First Comes Courtship (A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship #4)

Epilogue

May 1821

B ehind her veil, Cora raised her voice. The final lines of the poem needed just the perfect intonation. She paused, and every woman inched closer, holding their breath. She had them, their undivided attention, their devotion, so she gave them what they’d come to this obscure dark corner of a Mayfair home for—a happy ending.

“The sun threw diamonds on a calm sea, and the boat on the horizon brought him home to me.” She bowed her head.

Silence. Then applause, the muffled clap of gloved hands and the soft slap of slippers against the floor as the women stood, their admiration propelling them to their feet.

Cora pulled the brass snuff from her pocket and extinguished the candle nearest her, then stood in darkness as the women flooded out of the room, leaving her alone.

Not alone. One set of hands clapped still, and she lifted her veil and pushed it back, searching the darkness.

“God, you’re brilliant,” Liam said from somewhere behind her.

She gasped and jumped, and his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tight against his body.

He whispered in her ear, “I would very much like to make love to my brilliant wife. Right here. Right now.”

She tangled her hands in his cravat and pulled him down for a kiss. “How did you find me?”

“I’ve learned to read that paper which says where you’ll be reading.” He nipped at her ear. “The one Prudence and Bailey print.”

“Clever man. I thought you had business tonight.”

“It’s done. Now my only business is you.” He stole her lips once more. Dangerous to do this here and now. But the dark hid them well. A thrill traveled up her spine, and she flattened her hands against his torso, smoothed them up to his hard chest.

He flinched, hissed.

She pulled back. “What is it? Are you hurt? Have you let Lord Escher best you in fencing again?” She unbuttoned his waistcoat and tore at his shirt.

“No, no. My business… It took me to the docks. Cora”—he laughed, brushing her hands away as she slipped them under the shirt—“I’m well. It’s only that—”

“There’s a bandage!” The linen wrapped around his chest was warm. “You are hurt.” She pulled him to the edge of the room where a sole candelabra offered the only remaining light.

“I’m trying to tell you. I got another swallow. That’s what I was doing tonight.”

A swallow? “Oh!” She curled her fingertips into her palms. The candlelight flickered shadows onto his face. “May I look?”

“Of course. It’s a bit… angry at the moment.”

Slowly, she unwound it, positioning him so the light illuminated the revealed skin. There—new ink pricked into his skin. A third swallow, red and raw, took flight with the first two. The new bird appeared much like the other two but not quite.

“Why?” she asked. “If the first two swallows were promises to return to yourself, does the addition of a third mean you still feel… out of place?”

“No. It’s more that I think of each bird as… as me . There was the vicar me, then the viscount me. They will always be part of who I am, but now I am just… me , no matter what title I hold or what plans I make. The third swallow is a promise to always stay true to that.” His grin grew wicked. “There’s a slight difference in this third one. Did you notice?”

“No.” She leaned closer than she had before. “I see no difference.”

“You don’t? Look right there, at the bird’s wing.”

“Ah. Yes. It’s a bit more elaborate and… the line is broken. The wing is not whole as it was in the others. A mistake?”

“No. A C.”

“A… sea? Liam, it looks nothing like the…” But then she saw it. Not waves, but—

“Like the letter. C for Cora. Right at the base of the wing, helping the bird take flight.”

“Liam. You will not make me cry. I do not cry.” But she was crying. He wiped a tear from her cheek and kissed her, and she said through the tears. “Let me fix the bandage, you dear, foolish man.”

She bandaged him back up and felt the heat of his gaze on the top of her head with each circle she made round his body. When she was done, he pressed her back against the wall next to the candelabra and leaned low enough to kiss her.

But did not.

“Who is he, Kitten?”

“Who is who?” Liam’s lip was impossibly full and lovely and oh, she wanted to taste it.

“The dangerous gentleman in your poem—all dark hair and craggy brow, a scar curving around his brow. The blasted hero of your poem.”

“Oh. He is based on a gentleman I’ve seen talking to the maids at Hotel Hestia. I think he might have a position of some importance there. He cuts quite the romantic figure.” Liam snorted, and Cora drew a line down his jaw with the very tip of her finger. “You are not jealous, are you?”

“Certainly not.” He placed his palms on the wall on either side of her head and sank his body into hers one delicious inch at a time, starting with his hips and ending with his lips. “I already have my happy ever after. Other fellows deserve theirs, too.” That last word a whisper before the kiss.

Time gave way to lips and breath and tongue, to hearts beating wildly and seeking hands dipping in and out of shadows and candlelight. Darkness held steady around the edges of the room, but still she could see so well.

“You are my light,” she breathed as he kissed his way down her neck and parted her legs with his knee.

“And you are mine.” Each of his words hot against her skin.

She used to be shadow only, no flickering light to guide her way, but now she felt the truth of what he said. She was Liam’s light, and she loved to banish the shadows that formed on her husband’s brow as he banished the shadows for her. And like the candle glow flickering beside them, dancing light and dark together, they wound their bodies up in each other, no care for where the shadows ended and the light began.

The End

Thank you for reading First Comes Courtship!

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