A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [40]
“Welcome home, Headmistress,” Michael murmured, drawing close. He lifted a key. “I assume you’ve been given one, too. It would seem this is our home, Rebecca. If you’ll—”
She silenced him with a kiss.
It was a soft but deepening kiss, one that began as a mere taste and appreciation of the press of lips but progressed toward a hunger unquenchable, a release of tension, a discarding of years gone by, a desperate need to savour the present and a promise of what was to come.
She pulled back. Michael gasped and touched his lip. “Am I dreaming?”
Rebecca chuckled and shook her head. “No. But . . . are you all right?” she asked, wondering if he felt as oddly drained yet vibrant as she. “Did the spirits put you through quite the tasks?”
“Oh, indeed. I’d much to learn. To trust, mostly. I’ve been so scared. I’d lost heart, though that seems impossible. I feared that in losing our Grand Work I’d lost what little I had to give you.”
Rebecca placed her hand on his cheek. “You’ve the greatest heart of any man who ever lived, with or without the power of The Guard. I know this. I truly know this. I am new. I am reborn, like the phoenix, our incarnate patron. Now, please, please, show me how to love like you. Teach me, for the headmistress is ready to learn—and to love you in return, from now until the end of our days, if you will have it so.”
The joy upon Michael’s face outshone the fire in the hearth. “Amen!” he cried.
Taking her in his arms, he kissed her reverently. Achingly slowly, he kissed her in a progression of passion, demonstrating all the courses of his epic emotions, all he was capable of feeling. In caresses and presses and torturous promises of expanding passion he showed her who he was, and who they would yet become.
Their clasping embrace sent them to the divan, their limbs wrapping tightly, no caress or gasp or devouring kiss enough to express the pent-up passion of twenty unrequited years. Yet there were no regrets. Only possibility.
Soft carols played on church bells nearby, the bells of Michael’s parish, songs promising a child was to be born who would bring love to the world. For two lovers reborn in a second chance, it seemed oddly fitting.
Epilogue
As their carriage traveled away from the town house of the soon-to-be Carrolls, Percy removed her glasses and gazed at her husband. The force of her dramatic, ice blue eyes was mesmerizing as ever. “Oh, Alexi. Thank you for postponing our proper honeymoon. Won’t it be glorious to attend the two weddings of our most beloved friends? Isn’t it wondrous how the world is full of ghosts and angels, muses and magic?”
He placed an arm around her. “Tell me, Percy. How, if spirits can do all this to humans . . . how did we not know it possible? How could The Guard, arbiters of ghosts in this great city, not be privy to these cataclysmic shifts spirits can wreak?”
“Dickens knew about them,” Percy teased. “Hardly claptrap.”
Alexi opened his mouth to retort but she continued. “Because, Alexi, what happened here was done with love. Your job was to halt malevolence from penetrating this world, not goodness, these sorts of miracles weren’t in your purview. But love conquers all, especially in this season. My dear,” she breathed, “there is so much good in this world, and in the next world, and even in the world between. Such incredible opportunities! Jane took hers to become an angel, and now the world of the Great Beyond will open to her. Perhaps that’s the difference between spirits and angels; it’s in the becoming.”
Alexi’s furrowed brow eased, dazzled. “You are one of the angels of this world,” he murmured.
Percy blushed, nuzzled against him and denied it.
The carriage jostled on. Snow again began to fall