Epilogue

PROLOGUE

April 1821

The printshop held shadows, but Prudence tore through them, seeking her husband. He was late. The others had long since abandoned Prudent Prints, and he should have arrived home some time ago to change for the ball. Felicity's first ball. After her, only two more of Prudence's sisters would be left to join society.

"Ben!" Prudence cried, climbing the stairs to his office. "We must leave now!" He'd be a mess. He'd not shaved in the last several days, nor had he cut his hair in months. It curled up at his collar, shorter than it had been when they met, but longer than fashionable. The most perfect, most delicious length. She'd not be able to tug on it, even as she lectured him on punctuality. And if she didn't entirely ignore the rough scruff of his cheek against her palm, she'd never be able to usher him out the door and into the London evening.

The door at the top of the stairs flew open, and Ben appeared, wild and unruly, his waistcoat hanging open, cravat long gone. He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, tugged her inside.

And kissed her like the first time. With need and longing, with delight and discovery, with a long stroke of fingers down her back that made her melt into his chest, clutch at his open shirt to remain upright. When he gasped an end to the kiss, she met his gaze, hot and happy. Time? What even was it? Why should they dance to its tune? Especially when she could get lost in his arms every minute and hour, present and future.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, his voice gravelly. He peppered her jaw with tiny little kisses like fireworks against her skin. "Got distracted. I've a suit to change into here."

"I'm aware. I put it there."

"I won't be long." He pulled her lips to his for another kiss.

And she gave into him gladly before pressing her palms into his chest and pushing distance between them. "Felicity. We mustn't let her down."

"Never." He tweaked her ear and threw open a wardrobe to the side of the office. He made quick work of stripping, muscles shifting and bunching beneath his skin, hair hanging just enough to hide his eyes from her.

Heat pooled low in her belly, and need made her fingers jump. A short touch. A short… tup. Surely it would not put them too far behind schedule. She'd merely toss her skirts up and lean over his desk. She ran her fingers across one edge of it. Ink-stained, it was, papers spilled across it from one end to the other. Her desk sat at the other end of the office, facing Ben's. It possessed a neat pile of papers stacked at the corner, on the opposite side of the blotter. Nothing else. Her desk would be less messy, but… something about seeing her spread across his papers made her husband a bit wild. She adored him that way. She enjoyed driving him to the edge of propriety, driving him over it.

She hopped up on top of his desk, pulling the edge of her skirt up past her ankle, revealing her stocking, and catching sight of something interesting inked onto a sheet of paper just peeking out from beneath her skirts. She freed it.

"Ben, what is this?"

Ben glanced over, half-dressed. He wore his stockings, breeches, shirt, and waistcoat, but everything undone. His fall only half-buttoned, his shirt untucked, and his waistcoat hanging loose about his shoulders. A length of linen wrapped around his neck but had not yet been tied.

He blinked at her. "What's what?"

"This." Prudence shook the paper at him. It looked much like the London Lady's Almanac they printed once a month or so. But it had a different title.

"You weren't supposed to see that. It's a surprise." He finished buttoning his fall and tucked in his shirt, then padded on stocking feet to her side. He hiked her skirts up higher and stepped between her legs, pulling her to the very edge of the desk.

She held the paper between them like a shield. "The Lady's Guide to Courtship?"

He tilted his head and scratched the back of his neck, a blush rushing across his cheeks with a fierce red. "I was thinking about your sister. Felicity is a serious young girl. And your brother's… advice has not proved particularly useful. For anyone. But it seems to me that you, your sisters, and your friends know more about what women want than your brother does." His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "I've been spying. To gather intel so I can print it up for you."

"Benjamin Bailey." She poked his chest, dropping the paper to her lap. "You know better. Spying?"

"I needed to find out what all of you women think, and you lot tend to know how locks work."

"Been listening at doors, have you?"

He shrugged, wrapped his arms around her waist and clasped them together low on her back. "Perhaps."

She reached up and finished wrapping his cravat around his neck. She tied it in the silence that settled between them like a body-warmed quilt, comfortable, lovely, and full of promise.

He picked up the broadsheet and held it to the side, reading it as she finished his cravat. "I'm not sure I got everything right. You will have the final say, of course, revising anything you'd like. This was merely a… proposal, to show you what's possible. Felicity should be armed with all the information she needs. As should your other sisters."

"As should all the women of London," Prudence said.

Ben nodded and pulled her so far to the edge of the desk that their hips met, kissed.

"Samuel will know we printed it," she said.

"Yes, well, Samuel has been silent with his own advice of late."

"For the best."

Ben kissed the tip of her nose. When Prudence took the paper from his hand, their fingers brushed, and as she passed the paper to her other hand, he wove their fingers together and kissed her knuckles.

"Do you like it?"

She skimmed the first several paragraphs and then opened it up. A bulleted list ran bold from edge to edge.

~Gentlemen, do not waste your time with a woman who does not spark your curiosity.

~Ladies, do not be scared to show your interest in a man if you think he might be interested in you.

~Gentlemen, do not be scared to ask for a kiss, and if the lady acquiesces, do your best to please her.

~Ladies, know your worth, for once you know how wonderful you are, then the right gentleman will see it, too.

Tears clouded her eyes, and she wiped them away, seeing only an item at the very bottom of the list before she dropped the paper to her lap and buried her face in her husband's cravat.

~Somewhere between courting and kissing is love.

His arms tightened around her, and when she lifted her face to his, smiling through the tears, he kissed her just as he had before and as he would again and again and again.

"It's absolutely scandalous," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Every bit of it true." He bit her bottom lip. "Far as I can tell." His hands became warm brands on her thighs, pushing up beneath her skirts, binding her hips, his naughty thumbs brushing streaks of fire on her belly. Lower.

Why had she just wrapped up his neck? She loved to nibble there. She feasted on his earlobe instead, tugged at that curling hair at his nape.

"Benjamin, Bailey," she whispered in his ear.

"Yes?" The word a mere pant. Of need. Of adoration.

"Love me."

"Right now?" he growled, slipping his fingers between her legs. "In all your finery atop the chaos of my desk?"

"Right." She rolled her hips against him. "Now."

"Pushy Prudence. As you wish."

He kissed her hard so many times they all rolled into one long embrace that made her body tremble. Her heart pounded loud enough to break through her ribs, and when he thrust inside her, scratching the desk back across the floor, she hung on tight, laughing as he loved her, smiling as her body fell apart in his arms. When he finished, he dropped to his knees with ragged breaths before her and kissed the insides of her thighs.

"I love you." A whisper. A truth.

She somehow stood on cloud-like legs and pulled him to his feet. "I love you." Another truth kissed into his beating heart.

They dressed with quick efficiency and slipped out of the printshop arm in arm. Prudence clutched the Lady's Guide to Courtship in her hand, and when they arrived at the ball, she snuck off to the lady's retiring room, left it like a powder keg on a table there, just before the flowers.

Ben waited for her in the ballroom, leaning against a column, his gaze roaming over the dancers. When she joined him, he straightened and said, "Now who's being sneaky, Mrs. Bailey?"

"Dance with me, Mr. Bailey?"

"I've got a better idea." He dragged her out into the deep shadows of the garden and pinned her against a tree, and in the moonlight of the night, to the sound of violins swinging on the evening wind, the wild Mr. Bailey taught her how to shine at midnight with every single kiss.

THE END