Epilogue

Theodosia yawned as the sounds from the first floor of Tradenwood, a pianoforte and laughter, finally started to quiet. Her open balcony door let the sweet smell of clematis inside her candlelit room. She sat at her vanity, staring at the gold band Ewan had purchased for her at Gretna Green. Simple, elegant, easily encompassing her finger. Her heart warmed at the sight of it. This meant security for her and Philip.

What a whirlwind the past three days had been. They’d journeyed to Scotland, only stopping for a meal or to water the horses. They’d arrived for a simple ceremony with a blacksmith whose coal-dusted hands had bested her own coloring. It all seemed too quick, and too short of a service to support the guinea Ewan had left the man.

Yet, maybe it was worth the stares they’d received. They did look different from other couples venturing to marry. Nonetheless, once Ewan had kissed her dizzy, she’d stopped paying attention to villagers and the footman. His love made the world disappear.

The door connecting their rooms opened, and Ewan came inside. The burgundy-colored robe draping his shoulders made his outline look royal, kingly, but the scars showed him as blessed.

Barefoot, he strode to her, took her hand, and spun her to Frederica’s pianoforte tune.

“How is Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil this evening?”

She looked in his eyes and didn’t know quite what to say. Happiness spilled from her heart, but so did nervousness. This was their first moment alone since the wedding.

He twirled her again. “Philip’s tucked in bed. Your friends, Miss Burghley, Miss Croome, and Miss Thomas have assured me that they will take care of him, should he need assistance. And my dear brother is also in charge of making sure my theater friends don’t stay too long.”

Ewan stopped midstep. “I may have tasked the wrong man to chaperone. He’s enjoys a good party.”

“Lord Hartwell is quite capable. He chose my advertisement, after all. I feel quite confident in him.”

“Yes, he does seem to have good taste, as does Miss Croome. She’s beguiled by the actors. Maybe she has a future in the theater.”

Theodosia muffled a giggle, thinking of her dear friend. “No, she’s too shy, but she has a serious liking for Arthur Bex. She adores his voice.”

Ewan tugged free the bow of Theodosia’s nightgown. “He’s a great actor, but she should take care. He’s fighting something, not sure what, but something.”

“Little Miss Croome is big with plans but too nervous to carry them out. You saw how she was mouse quiet through supper.”

He spread the thin fabric of her robe and wove his hands underneath, cupping her shoulders. “Sheer does look good on you.”

Her face heated and she took a half step backward. “I haven’t changed too much. It’s been six years since you saw—all of me.”

“Shyness is one of your enduring qualities, too.” Ewan scooped her up. His eyes, those bluer-than-blue wonders, glittered with candlelight. He carried her to her wide bed, separated the curtains, but allowed the gauzy fabric to sweep her face. “One of many and finally a bed, a wide one.”

Soft and gentle, he laid her upon the mattress. He dipped out, blew out most of the candles, then entered from the other side of the canopy.

The music below faded. The beating of her heart overtook his. Six years since she’d been this close to him. Maybe she was dreaming, a wicked, delicious dream of the man who knew her soul, who was finally free to love her.

The sweetness of his gentle caresses almost distracted Theodosia from his fingers slipping off her robe, his thumbs flicking pins from her hair.

He splayed her locks between his palms. “You are the most beautiful woman. Six years have served you well.”

She sat up with her hair dripping down her arms. She bit her lip and waited.

Smiling, he reached over, grabbed all the pillows, and turned back down.

“What? Ewan?”

He fluffed one and adjusted it underneath his neck. He worked a spot in the bedsheets smooth before stretching. “Good night, my love.”

She hovered over him and shook him. “But technically this is our wedding night.”

“I’m not rushing you, Theo. I made my father pay a large dowry for me, which cancels out the payment made to Lester.”

“Yes, that was clever of you, but what does that have—”

He trailed his pinkie over her nose. “This being my first marriage, shouldn’t I be like the new bride awaiting discovery?” He leaned up and nipped the lobe of her ear, raking it with sensations. “You know what to do to help my motivation. I remember a vixen, a saucy Circe plying me with temptation in a carriage. Where is she?”

“Hiding. Wondering how things will be with us. Six years later.”

He put her hand to his chest, forcing her to feel the wild thread of his heartbeat against the scars. “We will be better. We know better. We will love better.”

The confidence in his voice reminded her how far they’d come. Finding joy in their strengths and vulnerabilities, she traced a circle, her unending love, for Ewan. “Perhaps, but I’ll settle for love long-lasting. I just want us to be in love forever.”

He eased his hand behind her neck, then traced her spine down to the small of her back. “Yes, but I will never settle, and I don’t have to with you, not the way I love you.” He tugged her to him. “This shyness is endearing, my sweet, but not exactly how the Circe of my play would go about enticing me. I’ll have to give you plenty of direction, plenty of practice. Maybe a rehearsal every night.”

She wanted to complain she wasn’t anything like his Cleo character, but the playwright had abandoned words, sculpting Theodosia with his writing hands into a heroine besotted with love, one completely breathless beneath his weighty kiss.

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