Lucie. His prickly fairy, his love. His body ached with the urge to go to her, even if it meant he had to walk a thousand miles. Now, on the brink of losing her, he faced the truth: he would marry her today. Not to save him from an existence with Cecily, or from the ruthless maneuvers required to avert such a thing; not for London Print; nor because their match was a good alliance between two earldoms. He would marry her because she was the constant, she was the light.
