Page 40 of Romanced By the Orc

“You have already given me so much,” she said. “I peeked into the armoire upstairs. The gowns are gorgeous. And you placed the most luxurious creams and powders on my vanity.”

“Those are but the necessities of life. I want to give you my wedding gift.”

“Oh!” Diana felt warmth flood her cheeks again. “Husband, I have nothing for you. How thoughtless of me.”

“Your companionship is more than sufficient compensation.”

Maybe so, but Diana resolved she would also get a gift for him. In the meantime, refusing whatever he might have for her would be poor form. “Should I close my eyes?”

“Is that an English tradition? I would prefer to see your reaction immediately rather than delay it.”

“Open eyes it is, then.”

He reached under the table. When he lifted his hand again, he held a velvety dark blue jewelry box, large by human standards but fitting perfectly in his palm. “Please.”

No markings revealed a famed jeweler. When she unsnapped the box to see what was inside, she found an Orcan sapphire, a blue one that she wished she could say matched her eyes, though she knew her features held not half this gem's brilliance. The oval pendant had been set against a slate backing with tiny pearls ringing it. A simple gold chain looped around either side.

“Oh, Albie.”

“Ostentatious jewels are not in fashion,” he said self-consciously. “So I kept the sapphire at a modest cut.”

“Modest?” Diana had never owned a jewel of this size.

“You may wish to turn it over to see the back of the clasp.”

She did so. Engraved on the thin metal were her initials. Her new initials: DSH.

“Diana Stewart Higgins,” she murmured.

“Quite. Or you could consider the H for our Orcan family name as the sound is similar to my language.”

“But what is that name?”

“It’s rather outlandish.”

“Please, Albie.”

He rolled his shoulders and gestured toward the clasp. “May I?”

She folded her fingers over the sapphire. “Only if you tell me your true name.”

“So be it. Hooradech mak Teer.”

“Hooradech mak Teer.” She let the name roll over her tongue. “That’s not outlandish at all. It’s lovely. Sounds nearly Scottish.”

“The Scots have been our closest neighbors for centuries. There are similarities in the roots of our language and their Scottish Gaelic. Now, may I?”

She drew the pendant and chain over her shoulders and held it for him. Albion moved behind her and latched the clasp. The intimacy of the moment left her quiet and contemplative.

“It is truly an honor,” she told him. “And I shall be as proud to be Lady Hooradech mak Teer as I am to be Lady Albion Higgins.”

After bidding Albie a reluctant good night and retiring to her own set of rooms for the evening, Diana took a moment to catch her breath.

As if her splendid supper with Albie hadn’t been enough, he had provided a veritable pleasure garden here. Looking around, she wondered with a slight chuckle if this was how her husband had processed her request that their marriage include romance. The room was overflowing with fresh flowers in crystal vases and a surfeit of the softest, prettiest lace-trimmed pillows plumped and waiting for her on the bed. On the marble vanity table—cut in a gorgeous Florentine style with gilded corners—were facecreams and powders that would have been the envy of the finest apothecaries in the Burlington Arcade.

But these delights were far from the most extraordinary aspect of Diana’s new bedchamber. A modiste’s dream awaited her in the walnut armoire: two exquisite ball gowns of satin and silk, skirts overlaid in gauze and similar in hue to her preferred golden dress, alongside a half-dozen carriage and day dresses, well-made if humbler then their dearer sisters, in various shades of her favorite colors, yellow and blue.

She tugged on the brass handles of the drawers below the main compartment to find all the fripperies she might desire—gloves and stockings of cotton and silk, as well as dainty garters. The thought of Albie sliding his enormous hands over that delicate material strapped around her thigh made her flush with excitement. This sensation was only heightened by her subsequent discovery: a new night rail fashioned from gossamer silk. She ran her fingers over the diaphanous fabric, thinking the garment would rip at the slightest touch.

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