Love Then Begins by Gail McEwen, Tina Moncton

little giggle. He smiled to himself. That laugh. That laugh of hers that bubbled up out of her so unexpectedly, almost reluctantly. As if it must jump over obstacles and force itself through dams before it could ring out – true and free. That laugh that she had been unable to stop yesterday when they were caught kissing on the stairs. That laugh, that he had been able to turn into even more spontaneous sounds of pleasure and happiness once he pushed her into the cloak closet under the stairs and had his way with her while the floor above them creaked with the housekeeper’s steps in her morning chores. And how, after her sighs had ebbed out, she had laughed again. They had laughed together. What a wonderful thing that was: her laugh!
    It was a laugh that when he had first heard it, he had not been able to reconcile it with the person he thought Miss Tournier was. It had been an unexpected and puzzling piece he could not quite fit in with her character—but he had not known her then. Now he did. Now he was in awe of her and that laugh was only one of the things that drew him to her like no one had ever been capable of before.
    She was not a very mysterious person. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her emotions and thoughts were always clearly readable from her words, actions and expressions. That was not what intrigued him. It was the way she loved him and let him love her: freely, enthusiastically, curiously and openly. She challenged him, not by making him guess and chase, but by being honest and open and laying herself in front of him to use as he would. And if he did it well, she would be his. If not . . . he smiled. If not he would certainly hear of it.
    Now she was shaking her head and fingering the pages of the book. Overcome by curiosity, he interrupted his vigil and walked across the room to slide into the seat opposite her.
    “What’s the use of a honeymoon if a bride can sneak away any time she likes and find her pleasures away from her adoring husband in the library on any flimsy excuse?”
    “Oh, really,” she said, leaning into him and answering his quick kiss and smiling up at him.
    “Absence will make the heart grow fonder!”
    “It has been an hour!” he complained. “Luncheon is getting cold.”
    She consulted her watch. “Three quarters of an hour!”
    Baugham snorted but took the opportunity of kissing her deeply again.
    “What are you reading that’s so amusing, love?”
    She looked up—surprised.
    “Amusing? I was reading Elizabeth’s letter.”
    “Again? Mrs Darcy has a talent for writing letters, it seems.”
    “Ye-es.” Holly fingered the sheets sticking up between the pages of her open book. “Yes, she does.”
    He shrugged. “But you were laughing just now. What’s the book?”
    “Oh.” Now she smiled. “ The Hindoo Rajah . I love this book. But I think it is the only one that can be found both in your library and Maman’s collections for exactly the opposite reasons.”
    He took the volume out of her hands and turned it around. “Mmm. I would imagine its critique of the New Philosophy is not the reason your mother owns it?”
    “No. But Maman used to correspond with the author about the necessity for female education, and I do believe Mrs Hamilton gave her a copy to read to Maman’s ‘perfect pupil’.”
    “You?”
    “Yes, me,” she smiled.
    “But then, it is very anti-Jacobin, too.”
    “True. I know those parts by heart, you know,” she gave a mischievous smile, “but it is also very funny.”
    “Well, I am glad. I love the way you laugh.”
    She smiled. “I love the way you make me laugh.”
    He was certain she was referring to the incident yesterday on the stairs. She had that glowing smile and she looked at him without a hint of embarrassment.
    “I do, do I?” He laughed. “Well, I’m sure I do. But whether it is from ridicule, silliness or amusement is harder to tell.”
    “All of them. And love. You make me happy.”
    “Well, if silliness makes you