When he left, Joshua closed the door and took her in his arms. “I believe you have made a conquest of Fitzgerald. Not that I’m surprised. Everywhere you go, men are smitten.”
“You, sir, know exactly the right thing to say to a woman.”
“I’ve had an excellent tutor in that regard.” He kissed her tenderly but briefly. “I suppose we cannot linger long in here with the door closed or your family will be up in arms. At the very least, we should go announce our engagement.”
“Too late for that. I already told Mama, so I daresay the news has made it to theTimesalready.”
He laughed. “And what else were you telling your mother while we were disposing of a body?”
“I asked her about miscarriages. It turns out she had one before she bore me and Thorn. She says that it’s not unusual for a woman to have one occasionally and then have a perfectly healthy child.”
He searched her face. “Dare I hope that means you’re willing to risk having a child with me?”
“After fearing for your life—and mine—I am no longer afraid to risk anything.” She headed for the door. “Indeed, I was thinking that perhaps I could help you with your work.”
“No,” he said firmly as he opened the door.
“You could teach me to shoot—a pistol, I mean—and I could pick off your enemies from a distance.”
“God, no.”
“All right. I will settle for shooting them with arrows.”
“There will be no shooting of any kind. Not for you anyway.”
She pretended to pout. “You suck the fun out of everything, Major.”
“Fortunately, my dear, you put the fun back in.” He gazed down at her with love in his eyes. “So we make the perfect couple.”
“At last,” she said, pressing a fond kiss to his cheek, “something we both can agree upon.”
Epilogue
September 1809
Joshua couldn’t figure out what he and his wife were doing outside some stranger’s town house. Gwyn had said she wanted to show him something, so he was glad to oblige, but before she’d brought him here he’d been half-afraid it might be a pistol-shooting match.
He suspected that her twin had been teaching her to shoot, despite Joshua’s objections. Admittedly, those objections had become less strenuous the more he thought about how close Malet might have come to killing her five months before. And whenever he did voice an objection in front of her family and his, Beatrice pointed out that he was a hypocrite, because he’d taughtherto shoot.
But this was some seemingly random town house in Mayfair.
Then it hit him. “Ah, you admire the architecture. This is to be another ofthoseoutings.”
Gwyn planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘another ofthoseoutings’?”
“You know—where you take me somewhere in town so I can admire the ‘bones’ of the building, as you put it. Although I confess that this one looks like all the others in this vicinity, just a touch more grand.”
“Do you like it?” Gwyn asked slyly.
“We’ve been through this before, dearling. You know I can’t tell a double-hung sash window from a single-hung one. I can look at a ship and instantly tell you what rate it is, how many guns it carries, and what poundage they are, but I daresay that’s not useful to you.”
“Not particularly. But I still want to know how you like the looks of this house. Speaking generally.”
“It’s attractive enough, I suppose. Why? What are we admiring on it this time?”
“Everything,” she said enigmatically.
She walked up the front steps and knocked boldly on the entrance door.
