!”

“We didn’t know,” Alex said lightly. “Besides—it has resolved itself. Charlotte put up with a little gossip, but it’s all settled down now; no one would dare to suggest that Sarah was not my child.” She was his to every curve of her face and twitch of her baby eyebrows.

“Yes, but I am very regretful that—”

“Lucien. It was nothing.”