Epilogue
Four Months Later
Delia laid her head against the copper tub, enjoying her husband’s hands as he massaged the arch of her foot. It was impossible to think, let alone reveal her secret, when he did such things to her, which was often.
She smiled, thinking on the past four months, which had been the most magical months of her entire life.
After Hunt gallantly stopped her departure from London, they had turned the carriage around and returned to March House. It was highly improper, but at that point, Delia couldn’t find it in her to care. She was happy. He loved her.
Since then, it had been a whirlwind of activity. A small ceremony was held a sennight later, which, surprisingly, both her father and Aunt Francis attended. She suspected the latter only attended to brag to her friends. Her father had surprised her by showing up the day of her wedding.
He was silent and stoic, but he was there. Delia still had not seen her mother again, yet Hunt did inform her that he’d heard that Selena was in town. It did not matter to Delia, as her mother made it perfectly clear that she was nothing more than a means to ensnare her father.
“What are you thinking about, my hellion?” Hunt asked, his fingers dancing up her calves.
Her magnificent husband dragged her to him, water sloshing over the tub. She smiled wickedly, her hands slipping around his neck, his hard member sitting at the entrance of her sex.
“How wonderful the past four months have been.” She brushed her lips against his, teasing him.
He gave her a playful smile. “They have been wonderful, and you tried to leave me.” He pouted, those green eyes that she loved filled with hurt and pain.
They had barely spoken about her brief moment of doubt.
Delia had believed the lies that Augustus planted in her mind, but in reality, it didn’t matter what the Ton thought of her.
Yes, there were some among the older nobility who openly ignored Delia and Hunt.
The ones that had been alive for ages and felt that the only important things in the world were blood and status.
Fortunately for Delia, that part of the Ton was slowly disappearing. They were old after all. Newer members were more accepting or did not care about the circumstances of her birth at all.
“I thought I was doing the right thing for you,” she whispered, now knowing the truth.
She was always meant to be his, as he was always meant to be hers. Now Delia knew that without a shadow of doubt. The secret blooming inside of her was proof of that.
“The right thing for me is right here,” he said, squeezing her rear. “If I have to choose between you and Society’s opinion of me, I’ll choose you every single time.”
He pulled her onto his hard member, and Delia’s head fell back at the pleasure of him entering her. She’d never grow tired of having him inside of her.
Never.
She smiled as she found her own rhythm. Her hands clutched around him, her lips on his in a wild kiss.
Their dalliances on the road to Gretna Green were just the beginning of Delia discovering her own pleasure, and she loved every moment of it.
“Hunt,” she cried out, thankful that the rest of their family’s rooms were not near their chambers.
It was difficult being newly wedded and living with Hunt’s mother and both their sisters in one house, but it also was nice to have a family. A fun, loving, annoying family, especially with the addition of Reg. There was never a lack of excitement around the house.
“Ride my cock, hellion,” he growled against her lips.
Her sex pulsed around him, trying to keep him inside of her forever. “Yes! Harder,” she demanded, bouncing up and down on his member.
He kissed a path from her lips to her neck, biting gently. Her body shook, then stilled.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he said, pounding up into her, as Delia struggled to breathe.
The complete ecstasy would not stop, as her body convulsed on top of him, her sex flooding him with her essence. All Delia could do was grip her husband tight until it stopped.
“Delia,” he groaned, burrowing his face in her neck. She tightened her hold on him as her body was rocked with another climax.
They held each other in the cooling water. Delia’s heart was overflowing with love for this man who was much more than what Society thought of him.
“I love you,” she said, kissing his whiskered jaw.
“And I love you, my hellion.” His hand smoothed back her wild hair.
Delia swallowed, wanting to take advantage of the moment. “Hunt, I—”
Knock. Knock.
“My lady, the dowager bid me to inform you that the guests are starting to arrive,” Jenny said, from the other side of the bathing chamber’s door.
They were having a small garden party for her twenty-sixth birthday. It was nearly the end of the London Season, and soon, they were going to go to Devon, to the March ancestral home, Albertus Manor. Delia was both thrilled and terrified.
She sighed in frustration before removing herself from her husband. “You’ve made me late to my own birthday party,” she told him, a wide smile on her face.
He kissed her nose, a wicked gleam in those hypnotic green eyes of his. “Am I supposed to feel bad about that?”
Delia thought for a moment, pretending like she was upset with him.
“Never.”
The sun beamed unusually bright on the small garden party.
A few chosen friends had come to celebrate Hunt’s wife.
Delia beamed in the center of a small group of societal women, who had openly accepted her despite the circumstances of her birth.
Her sister, Margaret, was among them. Her reputation had been tarnished by her adventure with Augustus, but after Hunt increased her dowry, some suitable suitors had shown an interest.
As for his wayward cousin—brother, Augustus was shipped to New South Wales for theft and garnering debt by impersonating a member of the peerage.
The news that Augustus was his father’s son shocked his sister so much that she was speechless, for once in her life. His mother, however, did not flutter a single eyelash, when Hunt informed her.
Hunt smiled as he strolled over to the refreshment table, where his mother, sister, and Reg were.
“I don’t think I will ever get accustomed to you being this happy,” Helen said, taking a grape and popping it into her mouth.
“It really is difficult to get used to,” Reg agreed, slapping Hunt on the back.
Hunt shook his head, not bothered at all by his sister nor his friend’s comments. He was happy, happier than he’d ever been in his life. And it was all due to the woman across the green lawn.
“Well, I for one am thrilled that my son found happiness,” his mother said, gripping her cane tight. “I believe there is much more to come.” There was a knowing twinkle in her eye.
Hunt raised an eyebrow at her comment, finding it odd.
“Happy birthday, my lady,” Sampson shouted, bringing over Delia’s new horse.
Hunt cursed under his breath, as Walter rushed to catch up with the old man. From the moment that Delia had become the Countess of March, the two older men had doted on her at every turn. The entire household was as besotted with his wife as he was.
Meeting his wife in the center of the lawn, he escorted her over to the new mare.
“Happy birthday, my lady. I trained her especially for you.” Walter patted the horse’s long mane.
“I supervised him, my lady.” Sampson nodded repeatedly.
Hunt ignored the two old fools, taking his wife by the hand, and walking her to the horse. She was a beautiful mare, with a midnight black coat and gentle manners, the perfect horse for a beginner.
“Happy birthday, Hellion,” Hunt said, pulling her close.
“You’re really a Wakefield now. You have your own horse,” Helen called from beside Reg.
“She was a Wakefield from the moment I saw her.” His mother smiled widely at his wife, patting her cheek affectionately before she walked slowly back to her seat.
Hunt had been teaching his wife how to properly ride a horse. Molly was the only horse that he trusted with Delia, but now she was expecting her first foal, and Hunt did not want to risk her health.
“Hunt, she’s beautiful. What shall I call her?” Delia asked, rubbing down the mare’s nose.
“Whatever you like. She’s yours.” He kissed her cheek, not able to resist her smooth skin.
Their guests had dispersed, leaving Hunt and Delia alone. Sampson and Walter followed his mother to the refreshment table, helping themselves.
“Magnificent, Mags for short,” Delia said, looking at him.
Hunt couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that burst out of him. “Very well. If you must.”
His wife walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I must.”
“We’ll begin your riding lessons once we’re in Devon.” He squeezed her to him, not caring that they were not alone.
Delia looked away, not meeting his eyes, and a seed of worry assaulted Hunt.
“I-I’m afraid my lessons will have to wait…” she trailed off, her gaze roaming around the small party.
“Wait? You don’t have to be afraid. I know for a fact that you are an excellent rider—”
She swatted his arm. “Hunter Wakefield!” she shouted, embarrassed but no one was around to hear them. “Are you really calling yourself a stallion?”
“I do have excellent stamina.” He kissed the top of her nose.
She bit her bottom lip, staring up at him shyly. It was strange to see her act timidly, especially since she had just exhibited earlier what an excellent horsewoman she was.
“I’m afraid my lessons will have to wait for at least seven months, if the doctor’s estimation is correct.” She gazed up at him expectantly, but Hunt was speechless.
A child.
She was carrying his child, possibly his heir or his daughter.
Or both.
He pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Hunt, the guests.” She tried to step out of his arms, but he wouldn’t release her. He couldn’t.
This beautiful, fierce woman was having his child. “I love you.”
“As I love you.”
He kissed her, ignoring their guests and their family. No one mattered but his wife and his child.
“That there is a proper kiss, mi’lord!” Walter called out.
“If I had a wife that pretty, I’d kiss her in front of all of London,” Sampson shouted.
Hunt and Delia laughed, breaking apart. He looked into those deep brown liquid eyes that had captured him from the very beginning and gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Belle, whoever she was. He’d thank her every day for the rest of his life.
The End.