He had yet to tell her this, but he was arranging for them to spend Christmas in Scotland this year, which could disappoint the neighbors expecting the annual Twelfth Night ball at Trevadden, but he was willing to risk their displeasure.

It would be worth it to see his wife glowing with happiness.

“Did you see Emblyn’s letter today?” Adelaide asked, their previous argument forgotten. “It seems that Taran thought Emma and Kerra needed toast with jam while they wore white pinafores.”

Harrison winced at that. “Your son is going to be a terror, Lady Basset.”

“Your son,” she insisted firmly, “is a menace, but his creativity deserves praise. And his generosity.” She glanced at him, smiling in the way that never failed to upend his knees. “He must get that from his father.”

Harrison instantly pulled her over to him, one hand cupping her face as though she were made of porcelain. “You and I both know,” he breathed, his thumb brushing her full lower lip, “that he gets that from his mother. Along with his sweetness.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “His tenacity.” He kissed her chin. “His loyalty.” His lips dusted her cheek. “And most of all, his charm.”

He kissed her full on the mouth now, her hand seizing his cravat to pull him even closer, to crush them together in a feverish rush of passion that had taken them over the entire time they had been in London. He drank her in, followed her lead, and found each of her favorite places to be kissed, making her sigh with each of them.

He reached for her hair, and she suddenly slapped his hand away, rearing back. “Oh no, you don’t,” Adelaide ordered, holding up a hand. “You will not disrupt this hair. Faust spent ages on it, and I intend to keep it in place.”

Harrison glared at her while his pulse tried desperately to fade back into its normal pace. “Your hair,” he repeated flatly. “You are ending a very pleasant exchange because of… your hair?”

His wife gave him a severe look. “Do not underestimate a woman’s feelings about the condition of her hair, particularly when some effort has been exerted for it. It is a rarity that there is perfection in it, so it must be appreciated when it occurs.”

“I see.” He narrowed his eyes. “And what if I want to appreciate the perfection of your hair when it is completely free from any pins and plaits, when it flows like a river of gold?”

“That, you may feel free to do later.” To prove her point, she rose from her seat and moved to the other side of the coach, giving him an utterly superior look.

Harrison could only sigh in defeat. “Very well, I will concede. But only because I am greatly looking forward to watching you be flocked by admirers tonight.”