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Once the waves stilled, like ripples on a pond, she rose like a sleepwalker and pushed him back onto the bed, mounting him like she was Grace herself claiming a lover.

“Is this what you want, my love?” he gritted out as she felt the head of his sex at her slick entrance.

“More than anything.”

At that, he seated himself within her and new waves crested all around her. In a haze of heat and flame, she rode him for their mutual pleasure, unlike any coupling they had ever experienced before.

Finally when the muse was within reach, Mariah gasped. “James!”

He gave one final thrust, his torso jerking as he released inside of her, her own body climaxing over his. She could not recall if they had ever come together in such a way and the experience left her both fulfilled and shaken.

After several moments, James rose to retrieve a cloth and warm water to wipe then both off, an intimacy he had never performed before. Removing her morning gown and her corded corset—which thank heavens, closed in front and had buttons—Mariah collapsed underneath the bedclothes as James joined her, still without any clothing.

Turning her boneless body toward him, Mariah took in the man beside her. He had shared his body and let her lead their lovemaking. He had given her time and space. Could she possibly trust in him to put her dreams up there with his own. For he did deserve to have dreams.

“Where would you g-go?” she asked, her voice raw.

“What was that, Mariah-love?” James blinked his eyes open. Mariah jerked briefly at the pet name he used, but she decided to allow it.

“If you c-could travel anywhere, where would you go?”

Those bright blue eyes remained on her, but they dilated, and Mariah realized he was thinking.

“May I ask you first, my love?” he said after a moment.

There was that word again. Mariah did not know what to make of it. Pushing contemplation of that sentiment aside for a moment, she had her answer ready.

“Verona. No, V-Venice. No⁠—”

“They are not so very far away from each other,” her husband said, his lip turning up into one of those charming smirks. But this one was endearing in its earnestness. “Guided by the Bard, I see.”

Mariah affected a shrug, then drew a gasp as James began to twine a strand of hair just above her collar bone, his fingers gently kissing her skin.

“I know I said before that I wished to go wherever Harrison had been stationed, but I think I should have liked to see Rome. All the wonders and the history.”

Mariah slowly let her forehead rest against his. “None of Shakespeare’s plays s-set in Rome end very happily.”

“That can’t be true,” he rose to his elbow in mock indignation, then squinted as if he were recalling all the Roman plays in his mind’s eye. “Well,” he concluded after a minute. “Perhaps Rome is not a place for comedies.”

“No,” Mariah found herself grinning. “It is n-not.” She opened her mouth and shut it before she forced herself to be brave. “Mayhap someday, we could split the d-difference.”

“Split the difference?” James raised his light eyebrows.

“What is between Rome and Verona?”

James considered her, a light starting to burn in his eyes. “Florence?”

Mariah swallowed. “Then m-mayhap someday, we will see Florence.”

James stared at her, his eyes bright. Mariah exhaled, and turned away on her side, overwhelmed by what she found herself offering. “Of course, only after the tenements are built, and I would have to think of my⁠—”

She was cut off by James wrapping his thick arm around her and burying his face at her neck.

“I love you, Mariah,” he whispered against the sensitive skin of her nape. At his confession, her entire body went tense, like a string pulled taut. “You don’t have to say it back,” he added, though she heard something sad in his words. With that he kissed her temple, then tightened his arm around her.

Mariah lay there as his breathing stretched into the rhythm of deep sleep. They had rarely slept together before, as he often returned to his respective chamber after marital duties with her. But today, that night, he remained. Did his words make his actions different? How could she trust this change in him?

The fragile spark of hope he had ignited within her shivered with the delicacy of gossamer. Hope that she could have a true marriage. Hope that for once in her life, she might be truly seen and understood. Stutter or no stutter. This hope felt as fragile as the roof of the assembly hall, likely to crumble or blow away with a heavy gust of wind.