Epilogue
Kenneth paced from one end of his modest drawing room to the other, wondering if his new wife needed help.
He was nervous, but in all the best ways. Tonight was their wedding night, but it was hardly their first time together. In the last three weeks—after his side had fully healed—he’d climbed the brick wall up to her bedroom so often she’d begun to leave a rope out for him.
But tonight was special.
Trying to calm his nerves, Kenneth crossed to the drinks cabinet and removed the bottle of smuggled French brandy his new father-in-law had gifted him last week.
As he poured himself a large dollop, Kenneth did a few experimental stretches, pleased his injury was fully cured.
It hadn’t been that serious, but he smiled, remembering the way his future wife had insisted on pampering him.
There wasn’t any need for him to worry.
Barbara was so casual about her healthy inheritance, and Kenneth…well, his lodgings were comfortable, and she assured him that she would be as well. But his new man of business was already looking for townhouses near her family, so she could set up another library in their shared home.
He stared down into the depths of the alcohol.
A home. A wife. Perhaps, one day, a family.
With a wry smile, he took a drink.
“How the mighty have fallen, eh?”
Remington had said that to him with a laugh at the wedding breakfast this afternoon.
Unlike Merevale—who had sent a nice note from his new estate—Kenneth’s old friend Remmy had attended the ceremony and had embraced him after the fact.
It was nice that Remmy looked genuinely pleased for him, but it was impossible to deny that their stupid wager had landed Kenneth in plenty of trouble, even if only momentary.
Remmy, on the other hand…it appeared his Serpentine dip en dishabille in front of so many witnesses had done exactly what he’d wanted: his reputation as a wicked rake was now firmly established among the Ton, though The Grand Folly theater wasn’t saved yet.
Still, Kenneth was more than happy to turn over his title of rake to his old friend. Hopefully he could do some good with it, because his raking days were over. All because of one woman…
As if his thoughts had conjured her, Barbara emerged from their bedchamber and his breath caught, as it did every time he saw her.
She was wearing that same pink silk negligee, this time without even a robe to cover her, her blonde curls tumbling over her shoulder. The fact she was bold and barefoot and limping told Kenneth she was ready for bed, and baring all of herself to him.
The brandy glass dropped onto the table without him even glancing away from the vision before him.
“Barbara,” he whispered, stepping toward her.
Christ, he’d never get enough of her bold smile as she lifted her arms and pretended to stretch, while ensuring he got an eyeful of her curves pressed against that silk.
“Good evening, husband,” she all but crooned, and Kenneth’s cock throbbed in response to her throaty wickedness.
When he reached her, he found himself hesitating, thoughts tangled on how to touch her, how to hold her. Everywhere she was just pink and rosy and delicious-looking, and he couldn’t decide which part to touch first.
Luckily she was the perfect match for him. With a throaty chuckle, she threw her arms around his neck. “I am not going to melt, Kenneth, you can touch me. You saw me only a short while ago.”
This was true; she’d needed his help to unbutton the gown—pink of course—she’d worn for their wedding. But the reminder only served to make him wince.
“I’m sorry ye dinnae have a maid yet, love. Gage will start next week—”
She interrupted him with a slow and languid kiss, and when she pulled back she was grinning. “Surely I have proven I do not need constant help? My foot may be lamed, but I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
“Aye, that ye are.” His hands slid down the small of her back. “And undressing yerself. Still, Miss Gage will be a help, and she’ll need yer help training her on what she needs to ken afore the time we leave, aye?”
Whenever Kenneth became rueful that his wife was living in hired lodgings—it was hardly their dream house—he reminded himself it was only temporary.
By the end of the summer, the two of them—and the female Foreign Office agent who would be posing as Barbara’s lady’s maid—would be on a steamer headed for the Mediterranean and ultimately, Egypt.
He wasn’t sure how long their posting would last, but knew Barbara was ecstatic about the opportunity to see the antiquities she loved in situ—and the two of them could do some real good for their country.
And when they returned, they’d move into the townhouse near her family, hire all the servants she wanted, and perhaps think about a few children.
But that was the future, one they’d spoken about at length in the last few weeks as her mother planned their wedding. For now, he had plenty to focus his attention on…
His new wife beamed up at him. “I still cannot believe I will have this opportunity.”
“Och, lass, dinnae think it’s merely a pleasure trip.” He forced a stern tone and expression, even as his hands slid to cup her arse. “This will be work—yer country is counting on ye to use that clever brain of yers, eh?”
With a grin, she wriggled against him, silk doing little to hide her curves or the pebbling of her nipples.
“And I suppose, when we are abroad, you will count as my manager—my superior when it comes to matters of State? I will need to do exactly as you say?”
Since that last part was accompanied by her rocking her hot little cunny against his hard cock, Kenneth groaned in agreement. “Aye, lass,” he rasped, cupping her arse and pulling her flush against him. “Exactly what I say, and when I say it.”
“So if you were to, for example, order me to my knees so you could use my mouth, I would have no choice but to obey?”
Christ Almighty, how did he get so lucky?
With another groan, Kenneth claimed that wicked little mouth in a kiss, loving the way she met him head on.
During the last decade, he’d always assumed that settling down and yoking himself to merely one woman meant he’d be bored for the rest of his life.
It had taken falling in love with someone like Barbara—someone brilliant and witty and completely embracing her sexuality—to prove how very wrong he was.
“Well?” his wife murmured against his ear as his kisses dropped to her throat and her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck. “Are you going to give me that command?”
“On my wedding night?” His hand cupped her tit through the silk of the negligee, lifting the perfect globe so he could drag his tongue across her nipple. “I would be better served ordering ye to spread yerself across a chaise.”
Gasping at his touch, she arched into his hold. “You do not have a chaise, husband.”
“Put it on the list for Barbara and Kenneth’s dream house.” With a small grunt, Kenneth bent and scooped her into his arms. “For now, we’ll have to make do with the bed.”
Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Whatever you say, husband.”
Barbara’s breath hitched as Kenneth carried her into the bedchamber—their bedchamber—and set her gently on her feet beside the bed. The anticipation thrumming through her body made her skin feel too tight, too sensitive—and when his fingers traced the thin strap of her negligee, she shivered.
“Let me see ye properly, wife,” he murmured, the topaz in his eyes flaring with desire.
She stood still as he slowly peeled the silk down her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her heated skin.
The negligee caught briefly on her nipples—already hard and aching—before sliding down to pool at her feet in a whisper of pink silk.
Standing naked before him, Barbara felt no shame, only a wild, desperate need.
Kenneth’s eyes darkened as they traveled over her body, and she felt his gaze like a physical touch.
Her nipples tightened further, wetness gathering between her thighs.
Without thinking she pressed herself against him, rubbing her body against the rough fabric of his clothes, seeking friction, seeking relief from the pressure building inside her.
“Bed. Now,” her new husband commanded, his voice rough with want, the authoritative tone sending another surge of heat through her core.
Wild with repressed anticipation, Barbara climbed onto the bed, settling back against the pillows. Kenneth remained standing, his eyes locked on hers as he began to undress. He moved deliberately, slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat, and Barbara realized he was putting on a show for her.
Well, two could play at that game.
She let her hands drift up her body, cupping her breasts, feeling their heavy weight in her palms. Kenneth’s fingers fumbled on a button. Emboldened, Barbara circled her nipples with her thumbs before pinching lightly, and was rewarded with a strangled groan from her husband.
But she wasn’t finished. One hand remained on her breast while the other traveled lower, caressing across her belly, down to the wet heat between her thighs. She spread her legs wider, making sure he could see everything as she dragged her fingers through her slick folds.
“Barbara,” Kenneth growled, his warning clear, but she merely smiled, power roaring through her.
She was so wet, so ready. Her fingers found her entrance easily, and she slid one inside, then another, moaning at the sensation. It felt good—but it wasn’t enough. Her eyelashes fluttered as she imagined it was Kenneth’s fingers, Kenneth’s cock, and instinctively began to move her hand faster.
“Christ,” Kenneth swore, yanking at his waistcoat. His movements became frantic, desperate, as he tore at his remaining clothes. His cravat flew across the room, followed quickly by his shirt.