Language was a vast, complicated tapestry. The key to communication was finding a common thread.
Violet tried the door latch. Locked, of course. Wordlessly, she pulled a hairpin from her wind-mussed chignon and handed it to him.
He stared at it. "What makes you think I know how to pick locks?" he whispered. "Just because I'm a spy?"
"No. Because you were forever stealing pocket money from your father's top desk drawer."
Bloody hell. She truly had been paying attention.
"A little smile on your face, because you'd just untangled a new translation." He cleared his throat. "Like this one. Tumi amar jeeboner dhruvotara." She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. "That's not Hindustani." "Bengali. It means, 'You are my life's bright star' in Bengali."
The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. "Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning."
His thumb caressed her cheek. His eyes held her, warm and strong. "Christian James, take you, Violet Mary, to be my wife. To have, to hold. To love, honor, and cherish. To amuse, to pleasure, to make smile and laugh. To dance with, at every opportunity. To respect always, and tease on occasion. To confide in, whenever need be. To treasure, protect, admire"
She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. "I don't think these words are in the vows."
"They're in my vows," he said gravely. "But in the interests of time, I shall to return to form. All that richer-poorer, sickness-health business goes without saying. And I will gladly forsake all others, so long as we both shall live." His hand slid back into her hair, grasping tight. Raw emotion roughened his voice. "I need a lifetime with you."
Violet tried the door latch. Locked, of course. Wordlessly, she pulled a hairpin from her wind-mussed chignon and handed it to him.
He stared at it. "What makes you think I know how to pick locks?" he whispered. "Just because I'm a spy?"
"No. Because you were forever stealing pocket money from your father's top desk drawer."
Bloody hell. She truly had been paying attention.
"A little smile on your face, because you'd just untangled a new translation." He cleared his throat. "Like this one. Tumi amar jeeboner dhruvotara." She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. "That's not Hindustani." "Bengali. It means, 'You are my life's bright star' in Bengali."
The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. "Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning."
His thumb caressed her cheek. His eyes held her, warm and strong. "Christian James, take you, Violet Mary, to be my wife. To have, to hold. To love, honor, and cherish. To amuse, to pleasure, to make smile and laugh. To dance with, at every opportunity. To respect always, and tease on occasion. To confide in, whenever need be. To treasure, protect, admire"
She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. "I don't think these words are in the vows."
"They're in my vows," he said gravely. "But in the interests of time, I shall to return to form. All that richer-poorer, sickness-health business goes without saying. And I will gladly forsake all others, so long as we both shall live." His hand slid back into her hair, grasping tight. Raw emotion roughened his voice. "I need a lifetime with you."
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