I woke to find Alaric staring at me with that infuriating half-smile that always meant he was plotting something. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting golden patterns across our bedchamber. I'd slept later than usual, exhausted from the previous day's events.
"What are you looking at?" I murmured, pulling the covers higher.
"Just admiring my beautiful wife," he replied, his smile widening. "Is that a crime now, Duchess?"
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Alaric was many things—imposing, intelligent, fiercely protective—but this morning there was something different about him. An almost childlike excitement simmered beneath his controlled exterior.
"You're unusually cheerful," I observed, sitting up against the pillows. "What are you plotting?"
Alaric leaned forward to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch sent familiar warmth through my skin. "Can't a man simply be happy in the morning?"
"A normal man, perhaps. But you? Never without reason."
