The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

She nodded. Tears began to fill her eyes again, only these were tears of utter happiness. “Yes,” she said. “I can accept it all as long as you are there.”


George stepped back and went down on one knee. “Honor Cabot,” he said, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Honor wasn’t certain what happened after that. She believed she shouted yes. She remembered George sweeping her up, and there was much more shouting, which she believed came mostly from Augustine, something about how he could not possibly allow it. She remembered George kissing her so completely that she was light-headed with relief, with love, with lust.

And with much happiness. Euphoric, ethereal happiness. And a wild belief that with George, anything was possible.

George kissed her neck. “You’re a bloody fool,” he whispered. “I’m near to penniless.”

“I don’t care,” she said dreamily.

“You might have very well done the most heartwarming thing anyone has ever done for me, do you know that?”

“I did?”

“You cheated to try to win me, Honor. I’ve never been so flattered. But good God, lass, learn how to cheat,” he said, and smothered her with his kisses again.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

AUGUSTINE WAS COMPLETELY flummoxed by what had happened in the foyer of Beckington House. “It was a theatrical event!” he exclaimed to his fiancée.

“He may not be the man you had in mind for her,” Monica said soothingly, “but Honor seems very happy.”

Augustine squinted a little as he pondered that. “She does seem happy, doesn’t she?”

“And I rather think, after all that’s gone on, no one else would have her.”

“Oh, no,” Augustine said, nodding in furious agreement. “No one would have Honor now.”

“Then I think perhaps you should ask that they marry sooner rather than later, given all the speculation that is flying about Mayfair just now.”

“Yes, of course, you are absolutely right,” Augustine said. “I shall demand they marry straightaway!” He suddenly brightened. “I know just the thing! We’ll all go to Longmeadow. It’s out of London, isn’t it? And Mr. Cleburne might do the honor.”

“Oh, dear, that might be a bit much,” Monica said with a slight wince.

“Well. We’ll devise some sort of ceremony.”

Augustine used his new title of earl to obtain a special license. Honor and George were wed at the end of that week in a private ceremony. There was no time to prepare properly, much to Prudence and Mercy’s horror, as they both would have liked to have commissioned the latest fashions for the ceremony.

Honor, however, scarcely cared what she wore, and arrived in a plain gray gown with no adornment. Clothing had slipped her mind—all she could think was that she was to marry a man she loved above every worldly thing, and that was all that mattered.

Augustine insisted, given the events leading up to their so-called engagement, that they perhaps not go out into society for a time, which Honor and George were happy to oblige. After the ceremony, they retreated to the house on Audley Street; they spent most of the first few days in his bed, occasionally allowing Finnegan to bring them food.

George taught Honor things about her body and his that both astonished and pleased her. She loved the way his mouth moved on her skin, the way his tongue slipped into her body. She loved the way he caressed her when he was making love to her, as if reassuring himself that she was there, all of her, still in his bed, still beneath him or on top of him, still part of him. She adored the things he taught her—how to take him in her mouth and please him, how to ride his cock when she was on top of him while he helped her find fulfillment with his hands.

But mostly what she loved after they’d both found their fulfillment in one another—or, in Honor’s case, more than once—was the tenderness between them. His body spent, he would still cover her with kisses by the light of the fire, slowly making his way down one leg to her toes, and up the other to her breasts, and to her mouth again, whispering his love for her, the realization that his life had been so empty before she’d intercepted him on Rotten Row that fateful afternoon.

Honor felt the same way—her life had consisted of gowns and gatherings, but until George, there had been nothing substantial to anchor her to this earth, to this life. Now she had him, and, God willing, they would have a large family. Nothing could make her happier than living in a cottage or mansion with him, presiding over a table that was filled with laughing children, and seeing this man across from her.

One evening, as they lounged naked in his bed with a tray of roasted chicken, cheese and fruit, they talked about their future. “I should think five children in all,” she said casually.

“Good Lord, darling, that number is a small village.”

“Don’t you want them, too?” she asked, kissing his nose.

“I want six.”