When Harry Met Molly

Epilogue

“Thank God for special banns,” Harry said, sweeping Molly up into his arms and carrying her over the threshold of their new home on Bruton Street in London. It was such a relief—and a joy—to know she was his at last. He stopped where he was, right in the middle of the corridor leading to the kitchens, and kissed her.

It was like sinking into happiness. A dream come true.

When he pulled back, she sighed, but her gaze was a little strained.

“Hungry?” he guessed.

She nodded. “I haven’t been able to eat all morning. First, we’d the wedding, then the nuptial breakfast at Penelope and Roderick’s—”

“You don’t mind that we’ll be living right around the corner from them when they come to town?”

“Mind? I’m thrilled! I think I lost my appetite because Cousin Augusta was staring at me so, as if she knew I’d already seen you”—she blushed—“naked.”

“Oho!”

“And then Imogen twirled one time too many and got sick—”

“Children seem to do that when they’re wearing their best clothes.”

“Yes, and Papa insisted on dancing with me, which made me cry…and—”

She stopped.

“And?”

“Every time I looked at you, I became excited thinking about…now.”

He grinned. “Now?”

She nodded. “It’s been so long, Harry. Since that night in Prinny’s tent.” A becoming pink crept up her cheeks.

“Yes, three months and five days ago,” he murmured, glad he’d told the servants to disappear until morning.

“And thirteen hours,” she said simply.

“Indeed.” He continued carrying her down the corridor. “But there’s food to be obtained. At our very own, intimate wedding feast.”

She kicked her legs. “Lovely!”

In the kitchens, he set her on her feet and looked around, wondering if Cook had followed orders.

Ah, there it was.

He strode to a large, well-worn table and whipped off a napkin. A delicate plate of iced Queen cakes appeared. And to the side was a sweating pitcher of milk.

He’d not been oblivious to Molly’s lack of appetite that morning. So he’d sent a runner round to their new residence and given orders for this little meal to be provided. Cook must have left the premises not thirty minutes ago, judging from the coldness of the pitcher.

Molly clasped her hands together. “Oh, Harry. You’re so thoughtful.”

“Am I?”

She went to him and kissed him soundly. “Yes. You are.”

Then she sat at the chair and devoured two Queen cakes in a row before she swallowed half a glass of milk.

She sighed, a contented sigh this time, he thought. And then she stood. “I think—”

“No thinking,” Harry said, unwrapping his cravat. “Doing. That’s what we’re up to right now.”

“Really?” She gave him an impish grin and pulled off his cravat.

“Yes, really.” He bent and kissed her, his hands wrapped around her waist, and then he pulled her closer.

“Harry,” she murmured. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“I believe I’ve heard you say that before,” he teased her.

“It’s true.” She drew back. “No more talking.”

“Yes, no more talking. At least until we’re naked.”

And before they knew it, their clothes lay in a heap on the kitchen floor.

“We’re supposed to do this upstairs, in our marriage bed,” Harry murmured against her breast. “Shall I carry you there now?”

“No,” Molly gasped. “I can’t wait that long.”

“I see. Only Queen cakes can divert you from your sensual purpose, eh?”

“Not even Queen cakes now,” she said, her breath feather light on his jaw.

“I’m honored. I think.” Harry kissed her without stopping and lifted her to sit on the table. “You know,” he whispered in her ear, “I might want a Queen cake, as well.”

“Really?’

He nodded. Then swiped a finger through the icing of one of the cakes on the plate.

She had an adorably befuddled look on her face.

“Part your legs, my sweet,” he murmured against her mouth.

She gulped. “Oh, my God. You’re—you’re—”

“Hungry.” He smiled into her eyes, then slowly ran his iced finger over her sweetest, most vulnerable flesh.

“Harry.”

He sank down before her and plundered her with his tongue. She ran her fingers through his hair, leaned on his shoulders, and moaned her delight.

“I need a little more icing,” he said at one particularly luscious moment, and took his time running his finger through the top of another cake.

“Please,” Molly cried. “Hurry up!”

He laughed, and when he returned to her, he lavished her with every bit of loving attention he could give his new bride. After a few more heady moments, she arched her back and called his name.

It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

When she was done, her whole body was rosy.

He pulled her up and kissed her. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “And quite delicious. I’ll have to share Queen cakes with you more often.”

She smiled. “You’re wicked, you know that? And I love you. More than words can say.”

There was a silence between them, a shimmering, golden silence.

“I love you, too,” he said. “And you’re right—words can’t express—” He sighed and ran a finger down her cheek. “Come. Let me show you.”

Molly held Harry’s hand tightly as they climbed the stairs.

Last night—her last as an unmarried woman—she’d been visited by Penelope in her bedchamber at Lord Sutton’s rented mansion on Jermyn Street. Penelope had held her hands, and they’d cried together, both of them wishing aloud that their mother could have been there to speak to Molly about her wedding night.

Penelope, of course, knew Molly and Harry had already, ahem, spent time together—what were sisters for, after all, but to share in such wondrous news?

“But nothing can prepare you,” Penelope had said, swallowing hard and rubbing the backs of Molly’s hands with her thumbs, “for the actual…act.”

“Really?” Molly grew breathless just thinking about the possibilities.

Penelope nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes. There’s nothing like it. Especially when you’re in love.”

“And are you in love with Roderick, still?” Molly whispered, and pulled her hand out of Penelope’s to push a curl behind her ear.

Tears flooded Penelope’s eyes. “More than ever. If Harry is at all like him—and of course, we know he’s cut of the same noble, kind, handsome, and irresistibly amusing cloth—you’ll be tremendously happy as his wife.”

“And married to two brothers, our sister bond will be stronger than ever, won’t it?” Molly said, wiping at her own eyes.

“Stronger than ever,” Penelope choked out.

They hugged. And cried a few more happy tears.

Now Molly was about to find out what Penelope had been talking about so feelingly. Penelope and Harry’s mother—now Molly’s mother-in-law—had seen to it that their bedchamber was warm and welcoming. Vases of white roses decorated both sides of the mantel. The bedclothes had been drawn back, and a small, cheerful fire laid.

Molly looked at the far wall, where Harry was staring. It held numerous oil paintings in gilded frames, fronted by a bust of Lord Nelson on a pedestal, a gift from Captain Arrow, who practically worshiped the man.

“What is it?” she asked.

“See that picture of the hunting box?” Harry said. “Father told me we’d find another wedding present in our bedchamber. I’ve always loved that painting. So has he. He probably has a dark rectangle on the wall in his library where it’s resided for decades.”

Molly smiled. “How sweet of him to give it to us.”

Harry gripped her hand. “No, Molly. You don’t understand. This means…he’s given us the hunting box, as well.”

“It does?”

Harry gave a soft laugh. “Father’s a slave to family tradition and expects me to know every nuance of it, as well. In our family, whoever owns the painting owns the property.”

He turned to her and kissed her, his naked form pressed firmly against her own.

“He must know it’s special to us,” she murmured against his lips.

“It’s where we fell in love,” Harry said, his hands kneading her bottom, her hips, and then sliding up to cup her breasts.

Several delicious moments later, they were on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, their kiss unbroken, the need between them palpable. He was hard against her belly. She could barely breathe when he nipped teasingly at her breasts and then suckled them. And the exciting way he pinned her arms above her head and kissed her as he stroked the soft core of her drove her mad with longing.

She loved him. She loved him so much it left a knot in her middle that begged to be loosened. Harry, she knew, was the only one who had the power to do so.

“Please, Harry,” she managed to say around their kisses.

He was already between her legs. “This might hurt,” he said. “But just for a moment. If you can trust me—”

“You know I do.” She smiled at him, drew an invisible line down his cheek with her index finger, a line that ended at his lips.

He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Molly—” he whispered raggedly.

And then he was inside her.

There was a split second of pain between her legs, but she hardly noticed. Because Harry was kissing her mouth and then her breasts as he began a sweet tempo of movement. The feeling of fullness inside her was so pleasurable—so right—that she lifted her hips to bring him deeper.

“Oh, Harry…” she whispered.

Everything they’d shared before this moment was in his gaze—their outrageous, thrilling courtship, their childhood, their years of separation and suffering, and the wedding promises they’d made that very morning.

He pressed a hand against her brow and swept her hair back. “You’re my love,” he said simply. “Forever.”

“And you’re mine,” she said, smiling at him. “Forever.”

But words, wonderful as they were, and so true—were not enough.

Molly felt Harry’s fierceness, his craving, as their rhythm took on a new intensity. He dipped his head and kissed her, holding her tight in his embrace as their tongues melded in a dance of desire. She clung to him, wanting…wanting—

And then she was suddenly there—she’d no idea where she began and where Harry ended. All she knew was wave after wave of intense pleasure.

Of love.

Of oneness.

All in a rapturous moment.

She was exactly where she belonged—with Harry.

Her husband, her lover, and her best friend.

Sighing, she sank back down into the pillows, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

He rolled to the side and pulled her on top of him, a lazy smile on his lips. “So, Lady Harry—” he said in his very best Adorable Man voice.

She laughed. “Is that my new name?”

“Only at stuffy social occasions.” He grinned and wrapped one of her curls around his finger. “I’ve a question.”

“Ask away, my lord.”

“How do you feel about Lord Nelson being so close by? Arrow insisted he must reside in our bedchamber. He said something about hoping his presence would ensure we become the parents of at least one great naval hero.”

She turned around and stared at the bust of the revered admiral, who appeared to be watching them with a grim, determined expression. “He’s welcome to stay, of course,” she said blithely. “But I can tell by the look in his eye, he expects us to do our duty often.”

“And with the uncommon zeal particular to sailors and their wenches,” Harry added.

Molly grinned, laid her cheek on his chest, and listened to the beating of his heart. “What about Maxwell and Lumley? Did they give us a present?”

“They did, as a matter of fact.”

Molly lifted her head and gazed around the bedchamber. “I don’t see anything…out of the ordinary.”

“Well, the presents aren’t exactly here. Lumley has purchased and named a noble ram after me and a gorgeous ewe after you at his newest estate in Scotland. He has high hopes, he says, for a magnificent herd to rise from their union. And if you look in the little greenhouse in the back garden, you’ll see that Maxwell’s commissioned a botanist to experiment with cultivating a white rosebush named Harry with a pink rosebush named Molly in one pot. He predicts they’ll spawn a new, hearty, attractive, and clever generation of rosebush.”

“Clever roses?” Molly laughed.

“Yes. Clever. And I told Maxwell I insist one or two must have your hair color.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She grinned. “And they must have your smile.”

Harry chuckled. “We’re no botanists, obviously.”

“Nor sheep breeders. But clearly we’ve deduced your Impossible Bachelor friends are trying to tell us something.”

“That they are,” Harry replied, and rolled her beneath him again. “Shall we get started proving them right, my love?”