Laura peeled her eyes open wondering why the light was so bright.  Oh.  She was home.

Remington had wormed his way around her body.  Late last night—or maybe it was early this morning—she’d chased Remington into sleep, albeit in her usual position: on her side, pillow under her head and facing the outside of the bed.  She awakened to find his legs entwined with hers; his arm had replaced her pillow, and a hand was firmly anchored beneath her breasts.

She’d been right about that.  Since their night in the cottage, regardless of where they’d been or done that day, Remington slept holding on to her in some form or fashion.  Not that she’d minded.  The past week had been impossibly hard and fulfilled no one’s idea of a honeymoon.

In an effort to block out the light, she put a hand to her eyes hoping sleep would be forthcoming.

“Laura?”

“Yes?”  She lifted her hand.

“You all right?”

Remington’s blue eyes teased something in her memory, and suddenly she recalled the silly dream she’d been having before the light had awakened her.

She smiled and rolled over to face him.  “Are we married?”

“Yes.”  He fingered her ring.

“Did it involve your attempting to marry that hooker, Clarissa, in the Little Chapel of Perpetual Happiness, failing, and then marrying me on a tuna boat by a  Spanish-speaking captain who played “Feelings” on an accordion?”

“Not at all.  Ours involved Daniel, an excellent setup, an irritating bloke named Antony, a sword fight, the pair of us being caught in flagranti delicto by half the guest list, including a society matron, and forced to pretend to marry under archaic Regency rules—at which point Daniel obtained a marriage license by dubious means.  We married under false pretenses, then signed said license, making the whole thing completely legal and binding.”  

“So there’s no chance of its being faked?”

“Not a one.”

“Oh good.  I can’t wait to see Keyes’ face when we tell him the good news.”

He grinned, but the smile fell away as he caressed her left hand.  “Laura?  Why were you upset the night I gave you this ring?”

She covered her face for a moment with her free hand, then pulled it away to look Remington in the eye.  “I knew a girl once.  She lived with a man long enough to have dreams about weddings on exotic beaches, dresses that sparkled in the sun, passionate honeymoons and happily-ever-afters.”  Laura looked down where Remington slowly entwined his fingers with hers.  “But she didn’t dare share those impractical dreams.  They would have been dismissed along with all her other ‘terminal flights of frivolity.’”  She sighed in remembrance.  “And one day not long after that, the groom left—before he’d even popped the question—leaving the girl with nothing to show for all her fanciful ideas.”

Remington raised her hand to kiss the back of it.  “So I stirred up all those dazzling ideas once again—and even gave you a ring that made it seem all too real.”

“That’s a pretty good analysis, Mr. Steele.”

“I’ve had an excellent teacher.  But—I think I’ve missed something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you go through with the wedding if it bothered you so much?  Especially after we’d tripped the light fantastic?  It can’t have been easy.”

“No.”  She peeked under her lashes with a sly smile.  “But I’d hoped that if I gave you a ‘trial run’ at a wedding that perhaps, down the road, you might be open to the idea.”

“A sort of sample to see if I would stick?”

“Something like that.”

“It might have worked,” he mused as he slid his hand up her arm.

“Would it?”

“Perhaps.  But we’ll never know.”

“Why is that?”

Remington grinned and slid a hand over her breast, teasing the peak with his thumb.  “We’re already married.  And we’re about to trip the light fantastic again.”

“Is that all you think about?” she admonished.

He leaned over to kiss her.  “No.  Sometimes I think about this—”  They were interrupted by a knock on the door.  “Buggering hell!  We’ve been in town for,” he checked the clock, “ten bloody hours.”

Laura put her feet on the floor and snatched her robe out of the closet before marching to the door.  “Who in the world would be knocking at eight in the morning?”  Remington made a dash for the bathroom with an armful of clothes from his suitcase.

Norman Keyes, with his snarky grin and unlit cigar, hovered over a slim young woman who instantly introduced herself as Laura shoved open the heavy door.

“Estelle Becker, INS.  May I have a word with you?”

Laura rolled her eyes and waved them in.  “Be my guest.”  But she plucked the cigar from Keyes’ mouth and tossed it into a trashcan.  “I don’t allow smoking in my home.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be comfortable in your jail cell, then.  Heh, heh.  Where have you two been?  Miss Becker’s been trying to track you down all week.  Has your boss flown the coop already?”

Laura ignored him and indicated the couch.  “Miss Becker, would you care for something to drink.  Tea?  Or coffee, if you don’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all, Miss Holt, coffee sounds wonderful.”

“Call me Mrs. Steele, please.”

Keyes exploded.  “Mrs. Steele?  Are you telling me he conned you into marrying him to keep his skinny butt in the country?”

Another knock at the door cut off Laura’s response.  She threw up her hands.  “Why don’t we make a party of it?” she said as she slid open the door again.  “Mother!  What are you doing here?”

Abigail Holt stood in the doorway holding three silver-and-white wrapped gifts, her face brightening with an enormous smile.  “Oooh, Laura, you’re home, darling!”  She kissed her daughter’s cheek.  “Congratulations, sweetie, I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you, Mother.”  She took the gifts out of her mother’s arms and set them on her desk.  “What are you doing here in L.A.?”

“Why, I’m here for you, of course!  Daniel called me the day of the wedding and told me all about his illness and how the two of you had flown him into the States to spend some time with him at his favorite resort.  He called to apologize over your deciding to move up the wedding date to accommodate him since he was so terribly ill.  He didn’t want me to be angry with you for missing the wedding.  I was, of course, but when I called on Saturday to see how things went, Mr. Lindermann told me Daniel had passed away.  So now, I’m terribly grateful that you did what you did—even if it did ruin your honeymoon.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Oh that.”  She pulled out a newspaper from her purse.  “Well, I knew you would want to have some sort of family celebration when you came home, so Frances and I have been making arrangements with Mildred.  You won’t believe the gifts that have been showing up at your office.  I think yesterday you even got one from the police commissioner.”

Keyes walked over, pretending to be casual.  “How did anyone know they were married?”

Abigail waved the paper.  “Oh, I had it put in the LA Tribune for Sunday’s edition.”  She handed him a copy of the announcement.  “Plus, one of the journalists did a nice little article on Laura and Remington’s career together.  Absolutely no one was surprised at all to see them tie the knot.  They’re just an adorable couple,” she simpered.

While Laura’s mom told her story, Remington appeared, freshly dressed.

“Keyes,” he acknowledged with a hard look.  Miss Becker introduced herself as he shook her hand—deliberately charming her before turning to Laura’s mother and pressing a kiss to her cheek.  “Abigail, I’m delighted to see you.  May I offer you a cup of coffee?  Tea, perhaps?” he said jovially.

“Oh, Remington.”  Abigail put a hand on his cheek.  “Welcome to the family.  Tea, of course.”

Miss Becker opened her notebook.  “Miss—Mrs. Steele, if I might have just a moment.  I’d like to ask a couple of questions.”

“Certainly.”  Laura turned to her mom.  “Mother?  I’ll be just a moment.”

Abigail smiled.  “Of course, dear.”  She turned to the burly man testily shifting from foot to foot.  “You—I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ah, Norman Keyes.”

“Abigail Holt, Laura’s mother.  But you probably knew that.  Come; you can help me carry gifts from my car.”

Laura tried not to laugh, but the idea of Keyes hiking up and down three flights of stairs carrying wedding gifts was hilarious.  With Keyes and Abigail occupied for the moment, Laura sat across from Estelle on the sofa while Remington rummaged in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to have surprised you.  It’s all a part of our investigation,” Miss Becker said with a touch of apology in her voice.

Laura answered with a nod.  “It’s all right.  But please, pardon us for our appearance.  We didn’t arrive from London until late last evening.”

“Is that where you went on your honeymoon?”

“That’s where we went to bury my … good friend.  A mentor of sorts.”  Remington’s voice was flat, showing his distress as he handed Laura her usual mug of coffee and another cup to Miss Becker.

Estelle sipped in appreciation before she made a series of notes in her portfolio.  “Mrs. Steele, how do you take your coffee?”

“Two creams and a sugar, why?”

“Which cup do you normally use in the morning?”

Laura looked down at her drink, puzzled.  “This one.”

“I watched your husband while he made it.  He seems to have passed the test.”  She set her coffee down on the table, snapped her book shut and rose to shake their hands.

They stood as Laura asked, “What test?”

“Your husband made coffee—exactly the way you like it.  He didn’t have to ask where you keep your filters or have to look for your favorite cup.  That tells me that the two of you have been a couple for quite a while.  Given both the birth certificate and the marriage record that you submitted last week, I find that Mr. Keyes’ accusations are unfounded.  My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Steele—and my sympathies for your loss.”

She walked to the door as Abigail and Keyes returned.  Abigail set her two small packages on Laura’s desk while Keyes staggered in with a large, obviously heavy box that he set on the floor.

He clapped his hands together.  “So, where are we?”

Estelle led him to the door.  “We’re done.”

“We’re done?  When does he leave?” he barked.

“He doesn’t.  He was born here.  We have his birth certificate on file.  Not only that, I see nothing wrong with their marriage—how, when, why or where.  Now—you and I can have a little talk in the car about sending government agents on wild goose chases.”  With Keyes sputtering and fuming, she pushed him out the door.

Remington slid the bolt home, the astonishment clear on his face.

“Oh my goodness, that’s an odious man.  I don’t like him at all.”  Abigail waggled her head.  “Now, shall I call Frances and we’ll all do lunch?”

Laura exchanged amused looks with Remington.  “Mother, it’s not even nine in the morning.”

“Well, yes, of course.  I’ll scoot along and finish with my errands.  Let’s meet .. oh, at that place Mr. Steele prefers—Che’ Rive?”

“I’ll reserve a table for the family.”  Remington kissed her on the cheek, his eyes bright with astonished pleasure.

Over champagne and cake, Frances squealed with delight as her sister described the Regency wedding.  Abigail listened avidly.  Laura just knew her mother was storing up every last detail.  For once, Laura didn’t mind being gossip fodder for her mother’s circle of friends.  Abigail would be queen of the roost as she spilled the tale.

If Laura wasn’t mistaken, Remington found the whole situation amusing.  He inserted details that made Abigail flutter.  Laura crossed her arms as she listened to Remington’s valiant defense of her honor by sword and fist.  One would think he had wrested her from the clutches of an evil lecher.  Of course, he had to mention taking his opponent in a card game and at the billiards table as well—resulting in his opponent’s resounding defeat on all sides.  

“Oh Laura,” Frances said happily, “you’ve married a rake.  I’m so proud of you!”

Laura squinted.  “What exactly is a ‘rake’ anyway?  

Frances patted her face with her napkin.  “Well, a rake is known for gambling and fighting.”

Mildred added, “Playing hard.”

“Having his way with the women.  And being devilishly handsome,” Abigail added.

Laura gave Remington a hard look.  “I think you forgot the part about the enormous ego.  So I married a rake.  Sounds like a mistake to me.”  He flashed her a smarmy grin.  

But Frances, Mildred and Abigail all shook their heads.  “No, you married a reformed rake,” Mildred insisted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laura demanded.  

“When a rake falls in love, all that passion and playing goes into his marriage.”  Abigail sighed happily.  “You did well, Laura.  Better than I had expected.”  

Laura rolled her eyes at her mother’s last remark. “Yes, well, we’ll see about that.”

Remington lifted Laura’s hand to graze a kiss across her knuckles.  What used to be a hint of things to come now served as a sensuous reminder of what awaited her later.  Don’t squirm, Laura.  She’d become adept at reading her partner but still it took her a moment to identify the light in his eyes.  She bit her lip as a thrill shot through her.  

“I suppose only time will tell," she added.

His lips curved.  “That it will, Mrs. Steele.”

31 May 2010