Epilogue A Series of Fortunate Events
One month later
Diana knew entering the forge was dangerous. When her husband worked, his magic rode him hard, and when that happened, he wanted to ride her. Hard. Not that she minded.
The news she’d brought had been an excuse.
To see him shirtless and glowing, shaping the iron with his large hands, sweat dripping down his brow, between the ridges of his muscles.
She must have made some noise because he froze, the forge’s fire illuminating his hard body. He set his hammer aside and stalked toward her.
She raised the collection of letters between them. “Temple, I—”
He kissed her. No, he devoured her, his mouth melting into her as he pressed her against the wall next to the door.
The letters fell to the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, gave a little hop, and wrapped her legs about his taut, narrow waist. He grunted and slapped one palm into the wall by her head, loosed his trousers, and pushed them down his hips, then flattened the other palm on her outer thigh.
He smoothed it up until he cupped one side of her arse.
Her skirts smooshed between their bodies as he lifted her slightly so his cock was poised at her entrance.
She rolled her hips, brushing the head of his cock against her folds and hissed with her pleasure.
He moaned, breaking the kiss as his head felt back in ecstasy. “Juno, Diana.” He squeezed her arse. When he invoked the goddess Juno, she felt like a goddess.
She kissed down the length of his strong neck, then back up to capture his mouth once more. “You’re glad to see me, then?”
Another groan, a half chuckle, dark and promising, and then he thrust upward and into her, and she cried out. The fire behind them seemed to leap. The fire in his eyes danced as he held her gaze and stroked in and out of her.
He was her husband, her friend, her protector, her lover. Her love. And every kiss was a smile, and ever touch a pleasure, and when he reached between their bodies to thrum the edge of his ring over her little nub, her every breath—ragged and worn, sated and hot—was for him.
Her body an explosion. His, too, until they were both sweaty and sated, and then he gathered her up—kissing her slowly now—without leaving her body and carried her to the worktable.
Still kissing, gently. He set her on the edge of the table and stroked his hands down her back, kissing—still—with lazy love.
She could barely hold herself up and gave a little laugh. “I came in here for reason… I think.”
He scowled. “Your reason was not me?”
“It was, oh, I can’t remem—the newspaper! That’s what.” She looked toward the floor by the door, and there it was, laying lifeless and pale against the dark stone.
Temple righted his trousers then gathered the paper for her, tossed it onto the mess of her wrinkled skirts splayed across her lap.
She smoothed it as best she could and showed him the headline.
The cocky grin he’d been wearing since he pinned her against the wall faded, and he snatched the paper from her. “Well, damn. The king is dead.”
“Long live the Queen.”
“Princess Victoria’s done it.” Temple whistled, and when he met Diana’s gaze. “She inherited the king’s talent.”
“It seems so.”
He whistled again. “That’s two of you, then.” He leaned his hip against the table beside her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think… more of you could…”
“I do.” Women could inherit. But whether or not the men will allow it is another matter. Queen Victoria’s rise would change things. The air felt electric.
“Come on, let’s go inside. I need a bath.” Temple took her hand as she hopped off the table.
Abovestairs, Diana washed her husband’s hair and shoulders and hands and chest, splashing her skirts and batting away his hands until she reached lower beneath the water to wash other parts.
And he pulled her in. When they untangled themselves, laughing, he stripped her bare and put her on their bed, made love to her more slowly than before. When they lay curled around one another, hearts slowing to the same rhythm, he said, “I heard interesting news yesterday when I was at Nickleby.”
“Oh?”
He kissed her neck. “Your cousin is looking for an apprenticeship.”
Diana bolted upright. “Apollo? An apprenticeship for what?”
With soft hands, he pulled her back down. “Alchemist. What else?”
“Alchemist!”
Temple rubbed his ear, wincing. “You’re shrieking, little queen.”
“Because it’s impossible. Apollo would never…
” Thankfully, he’d not shown interest in her at all in the month since he’d lost his title and she’d gained it.
He’d moved out of the Mayfair townhouse, though his mother still lived there.
Diana preferred Bloomsbury and the home she’d made with Temple.
She had no idea what Apollo had been doing with himself.
Drinking and smoking and generally surrendering to vice no doubt. “It must be a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think so.” Temple rolled her onto her back and covered her body, kissed his way down to her navel. “I think he wants what he never had as a transcendent.”
“Oh. Magic.”
He nuzzled her curls, nodding.
“Oh.” This a different tone as Temple banished all thoughts of any other man in any other capacity. After he’d sent her to the stars, she floated back down leisurely, curling into his chest where he’d plopped down to watch her come.
When she opened her eyes, he looked smug. She swatted his shoulder. “What time is it? I am scheduled to meet Lady Guinevere later today.”
“How is she handling the scandal?”
“Not well. Rather grouchy about it all. And I understand. It’s not her fault the potions were used on his majesty’s royal guard. Without their consent. Someone stole them.” She pinned him with a look, brow raised.
“I’ll not apologize. It ended up damned useful. Those guards simply melted at Apollo’s feet, begging to be his bosom beau. I do feel badly, though. She’s lost clientele since word got out.”
“She’s had to double her guards.”
“Not sure how the legal trouble against her simply… disappeared.” He scratched his head, studied the ceiling.
“Oh!” She slapped the back of her hand against his chest. “Did I tell you about the antidote?”
“No, but your eyes are shining like suns, so it must be important. Antidote to what, then?”
“The love elixir. Lady Guinevere has developed one. Secretly, of course. That could be how she has escaped any consequences. She gave it to us.”
“What? When?”
Diana nodded. “Yes, she told me a fortnight or so ago that she gave us both a glass of wine containing the antidote.”
He pushed upright to sit against the headboard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did not think it mattered. It was the first day you came to her shop. She gave the both of us wine that day. With the antidote. Just in case, she said.” She’d known Temple had asked Diana to marry her or would soon, and she didn’t want to take the chance a scant drop of potion had changed the course of Diana’s life.
It had, of course. But not in a way Diana would ever regret.
He scowled, his unhappy gaze raking across her face. “You seem pleased by this news. But I can’t see why it matters. I felt no effects from it.”
She settled her cheek on his chest, and when his fingers immediately threaded with her hair, she sighed. “I’m pleased because, I have always had a worry—a tiny one, mind you—that the potion was the only reason you loved me.”
“Diana—”
“But now I know it’s not.”
His scowl heated. “Clearly I’m not expressive enough in my adoration.”
“If you expressed any more adoration, Temple, I’d never leave the bedroom.”
“There’s an idea.” He kissed her, long and lazy, settling in for another round until a knock on the door made him growl.
Another knock.
He sighed this time. She chuckled.
“Yes?” Temple asked, weary.
“I’ve letter for Lady Fordham,” their new butler said.
“Leave it.”
“But my lord—”
“Put it in the study please, Devon,” Diana said. “I’ll read it later.”
“But my lady… it’s from the queen.”
They froze, then Diana’s gaze met Temple’s.
“Do you think she’s found her uncle’s summoning stone?” he asked.
Diana jumped out of bed, donned her wrapper, and opened the door. She took the letter and ripped at the wax seal. The royal seal. “Thank you, Devon.”
He nodded and left, and she returned to the bed, still reading.
“What is it?” Temple asked. “What does she want?”
“Something quite interesting.”
“Let me see.”
She gave him the letter, grinning.
He read quickly. “Bloody hell. We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“I suppose so.”
“If she keeps me as the Royal Alchemist—”
“I’m sure she will.”
“And you’re the”—he squinted at the paper again—“Royal Archivist…” He dropped the paper, let it flutter to the wrinkled blankets between them. “Between us, we have too many titles, Diana.”
She laughed.
“Are you going to do it?” he asked.
“Am I going to investigate all the royal archives for evidence of women with talent, why they stopped receiving it, and anything else connected to the mystery? I would be mad not to.”
“You would not be yourself.”
She sighed. “I still lack access to the Alchemist Guild Library.”
He cupped her face, kissed her forehead. “One day, little queen. Until then, Nico can continue stealing tomes for you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down to the bed. “I’m proud of you.”
She burrowed into his embrace. This feeling of being loved, of being safe, of being happy—it never grew old, and it always surprised her, like champagne bubbles tickling the nose.
“We’ll go to Hampstead tonight, to Nickleby. To celebrate.”
“Yes, please. That sounds lovely. Your mother will be most pleased. And Sybil will want to know everything. And Ajax will have an uneaten biscuit for me.”
“No one is so lucky. But first…” He lowered her to the mattress and kissed her deeply.
“Again?” she asked, breathless, when she could break away.
“And again and again, forever and ever.”
Champagne bubbles might as well be tickling her nose. She laughed and showed her alchemist king just how much she adored him.