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“And I choose the boundless energy with which you greet the world.”

He leaned forward slightly, his presence eclipsing everything else. But Lily, in a rare moment of mischief, lifted her hand to stay him.

“What about my bosom?”

Brendan halted mid-motion, eyebrows drawing together in bemusement. “Your … bosom?”

She nodded toward her bodice. “My bodice is not as full as Lady Slight’s.”

His laugh was low and warm. “Perhaps not. But it is just the right size to suit the man who loves them … and you. I require nothing else.”

Her blush deepened, but she could not look away.

“I was hopelessly beguiled by you at our wedding. Such a relief it was to discover a strong-minded woman beneath those gauzy debutante gowns.”

“Mama insisted I wear them,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I knew they were unsuitable.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, the tension between them softened into shared understanding. His unflinching gaze held hers, full of promise.

“I love you, Lily Ridley.”

This time, when he lowered his head, Lily did not protest. Her breath trembled on her lips, and when his mouth found hers, she met him with a quiet sigh of gladness, lifting her arms to encircle his neck. Their lips met in a kiss that was deep with promise yet restrained in action, his body drawn close in an embrace that melted the lingering chill of uncertainty from her limbs. His nearness wrapped around her like a cloak, but he made no attempt to deepen the kiss or rush the moment.

He drew back from the kiss, his lips brushing against her jaw in a gesture so tender it made her eyes sting.

His mouth lingered near her neck, not urgent, but reverent, as though memorizing her pulse with every breath. His hands, capable and sure, rose not to claim but to steady her as he held her close.

Lifting her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm, and she felt his mouth curve against her hand. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “Lily Ridley.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, her temple, her brow—each kiss a blessing, deliberate and tender. His affection wrapped around her like a quiet storm, not rushing, not claiming, only existing. Lily could hardly remain still, caught up in the overwhelming sense of being cherished. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as her hands clung to his shoulders.

He did not push for more. Instead, he settled beside her on the bed, drawing her close. The weight of his embrace was steady and grounding, and she melted into it as if into sunlight after rain. Her head rested against his chest, the strong rhythm of his heart an anchor in the swirling tide of her emotions.

“I love being married,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed, a slow smile curving her lips.

“As do I. You are an enchanting woman, Lady Filminster,” he said, brushing a kiss across her brow. “I have not had you out of my thoughts since you walked into the church on Sunday.”

Lily licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry from the richness of his tone. “Truly?”

“Every single minute,” he said, voice low and fervent. “I admired you long before that day. But then you walked into church and I saw you, not just as the woman I hoped to marry, but as someone who might change my life.” He paused, his gaze locked with hers. “After everything that happened, I needed a breath. But since that night, I have wanted nothing more than to be here. With you.”

He leaned down slowly, and the warmth of his breath sent a tremor through her. A soft gasp escaped as he pressed a kiss beneath her ear, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“I have been thinking of it, too,” she whispered, shivering at the contact. “But this … this is better. Because now I know you choose me.”

“I do choose you, Lily,” he murmured. “Every entrancing inch of you.”

Their foreheads met, breaths mingling, hearts thudding in perfect rhythm. Lily felt the moment shift, not with haste, but with the quiet weight of certainty. Their hands intertwined, fingers locking as though anchoring them to the moment.

He kissed her again—slowly, deeply—a promise in every press of his lips. Her arms wrapped around him, and he gathered her close, holding her as though he never intended to let go.

“I choose you, Lily,” he whispered again, fierce and reverent. “Every single moment of every single day.”

His voice was a vow, etched not in paper but in the very air between them.

Lily smiled, tears prickling her eyes. Her campaign had succeeded, but it was not victory she felt. It was wonder. Peace.

General Tzu would be proud of her.