Chapter Eighteen
Alyssia sat perched upon the edge of the pianoforte, her legs locked around Giles’s hips, his hands firm at her waist as his mouth moved hot and hungry over hers, when an urgent knock interrupted their moment.
She groaned aloud.
Truly, could they not have one blessed moment of bliss-laden peace?
Giles drew back a fraction, breathing unevenly, but she caught him by the collar and dragged him forward for one more lingering kiss.
She’d waited far too long for this. All the nightmares were finally laid to rest. His uncle and aunt, along with their son, were in Bow Street’s custody.
Rafferty should have slinked off somewhere—though that remained to be seen—and their marriage had become a true and binding thing indeed.
And bliss. So much bliss.
Another knock. Louder. “Your Grace?”
Alyssia pressed her forehead to his with a sigh. “If that door opens, I swear I will commit a crime that will place me on the same ship as your uncle.”
Giles chuckled, the sound captured across her skin. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Not a soul.”
Another knock. “Your Grace, you have—”
“Alyssia!” Annabelle’s voice rang out. “I brought your father and mother over. They are quite beside themselves!”
A cough and a throat cleared following that.
Alyssia’s eyes flew wide, meeting Giles’s.
Her parents were here?
“Oh heavens,” she whispered, shoving him and hopping to her feet, righting her skirts. “I look positively rumpled and ruined.”
“You look,” Giles murmured, lips still perilously close, “like a very satisfied wife.”
“Not helping,” she hissed.
“At least you are not wearing just my robe. It’s an improvement.”
This man was never going to let her forget for a moment her little mistake! It wasn’t as though she’d been dancing naked, for saints’ sake. Though, that wouldn’t be the worst idea for their first dance.
Alyssia! Get your act together! Your mother and father are here!
“Enter,” Giles called.
Alyssia inhaled a deep breath.
Her mother stepped inside first, followed by her father, and lastly, her friend, who wore a sheepish expression.
Alyssia sent her a reassuring smile before glancing at her parents.
Their gazes locked squarely on her and Giles.
Heat flared along her collarbone. It was one thing to feel rumpled.
It was quite another to look it before one’s parents.
“Oh, Alyssia!” her mother cried, sweeping across the room with startling speed. She seized Alyssia’s hands, turning them this way and that. Then she clutched her daughter to her, nose pressed briefly to her hair, as if scent alone might confirm her well-being. “I was so worried.”
“Mama, I’m fine,” Alyssia assured, managing a smile and feeling a pinch of guilt. “Truly. How are you feeling?”
Her mother waved a hand. “Oh, perfectly well. It is merely your father who keeps insisting I rest until I drop dead.”
“Agatha,” her father warned quietly.
“What? It’s true,” she sniffed. “Far too overprotective. But enough about me. You, child—” Her mother’s attention flicked toward Giles, eyes narrowing as they traveled over the swelling on his face, the discoloration along his jaw, his half-shut eye. “Is this . . .?”
“Yes, Mother,” Alyssia replied softly. “It’s Giles. You remember him?” Saints preserve her, of course her mother remembered him, but nerves suddenly hit her hard.
Her mother softened at once, lips curving. “Giles. Wonderful to see you. I’m rejoiced that you are well and alive. You were truly missed these years.”
Giles inclined his head, every inch the not-so-noble duke she had fallen hopelessly in love with. “Thank you.”
Annabelle waved at Alyssia. “I’ll leave you to your reunion,” she said, though her eyes practically bellowed I will demand all the details later.
Before Alyssia could respond, her friend dipped into a graceful curtsy—the picture of innocent propriety—and slipped out, closing the door firmly behind her.
Alyssia sighed.
“Winterbourne.” Her father stepped forward, extending a hand. “Welcome back.”
Alyssia all but felt it ripple through Giles. Perhaps to avoid discomfort, no one had called him that title yet, not even his friends, and she could see the impact of that single reference on his face. Her heart wrenched for him.
“Ashdown,” Giles returned. “Or should I say, father-in-law? Annulment is not an option.”
Alyssia closed her eyes before opening them again. Lawd. Did this man ever think of anything else? But she could sense the perturbation beneath, most likely born of years spent believing everything could be taken away without even a moment’s notice.
Her father’s brows shot up. “Did I mention annulment?”
“I am merely being preemptive.”
No, he was being obsessive over single words and single events!
Her mother gave Giles a long, evaluating look. “Protective,” she murmured, “just like your father.”
Giles blinked, caught off guard. “Always,” he vowed. “Your daughter is too precious to me for it to be otherwise.”
Her father laughed. “Good, good. Welcome to the family.”
Alyssia blinked at her father. “You aren’t angry?”
“Angry? I am furious,” he paused, glancing at Giles. “But I’m also relieved. Your affairs are in order?”
“They are being taken care of.”
“Good. I’ll write a letter to support your claim.”
Giles inclined his head. “Much obliged.”
Alyssia glanced at her mother. “Where are Arabella and Benedict?”
“Home,” her mother murmured. “We weren’t sure what we would find, so we came over first.”
Thank heaven! It seemed her parents hadn’t learned of what had happened here last night yet. They probably wouldn’t be able to keep it from them forever, but for now, she’d take the reprieve.
Giles’s fingers brushed hers, quiet, steady, promising. And suddenly, the chaos behind them felt like another life.
“Very well,” her father said, motioning to the sofas. “Now that you’re family, tell me everything.”
Alyssia groaned.
Perhaps she’d spoken too soon.
Winterbourne.
Family.
The words almost felt foreign to him.
For all his years with Crane, nothing had compared to hearing his rightful title spoken by the father of the woman he loved.
He did not smile, but something unguarded flickered behind his eyes.
Recognition. Validation. Home. He’d spent so long carrying the weight of exile in his bones, he’d nearly forgotten what this feeling felt like.
They’d just seen Liss’s parents off, and Bishop could finally exhale a breath of relief. This had been the last hurdle for him. And he had to admit, he hadn’t expected to be accepted so fast, so thoroughly.
They walked arm in arm back into the house.
“I never would have believed it,” Bishop said. “But something good came from the Lyon’s Den.”
Alyssia chuckled. “True enough. What should we conquer next?”
He grinned at her. “The identity of your mysterious husband?”
“Lawd, I haven’t even read the gossip papers yet!”
He gave it a quick glance. “Everyone is dying of curiosity.”
“Should we prolong their misery or end it?”
“Prolong, I think.” He had a long memory. “A private dinner with friends and family. A private ball with friends and family.”
She laughed. “A private tea party with friends and family.”
“There are a hundred ways to prolong suspense.”
She nudged him. “What a rogue.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded quietly, “but I’m your rogue. So set me loose on society at large.”
Her eyes shone bright. “That I will do. But I shall join you in the fun. You do know,” she added thoughtfully, “you still have to claim your first dance.”
His first dance? Bishop could most certainly claim that.
Just imagining dancing with Alyssia . . .
Their dance would be closer. So much closer.
Her breath on his jaw, his hand at her spine, perhaps without clothes .
. . Music would be irrelevant. They already moved to something only they could hear.
He imagined her ear near his lips, the subtle brush of her nose against his cheek, seeking his stubble, the rise of her laughter against his chest. A dance with no room for distance.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to dance right now.
His mouth outran his better judgment, “Where do you wish to share our first dance? The bedroom?”
She groaned, palming her forehead. “No! Do you truly never think of anything else?”
Bishop laughed. “Of course I do.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Because you know me so well?” Bishop offered.
“It should be a sin to know someone so thoroughly.”
He laughed. “I disagree. It should be a prerequisite.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirked. “Have I told you that you’re impossible and insufferable?”
“Only a hundred times.” If one counted her thoughts. Bishop turned to her. “Liss, I never said this, but my biggest regret is not coming back sooner. Not wedding you sooner. Not loving you like this, in my arms, sooner.”
“Giles—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “I regret every mile that wasn’t spent coming back to you. That’s all.”
She didn’t say anything for a long while, then she pulled him in close and touched her nose to his, rubbing it softly.
Bishop’s throat thickened with emotion. Of all the things he’d seduced from his wife, he never thought she’d do this small action again. Their childhood promise, returned to him freely. This, he’d thought, would be forever lost.
“We’re not children anymore,” he said roughly.
“No,” she murmured. “We’re better.”
Could he take his wife there and then?
Best not.
Some things were better left for the bedroom.
The End