Matteo cradled her so that she fit comfortably against his arm, his lips still moving over hers. He murmured against her mouth, “We have but a moment. Then I must share you again. Remember, my dear, I am yours to command. You have won me over heart, mind, and soul.”

Scarlet looked up into Matteo’s eyes and saw the truth of what he was trying to say. “I believe you, Matteo. And I accept all you offer, joyfully. I must be the most blessed woman in all of England. Married to a prince this very day—”

“‘A prince,’ she says. Must you!” With a great growl, he tickled her wherever he thought might make her squirm, until she screamed for him to stop.

“Oh, Matteo, please, I cannot stand it.”

“Call me a commoner.”

“I will not, Your Highness.”

“What?” Then he tickled her more and more insistently. “Call me a commoner.” He stared down into her eyes, and they stopped, each lost in the other.

She watched his breath coming quicker and felt her own pulse race faster. “I cannot, for you will never be common to me. Even had you been born so, I would still not call you common. You are a prince in your heart, born noble in goodness. Your care for your country, your love for your fellowman—these speak more of your royal standing than any title. So my prince you will always be . . . Your Highness.” As she teased the last title, she squirmed from his grasp and moved to sit on the opposite side of the carriage. “Now, if you promise to behave, you may come sit beside me. But I must work some kind of magic with my hair before we stop. It has become all disheveled.”

He moved to sit beside her. “I like you disheveled.”

“Be that as it may, we cannot exit to meet the staff in this state.”

Matteo smiled curiously at her. “We already know the staff.”

“Yes, but we must present you as lord of the estate. The current marquess and marchioness are moving permanently to the ancestral Cavendish estate in Whitmore with the hope that you and I can manage things here on our own.” She smiled, grateful. “It is their wedding gift to us. Now, the staff will want to greet you accordingly. It is an important tradition and an honor I would not deprive them of.”

“Then greet the staff we must.” Matteo nodded. “And after—”

She interrupted, holding up her hand. “And then we prepare for the wedding ball.”

Matteo grimaced. “And why, again, is it we must have a wedding ball?”

Scarlet paused, her expression serious. “For France.”

Matteo leaned back and laughed. “Right you are. For France.” He reached for her hand again. “At times I wonder who is the French national and who is the English. Grateful I am for a wife who loves the people of France as I do.”