Periodical Overture No.17 in E flat: Andantino, by Thomas Erskine.

Filled with dread, Amalia didn't hesitate for an instant. As her brother moved to administer his blow, she pushed Aiden away from his aim with all her strength.

She managed to shove him out of the improvised blade's way, and the glass only reached his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his shirt. Moving quickly, Aiden spun around and grabbed his opponent's wrist. Unable to do anything, she watched as he kept knocking Sebastian's hand against the wall, over and over. Eventually, her brother released the fragment of glass with a groan, the inside of his hand cut and bloody. As it fell on the floor, the sharp tool shattered into tiny pieces.

Finally, the two constables burst in, alerted by the noise of the ruckus. After a moment of looking at the wrecked room and the two men fighting, they ran to help Aiden handle Sebastian.

The latter shouted and fought until the officers handcuffed him again. With a kick on the back of his knee, they forced him to kneel on the floor, his hands on his back.

"Your Grace, what should we do with this savage?" the older one asked, out of breath.

Amalia's heart clutched painfully at the way her brother glared at her. It was clear that Sebastian loathed her with everything he had. There was nothing brotherly in his eyes, only pure, unaltered hatred.

Unsure what to do, Amalia gave Aiden a desperate look. She had no idea how to handle this. She'd tried, and it had turned into utter chaos. Now, she was letting her husband decide. Her brother had just tried to kill him, with a blow in the back like a coward. He was threatening their daughters, their lives, their happiness.

As much as she wanted to treat Sebastian like family, she needed to put the new one she had built first. Aiden and the girls were worth so much more than her estranged brother. They were everything to her, and she wasn't letting Sebastian destroy them.

She would be pained if her brother's sentence was carried on. His actions made it hard for her to defend him, but he was still her big brother, the very one who'd taught her how to fish, how to punch someone, how to cheat at cards... The man in front of her was nothing like the Sebastian she used to know. Somehow, he'd lost himself over the years, because of a life full of alcohol, hardship, and wrong decisions.

Apart from everyone's ragged breathing, the room was utterly silent, no one knowing what to say, what to do.

Aiden finally spoke, his decision taken. "Have him put in the nearest boat to the continent. I want him out of this country."

Amalia's concern faded off instantly, and the two officers stared at him, surprised by the verdict. Even Sebastian looked up at Aiden, astonished. "Have him gagged all the way there, and make sure he never comes back. If he does, let him be executed for his offenses."

The two officers nodded, still not understanding how the bohemian's life could be spared after all this.

Aiden went toward the wretched man and squatted so he could be leveled with him. "If the secret you hold ever comes out, I will have you tracked down and killed, without a second thought. I have the means to find you, wherever you may hide, and trust me when I say I always win. Even if I can't find you, I will put a bounty on your head so high, all of Europe will know about it. Your own people will turn on you for the money I'll gladly pay them. Your own family won't be able to resist. Is that clear, Romero?"

Amalia watched as Sebastian processed the threat. She knew exactly how well it worked since Aiden had given her a similar one not so long ago. Her husband was a powerful man, and the confidence he showed off made the intimidation even more efficient.

With the way Sebastian was looking at him, it was clear he would kill him right there and right then if he could. But he was overpowered. There was no way he'd win this battle. Sebastian gave him a single nod and a murderous glare, acknowledging Aiden's threat. He would keep the secret or lose his life.

Standing back up, Aiden gestured to the constables to take him away, done with her brother. He'd been merciful, so much more than she'd expected, and she would forever be thankful for it.

After they'd clarified a few things with her husband, the constables left them alone, escorting Sebastian out with them. Once alone in the room, she moved to Aiden, worried about the red patch growing on his shirt around his shoulder. Pragmatic, she inspected him to assess the damage her brother had done. There was a substantial amount of blood dripping down his arm, where the glass had cut him. She found the hole in the fabric and tore it wider to see the wound.

Aiden tried to make her stop, pretending that he was fine. "It's just a scratch, Ama."

"You need stitches," she declared, having seen that the wound went deeper than he pretended. Gazing up, she inspected his brow, putting her thumb just over the cut to stretch the skin and gauge the depth of the cut. The blood was already drying, so she couldn't see properly. "Maybe here too. I cannot tell until we clean the wound."

"Amalia, I'm fine."

"No, you are not!" she scolded him, employing the same tone she used when one of the girls misbehaved. She made him sit on the sofa and went to the door, where servants had been gathering. "I need a clean needle, string, scissors, warm water, clean linens, and alcohol," she asked. Quickly spreading in every direction, several maids went to fetch what was required.

"What kind of alcohol do you need?" a footman asked.

"Whisky," she answered.

"Rum," Aiden requested at the same time from inside the room.

The footman nodded and went to get the bottles. Shooing the rest of the servants away, Amalia closed the door and went back to Aiden, who was quietly waiting. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt and helped him remove them both at once. He winced when she made him bend his arm but didn't complain. He wasn't haggard, his face wasn't pale, and he seemed in full control of himself. It reassured Amalia, but she still had to tend to the wounds. There was no way she would let gangrene take him away from her.

"How is your head?" he asked, reaching to graze her temple, still worried about her earlier blow.

"Fine, I will have a bump, but it is nothing."

Someone knocked at the door, and without waiting for the answer, three maids came in with a pot of hot water, the linens, and a case containing a stitching kit. The footman followed with two bottles. Amalia made them leave and gave Aiden the rum. He drank eagerly from it, and she opened the whisky. To calm her trembling hands, she took two gulps of it, and poured some on a needle and the string she'd prepared. With careful moves, she cleaned the cut on his arm with a warm, wet piece of fabric. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as she had thought.

Aiden growled when she poured a generous dose of alcohol on the injury, but he allowed her to proceed without a word. Applying herself the best she could, she took care of him. Because her brothers always used to get themselves into trouble, she had patched them up several times in the past. It had been years since the last time she'd put stitches on someone, but it quickly came back.

"Thank you," Aiden said while she was tying a stitch she just finished.

"For what?"

"Saving my life."

Taken aback, Amalia sent him a puzzled look. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"You could have let him stab me. You'd be a very rich widow right now. You would have your freedom back."

Offended, she stared at him, incredulous. Where did that come from? Why on earth would she want him dead? Then she saw it. The insecurity in his eyes. He thought she still believed she'd be better off without him. She had been convinced of it for weeks initially, but now, it couldn't be further from the truth. Life without him held no appeal. She needed him by her side.

With her hand gently pressed on the uninjured side of his face, she glanced at his beloved features, wondering what she would do without him.

"I don't want my freedom anymore. I want you." Deciding it was time to open her heart, she confessed the thing that would always be true. "I love you, Aiden."

He said nothing, too stunned to respond. "I don't know if I'm in love again, or if I never actually stopped loving you, but I love you nevertheless. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to have more children with you, to grow old by your side, to see your face change over the years. There is nothing in this world that I want more than a lifetime with you, my darling."

Tongue-tied, Aiden remained motionless, shock plastered on his face, his mind running wild as he was having a hard time making sense of her words. Apparently, he wasn't expecting any of this. His bewilderment was most amusing, and she wondered if he'd been blind to all the signs she'd shown, or if she'd been too good at hiding her feelings.

Remembering her task at hand, Amalia resumed her work, pinching his wound before piercing the flesh with her needle. He flinched but didn't protest, and she pulled the string through.

"I never stopped," Aiden suddenly declared.

"What?" When she peeked at him, she found his blue gaze locked on her, something intense in his eyes.

"I never stopped loving you."

It was her turn to freeze, holding her needle mid-air, speechless. He loved her. Aiden loved her. He'd never stopped loving her.

"As much as I tried to convince myself in the past that I loathed you, you were always the woman of my dreams, Ama. You were always the most important one, the one I would compare others to. Deep down, I never stopped loving you, never stopped wanting you. I need you more than you could ever imagine, my love."

Overwhelming emotions took over her, and Amalia's vision became blurry, her eyes filling with tears of pure, unaltered elation. Aiden loved her.

Unable to resist, she bent to kiss him, a tear rolling down her cheek between them. One of Aiden's hands found its way on the back of her head, and he tenderly kept her there, returning her kiss with loving passion. Amalia's heart was beating dangerously fast in her chest, which seemed to be expanding to make room for all the emotions wrecking her. Her husband loved her. She'd been so reluctant, so scared of the way their marriage might unfold. But they were in love. Their bond was strong. It was powerful enough to persist despite the years, the mistakes, and the wrong assumptions.

Pulling away from his lips, she pressed her forehead against his, relishing in their proximity. "I love you," she uttered with a whisper. "I will forever love you, Aiden."

"I love you too, Ama. I always have."

His sweet words made her shiver from head to toe, and she took his lips again, needing to act on her emotions. After one last, intense kiss, she pulled away from him completely. His arm still needed to be taken care of. They would have plenty of time to express their love afterward.

She did an excellent job on his shoulder, trying to be as gentle as she could, wanting to spare him the pain. She decided his brow needed at least two stitches. So she changed position to stand between his spread knees.

Bent over him, she cleaned the wound, passing a cloth soaked in whisky over it. Definitely not in shock, Aiden playfully opened her dressing robe and untied the knot of her nightgown's collar, to see down her cleavage freely as she worked. Because he deserved a nice distraction from the needle she was poking in his face, she allowed him, giggling at the appreciative "hmm" he let out.

"There, all done," she finally declared as she cut the string from the last stitch.

As if he'd been waiting for this, he grabbed her behind her legs and made her straddle him in a split second. Surprised, she let the scissors fall on the floor while he took her lips with hunger. His enthusiasm was contagious, and she kissed him back with fervor, wrapping an arm around his neck. When his hands grabbed her bottom and pressed her harder against him, she let out a soft plaint.

What was it with men and being horny after a fight? She'd seen it countless times happen back in her camp, and Aiden didn't seem to be an exception. He was devouring her, and she worried he might hurt himself.

"Darling, wait," she tried.

"I can't wait. I want you now. My pirate princess of a wife who isn't afraid of blood and knows how to stitch someone up."

She chuckled in his mouth, amused that he'd be appreciative of those qualities. When he pulled on her clothes to get rid of them, she noticed how he flinched with pain.

"Stop!" she insisted.

Before he could prevent it, she stood up and took a few steps back. Never letting go of his eyes, she got rid of her dressing gown and the shirt underneath, standing in front of him perfectly naked.

Impatiently, he opened his breeches to free his erection. With a hand around his girth, he massaged it slowly, delighted by the sight of her. As she looked at his exposed shaft, the way he was caressing it, her mouth watered.

For a while now, she had been wondering if she could please him with her mouth, as he had pleased her so often with his. She always dismissed the idea, judging it too salacious. But now, it was all she could think of. She wanted to lick and kiss that part of him, and as she watched his hand go up and down, she wondered if she could take it inside of her mouth, in and out, mimicking the sexual act.

Before she let herself think too much about it, she came closer and kneeled in front of him. She pulled on his breeches, and he lifted himself to help her remove them. Then she pushed his hand away, and her own took over. She touched him as he'd just done, examining him from up close for the first time. This part of him was beautiful, and she marveled at how hard, straight, and big it was. All this was just for her...

She glanced up, and their eyes locked. He was positively wordless, waiting for her to do something. A wicked smile grew on her lips, and she bent slowly. Never breaking eye contact, she licked it from the base to the tip, very pleased when she heard him mutter a curse.

Encouraged by his reaction, she licked the top again, having noticed over time it was more sensitive. As if she was torturing him, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations. His hand went to her hair, imperceptibly pressing her closer. Curious to test her theory, she took him inside the warm confines of her mouth, her tongue still stroking him. He moaned, and his hand pushed softly on her neck, silently asking her to take him deeper.

Compliantly, she took him as far as she could until it became uncomfortable. He swore again, and it filled her with pride. She moved up and down slowly, imitating lovemaking, grazing his smooth flesh with her tongue, feeling the head of it poke the back of her throat... Her instinct took over, and she let loose, forgetting all about decency and properness – which he seemed to enjoy a lot. With one hand, she cupped the sack resting under his shaft, fondling it carefully. This part of him was oddly warm, and the way he groaned told her he enjoyed her ministrations. With her other hand, she massaged the base of him, the part she couldn't reach with her mouth.

She focused on him, on his reactions, on the way his hand was tensing in her hair, his stones contracting and relaxing in her palm. His moans became louder and louder, and his hips started to nudge up languorously, pressing his shaft deeper into her mouth each time. She wanted to make him come like this, with her hands and her mouth, but she also wanted him inside of her. In almost ten days, they had only enjoyed a few stolen minutes in the study at the ball. She missed having him inside of her.

With one last lick on the underside of his swollen head, she let him go and went back to straddle his lap. He welcomed her with enthusiasm, kissing her with passion. Her hand reached between them, to circle his hard girth, and she guided his shaft inside of her. It slid easily, and she moaned with the satisfaction of being filled again.

"I love you," she breathed out, her eyes getting lost in his blue irises. A delighted smile was on his lips when he framed her face with his hands. Something intense passed between them, and it made her chest ache, but in the best of ways.

"I love you, Ama."

It was all she needed, and she started to ride him at a slow, languid rhythm, determined to show him how much exactly she loved him.

Aiden was trying to catch his breath, his lovely wife on his lap, resting against his chest. His softening prick was still inside of her, and the massive load he'd released into her was slowly seeping out of her channel.

"Maybe I should get into a fight more often," he declared with amusement.

"Don't you dare," she disagreed, her voice uneven. He smiled and kissed her shoulder, still amazed by what they had just shared.

Amalia, who had been so reluctant, so vehement about her desire to be rid of him in the beginning, was in love with him. They were meant for each other.

It was shattering to think he almost lost her forever. If not for the incredible luck he'd had in Bristol, she wouldn't be on his lap right now, recuperating from a mindblowing orgasm with him. But he was sure of it now. It hadn't been luck. It was their destiny. They would always find their way back to one another. It was written in the stars, or maybe in those tarot cards she'd once used on him.

She let out a small, trembling sigh, and his attention went back to the beauty pressed against him. What a lucky man he was...

When he'd seen her kneel before him, he'd prayed to every god he'd heard of that she would put her mouth on him. He hadn't taught her that practice, worried that she would see it as degrading. Despite everything they'd shared, he refused to press her to do things she might not like. But he was bloody glad that she had figured it out on her own. He was even happier to know she'd enjoyed it.

The little unconscious moans she'd let out during her exploration had been almost as satisfying as the touch of her lips and tongue on his cock. Also, when she'd straddled him to take him inside of her, when he'd seen how wet it had made her, he'd almost lost his mind.

Outside, in the hallway, a clock rang three times, distracting him from his thoughts. "We should go to bed. Although... At this point, we might as well not sleep at all, or we won't be up before noon," he suggested. Amused, she straightened up to see his face.

"What do you propose we do?"

"I have a few ideas to keep us awake." With a playful smile on his lips, he nudged his hips up, sensing he was getting hard again. With a soft laugh, she kissed his forehead.

"Or we could do that, once, and try to get some sleep, because we have a big day tomorrow."

"What is happening tomorrow?" he asked as he held her hips. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he made her go up and down his hardening length.

"Tomorrow, we will tell the girls about their father."

Dumbfounded, he froze. She laid a tender kiss on his lips, her hand caressing his jaw tenderly.

"We will tell them how you and I fell in love, lost each other and how we are together once more," she told him, slowly resuming on her own the momentum of her hips. "We'll tell them we will never lose each other again. They will know we are a genuine family. They will know you're their real father."

"Yes..." he agreed, the happiest smile splitting his face in half.

Finally, they would be an actual family. This was everything he'd wanted ever since finding Amalia again.

A family.

With her.

Finding a song was a little complicated because the chapter has many phases, so the song couldn't just be frightfully, or romantic, or sweet... So this one's a blend of things. Periodical Overture No.17 in E flat: Andantino, by Thomas Erskine