Epilogue
By the time the household had settled for the night, Margaret felt as though the day had lasted a month. After showing Ophelia to her new room, she had watched the young woman’s nervous smile turn into something warmer when Margaret assured her that Ravenfield was now her home.
Pierce had said little, but Margaret had seen the quiet determination in his expression. Ophelia would not be sent away. She belonged here, and so did Hugh’s aunt, whether society approved of it or not.
They had then gone together to the nursery, where Hugh had received his goodnight kisses with considerable impatience, apparently believing that sleep was an unreasonable interruption to his evening.
Margaret had kissed his soft cheek twice before Pierce had gently drawn her away, promising their son that they would see him in the morning.
Now, at last, they were alone in their shared bedchamber.
Margaret climbed sat on the bench before the hearth and settled against the pillows, watching Pierce remove his coat with the calm efficiency that seemed to accompany everything he did.
She smiled as he glanced towards her and caught her staring.
"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing," she replied innocently, though her smile betrayed her. Pierce gave her a suspicious look before coming to sit beside her, and Margaret shifted closer until her shoulder rested against his.
"You are staring," he murmured.
"I like looking at my husband."
His mouth curved. "A dangerous habit, considering your husband is accustomed to being admired."
She gave him a playful smile. "Do not flatter yourself, Your Grace. I was merely confirming that you still have two eyes."
"And yet," he said, "you seem particularly fond of them."
Margaret laughed softly, but after a moment her expression became more thoughtful.
"I have a confession to make."
Pierce immediately turned towards her, his amusement replaced by interest. "A confession?" he asked. "Now I am intrigued. Go on."
Margaret hesitated, suddenly finding the ceiling fascinating. "Lady Darren suggested that you might have a mistress."
Pierce's brows rose. "Did she?"
Margaret nodded. "She also told me that Hugh was not Augusta's son, but the son of this mistress." Her cheeks warmed as she continued. "I refused to believe her, of course. I put her very firmly in her place."
Pierce's mouth twitched. "I have no doubt that you did with that silver tongue of yours."
"I did," Margaret assured him, pleased despite herself. "She deserved it."
Her confidence faded as she admitted the rest. "But when you kept leaving Ravenfield, I thought perhaps your personal affairs that you were attending to could be this mistress after all." She lowered her eyes. "I am sorry. I should not have allowed my suspicions to get the better of me."
For several seconds Pierce said nothing, and Margaret feared she had made a terrible mistake by confessing it. Then a slow smirk appeared upon his face.
"That explains much about your behavior when I was leaving. I rather like the idea of knowing that it was because you were jealous."
Margaret looked at him in disbelief. "You do?"
"Very much." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "It does explain so much about your foul moods."
She gasped and struck his arm with the pillow. "My moods were not foul."
"Of course not." He caught the pillow before she could strike him again. "They were merely exceptionally unpleasant."
"Pierce!" Margaret laughed, snatching at it. "You are impossible."
She finally surrendered the pillow and sighed. "I am sorry. Now that I know the truth, I feel foolish. You were travelling south to find Ophelia, and all this time I was imagining you had some mysterious woman waiting for you somewhere."
Pierce studied her for a moment, then gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Yes," he said gravely. "You have been foolish."
Margaret narrowed her eyes. "I have apologized."
"That does not alter the charge."
"Then what precisely am I to do?" she demanded, though she was already smiling.
Pierce's expression became suspiciously thoughtful. "How should such foolishness be punished?"
Before she could answer, he slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her effortlessly from the bench. Margaret squealed as he carried her a short distance before tossing her gently onto the bed. She bounced against the mattress, laughing breathlessly.
"Pierce!" she cried, reaching for another pillow. He caught her wrist before she could seize it and began tickling her side. Margaret shrieked with laughter and twisted away, desperately attempting to escape his hands.
"Stop!" she gasped.
"Never, this is your punishment," he replied, laughing as she tried to push him away. "You have been convicted of falsely accusing me of having a mistress."
"You are a tyrant!" Margaret managed between bursts of laughter, only to have Pierce lean down and press a quick kiss to her cheek. She laughed harder and attempted to retaliate by tickling his ribs, which produced the unexpected satisfaction of making him jerk away with a startled laugh.
"Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "You are ticklish as well."
"Do not do that again."
"Too late," she said.
She attacked his side once more, and Pierce caught both her hands, pinning them gently against the mattress as he leaned over her.
Their laughter slowly quietened, leaving them smiling at one another.
Margaret's heart gave a soft, contented flutter when he kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips.
She kissed him back, still smiling, and when they parted, she whispered, "Am I forgiven?"
"For the jealousy?" Pierce asked.
"Yes."
"Maybe."
She laughed. "And for the foolishness?"
His eyes softened. "Completely."
Margaret rested her head against his shoulder, her smile lingering. Pierce had no mistress. His journeys had not been betrayals. He had been searching for family, protecting Hugh, and trying to uncover the truth that had haunted him. She slipped her arm around him and kissed his cheek.
"Well," she murmured, "I suppose I shall have to find something else to be jealous about."
Pierce gave a low chuckle. "I would advise against it."
"I make no promises. But I do believe I can repay you for being foolish with my accusations."
"How?" he asked.
She lowered her lashes and placed her hand on his trousers, over his bulge. He sucked in a sharp breath of air.
"If you tease me like that, I believe that is punishment, not reward," he said.
She moved her fingers slowly along his shaft. Pressing her thumb gently, then travelled up and down with patient, deliberate strokes.
Pierce watched her with an expression of desire, but he made no attempt to stop her when she unbuttoned his trousers and wrapped her hand around his thick member.
"Margaret..." he whispered.
His rod was warm beneath her hands, solid and strong, and she found something deeply comforting in the simple act of pleasuring him.
She kneaded the shaft, feeling the hardness beneath her touch, and Pierce released a quiet breath.
"You have become quite the expert at that," he murmured, his voice low with satisfaction.
Margaret smiled as she continued. "Have I?"
"Indeed. I rather enjoy your touch."
The admission sent a pleasant warmth through her, and she looked at him with a tenderness she no longer felt any need to conceal.
She had spent so long believing that caring for another person meant giving something away that she had never considered how beautiful it could be when the other person welcomed it.
When Pierce turned his attention to her, Margaret settled back against the pillows, watching him with curiosity.
His hands rested gently upon her thighs, and the warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of her nightdress.
He massaged slowly, his touch firm enough to ease the lingering tension without becoming anything more than wonderfully soothing.
His kisses moved along the length of her thighs, pressing carefully into creamy skin. Margaret felt the warmth of him surrounding her, the quiet strength in his hands reassuring rather than demanding, and she allowed herself to sink deeper into the mattress.
A breath escaped her that she had not realized she had been holding.
"Good?" Pierce asked, glancing towards her.
"Very," she whispered. The simple tenderness of it overwhelmed her.
Then he pressed his kisses against her secret place. Softly licking and touching her rosebud.
She wiggled underneath him, allowing the pulsing sensations to build. She closed her eyes and let herself feel everything, his warmth, his steady touch, the quiet room. Bliss seemed to move through her in gentle waves, loosening something deep inside her that had been clenched for far too long.
"Oh, Pierce. I am—I am—Pierce!” A shudder rocked through her.
For months, Margaret had carried fear without even recognizing how much of it she held.
She had feared Harrowby, feared disgrace, feared being unwanted, feared marrying a man who might never truly see her, and feared that Pierce's secrets concealed some terrible truth about him.
Even after becoming his wife, some part of her had remained prepared for disaster, as though happiness were something that could be snatched away the moment she dared to trust it.
But tonight there was nothing left for her to defend against. Pierce was beside her, his hand resting warmly upon her leg, and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, she saw no stranger, no distant duke, no impossible man she had been forced to marry.
She saw her husband. Her heart filled with such profound contentment that she almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
She was the Duchess of Ravenfield, and for the first time she did not merely accept the title because circumstances had demanded it.
She wanted it. She wanted this house, this family, this man, and the little boy who had somehow become the center of her heart.
She rested her hand upon Pierce's chest and smiled as he positioned himself on top of her.
She could hardly believe how completely her life had changed.
There had been a time when she had thought Ravenfield represented everything intimidating and unfamiliar, and now she could imagine waking there for years to come.
She would know which corridor Hugh preferred to race down, which flowers bloomed first in the gardens, which chair Pierce secretly favored when he read, and exactly how to make her husband relax when he carried too much upon his shoulders.
The thought made her smile. She had not simply married into Ravenfield; she had begun to belong there.
"I want you," she said.
"And I want you every moment of every day," he said.
With those words he slipped inside of her. Margaret opened her thighs wider, receiving him.
His hips swayed back and forth, filling her with his throbbing manhood.
He kissed her waiting mouth and moaned against her lips. Her hands wrapped around his back, holding him closer as he moved slowly, gliding in and out of her. She savored every inch of him, feeling his warmth.
"You feel so good inside of me," she whispered.
"You will drive me mad speaking like that, Duchess," he said.
He moved faster now. His muscles bulged in his arms as he held his weight above her, allowing him to move with greater speed. Margaret wrapped one leg around his back, feeling desirable and wanton. Fully allowing herself to be his true wife and dropped the timid nature of being unsure.
Pierce groaned in response. His hips pressed against her body with each push inside of her.
"I am close to bliss," she whispered. The words barely came out of her mouth before another tremor took over her.
Pierce moaned loudly as his body tightened and released as well.
He lay on top of her for a moment. His seed spilled inside her as pulsing vibrations moved through every limb.
Her cheek rested against his shoulder as bliss turned to thoughts rolling in her mind.
How could one reckless decision have brought me here? How could a woman desperate to escape one marriage have stumbled into another and discovered that it was precisely the life I had never known I wanted?
Margaret smiled as Pierce's arm settled around her, holding her close with quiet certainty.
There had been scandal, danger, secrets, jealousy, and more uncertainty than she cared to remember, yet somehow they had emerged on the other side with something stronger than anything she had dared to hope for.
As sleep began to pull at her, Margaret thought of the girl who had walked into that masquerade with a foolish plan and a great deal of courage.
She wished she could tell that girl what awaited her, a husband who would learn to love her, a son who would call her Mama, a new family who would welcome her, and a home where she finally felt safe.
She closed her eyes, smiling against Pierce's shoulder.
Perhaps the boldest decisions were sometimes the ones that changed everything.
And as she drifted peacefully towards sleep, Margaret knew…
I have never been happier to have made a scandal of myself.
The End