Epilogue
Lance and Emma put his marriage license to good use two days later in a small church not far from the Regent’s Pavilion.
Diana was in attendance, beaming at the pair.
Sir Peter and his wife Penelope came south from Normanton.
Plus Kaitlin Manning, Lady Lawton, traveled south from London to celebrate with her friend, Emma.
At the Old Ship, Emma had ordered a wedding breakfast celebration for the guests. Lance had argued that the party should last an hour at least, while Emma simply could not wait to leave everyone behind and go away on her honeymoon with her new husband.
Well past noon, however, it was Lance who took his bride’s arm and urged her upstairs, away from everyone. In their suite, the door closing behind them, Lance took his wife in his arms and gave her the kiss that equaled the first one in Derbyshire and the second in Sussex.
“My,” she crooned as he drew away to press kisses down her throat, “you do that so well, sir. Are you certain you do not steal kisses from lady travelers everywhere?”
“Only you.” He led her past their sitting room into their bedroom. There, he drew her to sit beside him on the bed. “We must be about this, wife. You made that appointment to look at houses for sale tomorrow afternoon. We have little time to make this union legal.”
She chuckled as she pulled the ends of his cravat and kissed his jaw. “Twenty-seven hours are not enough, eh?”
“We have ten years to make up for, my darling. I have not a minute’s patience.”
But his restraint showed him to be such a man of rare tendernesses that Emma marveled at his fortitude. She rewarded him for his skills with an eagerness to repeat all the charming intimacies he’d shown her.
Dusk sent shiny rays of sunlight through their windows as he rose to pour them each glasses of white wine. “To you, my dear lady!”
She drank and met his mellow gaze. “You are perfection, my dear lord.”
“Hardly, madam. Were it not for Officer Pierce’s quick thinking and sound skills of investigation, I might be cooling my heels in Brighton City gaol.”
“I long to match you, sir, in perfection.”
“You do.” He pulled back, alarm on his face. “What worries you?”
Emma hated she had failings. “I don’t dance.”
He cocked a brow. “Then I won’t either.”
“I don’t embroider.”
He hooted. “I don’t need fripperies.”
She swallowed hard. “I do not remember names. I do not get your title correct. Lance, people will think me stupid or rude.”
“Darling,” he bent and gave her a smacker of a kiss. “Do call me whatever you like.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about Whether-Be of Pickle and Fork?”
Lance cringed and swept her up into his arms. “That is a tad unruly, darling. Just stick to Weatherby. And stick to me. That’s the finest I’ve ever asked in life…and now I intend to keep you for years to come, happy and my very own Lady Pickle.”
THE END
* * *
I hope you have had a good chuckle with the doings of our highwayman who stole kisses from his lady love. My latest new series, Scarlett Affairs, will give you a tingle of intoxicating romance suspense—and a dash of the real danger so many faced during the Napoleonic wars.
Learn more about about my work on my website at