Page 64 of Courting Trouble
He chuckled, fondly caressing her hair. “Nothing will happen. Nothing will take you from my arms. Never again. Not if you come to me with your worries and burdens. Not if you let me in to help you. I want to protect you. I want that to be my right and privilege. The whole world could collapse tomorrow and all I’d want is to experience it with you. Would you promise to let me?”
Ardent emotion robbed her of her words, so she simply nodded, her fingers curling in his lapels to draw him down for another luxurious, whisky-flavored kiss. One that deepened and heated as his fingers ventured possessively over her skin.
Nora sighed into his mouth, releasing with the breath a tremulous marvel at the machinations of the day. She’d been heartsick only last night. And now her love was in her arms.
She couldn’t bear to think of the dismal years and treacherous road they’d had to take to find each other.
But as his fingers began to caress their way up the silk of her stockings, she was very glad, indeed, of the long road back home.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Titus applauded with the exuberance of the crowd as his beaming wife handed a pair of scissors to the Duchess of Trenwyth. Once the ribbon was cut and a picture taken for the press, the citizens of Southwark were treated to refreshments and libations, even a few happening by on their way from work.
Though the venture was his, Titus was more than content to step away from the hubbub around the attractive and wildly popular duke and duchess. He allowed the press of people to crowd him out, until he found himself leaning against a stoop across the street, hovering by an alley.
This was a year of dreams realized, and he selfishly wanted a moment to savor it.
Many souls gathered to see that Alcott’s Southwark Surgery had expanded to a proper clinic with gleaming instruments and a brand-new surgical theater with a staff of three noted physicians and six capable nurses.
Similar surgeries in Whitechapel, South Bank, Lambeth, Greenwich, and Hampstead were under construction. In thanks not only to an influx of, admittedly, ill-gotten gold, but also the patronage of several philanthropists and Titus’s own profits from Knightsbridge.
And in the center of it all, was Nora.
At first, of course, their marriage had been met with a chaos of scandal, most of which they avoided with a honeymoon in Italy, France, and a lovely yachting trip to Greece.
Upon their return, the Duchess of Trenwyth and her influential Ladies’ Aid Society clutched Nora to their collective bosoms and began a full-scale society campaign the likes of which even the Prime Minister would be proud.
He and Nora had taken up riding again in Italy, and had purchased several mounts to keep in the city. They’d escape the office for a bracing gallop, and he’d watch her hair fly out behind her, her lips parted in the smile that graced her mouth more readily these days. Her sister Prudence promised to join her just as soon as she could climb on a horse after her and Morley’s child arrived.
With the Duchess of Trenwyth at Nora’s side when he could not be, trotting through the park was again a friendly venture. She’d become more of a celebrity than a pariah, and her narrative had all the salacious notes of Lady Godiva, a rebel rather than a ruined woman.
There were naysayers and gossips, of course. And her father and mother had all but publicly disowned her, but Nora met the pain of it with her head held high and her heart open. On top of her philanthropic endeavors, she worked by his side, providing comfort to the sick and protection to women, coordinating escapes in some cases and empathetic advice in others.
She was happy with their life—with him—or so she kept insisting as they lay entwined each night, slick and exhausted and no less ecstatic for it.
And he was glad, even though happiness didn’t even come close to describing what he felt.
He was…complete.
Life wasn’t perfect; in fact, chaos and calamity commanded most of his days. Suffering and death were part of a surgeon’s existence. But no matter the misery he was subjected to, she was the soothing caress that had become the balm to his soul.
They laughed together. Teased and tormented each other. Spent lively meals with friends and made plans to travel and take holidays.
It was a life many men could only dream of… and here he was living it.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and a wash of awareness warmed his skin, alerting him that she was nearby before she melted from the crowd.
A vision in a frothy scarlet gown with a matching black hat, she drew the eye of every man in her vicinity as she glided toward him with a radiant smile.
“It’s a bracing burden to have such a lovely wife, but I suppose it is a cross I must bear,” he purred as she melted into his side and tipped her head to rest her temple against his shoulder.
“Why do you think I came searching for you?” She beamed up at him, black cherry eyes twinkling with mirth. “The ladies of Southwark were beginning to gather in this direction, I had to come and stake my claim. They’ll be fabricating all sorts of ills to have you examine them.”
“You’re patently ridiculous.” He dropped an adoring kiss into her hair. “We should leave,” he whispered. “I’m already bored of this.”
She laughed, knowing they both would stay for the duration, and collapse in a depleted heap at the end of the day. It was a game of theirs, to plan their social escapes. One they’d started to play when the anxiety of a gathering would overwhelm her in the early days of her return to society.
