Hissing from the burst of fiery pain in his arm, Spencer clutched the flesh wound with one hand. Blood blossomed over his right sleeve. He pulled back his hand and examined the crimson staining his fingers.

He felt his features slacken with surprise. “You actually shot me.” He looked up, staring at Evie’s aunt with incredulity. “Again,” he repeated.

“My aim was off,” Aunt Gertie huffed.

“What were you aiming for?” he called.

Gertie’s chin lifted. “The heart, of course.”

“Enough!” Evie pushed through the throng. Her voice sounded strangely choked, like she was weeping. He saw at a glance that she was. Tears streamed down her face as she arrived at his side.

Scowling, she gingerly touched his arm, muttering, “I can’t believe she shot you again.”

His gaze devoured her, absorbing everything as she peered through his torn sleeve at the wound. She gasped when he stroked a tear from her cheek. “I would suffer an arrow a third time if it meant I could keep you.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t be daft.”

Despite her words, he saw that she shivered, and against logic, hope blossomed in his heart.

“I’m sorry, Evie. I’ve been a hardheaded fool.”

She motioned to his arm with a shaking hand. “We need to get you inside and tend to this.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, ducking his head to peer into her eyes, his voice starkly intense, desperate and hungry. He leaned close enough for his forehead to brush hers. His hand lifted to circle her neck and hold her close.

As she stared at him, her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “Don’t. It hurts to breathe when you look at me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, happy to keep saying it. As long as it took for her to believe him, to forgive him, he would say it.

“Why?” she asked in a breathless voice. “What are you sorry for?”

“I should have listened to you. I should have understood.”

“But I was the one who lied to you. Like everyone else in your life—”

“And I was the stubborn fool.”

A small smile played on her lips. She glanced down at his bloodied arm. “Well, a man who would agree to being shot with an arrow a third time could well be called a fool.”

He didn’t smile, only stared at her in that starkly intent way. “I don’t want to live without you.”

Her eyes held his, the light in the blue depths glowing fiercely.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I love you, Evie. I love you, Evelyn Lockhart. I’ve never loved anyone before you. I’ll never love anyone after.”

She released a strangled sob, giving her head a small shake. “You—”

“I said I love you. Nothing else matters.”

With a happy sob, she nodded, smiling hugely, as if words escaped her.

Then he was kissing her, hauling her into his arms, indifferent to his wound, to their rapt audience.

Dimly, over the intoxicating taste of her mouth, he heard her friend Marguerite mutter, “I suppose this means we’re supposed to like him now?”

The redheaded Amazon laughed. “Oh, Marguerite.”

“Should I shoot him again?” Aunt Gertie shouted.

“Miss Gertie, don’t you dare—give me that thing!”

Evie smiled against his lips. He didn’t need to look to know they were confiscating her aunt’s bow and arrow. At least he hoped so.

“I think I’ve some ground to cover with your friends,” he murmured.

“They’ll love you.”

“Indeed.” He nibbled her plump bottom lip. “How can you be so certain?”

She curled her hand against his cheek. “Simple. Because I do.”

He pulled back, drowning in her blue eyes. “Say it.”

“I love you, Spencer. I love you.” She kissed him again, pulling away when her friends and family broke out in an embarrassing display of applause. “Perhaps we should retire inside where I can patch you up—”

“And we can be alone.”

She smiled saucily. “Precisely.”

Hours later, Evie finally found herself alone with her husband. She exhaled, both relieved and eager for their solitude.

The bedchamber hummed in the silent wake of noise and activity. Everyone had taken it upon themselves to trip into their chamber, one after the other, and verify that Spencer was comfortably ensconced and well on the mend. Nicholas had been the last to leave, carried away asleep in Amy’s arms. He had snuggled close to Spencer’s side, content as Spencer assured him he would not leave anytime soon and he would most certainly be up and about to take him fishing.

Her heart expanded even further at the memory of Spencer’s deep voice asking Nicholas to call him Papa. The only thing sweeter had been the look on her son’s face. She felt that same joy in her heart still. She doubted anything would ever rob her of it.

“Alone at last,” he murmured.

“You do not mind, I hope. Solitude may be hard won, especially with Nicholas about.”

“He’s my son now. I want him around.”

Her heart squeezed. That was enough. Enough that he loved her son. Could she be so greedy to hope he loved her? Truly loved her? By the pond, he had claimed to, but she still grappled with the reality of it all.

Lifting her nightrail to her knees, she crawled in bed beside him and pressed her lips to a spot on his flat belly, delighting in the way his tight flesh quivered beneath her lips. “Does it hurt here?”

At his groan, she looked up to where he splayed so deliciously upon her bed, his dressing robe parted wide, the sheets loosely bunched at his waist.

“Everywhere,” he sighed. “It hurts everywhere.”

She smiled, propping her chin on his chest. “Then I suppose I must kiss you everywhere.”

He tangled a hand through her hair, his green eyes hard with a desire she remembered . . . felt echo in the melting of her bones. “I suppose you must.”

“And you won’t tire of such treatment?” she queried between nibbling and lingering kisses.

“Tire of this? Kisses from the wife I love? Adore?” His green eyes darkened. “Never.”

His words made her flesh tremble, her heart shudder.

She eased away, sitting back on her knees, hovering over the glorious stretch of him. “Why, Spencer?” she shook her head, felt her hair toss against her shoulders. “I lied to you—”

“Only because you were caught in the tangled web you created to save Linnie, your family . . . Nicholas. It was a great sacrifice, Evie. A noble thing. I see that now.” He swallowed, the tendons of his throat working, his eyes suspiciously moist. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever known, and I am the luckiest of men to have such a woman for my wife.”

“Oh, my,” she sighed, her hand lowering, shaking, to his chest, directly above his heart.

He grinned. “Does that answer your question, then?”

She started to nod, then stopped. Biting her lip, she glanced away.

There was still one thing . . .

“Evie?” he prodded. “If there is more on your mind, then speak of it. I want nothing more between us.”

“Linnie.” She said her sister’s name solemnly, as if afraid to mention her. “I’m not her, you know. Not the one you dreamed of throughout the war. Not the—”

He sat up on his elbows, wincing at the movement of his injured arm but not dropping back down.

Her hand flew to his bandage and the fresh spot of blood staining the stark white. “Spencer! Down with you—”

“Let us be clear.” He gripped her face with his hand, his large palm chafing her cheek as he held her stare with his glittering one. “You are more than I ever dreamed. More than I deserve. That’s why I came back. Why I couldn’t stay away. I shall spend the rest of our lives loving you so fiercely that you shall not breathe a single moment without knowing you are loved, adored, and valued above anything else in my life.”

Shattered, astonished, she stared at him.

And then they were kissing, heedless of his wound, of anything save each other.

She knew he spoke the truth—felt the truth of his words resonate deep in her soul.

She knew him. He was her heart. And she, his.

“Spencer,” she sighed, her eyes drifting shut into sweet, peaceful dark . . . where only wonderful things awaited her.