Epilogue
It hadn’t been the largest, most opulent wedding London had ever seen—doubtless, a royal wedding would’ve outdone it—but it had to have come close.
Actually, now that Viveca thought about it, she wasn’t certain even a royal wedding could’ve outdone her and Blaze’s for sheer, audacious splendor.
It would’ve been a near thing.
For her part, she would have eloped.
It was Blaze who had wanted the wedding.
And if there was going to be a wedding, well, it would be big and grand—a wedding no one would forget.
And if that big, grand, opulent wedding of a duke’s sister to the likes of Blaze Jagger stuck in the collective craw of society, well, that was a little wedding gift to her husband.
Viveca knew the truth of their love.
But she also understood that was private and for them only.
A wedding was for others.
So, she’d come around to his point of view.
Why not go big and grand and opulent?
And how Blaze had.
The ceremony had taken place at St. Paul’s Cathedral—even Blaze with all his society connections hadn’t been able to secure Westminster Abbey—and every pew had been filled.
For those for whom that sort of thing mattered, it was undeniably the wedding of the year.
Every element had been splendid—from the profusion of hothouse flowers to the boys’ choir, even the sun had peeked out from behind a cloud and shone through a stained-glass window as they’d spoken their vows.
It was as if the universe itself had blessed their union.
Really, there had been but one hairy moment in the entire business—when she and Blaze had revealed to her family their intention to spend the rest of their lives together.
Tessa had shown no outward sign of surprise.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true.
One side of her mouth had lifted into a slight smirk.
Saskia had gasped.
Until that very moment, Viveca hadn’t thought anything could make Saskia gasp. But here it was—her sister marrying known rogue Blaze Jagger.
Gabriel was the one who had neither smirked nor gasped nor betrayed a single emotion for a full thirty-three seconds.
Viveca knew the exact number, because she’d counted.
Thirty-three seconds could be an eternity in certain circumstances.
She’d learned as much that day.
At last, Gabriel concentrated the entirety of his piercing blue gaze onto her. “Regardless of what anyone says, you’re going to marry him, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Everyone in the room understood Viveca and Blaze were informing them as a courtesy.
They weren’t asking for permission.
Then Gabriel had turned that piercing blue gaze onto Blaze. “And you’re going to make her the best of husbands, aren’t you?”
All traces of East End rogue fell away, and there was simply Blaze, earnest and serious. “Yes.”
And from that moment, the whirlwind of wedding preparations had spun into motion.
But what would stay with Viveca about her wedding day until she drew her very last breath was the sight of Blaze at the end of the aisle, waiting for her.
He’d been dressed in white superfine.
He’d offered to wear black, had even insisted on it. Something about not stealing the bride’s light on her wedding day. “But, Blaze,” she’d insisted, “isn’t our wedding an expression of you and me?”
He’d cocked his head, listening.
“Then let’s be who we are,” she’d continued. “I want to see you looking resplendent.”
He hadn’t disappointed in his impeccably tailored white suit and blue watered-silk waistcoat. “To match your eyes,” he’d whisper into her ear later.
He’d looked so like himself as he watched her walk down the aisle on Gabriel’s arm.
The echo of a cocky smile on his mouth.
The wink of the diamond in his left ear.
The force of intent within his eyes.
Every step down the aisle had been a step closer to the rest of her life with him.
It had been the last still moment of the day.
From there it had been a whirlwind of vows spoken; earnest tears shed; congratulations given; happy tears shed; carriage ride; hot kisses that wanted to lead somewhere, but didn’t have enough time; wedding breakfast hosted by Gabriel and Celia at their St. James’s Square manse; copious amounts of food eaten and champagne imbibed; toasts and speeches given; more champagne; more earnest, happy tears; more of everything.
And now at ten in the evening at The Crimson Dove where the second wedding reception was being held—the real party, Blaze said, and Viveca agreed—she understood this would be her life as Mrs. Blaze Jagger.
More of everything.
More laughter.
More light.
More happy, earnest tears.
More love.
Some might view a second wedding reception as too much, but Viveca understood there would never be too much where Blaze was concerned.
There would simply be more.
“Viveca, stop staring at your husband like you’re a starved wolf,” came Saskia’s chiding voice, though laughter sparkled in her eyes.
Viveca blinked. She supposed she had been watching Blaze mingling through the room with perhaps a bit too much intensity.
Her sister took her hand. “Come dance with us.”
She allowed Saskia to pull her away from the bar where Granddad and Mrs. Dunlevy were engaged in a rather lively chat and Lorna was sipping the peppermint tea she always drank after she sang—there hadn’t been a dry eye in The Crimson Dove after she’d sung to her son and his new bride—and onto the small makeshift dancing floor where Tessa was pulling Gabriel, too, and it was the four Siren siblings again and Viveca felt the more here, as well—that fullness of feeling as they smiled and laughed and hugged and did some semblance of dancing together.
The champagne, followed by Granddad’s ale, would ensure their aching heads on the morrow would be more, too.
But, oh, wasn’t the fiddle music lively as more family joined—Celia drawn in by Gabriel…Julian by Tessa, who looked ready to pop, so far advanced she was in her pregnancy—and the circle widened.
Viveca had always been so immersed in the world of reading and books that she’d never understood life outside them could be like this—an ever-widening of one’s circle and all the love to accommodate it.
Others had joined the dancing, as well. One handsome fellow in particular was attempting to catch Saskia’s eye, to no avail. Saskia’s life was still devoted to books—and now her writing, too. As for the latter, she’d sworn Viveca to secrecy. Not a word to anyone, not even Gabriel and Tessa.
So be it.
When a Lady Dares was slated for publication in the spring, timed for the return of the haut ton to London for the season.
Viveca’s gaze caught on Blaze in his impeccable white suit—her husband.
Her heart fluttered and flipped as it ever did when she laid eyes on him. He was holding Beatrix’s new baby, Maria, and cooing sweet words into her ear. Viveca wouldn’t have thought Blaze could get any more attractive, but his sweetness and sincerity with Maria did something to her.
His gaze shifted and met hers. A cocky smile tipped about his mouth. Intent glittered in his eyes.
He returned Maria to her mother and began walking—prowling—toward Viveca. A languid shiver purled up her spine. He took her hand in his and set his other hand low on her hip, and eyes locked, they began to dance.
Not dancing, precisely, but rather swaying in their own slow time to the music, as everyone around them laughed, sang, and celebrated.
They two were caught in a world of their own.
Long, masculine fingers laced through hers, Blaze brought the back of her hand to his mouth, promise shining in his eyes.
Her mouth went dry.
The wedding night—the real wedding night—was nigh.
And Viveca was absolutely desperate for it—for one very good reason.
These last five and a half months, Blaze had made her wait.
His exact words had been, “You and me, Lady Viveca, we’re going to have ourselves a proper wedding night.”
Inside, she’d screamed.
She’d howled.
She might’ve done so on the outside, too.
But he’d held firm. “I’m worth the wait.”
And the bloody man had winked.
As if he could read her thoughts in her eyes, he led her from the dancing floor, and the taproom altogether, and down a corridor that ended at the back of the building, their wedding celebration a muted memory now.
Now, it was only them.
He stepped her backwards until her back met the wall, his long, hard body pressed against hers, his lips skirring lightly up her neck, leaving shivers in their wake.
“Did you enjoy your day?” she asked, already weak-kneed and breathless with desire.
He chuckled against her neck. His mouth met the whorl of her ear. “There was just one problem with today.”
“Oh?” she exhaled.
“I had to wait all day to do this.”
And he took her face in his hands and kissed her long and thorough, as only he could do, this kiss prelude to their wedding night—perhaps they would make it to the bed…perhaps not.
This kiss prelude to their forever.
The End