While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(75)

They’d been in London for several weeks now after taking some time for themselves and spending a fortnight in Scotland. Bryony had spent that time with the dowager and her family, reveling in her new family and not missing Poppy in the least.

Now her sister was settling in quite happily into her new home with Struan and Poppy—even if that meant enduring a governess and tutors. It was more than Poppy had ever dreamed for her sister. Her gaze roamed over her husband’s face, reveling in every line and hollow, in the well-sculpted mouth she knew so well. This was more than any dream she ever had for herself.

“Do you blame me for wanting to show off my beautiful wife?” Their noses practically touched as they reclined side to side on the bed. They were so close they shared each other’s very air.

“And that’s the only reason?” she asked. “I thought this was to satisfy the dowager?”

“Well, she was rather angry that we did not invite her to the wedding,” he mused.

“No doubt. We didn’t invite anyone.” The dowager duchess had been most displeased that they had eloped. She insisted they do something to commemorate their nuptials, so Struan had arrived at this solution. “I don’t think we’ll ever hear the end of it. Even after this party.”

She smiled at the thought of their wedding day. They’d married privately in a small village in Scotland. Just the two of them, the minister and his family as witnesses. In all her imaginings of a grand church wedding, nothing could have been sweeter or more intimate or more perfect than the two of them staring into each other’s eyes, uttering their vows and knowing that the other one meant every word with every fiber of their being. She savored the memory even now, and she knew that she would savor the memory in years to come, alongside all the memories they would have of their lives together. Their story was just beginning.

“Do you think your brother will be here?” she mused.

His brow furrowed and she reached her fingers up to smooth away the tension lines. “There’s been no word from him.”

“Where can he be?” She shook her head. “The dowager is beside herself. He didn’t even leave a note. Just left without a—”

“He’s a grown man, Poppy. He can look after himself. He nearly died. That can change a person and alter their perspective. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

She nodded, and shoved away the troubling thoughts. Struan was right, of course. Autenberry was probably having the time of his life somewhere on the continent sipping champagne with a bevy of beautiful women. She liked to think that at any rate. Any alternative to that scenario left her apprehensive.

Struan leaned in and pressed a slow, savoring kiss to her mouth.

“Our guests . . .” she murmured, not very insistently.

“Can wait,” he finished for her.

“Very well,” she agreed, sinking into his kiss. “We can be quick.”

Struan’s mouth roamed, nibbling down her throat. “Quick?” Her fingertips walked up his chest to rest against the warm skin of his throat. “What I have in mind is going to take some time. An hour . . .”

“An hour?” she squeaked as he pulled open her dressing robe. Chill air skated over her, making her shiver. He ducked his head, his bigger body shielding her and suddenly her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. His warm mouth closed over her breast, and she arched with a moan.

“Or two,” he came up to say, his green eyes darkening.

“Two?” she breathed, her heart palpitating the way it did whenever he looked at her like that. She doubted that would ever change. Even when she was gray-haired and doddering, one look from him would serve to do that to her.

He nodded once. “At least.”

She burrowed her fingers through his dark gold hair, tugging him closer to her again. “At least,” she agreed, no longer caring that they would be late to their own party. “We have time.”

All the time in the world.