Epilogue
“It was supposed to be complicated,” Felicia murmured, trailing her fingers through the silken strands of her husband’s obsidian hair.
A sigh of pure contentment slipped past her lips as she melted into the soft blanket beneath them, while the majestic arch of willows kept sentinel overhead.
This was her sanctuary—her favorite place to love and be loved by her husband of two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours. Not that she was counting.
Charles nestled closer, his cheek against her breast. “Hmm?” he asked lazily, then turned to capture her nipple in his mouth.
“It was supposed to be complicated,” she repeated, her voice hushed, dreamy. “An intricate dance. Inevitable, yes—but never simple.” His deep pull sent sensation rioting through her body, sparking low and fierce, until she shifted instinctively toward him. “I love when you do that.”
“I know my wife.” His lips wandered toward hers, then detoured to her favorite pulse point, the one beneath her left ear.
“What was supposed to be complicated, Duchess? The land purchase?” He grazed her tender skin with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue.
“You were brilliant—maneuvering Loxley into offering precisely what you wished, only to have him exposed when he offered a lower bid so he could line his pockets. I hope he enjoys his stay at Newgate.”
“Thank you, sir.” She had designed the plan, and Charles had declared it flawless. Foolish Loxley, thinking marriage would distract her from the ledgers. She bit her lip. “What I said earlier. I meant marriage.”
Charles leaned away, propping his head on his arm, and studied her.
“By the sound of your voice, I might think you regret marrying me.” He traced her cheek with the back of his forefinger.
“Granted, I wanted to woo you—but with Loxley circling, I would not allow him to ruin you. Or dare speak against you.”
“My gallant duke,” she murmured, catching his finger between her teeth.
“My wife’s mind isn’t the only thing that’s sharp.” He grinned, then grew solemn. “It’s been a whirlwind. Marrying me, unmasking Loxley—there’s been little time for anything else.” He bent to kiss her slowly. “But I’ll make it up to you.” His brows danced. “And I promise you’ll like it.”
His smile wrapped her in a warmth she was beginning to crave. Independent though she was, she could not deny it: Charles made her feel cherished, adored. Most wondrous of all, he treated her as his equal—something she had always dreamed of but scarcely dared hope for.
“I’m curious about something.” She brushed back a curl that tumbled over his brow. How handsome he was—her husband, hers to touch at will. “I suspected Loxley’s treachery when the estate accounts would not balance. A few pounds gone, week after week. But how did you know?”
“A chance discovery.” His voice turned wry.
“My favorite footman was at the tavern when Loxley stumbled in, foxed and boasting of the fortune he would soon inherit. My man knew his family—poor as church mice. There was no inheritance waiting. So, I sent him back, night after night, to ply Loxley with drink.”
“My husband, the handsome duke—and spymaster,” she teased.
“I have my methods, love.” He kissed her nose. “At last, Loxley confessed his profits in several land sales. He owned no land, so he could only mean your father’s property.”
“Father was relieved when we told him. He had suspected but was too ill to act.” Her heart ached. Her father was no better, but no worse. “The truth lets him rest a little easier.”
Charles smiled, boyish and unguarded, like the carefree lad she remembered from their youth. “I think that’s why he wasn’t too upset when I married you by special license. No mention of the old feud.”
“A feud could not have saved you. You ruined me.” She playfully poked his chest.
“You wound me, wife.” He clutched the spot. “Ruin is a matter of perception. You ruined me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”
He caught her hand and kissed it reverently. “The luckiest day of my life. I promised your father you would always be my first priority.”
Her vision blurred. She turned away. “You kept your word when you bought the land and gave it to me as a wedding gift. And the settlement—you secured my family’s future.”
He cupped her chin, his blue gaze raw with vulnerability. “Do you regret marrying me?”
“Listen well, husband.” She cradled his cheeks, the prickle of his bristles against her palms. “Never. Not ever. It was always inevitable.”
“Thank God.” He kissed her again, then reached for his morning coat. From an inside pocket, he drew something small. “I have a gift.”
She sat up. “What is it?”
He opened his fist to reveal a gold chain, its pendant a magnificent amethyst that shimmered in the sunlight. “A token. I didn’t court you properly, so I am wooing you after the wedding.”
“You needn’t—”
“I must.” He fastened it at her nape. “The color reminds me of your eyes. Beautiful—but not as beautiful as you. You deserve gifts, trinkets, devotion—and, above all, love and respect.” His kiss stole her breath, his tongue sliding against hers until her toes curled.
“You’re spoiling me,” she whispered.
“I am proving I deserve you.” His fervent gaze held hers. “I adore you. Always have.”
“And I love you.”
As they rested, sunlight dappled through the willow branches, bathing them in gold. The land, the lake, the world around them—this place would forever be her favorite. Not because Charles had given it to her, but because it was where their life’s journey together began.
“I learned from my solicitor that my father left letters to each of my sisters. Individually, they contain a task that must be completed,” Charles said softly. “I think Father feared for their futures.”
“Your sisters are strong. They will rise to it.”
“I’ve no doubt.” He kissed the crown of her head. “They loved him deeply.”
“When we have children, they’ll love you just as fiercely.”
Charles carefully rolled her beneath him, his grin wicked. “I like the sound of that. Let’s not delay—I want my child in you as soon as possible.
She laughed, then kissed him breathless.
“One thing I must correct,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “This is not complicated. I will love you forever. My greatest joy is to make you happy.”
“And I will do the same,” she vowed.
He winked. “See? Love is simple.”
Lady Honoria Harrington, eldest sister of the Duke of Kenbrook, sat in the library’s window seat, gazing at the courtyard though her thoughts were far away. The glass caught her reflection, and she smoothed her hand over her gown, tracing the line of her body.
She loved her body—its curves, its uniqueness. Her bosom was generous, yes, but she wore it with pride. Tilting her chin defiantly, she recalled the scolds of governesses long past: A proper lady must never be obstinate. She had never been obstinate. Merely certain.
Her father’s passing had taught her an undeniable truth. Life was too short to be anything but happy. She was expected to make an excellent match, yet she would demand one concession—her husband must love her, every part of her.
If that meant spinsterhood, so be it.
A sharp rap at the door startled her.
“My lady?” John, the footman, entered with a silver salver. “A missive from the solicitor’s office.”
“Thank you.” She waited until he had gone before lifting the envelope.
Her heart stuttered when she saw her name written in her father’s hand. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
You must complete a portrait of the Duke of Kolbridge to be hung in a gallery.
Tears threatened as she read. Her chin lifted stubbornly toward the ceiling.
How am I to complete such a task?
But no—that was weakness, and she was a Harrington. The firstborn daughter. The achiever. Whatever the challenge, however inconceivable, she would not falter. She thrived on challenges.
She studied the letter again, pulse racing, heart stumbling—yet certainty settled in her bones.
She would succeed. Failure was not an option.
And perhaps… just perhaps… in rising to her father’s impossible charge, she might also stumble into the one thing she had vowed never to compromise on.
Love.
***