“What about Mrs. Grey?” she asked softly.
“Mrs. Grey,” he repeated.
“I like the sound of it.”
He nodded. “Mrs. Grey and the Dutiful Husband.”
“Mrs. Grey and the Beloved Husband. No, no,Mrs. Grey and Her Beloved Husband ,” she said, with an emphasis on “her.”
“Will it be a story in progress?” he asked.
“Oh, I think so.” She reached up to give him a kiss, then stayed there, their noses touching. “So long as you don’t mind a new happy ending every day.”
“It does sound like an awful lot of work…” he murmured.
She pulled back just far enough to give him a dry look. “But worth it.”
He chuckled. “That didn’t sound like a question.”
“Plain speaking, Mr. Grey. Plain speaking.”
“It’s what I love about you, soon-to-be Mrs. Grey.”
“Don’t you think it should be Mrs. soon-to-be Grey?”
“Now you’reediting me?”
“Suggesting.”
“As it happens,” he said, looking down his nose at her, “I was right. The ‘soon- to-be’ has to be placed before the ‘Mrs.,’ else it sounds like you were Mrs. Something Else.”
She considered that.
He gave her an arch look.
“Very well,” she gave in, “but about everything else, I am right.”
“Everything?”
She smiled seductively. “I choseyou .”
“Mr. Grey and His Beloved Bride.” He kissed her once, and then again. “I think I like it.”
“Ilove it.”
And she did.
Epilogue
Four years later
The key to a successful marriage,” Sebastian Grey pontificated from behind his desk, “is to marry a splendid wife.”
As this was announced for no apparent reason, after an hour of companionable silence, Annabel Grey would normally have taken the statement with several grains of salt. Sebastian was not above beginning conversations with extravagant compliments when he wished to gain her approval, or at the very least agreement, about matters entirely unrelated to the aforementioned praise.
There were, however, ten things about his pronouncement that could not help but warm her heart.
One: Seb was looking particularly handsome when he said it, all warm-eyed and rumple-haired, andTwo : the wife in question washer , which pertained toThree : she’d performed all sorts of lovely wifely duties that morning, which, given their history would probably lead toFour : another gray-eyed baby in nine months, to add to the three already pitter-pattering in the nursery.
Of minor but still happy significance wasFive : none of the three Grey babies looked a thing like Lord Newbury, who must have been scared witless after his collapse in Annabel’s bedchamber four years earlier, because he’d gone on a slimming regimen, married a widow of proven childbearing prowess, but Six : had not managed to sire another child, boy or girl.
Which meant thatSeven : Sebastian was still the heir presumptive to the earldom, not that it mattered overmuch becauseEight : he was selling scads of books, especially since the release ofMiss Spencer and the Wild Scotsman , whichNine: the King himself had declared “delicious.” This, combined with the fact that Sarah Gorely had become the most popular author in Russia, meant thatTen : all of Annabel’s brothers and sisters were well settled in life, which in turn led toEleven : Annabel never had to worry that her choice to pursue her own happiness had cost them theirs.
Eleven.
Annabel smiled. Some things were so wonderful they ran right past ten.
“What are you grinning about?”
She looked up at Sebastian, who was still seated at his desk, pretending he was working. “Oh, many things,” she said blithely.
“How intriguing. I am also thinking of many things.”
“Are you?”
“Ten, to be precise.”
“I was thinking of eleven.”
“You are so competitive.”
“Grey Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey,” she reminded him. “To say nothing of the skipping of stones.”
She’d got up to six. It had been anexcellent moment. Especially since no one had ever actuallyseen Sebastian do seven.
He raised a brow at that, gave his best imitation of condescension, and said, “Quality over quantity, that’s what I always say.I was thinking of ten things I love about you.”
Her breath caught.
“One,” he announced, “your smile. Which is rivaled only byTwo : your laugh. Which is in turn fueled by Three : the utter genuineness and generosity of your heart.”
Annabel swallowed. Tears were forming in her eyes, and she knew they’d soon be pouring down her cheeks.
“Four,” he continued, “you are excellent at keeping a secret, andFive : you have finally learned not to offer suggestions pertaining to my writing career.”
“No,” she protested, right through her tears, “Miss Forsby and the Footmanwould have beenmarvelous .”
“It would have brought me down in a flaming pit of ruin.”
“But—”
“You’ll notice there is nothing on this list about how you never interrupt me.” He cleared his throat. “Six: you have provided me with three remarkably brilliant children andSeven : you are an utterly marvelous mother. I, on the other hand, am utterly selfish, which is whyEight is all about the fact that you love me so splendidly well.” He leaned forward and waggled his brows. “In every possible manner.”
“Sebastian!”
“Actually, I think I’ll make thatNine .” He gave her a particularly warm smile. “I do think it’s deserving of its own number.”
She blushed. She couldn’t believe it, that he could still make her blush after four years of marriage.
“Ten,” he said softly, coming to his feet and walking toward her. He dropped to his knees and took her hands, kissing each in turn. “You are, quite simply, you. You are the most amazing, intelligent, kindhearted, ridiculously competitive woman I have ever met. And you can outrun a turkey.”
She stared at him, not caring that she was crying, or that her eyes must be horribly bloodshot, or that—dear heavens—she badly needed a handkerchief. She loved him. That was all that could
