Epilogue
Six months later
“ I t’s lucky I have no plans for tomorrow,” Evan said from where he was currently collapsed on top of Thomas, “because I’m not sure I shall be able to walk.” He kissed his way along Thomas’s collarbone and gave a contented sigh.
Thomas hummed and ran a hand down Evan’s bare back. “Are you complaining?”
“Not at all. It was my idea, after all. And I do love it when I get to ride you.”
“That makes two of us,” Thomas said. “Now, what do you want to ask me?”
Evan lifted his head and blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What makes you think I want to ask you something?”
“Because you dragged me into bed as soon as I set foot in the door and let me do whatever I wanted,” Thomas said, “so you’re either about to suggest something that you need my cooperation with, you’ve already done it and you think I’ll disapprove, or you’re going to ask me something awkward and this is your way of softening me up first.”
Evan sighed and gave up all pretence. “Well, you’re just so much more agreeable when you’re freshly fucked.”
Thomas laughed. “You know I don’t care what you do, love, but I’ll never say no if you want to take me to bed.”
And it was true. He didn’t care what Evan did. And it wasn’t like he expected Evan to share his secrets with him—once a spy, always a spy, after all. When Evan had started hanging around the training yards and watching his guards carefully, for example, he hadn’t asked any questions. And he had continued to not ask any questions when Evan had started disappearing into the woods with Sam and Darcy and a handful of knives for half a day at a time, or when the king had told him with studied casualness to take both of them off the duty roster.
There were some things he didn’t want, or need, to know.
As it was, Evan’s transition to not technically being a spy had gone remarkably smoothly. One of the best things, as far as Thomas was concerned, had been watching Evan slowly shed his addlepated persona over the months. He’d gradually transformed into the clever, charming man he’d always been underneath until it was generally accepted by the staff and occupants of the castle that he’d been prone to the foolishness of youth, but had now left that behind him.
Or, as Mother Jones had said to Thomas at the pub one night after they’d both had several stiff drinks, “It looks like you’ve finally fucked some sense into him.”
Evan propped himself up on his elbows, eased off Thomas’s still-softening cock with a hiss, and rolled over onto his side. “As it happens, I do want to ask you something.”
“Let me guess,” Thomas said. “You want to try keeping chickens again.”
“Oh lord, no. Who knew they were so messy and vicious or that they smelled so bad?”
“Everybody who’s ever kept chickens,” Thomas said, smiling at the memory of Evan’s outraged expression when he’d discovered that chickens pecked hard, and even renowned spies weren’t safe from an attack to the ankles. The birds had been sent to join the castle flock the following day, and Thomas had teased him about it for weeks.
“Anyway, it’s not chickens,” Evan said, and something in his tone caught Thomas’s attention.
He pulled himself up into a sitting position. “What is it then?”
Evan sat up as well, fiddling with the edge of the bedding. “Well, I was just wondering. It’s been half a year. Is there a reason I’ve never met your family? Have you had a falling out?”
Oh. This.
Thomas had been hoping Evan might just sort of… not notice that Thomas never talked about his parents, but he should have known better. Evan noticed everything.
He ran a hand down his jaw. “No,” he said. “No falling out.”
“Oh good. So can I meet them?”
Thomas blew out a long breath. “Yes?”
Evan raised an eyebrow at that. “That was a no dressed up as a yes if ever I heard one. Sweetheart, do you not want me to meet your parents?”
Warmth bloomed in Thomas’s chest at the pet name, followed by a wave of guilt that Evan might think Thomas didn’t want to introduce him to his family. Of course he wanted them to meet. He just hadn’t found a way to tell Evan about his unconventional upbringing yet. “No! I mean, yes, you can meet them. I mean, they travel a lot, that’s all. It’s hard to know exactly where they are at any given time.”
Evan’s eyes grew bright with interest. “Thomas, who are your parents exactly, and what do they do? Wait, are they spies ?”
Thomas shook his head. “Not spies, no.” He reminded himself that Evan loved him, and he wouldn’t care who his parents were or what they did, even if it was a little out of the ordinary. He took a deep breath. “They’re sort of… players.”
Evan’s face lit up with excitement, which was not the reaction Thomas had expected. “Really? I love travelling players! Do they sing and dance or are they part of an acting troupe? There’s one act with a couple that throws knives. Their aim is impeccable. They’re my favourites.”
Of course they were.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “That’s them.”
Thomas could see the moment Evan put the pieces together, and his jaw dropped. “Wait. Your parents are The Throwing Malones? Bullseye Bess and Four-Fingered Jack?”
“Well, my mother’s aim was slightly less impeccable when they were younger,” Thomas said drily. “She started out as Best Guess Bess.”
Evan let out a startled laugh. Then he tilted his head to one side and said, “Suddenly, your skill with a blade makes so much more sense.”
“I learned at my mother’s knee. Cut my teeth on a knife blade—literally,” Thomas said. “The stiletto in my boot was a gift from my father when I joined the guards. He said it might save my neck one day.”
“Well, in that case I definitely need to meet them and thank them,” Evan said, “because it certainly saved mine.”
Thomas regarded him steadily. “Why the sudden interest?”
Evan gave him another wide-eyed, innocent look that Thomas didn’t buy for a minute. He waited silently, one eyebrow raised, and Evan sighed. “Fine. If you must know, I believe in doing things the correct way.”
“No, you don’t. You do what you want, and protocol be buggered,” Thomas said.
“I’m particular about certain things,” Evan amended. He reached out and took Thomas’s hand. “If I intended to marry someone, for example, I’d want to invite his parents to the wedding personally.”
Thomas’s breath caught in his throat.
Marriage?
Thomas had thought about it—of course he had. He’d been on the verge of dropping on one knee and proposing more than once. But the part of him that was always aware that Evan was royalty couldn’t help wondering if it was his place to ask. Even though he was now Sir Thomas—something he was still getting used to—his courage had so far deserted him whenever it came time to ask.
But apparently Evan had had the same thoughts about marriage as Thomas and obviously he was the braver of them, because here he was, proposing.
He was proposing, wasn’t he?
Evan was watching him carefully, and he must have taken too long to respond to the unasked question. Evan’s smile faded. “You don’t have to say yes,” he said. “I know it’s probably too soon. Only I don’t see the point in waiting, and I really do love you.”
Thomas fought back a smile. “Perhaps you could try actually asking.”
Evan blinked at Thomas’s words, his brow creasing, and then he gave a soft laugh, shaking his head at his own foolishness. “Right. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me, Captain, would you consider marrying me?”
Thomas couldn’t hold back the smile this time. “If I remember rightly, my parents will be in Ravenport in three weeks’ time for the Blessing of the Fleet. You can meet them then. Don’t let my father talk you into a wager, don’t get into a drinking contest with my mother, and whatever you do, if she offers to give you a knife throwing demonstration, say no.”
“Is this you saying yes?” Evan asked, his eyes bright.
“This is me saying yes.”
A surge of exhilaration raced through Thomas as he leaned in and kissed his future husband. Evan was handsome and clever and capricious and nothing like Thomas had first expected. But it turned out he was everything that Thomas needed. And Thomas was going to make sure Evan knew it.
He planned to pin him to the bed, kiss every inch of bare flesh he could reach, and whisper words of love against his skin until they sank into Evan’s very bones. Because Thomas wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this level of happiness, but he did know one thing.
Evan Devere, Duke of Ravenport, was quite perfect after all.