That in no way did justice to the diadem that nestled in the layers of soft paper. Gold filigree of a complexity and fineness she’d never before seen wound its way around the band, rising in the front to support a plethora of…“Diamonds?”
The jewels didn’t wink and blink; they burned with white fire.
“I had the whole cleaned and the stones reset.” Royce dropped back on the bed, looked into her face. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, yes.” Minerva reverently placed her hands around the delicate crown, then lifted it, glanced at him. “Can I put it on?”
“It’s yours.”
Raising her hands, she carefully placed the circlet atop her head. It sank just slightly, fitting neatly above her ears. She moved her head. “It fits.”
His smile deepened. “Perfectly. I thought it would.”
Uncaring of her naked state, she scrambled off the bed, and walked to the other tallboy so she could admire the coronet. The gold was just one shade darker than her hair, presently down and streaming over her bare shoulders.
Turning, she removed the crown; holding it between her hands, she examined it as she returned to the bed. “This isn’t new-the design’s old. Very old.” She glanced at him. “I know it’s not the Wolverstone duchess’s coronet, at least not the one your mother had. Where did you get it?”
He met her eyes. “Prinny.”
“Prinny?” She stared anew at the diadem. “But…this must be worth a small fortune. I can’t imagine him parting with such a thing willingly.”
“He wasn’t exactly willing, but…I consider it ironically fitting that having pressured me into finding my bride, he should provide her wedding crown.”
She sank back on the bed, carefully settling the crown back in its paper nest. “Irony aside, cut line-how and why did he come to give you such a thing?”
Royce stretched out on his back, crossed his arms behind his head. “You remember I told you about the treasure the last traitor had acquired from the French authorities?”
She nodded. “His payment for spying.”
“Exactly. Not all of it was recovered from the wreck of the smuggling ship bringing it to England, but some pieces were found-among them, that crown. When the authorities matched it to the list of antiquities the French were missing, they discovered it was, in fact, Varisey property.” He met her startled gaze. “It was made for one Hugo Varisey in the fifteen hundreds. It remained in the hands of the principal line of the family in France, until it fell into the hands of the revolutionary authorities. Thereafter it was considered property of the French state-until it was given in exchange for information to our last traitor-who we know is an Englishman. Now the war is over, the French, of course, want the crown back, but the government in Whitehall see no reason to hand it over. However, to end any discussion, and as it was felt I was owed some recognition for my service, they had Prinny present it to me-the head of the only branch of the Varisey family still extant.”
She smiled. “So Prinny really had no choice?”
“I daresay he protested, but no.” Royce watched as she carefully lifted the crown in its papers. “That’s now mine-the oldest piece of Varisey family jewelry-and I’m gifting it to you.”
Minerva set crown and papers on the bedside table, then turned and crawled back to him, a smile of explicit promise curving her lips. Reaching him, she framed his face and kissed him-long, lingeringly-as she slowly slid one leg over him. When she lifted her head, she was straddling him. “Thank you.” Her smile deepened as she looked into his eyes. “And that’s just the beginning of my thanks.”
He looked back at her with open anticipation-and something very close to challenge. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He settled back. “Feel free.”
She did-free to thank him to the top of her bent.
Later, when she lay pleasantly exhausted beside him, pleasured to her toes, she murmured, “You know, if it hadn’t been for Prinny and his machinations…”
Royce thought, then shook his head. “No. Even if I’d taken longer to realize, I would still have set my heart on you.”
Everything was ready. He’d found the right spot, worked through every detail of his plan. Nothing would go wrong.
Tomorrow would be his triumph. Tomorrow would see him win.
Tomorrow he’d break Royce.
And then he’d kill him.
Twenty-one
T he clamor was deafening.
Royce leaned forward and spoke to Henry. “Pull up.”
Bedecked in full livery, garlanded with white ribbon-as was the open carriage-Henry eased the heavy horses to a halt in the middle of the road leading through Alwinton village.
The cheering crowd pressed closer, waving, calling.
Royce threw Minerva a glance, a smile, then rose, and drew her up with him; her hand clasped in his, he raised it high. “I give you your new duchess!”
The crowd roared its approval.
Minerva fought to contain the flood of emotion that welled and swelled inside her; looking out, she saw so many familiar faces-all so pleased that she was Royce’s bride.
His wife.
She stood by his side and waved; the beaming smile on her face had taken up residence when he’d turned her from the altar to walk back up the aisle, and hadn’t yet waned.
The crowd satisfied, he drew her back down; once she sat, he told Henry to drive on.
Still smiling, she relaxed against Royce’s shoulder, her mind reaching back to the ceremony, then ranging ahead to the wedding breakfast to come.
The same carriage, freshly painted with the Wolverstone crest blazing on the doors and with ribbons woven through the reins, had carried her, the Earl of Catersham, and her matrons-of-honor to the church. Her gown of finest Brussels lace softly shushing, the delicate veil anchored by the Varisey diadem, she’d walked down the aisle on the earl’s arm oblivious to the horde packed into the church-held by a pair of intense dark eyes.
In an exquisitely cut morning coat, Royce had waited for her before the altar; even though she’d seen him mere hours before, it seemed as if something had changed. As if their worlds changed in the instant she placed her hand in his and together they turned to face Mr. Cribthorn.
The service had gone smoothly; at least, she thought it had. She could remember very little, caught up, swept along, on a tide of emotion.
A tide of happiness that had welled as they’d exchanged their vows, peaked when Royce had slipped the simple gold band on her finger, overflowed when she’d heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Duke and duchess.
The same, yet more. A fact that had been amply illustrated from the instant Royce had released her from the utterly chaste kiss they’d shared. A kiss that had carried both acknowledgment and promise, acceptance and commitment, from them both.
Their eyes had touched, then, as one, they’d turned and faced their future. Faced first the assembled throng, all of whom had wanted to congratulate them personally. Luckily, the others-his friends and the Bastion Club couples-had formed something of a guard, and helped them move reasonably smoothly up the aisle.
The roar as they’d emerged from the church into the weak sunshine had echoed from the hills. Hamish and Molly had been waiting by the steps; she’d hugged Molly, then turned to Hamish to see him hesitating-awed by the delicacy of her gown and the brilliance of the diadem’s diamonds. She’d hugged him; awkwardly, he’d patted her with his huge hands. “You were right,” she’d whispered. “Love really is simple-no thinking required.”