Epilogue #2
The chamber was just as Catherine remembered as well—two bedrooms connected by a sitting room, faded blue hangings that might be green in certain lights, furniture that had been fashionable sometime during the last century.
But there were improvements: fresh flowers in vases, new linens on the beds, and a fire already crackling in each fireplace.
"It's perfect," James said, pressing coins into Hartwell's hand.
"Dinner?"
"Send it up in an hour. And then..."
"Don't disturb you unless the inn's on fire. Understood, Your Grace." Hartwell winked again and departed.
They stood in the sitting room, suddenly feeling awkward. Five years of marriage, three children, countless nights of passion, and somehow being back here made Catherine feel like that desperate, innocent girl again.
"It's strange, isn't it?" she said. "Being back."
"Strange and perfect." James moved to the window, looking out at the storm. "Do you remember standing here, arguing about who deserved the room?"
"You tried to bribe Hartwell."
"You tried to intimidate him with your noble bearing."
"I did not have noble bearing. I was dripping wet and furious."
"You were magnificent." He turned to her. "You're still magnificent."
"I'm five years older, my figure's never recovered from the twins, and I found a grey hair last week."
"Where?" He was suddenly in front of her, fingers going to her hair. "Show me this offending hair."
"I pulled it out."
"Vandalism. I love every part of you, including the grey hairs."
"Easy to say when you don't have any."
"I have several, actually. Edward gave them to me when he decided to climb onto the tall ladder at age three."
"That was your fault for telling him stories about knights and castles."
"How was I to know he'd try to storm his own battlements?"
They smiled at the memory; the terror of seeing their tiny son on the ladder, James climbing after him with a calmness that had belied his panic, the way Edward had laughed when his father reached him, completely unaware of the danger.
"We make adventurous children," Catherine said.
"We make perfect children." James pulled her into his arms. "Though I'm rather glad they're not here tonight."
"Why's that?"
"Because tonight, I want to pretend we're not the Duke and Duchess of Ravensfield. Not parents, not pillars of society, not responsible for anything except each other."
"Like that first night?"
"Better than that first night. Because now I know I get to keep you."
He kissed her then, and it was nothing like their careful public kisses or even their private passionate ones. This was something deeper...five years of love and trust and shared life poured into the connection.
"I love you," Catherine said when they parted. "More than that first night. More than our wedding. More every day."
"Even when I drag you into storms?"
"Especially then. You keep life interesting."
"Speaking of interesting..." He moved to their luggage, pulling out a familiar bottle. "Brandy. The same kind Hartwell served that night."
"You didn't."
"I did. I also asked him to acquire the exact same supper. Or as close as possible."
"The mysterious beef?"
"I hope, it's actually beef this time. Or else bread and cheese again."
Catherine laughed. "You're recreating everything?"
"Not everything. Some things I plan to do quite differently."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one, I'm not leaving in the morning."
"That's an improvement."
"And for another..." He pulled her toward the bedroom—his bedroom, the one she'd crept into that night. "I'm not waiting until after midnight."
"James, dinner is coming."
"In an hour. We have time."
"Time for what?"
He showed her, thoroughly and enthusiastically, until they had to hastily redress when the dinner knock came.
Supper was indeed the same; questionable meat, overcooked vegetables, bread that could double as a weapon. They ate in the sitting room by the fire, rain pounding against the windows, recreating their first meal together.
"This is terrible," Catherine said, poking at what might be beef.
"Spectacularly terrible," James agreed. "Shall we stick to bread and brandy?"
"A sound plan."
They abandoned the meal, moving to the small sofa before the fire. Catherine tucked her feet under her, leaning against James, brandy warming her from the inside.
"Tell me," she said. "What were you really thinking that night? When I walked in, soaking wet and furious?"
James considered. "My first thought was that you were the most beautiful disaster I'd ever seen."
"Disaster?"
"Your bonnet had completely collapsed. You had leaves in your hair. Your dress was so wet it was practically transparent."
"James!"
"What? I'm a man. I noticed."
"What else did you notice?"
"Your eyes. How they flashed when you were angry. How you fought for what you wanted. How you matched me word for word, never backing down." He took a sip of brandy. "I knew I was in trouble before we even spoke."
"I thought you were an arrogant fool."
"I was an arrogant fool."
"You've improved marginally."
"Marginally?"
"You're still arrogant. Just less of a fool."
He laughed, pulling her closer. "And you're still stubborn, determined, and absolutely incapable of admitting when you're wrong."
"When am I wrong?"
"Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?"
She elbowed him gently. "I was right about the important things. Like sharing the room that night."
"That was my idea."
"You agreed to my suggestion."
"That's not how I remember it."
"Your memory is faulty."
"My memory is perfect. You wore a white nightgown. Your hair was down, still damp from your bath. You smelled like lavender soap."
Catherine's breath caught. "You remember all that?"
"I remember everything about that night. How nervous you were at first. How bold you became. The sounds you made when I..."
"The walls are thin," she interrupted, cheeks heating.
"Let them hear. We're married now."
"That makes it worse, not better. At least before, people could pretend we were innocent."
"No one who saw us together ever thought we were innocent."
"They did at first."
"Catherine, I nearly kissed you in the middle of your presentation ball which was held in order to welcome you to the family. While your aunt watched. And the Archbishop."
"That was after we were betrothed."
"I wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you in my ballroom. The miracle is that I lasted three months."
"Why did you? Really? I've never fully understood why you stayed away so long."
James was quiet for a moment, staring at the fire. "Fear," he said finally.
"Fear of scandal?"
"Fear of you. Of how much you meant to me." He set down his brandy glass, turning to face her fully. "Catherine, I'd been with women before. You know about Lady Harrington, and there were others during my military years. But none of them ever made me feel the way you did that night."
"How did I make you feel?"
"Complete." The word was simple but weighted with meaning. "For the first time in my life, I felt complete. And that terrified me."
"Why?"
"Because if you could make me feel complete, that meant I'd been incomplete before. And if I lost you, I'd be incomplete forever."
Catherine set down her own glass, reaching up to touch his face. "You're never going to lose me."
"I know that now. Then? I was convinced you'd realise you could do better."
"Better than a duke?"
"Better than a man so desperate for you he could barely function. Do you know I didn't sleep for three months? I'd lie awake thinking about you, wondering where you were, who you were with."
"I was mostly with Lord Pemberton," Catherine admitted. "He was very persistent."
James's jaw clenched even now, five years later. "I wanted to kill him."
"You nearly did."
"He was touching you. Dancing with you. Courting you properly while I stood in corners like a coward."
"You weren't a coward. You were trying to do the right thing."
"The right thing nearly cost me everything."
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the storm. It was getting worse, if possible, wind howling like a living thing.
"We're going to be stuck here for days," Catherine observed.
"Good."
"James, we have responsibilities. The children..."
"Are fine with my mother and Agatha. The estate is managed by very capable stewards. Parliament is in recess. For once in our married life, we have absolutely nothing we need to do except be together."
"That sounds..."
"Irresponsible?"
"Perfect."
He smiled, that rare, genuine smile that transformed his face from handsome to devastating. "Come here."
She went willingly into his arms, letting him pull her onto his lap. This too was different from that first night; then she'd been hesitant, unsure of what was allowed. Now she knew exactly what he liked, how to touch him, where to kiss to make him groan.
"I have a confession," she said against his neck.
"Mmm?"
"I think about that night all the time."
"Do you?"
"When you're in Parliament, being all ducal and proper, I remember you desperate and wanting. When you're playing with the children, being the perfect father, I remember you teaching me things that would make society matrons faint."
"Catherine..."
"When we're at formal dinners, making small talk with boring people, I think about how you looked at me that night. Like I was everything."
"You are everything."
"Still? Even after five years? Even after seeing me exhausted from children, irritable from lack of sleep, completely unromantic?"
"Especially then." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "You want to know what I think about?"
"Tell me."
"I think about how brave you were. An innocent, choosing to give yourself to a stranger. I think about how you trusted me, even when you didn't know my name. I think about how you responded to me, so openly, so honestly."
"I couldn't help it. You made me feel things I didn't know were possible."