Epilogue
Three weeks later
Wesley
It didn’t surprise anyone at the table that the Duchess of Greystone was winning again.
Wesley watched his wife—as Kit—rake the coins across the table with that satisfied grin, cap pulled low, and the same rough voice that Wesley couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize before.
“Damn and hell.” She stacked the coins. “That's a pretty pot.”
“I think I liked it better when I didn't know who I was constantly losing to,” Louis said, tossing his cards down.
The Silver Fox was busy tonight, the usual crowd filling the far tables.
But their corner was as it had always been—the four of them, whiskey, cards, and ribbing each other.
The only difference was that Wesley's knee was pressed against his wife's beneath the table, and he didn't have to pretend he wasn't enjoying watching her fleece his friends.
His wife. He still hadn't tired of the thought. Even after three weeks of waking up beside her, he wasn’t certain how he’d gone so long without doing so.
“Deal again,” Wesley said, pushing his coins into the center.
“Is your mother still giving you both hell?” Max asked.
Wesley dealt the next hand. “After she stopped crying that we didn’t give her the big flashy wedding she wanted, she started instructing Thea on how to manage the house.”
“What did you do?” Louis glanced between the two of them waiting for someone to respond.
“I told her that Thea is my duchess and the housekeeper has things well in hand. My wife doesn’t have to deal with such matters if she doesn’t wish to.
And I told my mother, that if she wishes to remain a welcome presence in our home, she will treat my wife as the lady of the house.
” He picked up his cards. “She’s surprisingly quiet now. ”
“My mother didn’t speak to me for a week,” Kit said from beneath the cap, her voice pitched low. “But she adores Wesley.”
“I have that effect on Hasting women,” Wesley said, and Kit's grin widened.
“I’m no longer a Hasting.”
He wanted to pull her in his lap so he could prove just how right she was about that.
Louis leaned back in his chair. “So the great Duke of Greystone told his mother to mind her own business. I never thought I'd see the day.”
“It was long overdue.” That was an understatement. Wesley motioned for Parker to bring them another round.
Louis studied him with an expression that was almost serious. “You look like yourself again, Wes. Haven't seen that man in a long time.”
Wesley said nothing, but the words landed. He felt like himself. For the first time since his father died and the title had settled on his shoulders, he could breathe. The Fox wasn't his escape anymore. It was just a place he chose to be, with the people he chose to be with.
The game continued. Kit won more than she lost, as she always did, and Wesley didn't mind. Money would go to the shelter regardless.
Max was quieter than usual, turning his glass on the table between hands. Wesley had noticed it over the past few weeks—something behind his eyes that hadn't been there before.
“Lady Fairfax has invited me to a house party next month,” Max said, not looking up from his cards. “She's been rather insistent.”
“Fairfax?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “The woman who fancies herself London's greatest matchmaker? Why would you go within a mile of that?”
“She’s a friend of the family, and I can’t very well insult her.”
“If Fairfax gets her hands on you, she'll have you paired off before the first dinner course.”
Louis tossed down his cards. “Well, count me out of matchmaking schemes. And don’t try anything when you play the part of hostess.”
“Who me?” Kit asked with mock insult. “I would never dream of such a thing.”
“My wife would certainly be quite capable if she put her mind to the endeavor.” Wesley grinned at Kit.
“Don't start.” Louis pointed at Wesley. “Just because you went and fell for the woman who'd been robbing you blind, doesn't mean the rest of us are destined to succumb to the leg shackle.”
“I didn't say a word.” Wesley held his hands up in defense.
“You were thinking it. I could hear you thinking it.” Louis poured himself more whiskey. “Some of us are perfectly content as bachelors.”
Kit caught Wesley's eye beneath the brim of the cap, and he saw her mouth twitch.
“Another round?” Kit asked, but beneath the table her hand was on his thigh, her fingers tracing a line along the inside seam of his breeches. He felt the heat straight through the fabric.
“Actually.” Wesley pushed back from the table and stood. “I have a private matter to discuss with our card sharp here.”
Louis looked between them. “Do we want to know?”
“We didn't need to know that,” Max said, but he was smiling.
“Don’t wait for us,” Thea said to them.
Wesley's hand found the small of her back as he steered her toward the corridor and saw they were alone. His mouth was at her ear. “I’m about to go mad from needing my wife.”
The back room was small and dim, and used for the kind of activities that Wesley and Thea were going to indulge in. Wesley locked the door behind them.
Thea leaned against the wall, arms crossed, cap still on her head. “You couldn't wait until we got home?”
“Not a chance.” He crossed the room and pulled the cap from her head, tossing it to the floor. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders and she was Thea again—his Thea, sharp-eyed and grinning at him, daring him to do something about it. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She laughed, and the sound went through him, the way it always did. He kissed her, one hand fisting in her hair, the other gripping her hip, and she kissed him back hard enough to make him groan.
She pushed him back and sank to her knees.
The sight of her on the floor of the back room, looking up at him with dark eyes made his breath leave his body. She worked the buttons of his breeches open and freed his cock, already hard and aching for her.
“Thea—”
“Yes, Your Grace?” She took him in her mouth, and his head fell back against the wall.
Her tongue traced the underside of his length before she took him deeper, her hand wrapped around the base, working him with a rhythm that made his vision blur.
His fingers tangled in her hair, and his hips jerked forward before he could stop himself.
“Christ—” His voice came out strangled. “If you keep—Thea, I'm going to finish if you don't stop.”
She pulled back and looked up at him, her lips swollen. “Was that not what you had in mind when you dragged me back here?”
He hauled her to her feet and spun her to face the wall. His chest pressed against her back, and his hands found the buttons of her breeches and tugged them down past her hips.
“Something more like this.” One hand gripped her hip while the other slid between her legs from behind. She was wet, and his fingers found the spot that made her gasp. He circled her, teasing, while his cock pressed against her backside.
“Wesley, I need you.”
“I like when my wild girl tells me what she wants.” He kept his fingers moving, slow and deliberate, and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck.
He slid two fingers inside her, and she pushed back against his hand with a sound that made his cock throb. He curved them the way he knew she liked, his thumb still circling. Her breathing went ragged, and her hands curled against the wall.
He withdrew his hand, and she made a noise of protest that he swallowed by urging her to bend into the wall and brace herself against it. Then he thrusted into her.
They both groaned. The angle was deep, her breeches tight around her thighs, and he held still for a moment—buried inside her. He leaned over her back and placed kisses along her neck as he moved in small pulses.
“Harder,” she said through her teeth.
He pulled back and drove into her again, his hand sliding back between her legs. His fingers found her and circled in time with his hard, deep thrusts.
“This is what I was thinking about.” His breath was hot against her ear.
She moaned as he lifted one of her legs off the floor, shifting the angle as he drove deeper. Her forehead pressed against the wall, and she pushed back against him, meeting each thrust.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” she gasped. Her hand reached back to grip his hip, pulling him harder against her.
He picked up the pace, his fingers working faster between her legs. He could feel her tightening around him and heard the change in her breathing.
“Wesley—” Her voice was strained. “I'm close—”
“I know.” He pressed harder and drove into her with a thrust that made her cry out. “Let go, Thea. Your climax is mine.”
She bit down on her lip and shuddered, her body tightening around him in waves. The sound she made was quiet but fierce, and Wesley followed within seconds—his hips jerking, his groan muffled against her neck as he spent himself inside her.
They stayed pressed together against the wall, both of them breathing hard. Wesley kissed the back of her neck, the curve of her shoulder over her shirt. She turned her head, and he caught her mouth in a kiss that was softer than anything that had come before it.
They put themselves back together in the dim light. Breeches buttoned, hair pinned back beneath the cap, coats straightened. Wesley reached to tuck a loose strand behind her ear.
“Now let’s get you home so I can show you what else I’ve had on my mind. And I promise, my duchess is going to love it.”
For an additional scene of Wesley and Thea, check it out here: