Epilogue
Eight years later.
Kitty glanced up as the door of the bedchamber opened. She placed the papers aside and beamed at her husband. “Where have you been, Lord Everly?”
“Well, I was writing, and then our son appeared, having escaped from his bed and governess. He, of course, had a story to tell me to prevent his return to his room.”
She giggled. “He is a crafty boy.”
“Amelia is worse,” Oliver groaned.
Their daughter was the wildest of their two children. “I’m surprised she wasn’t with him.”
“She likes her sleep,” Oliver said, undressing and joining her in bed.
“I’m reading your most recent novel.”
He grinned at her, making her heart flutter. Years into their marriage, and this man still made her think wanton thoughts.
“Do you like it?”
She nodded. “I do. I love that he is a charming highwayman and that she is a spoiled lady. It was clever to make them opposites.”
Oliver nuzzled her neck. “What about the intimate bits?”
Kitty clenched her thighs together. She’d not read those parts of the new novel yet.
Oliver had been writing scandalous romances for the last few years, and they were sold under a pen name from their underground book line.
Years ago, she’d suggested he write them in jest, but his stories were actually quite good and very popular. “I prefer when you read them to me.”
He winked at her. “Then you can fancy me as a highwayman, a pirate, or whatever character it is.”
She kissed his shoulder. “I’m such a lucky lady.”
“I think I’m the one with the luck. It was, after all, my writing that you picked at the Lyon’s Den so many years ago.”
Kitty laughed. “We will have to agree we are both lucky.”
And they were. They had a wonderful life with two children. All their sisters were married but Anna, who honestly seemed uninterested. She preferred her life as a spinster—or a bookseller.
Kitty wasn’t sure they could ask for much more.
She grabbed the loose papers, sifting through them until she found the scene she wanted and handed it to Oliver. “Here is your reading, my lord.”
Kitty leaned against his chest as he held the paper in front of them.
“Highwayman Jack Samuel knew he shouldn’t be staring at the tart-mouthed lady the way he was, but something about her enthralled him.
He stepped towards her, and she pursed her pouty lips together.
Hers was a mouth meant to be kissed. Where did that absurd thought come from?
His plan was to rob her, not kiss the lady.
Yet, his arms circled her waist, and he dipped his head down… ”
Kitty sighed and leaned up to her husband’s face. “Yes, my favorite stories are the ones you read to me,” she told him, and lifted her head up for his kiss.