Page 122 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

And as the doors swung open, his breath hitched at the sight of his bride, and he barely registered the twinge that pulsed in his midsection.

Wearing a shimmering pearlescent gown of soft pink, Juliana floated down the aisle on her brother’s arm as if on a cloud. Locks of her golden hair flowed over her shoulders and framed her face, the image of her burned in his mind forever.

Juliana’s gaze lowered as Drake placed her hand in Victor’s. Crescent lashes feathered against her pink-colored cheeks. And when she raised her eyes to meet his, he sucked in another breath, not even caring about the pain. The love he saw shining in the cornflower-blue depths nearly knocked him off his feet. How could he have missed it for so long?

He did his utmost to convey the same adoration, awed she’d ever been his to lose. “Tesoro mio.” His treasure, and he would cherish her for the rest of his days.

Juliana’s tremulous smile sent his heart racing, and although he knew the importance of the ceremony, and he repeated his vows flawlessly, as far as he was concerned, Juliana had become his—his wife, his life—on the wonderful night they’d spent together. The words they exchanged in front of the vicar simply confirmed it.

Everything Juliana hopedfor stood before her—personified in Victor Pratt. A man who not only accepted her hopes and dreams—but championed them. Who had greater ambitions than an idle life for himself. Who loved her as she was. And asthey pledged themselves to each other, she felt his love for her deep in her bones. He’d put his own life before hers.

Although he looked resplendent in his dark gray coat and silver waistcoat adorned with red roses at the points, pain etched the corners of his eyes when he moved, and Juliana longed to urge the vicar to make haste so Victor could sit. Everyone—Ashton, Victor’s father, Drake, Priscilla, even Juliana—urged him to wait another month or two to heal. But Victor would have none of it.

He’d given her a devious smile, saying, “With our luck, I can’t take any chances of losing you.”

She’d acquiesced, realizing once they’d married, it would be so much easier for her to take care of him and fuss over him as she wished.

When the vicar finally pronounced them man and wife, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and cover his face with kisses, something Victor clearly guessed, judging from the mischief in his blue eyes. But she behaved like a proper lady should and refrained from creating any more scandal.

However, after exiting the church, and in front of their family and close friends, Victor pulled her into his arms. “Finally.”

At first a soft brush of lips, the kiss grew hungry, and Victor removed one hand from her waist and cupped her face, tilting her head just so. Thank goodness his other arm remained wrapped around her when her knees buckled. She would never tire of Victor’s kisses.

“Ahem.” The male voice broke through her haze of pleasure.

Breaking the kiss, Victor chuckled. “I may have become carried away.” But his grin indicated he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

She peered around him to find Drake gaping at them. Aunt Kitty elbowed him in the ribs, and Honoria gave them a nod of approval. Simon grinned, and even Charlotte’s lips twitched. Mother dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Dr. Marbrywrapped his arm around Priscilla and tugged her close, while Lord Cartwright smiled warmly. Adalyn leaned her head on Nash’s shoulder.

Their family. Hers and Victor’s.

Victor brushed aside a tear which had trickled down her cheek. “Tears, cara mia?”

“Of happiness.” She gave a small poke to his chest. “But I want to learn Italian so I know what you’re saying.”

“That can be arranged.” He drew her in for another long, luxurious kiss, and all thoughts of foreign languages vanished.

EPILOGUE

FLORENCE, ITALY—DECEMBER 1830

From the marble balcony of their apartments overlooking the city, Juliana leaned into the cool morning air. Below, Florence stirred awake with the faint sounds of hooves clattering on stone and wood smoke curling into the pale sky. The first blush of sunlight glinted off the terracotta tiles of Il Duomo.

The domed cathedral reminded her a little of St. Paul’s in London. She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to the balustrade. For the first time since their magical wedding trip, the quiet weight of homesickness swept over her.

They decided to travel the entire route by sea rather than sail from London to Belgium and complete the journey by land. Having gone to Italy for his own wedding trip, as his physician, Ashton suggested traveling by ship was preferable to spending long days trapped inside a jostling coach as he and the duchess had. Ashton, however, admitted he’d been averse to the sea voyage due to his propensity for seasickness.

The long voyage by ship had given Victor’s wounds time to heal completely—that and the undivided attention and care he received from Juliana.

“You are fussing over me like I’m an infant.” He’d grinned at her, letting her know he loved every moment of it.

“There isn’t much else to do on this ship.”

At which point he pulled her onto his lap and kept her busy for hours.

Florence—or Firenze, as the Italians called it—had been a dream. On golden sunlit afternoons, Victor had led her down narrow cobbled streets, his hand warm around hers as he pointed out sun-dappled fountains and the tucked-away atelier of his old painting master. The man had spoken animatedly about how Victor was his favorite and best student and kissed her cheeks, saying, “Bellissima!”

It had been wonderful, but she sighed. This day, above all others, she missed her family.

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