Page 92 of A Duke to Steal Her
The tears were flowing freely now, but Emily was smiling through them.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, and I choose you, and I choose us.”
“Emily,” he said, and then his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest as his mouth found hers.
The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of a week’s worth of longing and the promise of forgiveness. Emily melted into him, her hands fisting in his coat as she kissed him back with equal fervor.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Ambrose rested his forehead against hers.
“Come home,” he whispered. “Please, Emily. Come home with me.”
“Yes,” she said, and felt the last of the walls around her heart crumble into dust. “Yes, let’s go home.”
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
“Good heavens, Ambrose, if you don’t stop hovering over Emily like a mother hen, I’m going to tie you to a chair,” Juliana declared, laughing as she watched her brother-in-law adjust the cushions behind Emily’s back for the third time in as many minutes.
The drawing room at Nightfell Hall was alive with conversation and laughter, filled with all the people Emily loved most in the world.
Vincent sat near the fireplace with Richard on his lap, while Oliver chased his sons, Colin and Harry, around the sofa as they shrieked with delight. Lady Ridgewell held court in the center of the room, regaling Uncle Francis with tales of London gossip, while William lounged in his chair with an unusually dreamy expression.
“I’m not hovering,” Ambrose protested, his arm tightening possessively around Emily’s waist. “I’m simply ensuring my wife is comfortable after our lengthy journey.”
“Lengthy journey?” Vincent raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been back from your grand tour for a week.”
Emily leaned into her husband’s embrace, smiling at his protective instincts. “Tell them about Venice, darling. You know how Uncle Francis loves a good story.”
“Ah, yes, Venice!” Uncle Francis leaned forward eagerly. “Did you see the Palazzo Ducale? The mosaics in San Marco?”
“We saw everything,” Ambrose said, his eyes softening as he looked down at Emily. “Though I confess I spent more time watching my wife’s face than admiring the architecture. You should have seen her in the Sistine Chapel. She nearly wept at the beauty of it.”
“It was overwhelming,” Emily admitted. “Six months of the most incredible art, music, and culture… Yet nothing compared to coming home to all of you.”
“I am sure that cannot be so,” Georgina needled. “Your adventures must have been more thrilling than being here with all of us.”
Emily laughed lightly at her sister’s never-ending well of curiosity. “There was this gondolier in Venice. Ambrose was convinced he was flirting with me. Oh, that poor man!”
“Hewasflirting with you,” Ambrose said darkly. “All that serenading and flower-throwing. I had to make it clear you were spoken for.”
“By threatening to throw him in the canal,” Emily added, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Everyone in the room burst out laughing.
“I did no such thing. I merely suggested he redirect his attentions elsewhere.”
“My husband’s Italian seemed very fluent for someone who claimed not to speak the language,” Emily teased.
Lady Ridgewell was the first one to stop laughing and cleared her throat delicately. “Speaking of redirected attentions, I trust there’s been no word from that dreadful Peirce creature?”
Ambrose’s expression hardened slightly, though his hold on Emily remained gentle. “He has faded into well-deserved obscurity. Last I heard, he was living in some dingy boarding house in Calais, having squandered what remained of his money on cards and women. Exactly as I predicted he would.”
“Good riddance,” Oliver muttered.
“Indeed. I’ve recently acquired all his properties here in England. Every last one.” Ambrose’s smile was coldly satisfied. “He has no grounds for returning to London now, no assets to reclaim. He’s effectively exiled.”
“And what of your mysterious Spanish comrade?” Vincent asked with amusement. “Conde de Cervera, wasn’t it? I believe he is also known as Flint.”
“Ah, yes, Cervera.” Ambrose’s eyes danced with mischief. “We won’t be seeing him again; he’s away with his family now. As for any of his ongoing business matters, my solicitor will be taking care of those.”
