“Of course, ma’am.”

While the butler led Tristan, Keating, and Barton out, Mrs. Swithin looked, somewhat uncertainly, around at the company. “I realize this is a trifle awkward, but I do think tea would be appropriate before you all start your journeys back to London.”

They all exchanged glances. It had been a long day.

“Thank you.” With a bow, Christian accepted for them all. “Tea would be much appreciated.”

They set out in their curricles an hour later.

Dalziel gave up his seat in Christian’s curricle to Letitia, handing her up with a bow.

She looked down her nose at him, but her lips quirked.

Christian flourished his whip and they set off.

Dalziel walked back to where Justin waited in his curricle, the reins of his restive blacks in his hands. Tristan and Tony had already set off. Swinging up to the seat beside Justin, Dalziel nodded ahead. “Home, James, and don’t spare your horses.”

Justin laughed and flicked his whip.

Barton, hanging on behind, mumbled, “Just as long as you don’t drive as fast as you did coming down.”

“I promise not to lose you,” Justin called back. “Aside from all else, you hold my freedom in your hands-I’m counting on you to explain all to your masters in Bow Street.”

“Aye, I will. They’ll be pleased to close the case.”

“Indeed, they should be.” Sitting back, arms crossed, Dalziel’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. “It occurs to me that you should receive a commendation-not least for saving your masters the unfortunate embarrassment of wrongfully arresting the future head of one of the oldest aristocratic houses. Just think how unpopular that would have made them.”

“That’s undoubtedly true,” Justin chimed in. “You really should work on how to present this result in the best possible light, Barton-so it reflects most favorably on you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Barton asked, “So how should I do that?”

Justin grinned, and with helpful advice from Dalziel, proceeded to tutor the runner in how best to gild his triumph.

All three quite enjoyed their journey back to town.

Chapter 21

Twilight had taken hold by the time Christian drew his horses to a halt outside the house in South Audley Street. Every window was ablaze. Leaving his curricle in the care of an urchin-the horses were too tired to be difficult-he escorted Letitia up the steps and into the house.

Into chaos of a different sort to that earlier in the day.

Hermione spotted them first. With a shriek she flew across the parlor to wildly hug Letitia.

The assembled ladies-many having left, then returned despite the hour-surged in her wake; they enfolded Letitia in a welcome full of exclamations and relief.

They embraced him as if he were a conquering hero.

“An excellent outcome all around.” Amarantha stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for bringing her back to us, dear.”

“And in such spirits. “Constance bussed his other cheek. “Although,” she said, drawing back, “I do wonder why that is.”

She and Amarantha fixed him with identical inquiring looks-in response to which he merely smiled.

He knew better than to even hint of what was in the wind in such company; the faintest suggestion that he and Letitia might be planning a wedding would be all over the ton before midnight.

Agnes eventually won through to his side. “You did very well, Dearne.” She looked at Letitia, surrounded on all sides by the females of her family. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen dear Letitia so…animated.” She cocked a brow at him. “I do hope you won’t disappoint us.”

He looked into Agnes’s eyes, realized that in her he now had a firm supporter. “Actually…” He took her arm; after a quick glance over the sea of heads, he steered her toward the front hall. “Along those lines, there is something you might help me with.”

He quickly outlined what he proposed. Agnes was delighted. They found Mellon and gave the necessary orders, then, sharing pleased, conspiratorial smiles, they returned to the fray in the parlor.

Two minutes later Justin walked in. The ladies fell on him-the future head of their house-with unbounded enthusiasm.

Standing to one side, Christian smiled as he watched Justin play to his appreciative audience. He told his tale with verve and flair; there was no doubt he was a Vaux.

Letitia appeared beside Christian, sliding her arm into his. “Never before have I been so glad to be upstaged by my little brother.” But she was smiling fondly as she surveyed the crowd, now all hanging on Justin’s every word.

“Not so little, these days.”

“No, indeed. He’ll have to take care to avoid the matchmakers’ snares now he’s become so famous.”

Christian glanced at her. “So Dalziel’s a marquess.”

Her lips curved. “He let that slip, did he?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He waited a moment, then asked, “Is it a courtesy title, or…?”

Her smile grew. “Now that would be telling.” Turning to him, she laughed. “You’re just going to have to wait, like the others. Trust me-you’ll learn the truth soon enough.”

He would prefer to learn it sooner, but…looking into her eyes, he set the mystery of Dalziel aside. There was something much more important he had to say. “I meant what I said on the roof.”

She searched his eyes. Her gaze remained steady as she arched her brows. “So did I.”

His chest suddenly felt unaccountably tight. “So…when can we marry?”

Her brows rose higher; her expression, her eyes, told him she was considering. “I’m honestly not sure of the possibilities in our particular case. As it now seems clear Randall contrived the reason that forced me to marry him-a fact guaranteed to set the ton’s social arbiters firmly against him, and therefore in our camp-even if I only whisper the truth into a few select ears, those of ladies I can trust not to spread the details but only their conclusions…once I have their backing, I doubt we’ll need to wait out the year. Not even six months.”

“Good. How about next week?”

Her lips twitched. “Hmm. Well, that’s certainly a goal to aim for, but it might be a trifle ambitious.” She met his eyes, love glowing in hers. “Let’s say the week after. A quiet wedding at Nunchance.”

He looked at her, looked beyond her, and laughed.

She frowned. “What?”

He smiled down at her, then, ignoring the eyes that had strayed their way, bent his head and kissed her. Still grinning, he drew back and met her eyes. “A quiet Vaux wedding? That would have to be the archetypal contradiction in terms.”

To Letitia’s surprise, when she finally closed the door on the last of her female relatives, neither Agnes nor Hermione were anywhere in sight.

Puzzled, she glanced up the stairs. “Are we having dinner, or have they gone up to change?”

“Both, in a way.” Christian took the shawl Mellon had fetched and draped it over her shoulders. “We are having dinner, but not here.”

“Oh?” Settling the shawl, she faced him. “Where, then?”

At Allardyce House was the answer, not that he told her. If she could keep Dalziel’s secret, he could keep one of his own. He put her in his curricle and drove the short distance to Grosvenor Square, where one of his grooms was waiting to lead the tired horses to the mews.

Handing Letitia down, ignoring her quizzical look, he led her up the steps to the front door. It swung open just before they reached it. Percival stood beaming in the doorway.

“Welcome, my lady.” He bowed low-too low for an earl’s daughter, but just right for a marchioness.

Letitia, always alive to social nuance, sent Christian a look, but smiled graciously on Percival and greeted him with her customary collected air.

As Christian led her on, she leaned close and whispered, “What have you done?”

He smiled. “I haven’t said anything, I swear.”

It was simply that Percival and the rest of his staff could read between his lines.

He led her into the drawing room where Agnes and Hermione were waiting. After he’d answered several questions for Agnes over his mother’s collection of Sevres figurines, they adjourned to the dining room, where his staff outdid themselves in presenting an elegant but cozy family meal.

Christian sat at the head of the table, with Letitia on his right and Agnes and Hermione on his left, and couldn’t stop smiling. This was what his house needed-females, and family.

In stylish comfort they ambled through courses while Letitia filled in all sorts of feminine details for her aunt and sister, then she turned to interrogate him on his meeting with Roscoe, showing equal interest in Roscoe’s decor and style as in the words exchanged. Nevertheless…

“So he’s still definite about wanting to buy the company?”

He nodded. “He insisted I present him as Randall’s chosen buyer in exchange for his information.”

“Well”-she waved the spoon she was using to demolish a delicate crème anglaise-“as it seems I can’t visit him in Dolphin Square, he’ll have to come to me. I’m sure Mrs. Swithin and Trowbridge will be only too happy to sell, so there’s no reason we can’t settle the business of the Orient Trading Company as soon as may be.”

When she turned limpid eyes on him, Christian inwardly sighed. “I’ll contact him and make arrangements for him to call on you-perhaps here might be best. Late at night.”

She waved. “Whatever you think best.”

Just as long as she had her way and divested herself of her share in the company. As he strongly suspected she would want to do so before any wedding, he nodded. “I’ll send a message to Roscoe in the morning.”

Eventually, replete and happy, they returned to the drawing room. Noticing the piano in one corner, Hermione sat herself before it. “I haven’t been practicing much of late. I suppose I should if I’m to make my come-out next year.” She proceeded to entertain them with a sonata.

Relaxed on the sofa beside Letitia, Christian smiled all the more. This was how his evenings would henceforth be, with Agnes sitting by the hearth, he and Letitia comfortably ensconced, and music floating through the room. Simple family pleasures, something he’d known and taken for granted as a child and youth, but had missed throughout his adult life.

With Letitia, he would have those family pleasures again.

With her, he would have the life he’d always dreamed of.

An hour later, after the tea trolley had come and gone, Agnes rose, collected a sleepily content Hermione, then bade Letitia and Christian a good-night.

Letitia smiled and nodded, then realized where they were. “Oh. I’ll-”

“No need to disturb yourself.” A gleam of mischief in her old eyes, Agnes gathered her shawl. “We’re staying here. Dearne and I thought it more appropriate-no need to live in that man’s house any longer. We know our way upstairs.” She fluttered her fingers at them as she turned to the door. “We’ll see you in the morning, my dears.”

Letitia stared after her, and at Hermione, who, with a smug smile and a wave, followed Agnes out of the door. “They’re staying here,” she repeated. Turning, she stared at Christian.

He smiled, even more smugly content than Hermione. “Your Esme is upstairs-I gather she’s been furiously busy hanging all your gowns in the marchioness’s apartments. I suggested, however, that she needn’t wait up for you tonight.”

He studied her eyes, then leaned closer, gently framed her face with one hand. Lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. “Welcome to my house. Welcome to my home. I hope you’ll make it yours.”

Tears-tears of a happiness she’d never thought to feel-filled her eyes. The same emotion swelled in her chest, filled her heart to overflowing. She raised her hand and laid it over his, felt the gentle strength, savored it. “Nothing would make me happier, my lord.”

He smiled, slowly, the gray of his eyes peaceful and calm, then he kissed her again-a longer kiss, one that stirred the flames between them to life.

When he eventually drew back, they were both breathing more rapidly. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She rose as he did. “Indeed. No need to shock Percival. At least not yet.”

Christian glanced at her as he led her to the door. “Actually, quite aside from any shock, I suspect he’d be thrilled. He and the rest of the staff have been waiting for over a decade to serve you, you know.”

But they did go up the wide stairs, to the marquess’s suite, to his bedroom. To his bed.

There, under the soft radiance of a waxing moon, they celebrated all they now had, all they’d reclaimed. All the heat and passion-all the life.

All the indefinable gifts love had to offer, even love itself they claimed anew.