Epilogue #2
“Margaret was brilliant,” Leo said simply. “The world is only now discovering what our family suppressed for decades.”
“I’ve heard Lady Jersey is hosting a salon specifically to discuss her botanical classifications,” Georgina piped up. “Apparently, they’ve already been adopted by several prominent naturalists.”
Leo caught Beatrice’s eye across the table, sharing a private smile at this vindication of his great-aunt’s genius.
They had spent countless hours together in that dusty room, preserving her legacy, ensuring her voice would finally be heard. The project had become precious to them both, a reclamation of truth, a defiance of convention that mirrored their unlikely union.
Later, as their carriage took them back home, Beatrice leaned against his shoulder with a contented sigh. “They seem happy, don’t they? All of them.”
“They do,” Leo agreed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Though not as happy as we are.”
She laughed softly. “Confident as always, Your Grace.”
“Merely observant.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Your sister’s attitude toward me has changed.”
“Isabella is protective,” Beatrice explained, nestling closer. “But even she can’t deny how good you’ve been for me.”
“How good we’ve been for each other,” Leo corrected, thinking of all the ways she had changed his life.
The once cold, empty halls of Stagmore were now filled with warmth and purpose, the garden folly no longer a site of punishment but of pleasure.
The thought of the folly stirred his blood.
“Speaking of which,” he murmured against her hair, “I believe we have plans for this evening.”
Her laugh vibrated against his chest. “Impatient, are we?”
“For you? Always.”
The garden folly had been transformed, like so much else in Leo’s life.
Where once it had been a chamber of torment, it now housed a large copper bath, comfortable furnishings, and warm braziers that kept the space inviting even on cool evenings.
The stone walls that had once echoed with his childhood cries now witnessed only pleasure and intimacy.
“I still can’t believe you’ve turned this place into a sanctuary,” Beatrice said later, sinking into the steaming water with a sigh of contentment. “Your father would be appalled.”
“All the more reason to enjoy it,” Leo replied, joining her in the bath and pulling her back against his chest. “Though I suspect he’d be more appalled by what we do in here than by the renovations.”
Beatrice laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly off the stone walls. “The fearsome Duke of Stagmore, tamed at last by a wallflower.”
“Hardly tamed,” he growled playfully, nipping her earlobe. “Merely… redirected.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” She turned in his arms, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as she straddled his thighs. “Because from where I’m sitting, you seem thoroughly domesticated.”
He caught her wrists gently, his eyes darkening with desire. “Care to test that theory, Duchess? About how tame I’ve become?”
Her lips curled into a smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Rather than answer with words, she leaned forward and kissed him—a bold, demanding kiss that still had the power to steal his breath.
Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, seeking entrance that he willingly granted.
The taste of honey and bergamot from the tea they had shared earlier was intoxicating.
Leo released her wrists to tangle a hand in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss while his other hand skimmed down her back, following the elegant curve of her spine. She sighed into his mouth, arching into his touch like a cat seeking affection.
Their marriage had taught them each other’s bodies as thoroughly as they had come to know each other’s minds. He knew precisely how to touch her to coax that breathy moan that drove him wild, just as she had learned exactly how to rock against him to make his control fray at the edges.
“I love watching you like this,” he murmured, trailing kisses down the elegant column of her throat. “So far from the proper lady you pretend to be among the ton.”
“Only for you,” she gasped as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot.
Water splashed onto the floor as their movements grew more urgent, more focused. She rose slightly, then sank onto him with deliberate slowness that made them both groan with pleasure. Her fingernails scraped lightly across his shoulders as she began to move.
“Leo,” she breathed, her voice catching on his name in a way that made his heart stutter. “My love.”
The endearment, still new enough to surprise him, unleashed something primal in his chest. His hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust upward to meet her. Every touch was a conversation, every caress a declaration of things too profound for words.
Beatrice’s soft gasps echoed in the chamber, the sounds of pleasure bouncing off walls that had once witnessed only pain.
When she cried out his name, her back arching, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her inner walls clenching around him, Leo felt the familiar surge of possessive triumph that only she could inspire.
His release followed swiftly, her name torn from his lips like a prayer as pleasure crashed over him in waves.
For several heartbeats, they remained joined, their foreheads touching, their breath mingling in the small space between them as the water lapped gently at the sides of the tub.
Later, wrapped in thick towels before the fire, Beatrice rested her head against his shoulder, her damp hair leaving wet patches on his skin. Contentment settled over them like a blanket, comfortable and warm.
“Leo,” she said softly, breaking the peaceful silence. “I have something to tell you.”
He hummed in acknowledgment, too relaxed to open his eyes. “What is it, my Duchess?”
Her hand found his, guiding it to rest on her still-flat stomach. “We’re having a baby.”
His eyes flew open, his body tensing in shock. “What?”
Beatrice nodded, her smile radiant in the firelight. “The physician confirmed it yesterday. Spring, he thinks.”
Joy surged through Leo, so intense that it was almost painful.
A child. Their child. The culmination of everything they had built together, a future neither of them had dared to imagine when they stood at the altar as strangers.
“Are you happy?” Beatrice whispered, vulnerability flashing across her face.
In answer, Leo gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her neck to hide the moisture in his eyes.
“Happy doesn’t begin to describe it,” he managed, his voice rough with emotion. “Beatrice, you’ve given me everything. Everything.”
She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“And you’ve done the same for me,” she said softly. “Love, family, purpose… all the things I never thought I’d have.”
He kissed her then, pouring into it all the emotions he still struggled to convey in words. The gratitude, the wonder, the bone-deep certainty that he had found his home not in a place but in a person.
Against all odds, against his own fears and defenses, Leo Ashwell had discovered that true strength lay not in enduring alone, but in loving completely.
In Beatrice, he had found not just a wife, but also a partner. Not merely passion, but also peace.
And now, incredibly, he found a family of his own. One built on pure love.
“Our child will never know the coldness we did,” he vowed, his hand splayed protectively over her stomach. “Only warmth. Only love.”
“I know,” Beatrice whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Because that’s what you’ve shown me, Leo. That’s who you truly are.”
In the transformed garden folly, as firelight danced across their entwined figures, the Duke of Stagmore finally believed it.
The End?