Maeve hesitated for a long moment. They were in such a blissful bubble of love and contentment. Was it not a shame to shatter that so soon? But he was already talking about moving house, so surely he wasn’t nearly as married to the dwelling in which the pair now lay as he was to the woman in his arms.

“Actually,” she offered after clearing her throat uncomfortably, “that won’t be necessary. I am sure my family will be eager indeed to have you move into Connolly House—husbands and wives always do, you see…”

The smile she gave him was sheepish, almost apologetic, and Maeve did her best to look as sweet and innocent (both a stretch) as possible so he couldn’t be upset with her. Besides, it wouldn’t be right away—after all, she had to work up the courage to confess what had transpired, first.