Epilogue #3
"You still respond the same way. After five years, three children, hundreds of nights together, you still come alive at my touch."
"That's your fault for being so good at touching."
"Practice."
"Natural talent."
"Devoted study of one particular subject."
"Me?"
"Always you. Only you."
They kissed then, deep and slow, the kind of kiss they rarely had time for anymore with three young children and ducal responsibilities. The fire crackled beside them, the storm raged outside, and for a moment it really was like that first night...just them, no world beyond these walls.
"Bed?" James suggested when they paused for air.
"Which one?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. Yours. The one where it all started."
He stood, lifting her with him, carrying her to the bedroom with the same urgency he'd shown five years ago. But this time, there was no hesitation, no fear. Just the perfect synchronization of two people who knew each other completely.
"I love you," Catherine said as he laid her on the bed. "I loved you then, even though I didn't know it. I love you now, knowing everything. I'll love you forever."
"Forever isn't long enough," James replied, covering her body with his. "But it's a start."
What followed was both familiar and new. They knew each other's bodies perfectly now, knew exactly how to give pleasure, how to tease, how to satisfy. But being here, in this place where it all began, added something electric to their connection.
"Do you remember," James said at one point, "how shocked you were when I..."
"I wasn't shocked! I was... surprised."
"You nearly levitated off the bed."
"It was unexpected!"
"But good?"
"You know it was good. You're still smug about it."
"I'm smug about many things involving you and beds."
"Just beds?"
"Walls. Desks. That memorable occasion in the carriage."
"James!"
"What? We're married. We're allowed to be adventurous."
"We have been rather adventurous."
"We could be more adventurous."
"What did you have in mind?"
He showed her, and Catherine discovered that even after five years, her husband could still surprise her.
Later, much later, they lay tangled together, rain still pounding against the windows but softer now, the storm beginning to exhaust itself.
"I miss this," Catherine said quietly.
"What?"
"Just this. Us. No interruptions, no duties pulling you away, no small voices calling for mama at dawn."
"You wouldn't trade them though. The children."
"Never. They're the best parts of us. But sometimes..."
"Sometimes you miss when it was just us?"
"Is that terrible?"
"No. It's honest. I miss it too." He pulled her closer. "That's why I planned this. We needed to remember who we are together, separate from everything else."
"Who are we?"
"Catherine and James. Two people who found each other in a storm and decided to never let go."
"That's beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller."
They lay quietly for a while, listening to the storm. It was definitely weakening now, though still strong enough to keep them trapped for at least another day or two.
"We should have done this sooner," Catherine said. "Come back here."
"We've been rather busy. Edward was born and then the twins."
"I remember a night quite often... just before we learnt I was pregnant with the twins."
"Your birthday. You were wearing that red dress."
"You tore it."
"I replaced it."
"It wasn't the same."
"I was enthusiastic."
"You were desperate."
"You'd been seducing me all evening."
"I'd been existing all evening. You're the one who decided that constituted seducing."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Everything you do constitutes seducing. The way you breathe is seducing."
"That must make Parliament difficult."
"You have no idea. Though you don't usually attend Parliament."
"I came last month."
"And I completely forgot my speech the moment you walked into the gallery."
"You did not."
"I lost my place three times. Devonshire had to prompt me."
"I thought you seemed distracted."
"Distracted? Catherine, you were wearing the blue dress."
"So?"
"The blue dress with the specific neckline that I specifically know from specific experience can be specifically compromised."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm a man in love with his wife. It amounts to the same thing."
Thunder rolled overhead, making them both jump.
"Still afraid of thunder?" James asked.
"I was never afraid of thunder."
"You jumped into my arms that first night."
"That was strategic."
"Strategic?"
"I needed an excuse to touch you."
James stared at her. "You planned it?"
"Not planned exactly. Opportunistic."
"You little minx. All these years I thought I'd seduced you."
"We seduced each other. I thought we'd established that."
"We established that retroactively. I'm now learning you were deliberately scheming from the beginning."
"Not scheming. Hoping."
"Hoping for what?"
"Exactly what happened."
"You wanted to be compromised?"
"I wanted to be free. For one night, I wanted to choose something for myself. And I chose you."
James rolled over, pinning her beneath him. "Say that again."
"I chose you?"
"Again."
"James..."
"I never get tired of hearing it. That of all the men you could have had, Pemberton, any of your suitors, you chose me."
"There was never really a choice. It was always you."
"From that first night?"
"From the first moment. When you stood there, dripping wet and furious about the room, I thought 'this man is going to change everything.'"
"Did I?"
"You know you did."
"For the better?"
Catherine pulled him down for a kiss. "What do you think?"
"I think we should make the most of being stranded here."
"We've already made quite a lot of it."
"The night is young."
"It's past three in the morning."
"The morning is young, then."
"James, we're not twenty anymore. We need sleep."
"Sleep is overrated."
"Says the man who doesn't have to wake up with twins at dawn."
"The twins aren't here."
"No, but..."
He kissed her, effectively ending the argument. And Catherine decided that maybe sleep was overrated after all.
They dozed eventually, as dawn light crept through the windows. The storm had finally passed, leaving the world washed clean and gleaming. Catherine woke to find James watching her, a soft expression on his face.
"What?" she asked sleepily.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How different this morning is from that first one."
Catherine remembered then, the frantic dressing, the painful goodbye, the certainty that they'd never see each other again. Now she stretched luxuriously, knowing she had nowhere to be but right here.
"Better?" she asked.
"Infinitely better." He traced a finger down her arm. "Though I do remember something about that morning that was quite nice."
"What?"
"You asked me to stay."
"You said you couldn't."
"I was a fool."
"Yes, you were."
"But I'm here now."
"Yes, you are."
"And I'm never leaving."
"Never?"
"Well, eventually we'll have to return to London. But metaphorically, never."
Catherine laughed. "Metaphorically never is my favourite kind of never."
They stayed in bed embarrassingly late, only rising when hunger finally drove them to seek breakfast. The inn was quieter this morning, some travelers having departed despite the muddy roads.
"Your Graces!" Hartwell greeted them cheerfully. "Trust you weathered the storm well?"
"Perfectly," James replied, his hand finding Catherine's waist.
"Breakfast? I've got eggs that are actually eggs this morning, and bacon that might even be real bacon."
"Luxury indeed," Catherine murmured.
They ate in the public room, which was nearly empty. A few stranded travelers nodded respectfully, recognizing quality if not specific identity. Catherine found it refreshing to be anonymous again, just another couple caught by weather.
"What shall we do today?" she asked, spreading jam on surprisingly good bread.
"What would you like to do?"
"Honestly? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sit by the fire, read, talk, be together without agenda or obligation."
"That sounds perfect."
And it was. They spent the day exactly as she'd suggested—reading (though not much actual reading occurred), talking (about everything and nothing), and simply being together. No one needed them, no crisis demanded attention, no small voices interrupted.
"Is this what other people's marriages are like?" Catherine asked that evening, curled against James on the sofa.
"Boring people's marriages, perhaps."
"This isn't boring."
"No?"
"It's peaceful. There's a difference."
"Do you want more peace? We could send the children to boarding school, retire to the country, become recluses."
"Absolutely not. I'd miss them within a day."
"Within an hour."
"Within minutes, honestly."
"But this is nice. A respite."
"A perfect respite."
That night, they made love slowly, savoring each touch, each kiss, each moment. The urgency of the previous night had mellowed into something deeper—a reaffirmation of everything they were to each other.
"I want to come back," Catherine said afterward. "Every year. For our anniversary."
"Even without a storm?"
"Especially without a storm. Though knowing our luck..."
"There will always be storms for us."
"Is that a promise or a warning?"
"Both. Neither. Just truth."
They stayed three more days, until the roads were clear enough for safe travel. Each day was perfectly ordinary, walks around the inn when the rain stopped, meals of questionable quality, long conversations about nothing important, and perfectly wonderful.
On their last night, they stood at the window watching the sunset paint the wet landscape gold.
"I don't want to leave," Catherine admitted.
"Nor do I."
"The children will have driven your mother to distraction."
"Probably."
"Edward's definitely taught the twins something inappropriate by now."
"Certainly."
"We should go home."
"We should."
Neither of them moved.
"Five more years?" James suggested. "Then we come back again?"
"Every year. Promise me."
"I promise. Every anniversary, we come back here. We remember who we are."
"Catherine and James."
"The duke and duchess who fell in love in a storm."
"The strangers who became everything."
"The couple who still can't keep their hands off each other after five years."
"Six years, counting from that first night."
"The best six years of my life."
"Mine too."
They stood together watching darkness fall, holding each other, neither wanting to break the spell. Tomorrow they'd return to London, to their children, their responsibilities, their real lives. But tonight, they were still just themselves, in the place where it all began.
"I love you," James said quietly.
"I love you too."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For saying yes. That night, when I asked to share the room. For saying yes to that first kiss. For saying yes to my proposal. For saying yes to this insane anniversary trip."
"Thank you for asking."
"I'll never stop asking."
"I'll never stop saying yes."
The next morning dawned clear and bright. Their coach was ready, the roads were passable, and London called. They dressed in their traveling clothes; Duke and Duchess once more, not just James and Catherine.
"Ready?" James asked, offering his arm.
"No," Catherine said honestly. "But let's go anyway."
The journey home was quiet, both of them lost in thought. As London's skyline appeared, Catherine felt the weight of responsibility settling back on her shoulders. There would be letters waiting, invitations, duties, children needing attention, households to run.
But she also felt something else—a renewed certainty in what she and James had built together. They weren't just Duke and Duchess, parents and pillars of society. They were two people who'd found each other in a storm and chosen to weather every subsequent storm together.
"Next year," James said as their coach turned into their house road.
"Next year," Catherine agreed.
"Every year."
"Forever."
"That's a long time."
"Not nearly long enough."
The coach pulled up to Ravensfield House. Before the footmen could open the door, they heard shrieking, happy shrieking, from inside.
"Papa! Mama!"
Edward burst through the front door, followed by the toddling twins, the Duchess trying vainly to maintain order, and great-aunt Agatha waving what appeared to be a flask.
"We're home," James said unnecessarily.
"We are."
The End
I hope you had a fantastic time reading “A Night of Desire with a Duke”!