He carried her through to his bedchamber and set her down on his bed, where she had never been before. He looked down at her, a smile in his eyes as he got in beside her.
"I thought I knew you, Meg," he said. "And I thought I loved my sweet, quiet little wife. I think I am going to love the little fireball just as well."
"Do you truly love me, Richard?" she asked wistfully.
"What words will convince you?" he asked, propping himself on one elbow and cupping her face with his other hand. "I love you, my darling, my love, my sweetheart, my angel."
She smiled her rare smile. "That's nice," she said.
"I think I am ready to show you my feelings again," he said, and grinned. "Actions speak much louder than words sometimes, do you not agree?"
"I would never disagree with my husband," she said demurely.
He chuckled. "I shall remind you of that, ma'am, next time you are yelling at me and looking as if you are ready to throw things."
"Ah, but we must make sure there is no next time, monsieur, n'est-ce pas?" she said huskily before his mouth silenced her again and his hands went to work on her.