She smiled. “Oh, I think that’s yet to be decided.”

“I can be a beast, as you’re so fond of calling me. Strong as a bull, stubborn as an ox . . .”

“But handsomer than both, thank goodness.”

His eyebrows drew together in mock censure. “I’m being serious here. I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“I know well what I’ve gotten into. It’s love. And I’ve fallen so deep in it by now, I ought to have a bathing costume.” She caressed his cheek. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He clasped her hand to his face, then kissed it warmly. “Even though we’ll reside in London, at least some of the time?”

“I would have followed you to the Pyrenees. London is just up the road.”

“We will be here often, I promise. Christmas, Easter. Every summer, of course, so you can welcome your friends. I know for you, Spindle Cove will always be home.”

“But not for you?”

He shook his head. “You’re my home, Susanna. My home, my heart, my dearest love. Wherever you are, that’s where I belong. Always.”

Epilogue

Six weeks later

It was good to be home.

Just returning after a week’s absence from the village, Bram paused outside the red-painted door of the establishment formerly known as the Rutting Bull. Which had been formerly known as the Blushing Pansy.

The gilt-lettered sign hanging above the door might be new, but when he threw open the door of what was now the Bull and Blossom, Bram encountered immediate proof that some things never changed.

His cousin remained a troublemaking idiot.

The entire tavern had been cleared of chairs and tables. Colin stood with his back to the door, directing men in two opposite corners of the room as they hoisted some sort of soldered frame toward the ceiling, using an elaborate network of pulleys and ropes. Bram had no idea what they were doing, but he knew it couldn’t be good.

“Hold your ropes, now,” Colin ordered, motioning with both arms like an orchestra conductor. “Thorne, pull it a hair or two closer to your corner. Not too far! That space will get smaller once the stage curtains are hung, and we need to leave the fair Salome plenty of room for her dance of the seven veils. Can’t have her skimping and only giving us six.”

Bram cleared his throat.

Colin wheeled in a brisk half turn. His countenance was purposely, studiously blank.

Bram could tell his cousin meant to look innocent.

He wasn’t fooled.

“Salome and her seven veils? What, precisely, is going on here?”

“Nothing.” Colin shrugged. “Nothing at all.”

Behind him, the two men strained and sweated to keep the frame immobile. He viewed their guilty faces. Scheming bastards wouldn’t even meet his gaze. He looked from Thorne, to . . . “Keane?”

The clergyman’s face flushed red.

Bram glared at his cousin. “You’re dragging the vicar into debauchery now? Good God, man. Have you no shame?”

“Me? Shame?” With a gruff noise, his cousin directed the men to secure their ropes. Then he turned back to Bram, wearing a resigned expression and scratching the back of his neck. “Bram, you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“Well, judging by this scene, it’s a bloody fortunate thing I came early.”

“I give you my word. Nothing untoward is going on here.”

Fosbury walked into the room, wiping floury hands on his apron. “All finished with the cake, my lord. She’s a work of art, if I do say it myself. Used almond paste for the skin tone; came out lovely. Nice, big bubbies of puffed meringue. Had a difficult time deciding whether to use pink rosettes or cinnamon drops for the nipples, though. When it comes to those, a man does have his individual tastes, you—” The man finally took note of Colin’s frantic “shut it” gestures. His gaze snapped to Bram, and he gulped with recognition. “Oh. Lord Rycliff. You’re . . . here.”

Bram fixed his cousin with an accusing gaze. “Nothing untoward?”

Colin raised his open palms. “I swear it on my life. Now if you’d only—”

At that moment, a breathless Rufus dashed into the room. “Lord Payne, your delivery’s arrived. Where did you want the tiger?”

This time, Bram didn’t bother waiting for a denial. He lunged forward and grabbed Colin by the lapels. “Didn’t you learn your lesson after that first debacle? This is precisely why I won’t give you a penny to live on elsewhere, you worthless cur. If you wreak this much havoc in quiet little Spindle Cove, the devil only knows what mischief you’d be up to somewhere else.” He gave his cousin a shake. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Planning your stag night. You dolt.”

Bram froze. Then frowned. “Oh.”

“Satisfied? Now you’ve ruined the surprise.” Colin raised a brow. “Had it not occurred to you that your men might want to give you a party? Or had you forgotten you’re getting married in a matter of days?”

Bram shook his head, chuckling to himself. No, he hadn’t forgotten he was marrying Susanna in a matter of days. He’d spent the past month thinking of little else. And having only just returned to the neighborhood after spending a week in London, he was growing damned well desperate to hold his bride.

What the hell was he doing holding Colin, then?

Bram released his cousin’s lapels. “Very well. I’m going to back out of this room the way I came. And pretend I never saw this.”

“Excellent.” Colin gave him a helpful shove to start him on his way. “Welcome back. Now get out.”

Bram abandoned the long, curving lane to Summerfield and decided to walk overland instead, cutting directly across the bands of farmland and gently rolling meadow.

Just a week since he’d seen Susanna last. Lord, it felt like a year. How had he ever imagined he’d be able to leave her behind while he went to the Peninsula?

Despite the lingering pain in his knee, he picked up his pace as he crested a sloping, grassy hill. Here his path dropped into a little green valley, traversed by a stream. He cast his eyes downward, in order to choose his steps with care.

“Bram!”

Whomp.

Out of nowhere, something launched at him. A soft, warm missile that smelled like a garden and wore a sprigged muslin frock. He was caught off balance on his bad leg, and down they tumbled. He performed some heroic gymnastics to make certain he took the brunt of the fall, hitting the hillside with a dull oof.

She landed atop him. They tangled together on the ground, here in this small depression. The valley’s low ridges walled out any distant landscape. His whole world was blue sky, green grass . . . and her.

“Susanna.” Grinning like a fool, he wrapped his arms around her middle and rolled a bit, so that they faced each other, lying on their sides in the tall grass. “Where did you come from?” He skimmed a touch down her ribs. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. More than fine.” Gentle fingers smoothed the hair from his brow. “How are you?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m seeing double. Two lips, two eyes . . . a thousand freckles.”

“Nothing a little kiss won’t mend.” A smile curved her sweet lips. Then those sweet lips touched his. “I heard you were down in the village, and I couldn’t wait to see you. Why didn’t you come to Summerfield straightaway?”

“I had to stop in the village first. Had some business with Colin and Thorne. And then I stopped by the forge.”

“You went to see the blacksmith before coming to see me?”

He held up his hand between them and waggled his fingers. “Had to fetch this.”

Her gaze fixed on the ring stuck firmly at the second knuckle of his little finger. She gasped. “Goodness.”

She reached for it, but he teased her by holding the ring back. “Say you’re sorry for doubting me.”

The iris-blue hue of her eyes was sincerity itself. “I never doubted you, not for a second. I was merely impatient. Whether you go to the forge or to London or all the way to Portugal, Bram . . . I know you’ll come home to me.”

“Always.” He captured her lips in a kiss.

“Wait, wait,” she said, pushing away. “Ring first, kisses later.”

He harrumphed and muttered something about feminine priorities. He worked the ring loose from his own finger and slid it onto hers, where it rightly belonged. He loved the look of it there, snug and sparkling. “I thought you might like to have a ring made here, since we’ll be spending so much time in Town. This way, wherever we are, you’ll always carry a little piece of Spindle Cove with you.”

“Oh, Bram.” She blinked furiously, as though she were holding back tears. He hoped they were happy tears.

Suddenly unsure, he pointed out the ring’s features. “I had him use both gold and copper in the band, you see. Because your hair has both shades. And the sapphire reminded me of your eyes. Though your eyes are far more beautiful, of course.” God, this all sounded hopelessly stupid, voiced aloud. “I think Dawes did quality work with it. But if you’d prefer something finer, I can take you to a jeweler in Town or . . .”

She shushed him. “It’s perfect. I adore it. I adore you.”

Ring first, kisses later, she’d said. He claimed his forfeit now, taking her mouth in a deep, thorough, passionate kiss. Letting her know just how much he’d missed her, every minute of every hour of every day they’d been apart.

Some time later, she rested her head to his chest and gave a contented sigh. “Do you know what today is?”

“It’s Wednesday, Miss Finch.” He stroked her molten bronze hair. “But you’re not in the garden.”

She lifted her head. “I didn’t mean the day of the week. I meant, the significance of this particular day.”

He considered. “It’s . . . three days before our wedding?”

“What else?”

“Three days and two weeks before we move house to London.”

“Yes. And . . . ?”

Good Lord, what kind of devilish test was this? “I know. Three days and nine months before the birth of our first child.”

She laughed with surprise.

“What? I plan to be very industrious on our honeymoon. I hope you’re well rested, because you won’t be sleeping much that first week. You didn’t plan on seeing any of the sights in Kent, did you?”

They would be letting a country house for a blissful fortnight before moving to London. In Town, he’d arranged a temporary suite of rooms in the best neighborhood—just until Susanna could choose their house. He couldn’t wait to take her to London, as his wife. He looked forward to showing her more of the world, and watching Susanna come into her own.

“Today,” she informed him, “marks exactly six weeks since my injury. I am not only rested, but officially healed. And that means . . .” Her hand slid coyly down his chest, and she looked up at him through downcast lashes. “We don’t have to be careful anymore.”

Part of him leaped eagerly at her implication. He did his best to ignore it. “Susanna, you know it’s not a matter of how many days or weeks have passed.”

“Mr. Daniels paid a call two days ago. He says I’m cleared to engage in any and all activity.” One of her slender legs twined between his, and she pressed an openmouthed kiss to his ear. Her tongue skimmed the delicate ridge. “Guess which activity I’m most eager to resume?”

Now, that invitation he was powerless to ignore.

They kissed hungrily, giving and taking in turn. He filled his hands with her, relearning her body. Cupping and shaping her every luscious curve. Her fingers did some bold exploring of their own, and he moaned his encouragement.