“Oh?” A hum of pleasure rumbled in his throat as she ruffled the cool, dark strands of his hair. “Such as?”
“Such as the indisputable fact that this sort of thing”—she rubbed her nose against his—“is really quite lovely when one is on this side of it.” When one had the right person to do them with.
A husky laugh. “You said rubbing noses was revolting,” he reminded her. “You said you hadn’t a romantic bone in your body.”
“I’ll admit that romance is far more your métier than mine,” she acknowledged. Her life until now had not allowed much for it, besides. “But I suppose I could develop a few romantic bones. Small ones. Or at least some romantic cartilage.”
“Romanticcartilage!” He tipped his head back and guffawed. “You are—justterribleat romance.”
“Then perhaps I could benefit from a competent tutor,” she purred. “I think I would derive no small amount of enjoyment from being every bit as insufferable about it as the rest of that besotted lot.”
“You petty, petty woman,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “I do love you.”
“I love you.” She laid a soft kiss upon the tip of his nose. “And today is still for ladies only.”
“Damn. I had hoped.” A sigh faded into a yawn, and sheepishly he admitted, “I suppose I could use a few more hours of sleep. And there’s a ridiculous amount of correspondence which has stacked up a bit in our absence. I’ve gone through half of it at most.”
“Oh?”
“Congratulations and such, mostly,” he said. “And—Lady Cecily has extended us an invitation to her wedding in March.”
“That woman!” Charity groaned as she settled her cheek against his shoulder. “It really is just awful of her to make it so appallingly difficult to maintain any dislike of her.”
Anthony chuckled, bussing a kiss against the top of her head. “She asked to meet you,” he said. “When last I saw her.”
“We’ve met,” she said on a sigh. “In a bookstore, some weeks ago.”
“Oh? And how did you find her?”
“Perfectly lovely,” she grumbled. “Perfectly perfect. How am I meant to compete with such a paragon?”
“My adorably jealous wife,” he said as he kneaded the muscles at the nape of her neck. “There is no competition. To me, you are perfect.”
With a small smile, Charity allowed begrudgingly, “I suppose I must like her after all, then, since she was good enough to find a husband of her own.” She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “All right, then. Back to sleep with you. I shall only be a few hours.”
“And you will invite me to your flat eventually?”
“Oh, yes.” They had decided, mutually, that she would keep it rather than sell it. And she suspected it would become a private home-away-from-home to enjoy from time to time, should they require a bit of a respite from the other occupants of their grand house. A little love-nest all their own. “I’m sorry to have woken you,” she said. “I did try to be quiet about it.”
“Always wake me,” he said, and pulled her close for one last kiss. “Always wake me when you leave. So that we can have a proper goodbye.”
And really, she thought, proper goodbyes were just wonderful.
∞∞∞
“May Inowcall you Your Grace?” Phoebe asked.
“If you absolutely must,” Charity said with a sigh as she collapsed onto her small sofa, offering a plate of biscuits, freshly made. Phoebe had arrived first for their little gathering, but Lydia, Diana, and Emma were expected within the hour.
“Of course I must,” Phoebe said as she collected a few biscuits. “And you’d be well within your rights to lord it over people a bit.” Her teeth snapped into the crisp wafer in her fingers. “These really are delicious,” she said. “Do duchesses bake?”
“This one does, much to the chagrin of Anthony’s mother.”
“You might have invited us to your wedding,” Phoebe said with a delicate pout. “Chris was rather hurt.”
“Rubbish. He’s not hurt by such things, and he loathes the countryside besides,” Charity said.
“Oh,all right, then, he wasn’t hurt,” Phoebe admitted. “But I was. I would have liked to attend.”
