They sat on a coarse, mortared outcropping underneath the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral. A crisp sunlight had filled the air that morning and refused to leave, affording the couple the pleasure of removing their overcoats while they skipped the morning communion. Edward sat behind his woman, staring at the milky whiteness on the back of her neck, while she arched her head to the towering bells above them. His eyes traced the slender protrusion of her spine down the loose fabric of her unhinged corset and, for a brief moment, he allowed his gaze to wander to the lovely curvature of her hips. Slowly his eyes returned to her neck. Her wavy, chestnut hair danced lightly with the London breeze while he surveyed the elegant crescent of her exposed shoulders.

“My Angel…” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist. He squeezed her tightly and pulled her body closer. Angelica smiled inwardly as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall into his broad chest.