As for Kirby and poor Fiona, all had been revealed, and all, as far as possible, put right.
Amelia sighed. "Poor Fiona. I still can't believe Edward could be so unfeeling as to exploit her in such a way. He delivered her into Kirby's hands, and he must have known what Kirby was like."
"We'll never understand Edward." Luc stroked her cheek. "He saw and encouraged Fiona's infatuation purely for his own selfish ends. When we banished him, she became a ready tool for revenge. That's all he would have cared about — not her."
Amelia shivered. "I can barely believe he's your brother."
"Nor can I. But he is. Don't hold it against me."
She grinned and hugged him — all of him she could reach. "I don't."
Given Kirby had stashed almost all Fiona had stolen in his lodgings in London, allowing the items to be retrieved and returned to their owners, and given that it was summer and the ton were not gathered in sufficient numbers to make sensationalizing worthwhile, the combined resources of the Ashfords, the Fulbridges, and the Cynsters had been sufficient to smooth the entire episode over. The tale had been cast as merely an endnote to Edward's earlier, already weathered disgrace; the story had quickly acquired the patina of "old news."
Kirby, however, hadn't been allowed to escape.
Any leniency they might have shown was slain when, the morning after his capture, they'd seen the bruising around Anne's throat. Anne had been right; Kirby had intended to kill, as he thought, Fiona.
It had taken careful management on the assembled ladies' parts to keep Kirby alive long enough to be carted away from the Chase, but he had been, and their evidence had been heard by one of the circuit judges; Kirby was now in London awaiting his trial.
Now the house had settled into peaceful harmony, driven by the subtle heartbeat of country house life. The best of the summer stretched before them, and after that, the rest of their lives.
"The Kirkpatricks will be here tomorrow." Luc glanced at her. "Does Emily want us to host a ball?"
"From what I gather, Emily will be quite content if we simply leave her and Kirkpatrick alone." Amelia grinned. "They'll be here for a week — we can talk to his parents when they arrive and see what they think."
Luc accepted her wisdom and lay back, his long body alongside hers, one hand splayed across her stomach.
They both simply lay there, quiet but not sleepy, content, sated — at peace.
Outside, a door opened. A second later, they heard voices. One male, grumbling, the other female, sharp and decisive. Dismissive.
Luc frowned.
Seeing it, Amelia murmured, "I gather Simon is of the firm opinion that it's not safe for Portia to take the dogs out rambling in the woods. Not alone."
After a moment, Luc murmured, "But she'll have the dogs with her."
"I don't think Simon believes dogs are protection enough."
Luc choked on a laugh. "If he thinks to persuade Portia to that end, I wish him luck."
The altercation outside rose to a high enough pitch to confirm his reading of his sister — and Amelia's reading of her brother. The voices faded as Portia strode toward the kennels, no doubt with her nose in the air, and Simon stalked after her, equally without doubt, grimly determined.
They exchanged glances, then relaxed and let contentment lap about them. Savored it, gloried in it.
"There's one thing you never did reveal," Luc murmured.
Amelia hesitated. "What?"
"Why you chose me, out of all the others you might have had, to be the recipient of your outrageous proposal."
She heaved a heavy sigh, and rolled onto her hip, sliding one leg across his thigh, sliding one hand, fingers splayed, across his chest. She located one nipple under the black thatch, started to play as she lifted her face and smiled.
"I chose you because I'd always wanted you — why else?"
He shifted; one hand slid down her back to curve about her bottom. "Ah, I see. Because you lusted after me."
"Precisely." She wriggled higher, brushing her breasts across his chest.
He closed his hand, lifted her, framed her jaw and brought her lips, willing and eager and loving, to his.
A minute slid by, then he released her, met her gaze. "You're a terrible liar."
She looked into his dark eyes, then sighed and snuggled down on him. Lifting the pearls, she let them slide through her fingers. "The truth, then." She felt him glance down, around at her face. "I plotted and planned to marry you."
Glancing up, she met his eyes. "I was always sure that if I could just get you to marry me, we'd have — find—" She gestured.
"This?"
"Yes." She resettled her head on his chest, spread her hand over his heart. "This is what I always wanted."
After a moment, he murmured against her curls. "You were more farsighted than I–I'd never imagined such a state could exist."
She hesitated, then asked, "You don't mind that I stalked you and trapped you?"
"Had I known it was a trap, I would have sprung it anyway. You were what I wanted, and I didn't truly care how I got you."
She grinned, looked up. "So we both succeeded in our plans."
His hand shifted, stroking her bottom. "I think we've both proved there's victory in surrender."
She laughed, then stretched up and kissed him. "Yours, mine — and ours?"
His lips curved; he kissed her back. "The ultimate triumph."