If anyone cold adapt to strange worlds and changing times, d'Artagnan thought it was Constance. Given a real chance, he thought she would have thrived in Paris, but instead she'd been smothered by a dull, stingy man without a shred of imagination. D'Artagnan had grown up on tales of adventure and chivalric honor. Bonacieux seemed to have fed his imagination on sawdust.

Constance, however, was all bright copper like her hair. Full of suppressed ambitions that should have been turned free. He would never cage her, never, d'Artagnan swore. He couldn't know the irony of his own declarations when he'd had his share in pressuring Constance to make or break her choices.

But here, he could do it right. He would make it wonderful for her, starting with the kiss they were sharing right then. It was only the start and he would make her happy.

"What trinkets would you like?" he asked, casting a hand around at the many stuffed toys to choose from.