"Let's go home," he said, lifting the reins.
The curricle jerked as they pulled away. She unwrapped their luncheon, spreading the napkin over her lap with all of Mrs. Pawley's offerings. She was starving. She couldn't remember ever being so hungry.
"Everything is going to be so wonderful," she said, taking a big bite out of a chicken leg. "All of society will have to apologize to you, and my sisters are both going to marry dukes."
"Marquesses aren't good enough?" he asked with a raised brow.
She slapped a chicken leg into his open hand. "I suppose marquesses will do."
They laughed and ate all the way home, talking about their future. Tris still hadn't said he loved her, but she really didn't care. She was certain he did, and if it took him ten years to admit it, she would just wait.
"I've never been so happy," she said as they headed up Hawkridge Hall's drive. "I never thought I could marry you, and now look at us!"
The whole world seemed bright in her elation. The sun sparkled on the Thames, the sky had never been a more brilliant blue, and birds trilled in the trees along the drive.
Tris was more cautiously optimistic. "I'm thrilled to know I'm in the clear, but let's not celebrate until the authorities have taken Maude's statement. At the rate the law moves, she could die before they get out to Nutgrove."
"Dear God—"
"I was jesting," he said with a grin that would have been annoying if it wasn't so wickedly charming. He pulled up before the steps. "That old woman will probably outlive us both. Besides, I'm going to find the sheriff right now and drag him there directly. But it won't do to celebrate prematurely. Let me take care of tying up the details, and we can celebrate tonight."
Tonight. His voice, deep with meaning, sent a tremor rippling through her. Passing the reins to a groom, he lightly jumped to the gravel and came around to hand her down.
She rose, ducking her head to avoid the hood and sticking her low bodice in his face in the process. His gaze lingered there for a moment, and she wondered whether he was staring at his cameo or her bosom. But her breasts tingled as though his eyes had touched her.
A faint smile curved his lips before he grinned up at her and held out his hand. "You waited this time."
"I would wait forever for you, Tris."
"I can hardly wait for you," he murmured, forgoing her hand to grasp her under her arms and swing her down. "Don't tell anyone the news—I want to announce it together tonight, after everything is settled."
He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then finally settled on her mouth for a long, satisfying moment.
Drawing back, he smoothed a stray curl from her face. "You must be exhausted, considering your injuries. Go inside and have a nap while I take care of getting Maude's statement. I may even bring her back with me."
He pulled her close once more, running his hands down to her drawerless bottom as he claimed her mouth for another kiss.
While her senses were still spinning, he reached back into the curricle for her silver basket and pushed it into her hands. "Go, will you? Before I'm tempted to go upstairs with you."
She watched him climb back up and drive away before she turned to go into the house, swinging her basket as she headed upstairs and into their bedroom.
She was exhausted.
Peggy seemed to be nowhere about, so she kicked off her shoes and burrowed, fully dressed, under the covers, where she dreamed of her wonderful new life while her husband secured their future.
FIFTY-ONE
ALEXANDRA WAS still snug in bed when she heard the door quietly close, followed by the clack of an engaging lock.
She opened her eyes and yawned. Light streamed through the windows, and she hadn't expected her husband home until dark. Everything must have gone well.
"Tris?" she queried, rolling languidly to face the door. She couldn't wait to see him.
But instead she saw Peggy.
Holding a gun.
For a moment, that was all that registered: Peggy holding a gun. It was surreal, really. Why would Peggy be holding a gun?
Then Alexandra's sleep-fogged brain cleared a little, and she bolted upright in the bed.
"I'm sorry," Peggy said, walking closer. She hadn't aimed the gun; she just held it in her right hand. But the hand shook. She was nervous. Which made Alexandra more nervous than she already was, which was very nervous indeed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and threatening to climb out her throat.
Her maid was walking toward her, holding a gun.
And then Peggy raised it, and Alexandra was staring down the barrel of a gun. A gun pointed at her.
It was, quite undoubtedly, the most frightening moment of her life.
She stared down that barrel, thinking it the longest, darkest, most menacing thing she'd ever seen.
But she couldn't just sit there staring at it. She had to get her mouth to work. She had to say something. "Y-you cannot shoot that," she stammered desperately, still wondering why Peggy had a gun. "It'll be heard. You'll be caught."
"But my mother won't," Peggy responded through clenched teeth. "And at this point, that's all that matters."
"Your mother?" Alexandra squeaked, inching toward the edge of the bed. Peggy was too old to still have a mother. Or at least she'd never mentioned a mother. What in heaven's name was she talking about, and why did she have a gun, and would that hand ever stop shaking?
And then something clicked in her head, just as her feet hit the floor. "Maude is your mother?"
"Yes," Peggy gritted out, and she brought her second hand up to steady the first, and her shaking finger moved toward the trigger.
Alexandra didn't think anymore. She just sprang, one palm hitting the maid's chest while her other hand grasped her wrists and
