Epilogue
Five Years Later
The Duchess of Blackstone’s annual spring ball had become one of the Season’s most coveted invitations. Ashley stood at the top of the grand staircase in Blackstone House, surveying the glittering crowd below with a satisfaction that would have seemed impossible five years ago.
“Everything looks so lovely, and you look beautiful,” Ivy said, coming over to hug her. Ivy had never learned about Carstairs, about the true reason behind Ashley’s ruination, or Carstairs’s abduction of her. And it was one secret Ashley would never reveal.
“You do look positively triumphant,” Tiffany murmured, appearing at her elbow with her usual impeccable timing. “Like a general surveying a battlefield she’s just conquered.”
“Is it that obvious?” Ashley couldn’t quite suppress her smile as she watched the ton bow down to London’s most notorious hostess.
“Gloriously obvious.” Farah joined them, radiant in emerald silk that complemented her dark coloring. “Though I must say, seeing Lord Haverford practically grovel for an introduction to the Duke earlier was particularly satisfying.”
“He’s hoping Raven will invest in his shipping venture,” Ashley said with amusement. “Raven will, of course, decline. Politely, but firmly because Haverford is rumored to deal in slaves.”
Courtney glided up. “I still can’t believe how completely society has reversed its opinion of you. Do you remember when we could barely get anyone to acknowledge us at balls?”
“I remember.” Ashley’s hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach—a gesture she’d made frequently these past few weeks, though she’d told no one yet of her suspicions. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“That’s because you’re no longer that brittle girl trying to survive her scandal,” Valora said, joining their circle with Claire beside her.
The Sisterhood, together as always, a united front that had only strengthened over the years.
“You’re the Duchess of Blackstone, mother of the two most mischievous boys in London, hostess of the Season’s finest balls, and a woman no one dares cross. ”
“Unless they want to face Raven’s wrath,” Claire added with a grin. “I’ve never seen a man more protective of his wife.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Raven appeared through the crowd, their four-year-old son James riding on his shoulders and three-year-old William clinging to his leg.
Both boys were supposed to be in the nursery, but Ashley had long since given up trying to keep them confined during parties.
“Your sons,” Raven said with mock severity as he reached the top of the stairs, “have escaped their nursemaid again. James picked the lock.”
“He’s four years old!” Ashley protested, even as she reached for William, who immediately transferred his attachment from his father’s leg to her skirts.
“He’s also your son,” Raven pointed out. “The ability to cause mischief appears to be hereditary.”
“Papa, can we stay?” James asked from his elevated perch. “Just for a little while? We promise to be good.”
Ashley exchanged a look with Raven, seeing the softness in his eyes that appeared whenever he looked at their boys. The austere Duke of Blackstone had been thoroughly conquered by fatherhood.
“Twenty minutes,” she conceded. “Then back to the nursery without argument.”
“Or what?” James challenged with a grin that was pure mischief.
“Or your mother will tie you to your beds,” Raven said solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement at the private joke.
The Sisterhood dissolved into laughter, and Ashley felt warmth bloom in her chest. This—this was what happiness looked like. Her friends surrounding her, her sons causing delightful chaos, her husband looking at her with such open affection that it still made her breath catch.
“Come,” Tiffany said, herding the other women toward the ballroom. “Let’s give the duchess and her duke a moment with their little hooligans before we’re all needed for the supper dance.”
As her friends departed, Ashley lifted William into her arms while Raven lowered James to the ground. Both boys immediately spotted the dessert table through the ballroom doors and took off running, their nursemaid in harried pursuit.
“We’re terrible parents,” Ashley observed. “Never following the norm.”
“The worst,” Raven agreed, slipping an arm around her waist. “Our children actually like us and we indulge them shamelessly.”
“Scandalous.”
“The Lady Who Never Behaves strikes again.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, the casual affection of five years of marriage. “Though I must say, you’ve outdone yourself tonight. This ball is magnificent.”
“It should be. I’ve been planning it for months.” Ashley leaned into his warmth, watching the glittering crowd below. “Do you remember my first ball as your duchess? How terrified I was that no one would attend?”
“I remember threatening several gentlemen that their investment opportunities with me depended on their wives’ good behavior toward you.”
Ashley laughed. “You didn’t.”
“I absolutely did. Though it turned out to be unnecessary. You won them over all on your own.” His arm tightened around her. “You’ve become exactly what I knew you would be—a duchess that society respects and admires. Even those who once shunned you now seek your approval.”
“Only because I’m married to you.”
“No.” Raven turned her to face him, his expression serious.
“Because you’re kind and intelligent and genuine.
Because you support charitable causes that actually help people rather than just making you look generous.
Because you’ve raised our sons to be curious and compassionate rather than entitled.
Because you’re you, Ashley. Society would be foolish not to recognize your worth. ”
She felt tears prick at her eyes—pregnancy was already making her emotional, apparently. “I love you.”
“I know.” He smiled, that private smile reserved just for her. “And I love you. Even when you let our four-year-old pick locks.”
“He learned that from watching you with my jewel box that one time.”
“That was for an entirely different purpose,” Raven murmured, his voice dropping to that intimate tone that made her stomach flutter even after five years. “And if I recall correctly, you very much enjoyed what followed once I got it opened.”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “Raven! We’re at a ball.”
“Our ball. In our home. Where I can say whatever I like to my wife.” His hand traced up her spine in a way that was entirely improper for public—even if public meant the top of their own staircase.
“Besides, I’ve been watching you all evening in this gown and thinking about later.
After everyone leaves. After the boys are asleep. After I have you all to myself.”
“Actually,” Ashley said, emboldened by the news she’d been keeping to herself all day, “I have plans for later as well.”
“Do you?” His eyes darkened with interest. “What sort of plans?”
“The kind that require silk scarves,” she whispered. “And perhaps those leather cuffs you’re so fond of.”
“Ashley.” Her name came out as half warning, half promise. “You can’t say such things and expect me to return to our guests with any sort of composure.”
“Then it’s fortunate we’re the hosts and can do whatever we like.” She pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “If I didn’t care what people would think, after twenty more minutes of charming our guests, I’d retire with a headache. But I can wait. Can you?”
“Wait? I can’t now.”
“Those pantaloons are looking very tight.” Her smile was pure wickedness. “I hope you won’t be uncomfortable for the rest of the night.”
Raven’s laugh was low and warm. “You’re terrible.”
“You love it.”
“God help me, I do.”
*
Two hours later, after the last guest had departed and the servants had been dismissed for the night, Ashley made her way to their bedchamber with anticipation humming through her veins.
Five years of marriage hadn’t dimmed their passion—if anything, it had only intensified as they’d learned each other’s desires more thoroughly.
She’d already changed into a silk nightgown—one of the specially made ones with ribbons that untied easily—and arranged the items she’d need on the bedside table.
The sight of them still made her heart race a little: soft silk scarves in deep burgundy, the leather cuffs lined with velvet, and a new blindfold she’d acquired specifically for tonight.
The door opened and Raven entered, already loosening his cravat. He stopped when he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, her silk nightgown gaping open, revealing very little underneath. Then he saw the items laid out beside her, and his eyes went dark with desire.
“Ashley.”
“I believe,” she said, rising with deliberate grace, “that it’s my turn tonight.”
“Your turn?”
“To be in control.” She crossed to him, reaching up to finish removing his cravat. “You’ve tied me to this bed more times than I can count over the past five years. I think it’s time I returned the favor.”
She felt him tense—not with reluctance, but with anticipation. They’d played with this dynamic before, though Raven’s preference was usually to be the one in control. But occasionally, when the mood struck them both, they reversed their roles. And tonight, Ashley wanted to be the one in charge.
“And if I refuse?” His voice was teasing, but she heard the underlying question: was this truly what she wanted?
“Then I’ll simply have to persuade you.” Ashley began removing his waistcoat, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. “Though I suspect you won’t refuse. I suspect you’ve been thinking about this all night, as I have.”
“Have you been thinking about it?”
“Constantly.” She pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders, then started on his shirt. “Thinking about seeing you bound to our bed. At my mercy. Unable to do anything but feel while I touch you and move my mouth over you however I please.”
Raven’s breathing had gone shallow. “You’re dangerously good at this.”