7

"No."

She stopped him by brushing a kiss against his lips this time, remembering what he'd taught her of kissing just moments before. "Not a duchess. I mean, not especially. Just…your wife. Mrs. Kipling Mancheste. It is all I have ever wanted."

That beloved grin grew. "Ye mean it, Mellie?"

"Forever,"

Amelia whispered, just before his lips claimed hers.

"I'm happy for ye, Kip,"

Fawkes murmured, standing in his formal kilt at the altar beside Kipling. "Took ye long enough to realize the truth."

Kip glanced sideways. "The truth?"

His friend grinned, his gaze still on the doors at the back of the church. "The rest of us could see yer feelings for Lady Amelia, even if ye couldnae."

"I could ."

Kip cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders, and settled back on the balls of his feet. Why in the hell did this have to take so long? Where was Alistair? "I just didnae think I…"

"Had a chance with her? She's loved ye just as long."

Kip refused to look at his friend when he admitted, "I didnae think I was worthy of her,"

in a low voice.

"Ah."

A moment passed, then Fawkes blew out a breath. "Well, I cannae pretend to understand that. Ye are the same man ye've always been. A title doesnae make ye more worthy, and she loves ye for ye . Always did. Ye did hear me say that bit?"

Kipling's heart stuttered for a moment, and he turned an incredulous expression toward the man at his side.

A title doesnae make ye more worthy. She loves ye for ye.

Well… hell .

Fawkes was right, wasn't he? Mellie had hinted as much, on the balcony, before Emma's interruption.

The last two years on the Continent…wasted? He should have stayed in London and wooed Amelia as soon as he knew he loved her. And Alistair was approving, wouldn't have stood in the way of the match?

Fook .

His friend caught his eye and grinned. "Dinnae fash, Kip. Ye needed some time to grow, same as she did. The fact neither of ye found love while apart just proves this match was the truth."

Truth .

It really was, wasn't it?

"I owe Mellie an apology, I suppose,"

Kip murmured.

"I dinnae think so."

Fawkes shrugged. "She's an intelligent lady, and seems thrilled with how things turned out."

He jammed an elbow in Kip's side. "Even if that means she has to marry ye ."

Refusing to rise to the bait, Kip merely grinned, turning back to the church filled with his friends and family as he rubbed his side. "And I'll spend the rest of my days making her the happiest woman in the world."

In the front row, his mother sat, beaming. Viscount Thornebury lounged beside her, one arm resting entirely too close to her; the man couldn't not flirt, could he? As Kip watched, Thorne lifted his hand and waggled his fingers in greeting, a smirk curving his lips.

Behind them, Alistair's wife Olivia sat with Amelia's mother and sister, Amanda. Amelia's sister was grinning hugely, as if she was thrilled with Amelia's match. Perhaps the sisters had shared secrets. Perhaps Amelia had wanted this match for as long as Kip himself had.

This wedding felt as if it had taken forever to plan, but Kip's mother and Amelia's mother had risen to the occasion. A mere three weeks after Amelia had agreed to marry him, today they would be joined forever. Twenty one long days…and very empty nights.

"Are ye ready?"

Fawkes murmured as the music swelled and Kip's heart began to beat double-time.

The doors at the back of the church opened, and Alistair stepped through with Amelia on his arm.

Kip's heartbeat calmed as he exhaled. There she was. Here she was. With him. For him. By him. Where she was meant to be.

His lips curled into a slow smile as she began to walk down the aisle toward him, head held high under her veil.

Things were perfect. He was ready.

"Aye,"

he whispered. "I'm ready."

The sun was still high in the sky when Amelia—breathless with laughter and anticipation—pulled Kipling into their chambers and slammed the door shut. She'd thought the wedding celebrations would never end!

Well, actually, it was likely the celebrations were continuing, but she'd been delighted to sneak away with her new husband . What an exciting word!

"Eager, are ye, lass?"

Kip was chuckling as he pulled her against him. "Perhaps we should call back yer maid to help ye with yer gown?"

She plastered a fierce frown on her face. "Are you saying you cannot undo a few buttons? I shall vow to help you undress if you return the favor."

"Och, wife, ye drive a hard bargain."

With twinkling eyes, Kipling thrust his hips forward, so she could feel his arousal.

As if she wasn't already aching with need?

Over the last weeks, they'd managed to sneak away plenty of times to be together. They'd explored one another with kisses and touches, and on two delightful, extremely memorable occasions, Kipling's hand had found its way into her bloomers and brought her ecstasy.

But today was their wedding night—day?

Today she'd have all of him. Finally.

Luckily, Kipling was really quite good at tiny buttons.

As her wedding gown fell from her shoulders, he reached around to cup her breasts through her corset. "Delicious ,"

he murmured against the sensitive skin on the back of her neck.

She shivered, even as he pressed together the sides of her corset to pop it free, leaving only her chemise between her skin and his hands. "What—you have not tasted me yet,"

she managed.

" Yet ,"

Kip growled, then he nipped at her earlobe.

It should have been funny. It should have been disgusting. So why did it make her shudder and lean back against him, reveling in the hard length of his arousal pressed along the cleft of her rear end?

Really, it was a miracle the man could manage to undress himself, she was useless.

They fell, naked now, into bed, her arms around his neck. When Amelia murmured his name, Kip's lips trailed hot kisses down her throat. Tasting her, as promised.

His mouth closed around one nipple and she gasped, thrusting herself up against his hold. She could feel him smile, even as his other hand caressed and stroked and loved in the most wonderful way.

Oh Heavens , the sensations he was causing!

…and then his lips moved lower, and before she could object— did she want to object? She could barely form coherent thoughts right now!— they were brushing over her curls.

"Kipling?"

she gasped.

"Hush, wife,"

he murmured. "I said I would taste ye, aye?"

"Wh—what are you doing— oh ."

His tongue touched her core, and she flopped—boneless—back against the pillows. Oh Heavens, indeed!

How had he become such an expert at— No, do not ask that. She didn't want to know more about her now-husband's past. She just wanted to be able to appreciate his practice now.

Finally.

Kipling licked, and suckled, and kissed and stroked, as the pressure built. And built. And built.

She might be innocent, but she wasn't ignorant of her body; she'd nearly worn out her copy of A Harlot's Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts , and knew what to expect from a man's body. She'd explored her own often enough over the years.

But her touch never felt like Kipling's!

He slid one thick finger into her core, and when her hips pressed upward to meet him, he chuckled against her skin and slipped another in to join it.

She was so very close, on a precipice…

His lips closed around the pearl of her pleasure, hidden in her curls…

And she gasped something incoherent as ecstasy burst over her.

"Aye, that's a good lass,"

Kip murmured, continuing to stroke her as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. He lifted his head to meet her eyes, and he was grinning.

"That— Oh , Kipling!"

She flopped back down. "What was that ?"

"That, wife, was me showing ye how much I love ye,"

he declared as he crawled back up her body to lie beside her, his fingers deep within her. "It's my duty to make ye ready on our wedding night."

"And that was—"

Heavens, she was having trouble controlling her breathing, wasn't she? "That was you getting me ready ?"

His smile turned wicked. "Almost."

When he curled his fingers, still inside her, she gasped, her eyes widening as she met his gaze.

"Ye feel that, lass? Ye feel how wet ye are for me?"

Mutely, she nodded, her hips wriggling slightly, reveling in the sensation.

"Ye came for me like a good lass, did ye no'?"

"Please Kipling,"

she whispered, reaching for him. " Please make me yours."

He didn't answer, but when his lips found hers, she could taste herself on him. That was answer enough.

His fingers continued to tease her, and the pressure built once more—or perhaps it had never really left her.

When he rolled atop her and spread her legs, Amelia eagerly welcomed him. Kipling didn't pause, but pulled his fingers from her wetness, gripped his cock, and slid into her.

Then he froze, lifted his face from hers and watched her.

She knew he was doing it for her benefit, but he needn't have worried. She'd experimented enough over the years that the minor discomfort was already receding. So she shifted slightly, arching her back and thrusting her hips toward his.

"Christ, Amelia."

His eyes squeezed shut on his harsh whisper. "I'm trying to-to give ye time…"

"No more time, please."

It was amazing how prim and proper she could sound when she wanted to shout fook me please! She planted her heels on his buttocks. "Take me, Kipling,"

she whispered.

His eyes opened and when his gaze met hers, it was full of heat. She smiled, and he returned it.

The first time he moved, she gasped out loud. The sensation was…different. Fascinating. Wonderful. He did it again, sinking a little farther into her, then again. Each thrust felt as if it brought her closer to him, closer to that pleasure he'd given her only a short time ago.

But soon it was impossible to judge where one thrust stopped and the next started. She was being lifted higher and higher, closer and closer…

He was growling with each push, the sound of need as delicious as the feeling of him. Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, seeking his lips.

And as she did so, she felt her inner muscles begin to squeeze.

Yes . "Yes,"

she whispered against his mouth.

" Amelia ."

As her pleasure burst over her, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist which allowed her to lift her rear end off the bed. He pounded into her twice, thrice more, and then he froze.

For one moment, they were both suspended, her orgasm crashing over her…then he roared her name and spilled his seed against her womb.

"Amelia!"

Her core milked him, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs, trying to get even closer to him. Impossible, but she wanted to try.

It felt like forever—and then, too soon—before they both collapsed, exhausted, tangled together in the bed. They didn't speak, but her husband pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head, stroking her back with such gentleness she wanted to shiver.

Kipling was hers now. After so long, so much waiting, he belonged to her and she belonged to him.

"I love you,"

she whispered.

She heard him smile.

"And I love ye, lass. Wife . God Almighty, I've waited a long time to say that."

He kissed her again.

"Not as long as I have waited. I think I loved you back when I was just a gangly little girl, and you followed my brother home from school."

"Och, well, ye were quite gangly."

When she giggled, he pinched her, and she retaliated by rolling over. He followed, of course, and soon they were kissing again.

This kiss was slow, sensual. Not desperate, not yet.

Amelia was enjoying the way the hair on his calves tickled her toes when Kipling's head suddenly lifted.

"Did ye hear that?"

She stilled. "Hear what?"

"There it is again!"

Amelia began to chuckle. "I do not believe it. Really, Becky?"

With a third cluck and a frantic flapping of wings, the chicken hopped atop the foot of the bed. She bobbed her head unconcernedly.

Kipling mock-glared. "Ye brought yer hen into our bedroom?"

"Well, why not?"

she quipped back, feeling wicked. " You brought a cock!"

As he began to laugh, Amelia lifted herself on her elbows. "Oh my God, Becky, look at my duke. Laughing at a naughty joke?"

In response, Becky decided to check to see if Kipling's toes were edible. They were not, but his subsequent hiss and curse made Amelia laugh.

Kipling joined in, wrapping his arms around her and rolling them both to safety, out of reach of the hen's beak. Pinning her beneath him, he smiled down at her.

"I love ye, Amelia Kincaid Mancheste."

Her heart swelled. All those years, pining after her older brother's best friend, and now she was finally married to him. She wrapped her arms around him once more. "And I love you , husband."