Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,118

up at the church?” Nash asked. “His voice sounded choked.”

“He did tear up,” Pru said with a laugh. “I’m sure they were tears of happiness.”

In truth, the vicar had been difficult to persuade to give his blessing to the marriage. Finally, Pru had threatened to run away and elope, and he’d agreed.

“I’m sure,” Nash said, sounding unconvinced.

“I am glad so many of your friends could come,” Pru said. “I expected Mr. Payne, but it was lovely to meet Colonel Draven and Mrs. Draven, and Mr. Fortescue said he bore you no ill will for trying to kill him last summer.”

“If I’d known he was going to give speeches, I would have killed him,” Nash grumbled, but she knew he had been touched, in his way, that Colonel Draven and several other men from his troop, including Mr. Payne, Mr. Fortescue, and Mr. FitzRoy, had attended with their wives.

“Now,” Nash said, turning her around and bending to kiss her neck. “I suggest we make good use of the time we have alone. Mrs. Blimkin assured me she has outdone herself with dinner, and I don’t want to insult her by being late.”

Pru smiled as Nash slipped one sleeve off her shoulder and moved his mouth to kiss her there. In just a few months, he looked even more handsome than she could imagine. The hollow look in his face was gone and he was no longer painfully thin. He had regained the weight he’d lost and was healthy and strong. Her gaze darted to his bedside table that held a beautifully carved walnut case. She had given it to him a few weeks ago as an early wedding present. She’d written to Mr. Payne and asked him to have one custom made to fit the Gribeauval pistol. Payne had sent it, along with the pistol, and now both resided on the table. As far as Pru knew, Nash hadn’t taken the pistol out of its velvet lining.

She hoped he would never again feel the need to.

His hands were making quick work of her dress, loosening the ties at the back, and she turned to pull the curtains closed so they wouldn’t be observed, and gasped.

Nash lifted his head from her breast. “What is it?”

“The peacock,” she said. “He’s on the lawns, and he has his feathers displayed. Oh, it’s the best wedding present yet.”

Nash let out a breath. “You scattered enough seeds about to attract him. I don’t know why you should be surprised.”

“Just because I hoped he would come, doesn’t mean I thought he would. Oh, Nash. He’s so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Nash said, dragging a hand down her body. “Come join me in our new bed once you’ve had your fill of the peacock.”

He left her to undress, and she watched the peacock strut for several minutes before the glimpses of her own husband’s lovely form drew her attention away. With a smile, she pulled the curtains closed and went to him, shrugging her loose dress off as she did. He was on the bed, gloriously naked, and he held out his arms to her. She went willingly into his embrace, her heart pounding with anticipation. Not just anticipation for the pleasure she knew was coming, but anticipation of tomorrow and the day after and all the days to come.

“Tell me you love me,” she murmured as he touched her, stroked her, kissed her.

“You know I do,” he said, levering himself up so he was looking down at her. She didn’t know what he could see, but she saw the expression of love so clearly on his face that it almost made her heart hurt.

“Say it anyway,” she whispered.

“I love you, Prudence Howard Pope.”

“I love you, too.”

And she did. She really, really did.

A Note on Night Writing and Charles Barbier

If you’re anything like me, you read historical romance because you enjoy history and learning something new about the past. I don’t get every detail in my novels correct, but I’m never intentionally inaccurate. With this in mind, I wanted to make a few points about Ecriture Nocturne.

Ecriture Nocturne, or night writing, was invented by Charles Barbier. He served in the French army in the 18th century and saw the need for a form of nighttime communication in the military. As I describe in the novel, night writing used a two-digit code to represent letters and sounds. Barbier’s “key” was a 6x6 square with each letter or sound represented by two numbers. The key was not simply all the letters of