Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
“One more step, darling. No, not that way, or the kite shall end in the oak tree.”
Aaron stopped at once, his dark hair blown across his brow by the summer breeze, the kite string clutched between both hands. “This way?”
Emmeline shifted her daughter higher against her shoulder and smiled at him from the lawn. “Yes. Perfectly. Now wait for the wind.”
“I am waiting,” Aaron said, with great seriousness.
“You are glaring at the sky.”
“I am encouraging it.”
Margaret laughed beside her, the sound bright and warm beneath the shade of the great elm. “I daresay the sky looks terrified.”
“It ought to be,” Juliet said, seated on the blanket near Emmeline’s feet, her hand resting lightly over her middle in a gesture that had become more telling by the hour. “Aaron has the expression of a general.”
Aaron glanced back, indignant and pleased at once. “I am not a general. I am a captain.”
“Forgive me,” Juliet said gravely. “Captain.”
The kite gave a sudden tug.
Aaron gasped. “Mama!”
The word still struck Emmeline as if the world paused for it.
A year ago, she had entered Ironford House as a wife arranged by accident and duty. Now Aaron called for her without hesitation, as though she had always belonged to him.
“I see it,” she called. “Let it go a little. Not too much.”
Aaron obeyed, his faint stammer nearly lost to excitement. “It is f-flying!”
The kite rose above the lawn in a burst of blue and white, wobbling at first, then catching the wind properly. Aaron laughed, the sound open and unguarded, and somewhere near the gravel path, Biscuit barked as if the kite were a personal insult.
Biscuit was no longer a puppy, though no one had succeeded in convincing him of it. He thundered across the lawn with a stick in his mouth, all paws and delighted disorder, while Frederick gave chase in shirtsleeves and a tragic expression.
“Calham,” Rowan called from near the fountain, “if you cannot best the dog, say so.”
Frederick stopped, one hand braced against his side. “I am allowing him the illusion of victory. It is a kindness.”
Rowan looked at him with cool amusement. “You look winded.”
“I look noble.”
“You look winded,” Juliet called, though her smile was so tender that the insult lost most of its force.
Frederick placed a hand over his heart and turned toward his wife with wounded dignity. “My love, betrayal from you pains me most.”
Juliet’s brows lifted. “Then you must have led a very sheltered life, my lord.”
Frederick’s grin softened as he looked at her, and the change in his face was so immediate, so unguarded, that Emmeline felt warmth spread through her chest.
Nine months of marriage had made Frederick gentler. Happier. His gaze lingered on Juliet as though the rest of the garden had briefly ceased to exist.
A hand tugged at Emmeline’s sleeve.
Lord Weston stood beside her chair, his silver hair neatly brushed, his face healthier than it had been in years. The country sun had warmed his skin, and the terrible strain that once haunted his eyes had softened.
Rowan and Frederick had kept their word. Her father’s estate matters had been untangled with patience, his investments steadied, his pride preserved wherever possible. He was no longer a man being crushed by quiet ruin.
“May I hold my granddaughter?” he asked softly.
Emmeline’s throat tightened at once. “Of course, Papa.”
She placed the baby carefully into his arms. Little Clara, with her dark wisps of hair and solemn gray eyes, blinked up at him as if deciding whether he was worthy of her attention.
Lord Weston looked down at her and went still. “Oh,” he breathed.
Emmeline’s eyes stung.
Clara reached up with one tiny fist, caught the edge of his neatly trimmed whiskers, and pulled.
Lord Weston’s mouth opened in shock. Then he laughed, a thick, broken laugh that brought tears to his eyes.
“She has spirit,” Margaret said gently.
“She has her mother’s determination,” Rowan replied, coming up behind Emmeline.
Then his hand settled at the back of her chair, warm and familiar, and her body leaned toward him by instinct.
“She has her father’s habit of gripping what she wants and not letting go,” Emmeline said, looking up at him.
Rowan’s mouth curved. His gaze dropped to hers, and for a moment the garden, the laughter, the family around them all blurred beneath the heat in his eyes.
“I have never heard you complain,” he murmured.
Her cheeks warmed. “Rowan.”
“Yes, Duchess?”
She looked away quickly, only to find Juliet watching them with knowing delight.
“Behave,” Emmeline whispered.
Rowan bent closer, his breath warm near her ear. “Not tonight.”
Her pulse leaped.
Across the lawn, Aaron shouted, “Father! You must try!”
Rowan straightened with a sigh that suggested great sacrifice. “Must I?”
“You must,” Aaron insisted, running toward him with the kite string. “Mama taught me. Now she must teach you.”
Emmeline smiled slowly. “Yes. I believe she must.”
Rowan looked at the kite, then at Emmeline. “I command estates.”
“I am aware.”
“I do not require instruction to fly a kite.”
“No?” She raised an eyebrow, handing Clara back to her father long enough to rise. “Try it then.”
Frederick clapped once. “This promises to be excellent.”
It was. Aaron flew the kite beautifully, solemn and proud as he showed Rowan how to stand. Rowan listened with a seriousness that made Emmeline love him almost painfully. He crouched when Aaron corrected his grip. He nodded when the boy explained the wind. He did not interrupt once.
Then he tried, and the kite dipped immediately.
Frederick made a strangled sound.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “It is defective.”
“It is airborne for Aaron,” Emmeline said.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves the kite is innocent,” Margaret offered.
Aaron laughed so hard he nearly dropped the string. Biscuit, choosing that moment to bolt after the trailing line, tangled it neatly around Rowan’s boots. Rowan stepped back, the string wound once, and then he stood in the middle of the lawn, caught by a kite, a dog, and his own dignity.
Frederick bent over with laughter. “Ironford has been conquered.”
Rowan looked down at the string, then at the dog, then at Emmeline, who was trying and failing not to laugh.
Emmeline went to him, laughing now, and knelt to untangle the string from his boots. Rowan stood very still above her, but when she looked up, his expression had softened entirely.
“You are enjoying this,” he said.
“Immensely.”
His eyes darkened. “I shall remember that.”
The promise in his voice slid over her skin.
By the time the kite had been rescued, Juliet had gone strangely quiet. Frederick stood beside her, one hand at her waist, his expression tender enough to make him almost unrecognizable.
Juliet looked at Rowan first, then Emmeline. Her cheeks were pink.
“We had meant to wait until dinner,” she said.
Emmeline’s heart leaped before the words came.
Juliet’s hand moved over her stomach. “We are expecting.”
For a second, there was silence. Then Aaron shouted with joy. “A cousin!”
Juliet laughed, tears already bright in her eyes. “Yes. A cousin.”
Aaron ran to her and stopped just before touching her, suddenly careful. “I shall protect that baby, too.”
Frederick’s face changed at once. “I should be honored to employ your services, Captain.”
Rowan stepped forward and embraced Juliet. She cried into his coat, and he held her without stiffness now. When he released her, Frederick took his hand.
Emmeline watched it all with Clara back in her arms, her chest so full it almost hurt.
Around her, the garden seemed golden. Lord Weston wiping his eyes again. Margaret looking away with suspicious brightness. Aaron discussing fleets and cousins and whether babies preferred ships or castles. Biscuit barking at absolutely nothing.
Her life, loud and imperfect and overflowing.
That night, after the house had quieted and Clara had been settled in the nursery, Emmeline stood before the open window of their chamber and let the summer air cool her heated skin.
“You are thinking too much,” Rowan said from behind her.
She smiled without turning. “You always accuse me of that when you wish to distract me.”
His footsteps crossed the room slowly. “Do you object?”
“Rarely.”
His hands settled at her waist. The touch was gentle at first, familiar and possessive enough to send warmth unfurling through her before he had even pulled her back against him. She closed her eyes as his mouth brushed the side of her neck.
“You were happy today,” he murmured, the words a low, vibrating hum against the column of her throat. “I watched you.”
“I noticed.”
His lips curved, catching the soft skin just beneath her jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive pulse point until she gasped. “Did you?”
“Yes.” Her breath hitched completely as his large, calloused hand slid down her ribcage, past the waist of her silk gown, and over her stomach.
His thumb pressed into the flesh with a slow, devastating possessiveness that made her lower belly ache with a sudden, heavy heat.
“You were beautiful today,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, roughening as his palms swept down to cup the full curve of her hips, pulling her flush against him.
She turned in his arms, her silk nightdress bunching between them, until she was looking directly into the dark, glittering hunger of his gray eyes. “Only today?”
“Always.” The word was thick, almost a growl.
He caught her mouth in a kiss that stole the air from her lungs.
The restraint broke within seconds. Rowan let out a low, ragged sound and tangled his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back to feast on her mouth.
His tongue parted her lips, claiming her with a fierce hunger that left her lightheaded.
She gripped his bare shoulders, her nails digging into the hard muscle, intoxicated by the absolute surrender of his control.
He walked her backward, his boots clicking against the floorboards until the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. They tumbled onto the sheets together, a tangle of limbs and breathless, hot whispers.
Rowan rose above her on his hands, his gaze burning down into hers as his fingers caught the hem of her nightdress. He gathered the silk in his fists and drew it up over her hips, over her waist, and pulled it over her head, discarding it into the shadows.
The cool summer air from the open window hit her naked skin, but she was instantly scorched by the intensity of his stare.
“Listen to me.” He dropped down, his chest pressing against her breasts, his hand cupping her jaw to force her to meet his gaze. “After every year. After every gray hair you one day discover and blame on me. I will want you exactly like this.”
The tenderness of it struck deeper than desire, but before she could weep, he shifted, his hand sliding between her thighs to find her.
Emmeline cried out, her head arching back into the pillows as his fingers touched her. He stroked her slowly at first, learning the slick, needy heat of her, his thumb working the sensitive bead of her pleasure until she was writhing beneath him, her breath hitching in broken, sharp gasps.
“Rowan, please,” she whimpered, her hands moving down to clutch at his trousers, desperate for the friction of him.
He didn’t make her wait. He stripped off his clothes, throwing his shirt to the floor. When he returned to her, he was entirely bare, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his body lean and powerful and completely hers.
He settled between her thighs, one hand sliding beneath her hip, tilting her up. He pressed the blunt, aching tip of his length against her entrance, testing her wetness, lingering there until she wrapped her legs around his waist in silent, frantic demand.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice raw.
She opened her eyes, her vision blurred with tears of pure need.
“You are so beautiful.”
And Rowan drove into her.
A long, trembling moan escaped her lips, caught instantly by his mouth as he kissed her through the sensation. He began to move, his strokes long and heavy, driving into her with a rhythmic force that made the heavy bedstead groan against the wall.
The slick friction of their skin, the heat of his chest rubbing against her sensitive nipples, the relentless, deep thud of his hips against hers drove every lingering shadow from her mind.
She was entirely consumed by him. She arched her back, meeting every thrust, her inner muscles clenching tightly around him, pulling him deeper.
Rowan’s control was entirely gone now. His jaw was locked, the muscles in his neck strained, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps near her ear as he drove faster, harder, burying himself to the root with every strike.
“Emmeline,” he choked out, his movements becoming frantic as the tension between them wound tighter, spiraling toward the precipice.
The internal tightening caught her first—a sudden, electric spasm that rippled through her lower belly. Pleasure broke through her in a wave so bright and consuming that she clung to him helplessly, saying his name against his mouth.
The sight of her shattering broke him completely. Rowan let out a harsh, guttural cry, his body shuddering violently as he delivered one final, deep thrust and gave himself to her, his head burying into the crook of her neck as his pulse hammered against her skin.
They stayed joined for a long time, the heavy, rhythmic thudding of his heart slowing against her breast as the summer night breeze cooled their sweat-slicked bodies.
Eventually, he shifted, rolling to his side but refusing to let her go, pulling her against his flank so her cheek rested over his heart. His fingers moved through her damp hair in slow, absent strokes.
“Are you asleep?” he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion and peace.
“No.”
“Good.”
She smiled in the dark, her hand resting on his bare stomach. “Why?”
His arm tightened around her, pulling her so close there was no space left between them. “Because I wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
He tipped her chin up, his gray eyes soft, unguarded, and deeply bright in the moonlight. “You have brought me home.”
Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them, hot and sweet.
He kissed them away one by one, his lips lingering on her eyelids, her nose, and finally, softly, against her mouth.
And beneath the open window, with the summer night breathing around them and their family sleeping safely under the same roof, Emmeline understood that happiness was not the dream she had once mourned.
It was here. In the wild, beautiful wreckage of their love.
The End?