Epilogue #3
“You mean this letter?” His words came out in a predatory growl that sent a shiver along Abigail’s spine. He slid the paper free and held it against her father’s chest with the tip of the dagger.
“My men in New Orleans were so kind as to intercept this for me.” Thorne leaned in until he was inches from her father’s sweat-beaded brow. “It’s over, Ross. Your friends in Washington now share the same fate as you.”
He let the parchment drop and her father caught it with trembling, frantic fingers. Once open, his eyes darted across his own handwriting until they went wide with the realization that his last lifeline had been severed.
His lips pressed tight as Isaac and his men closed in.
Abigail stepped back as the finality of it all settled over her.
The lieutenant grasped her father by the arm and escorted him to the front of the church, Lucien and Christian flanking them.
The moment stretched, heavy and silent, until the door shut behind them.
Swallowing, she lifted her gaze to where Thorne still stood. His dark gaze settled briefly on Samantha, who stood rigid beside her, then met hers. He inclined his head in a barely perceptible nod. “It’s time I speak with my wife.”
This time, his words came soft, vulnerable, and he retreated without another word.
They stood there, unmoving, for several uncomfortable beats.
Finally, Josephine leaned over with a gentle nudge of her elbow. “Your father, my father, her father… we did not fare particularly well, did we?”
Samantha pursed her lips. “Indeed. Mine went along with a foolish scheme and got himself and my mother killed for it.”
Abigail shifted, her fingers tightening in the silk folds of her skirt. “An honest mistake. Not as bad as mine, betraying us all for a heavier purse.”
Josephine snorted. “I’m not sure how I seem to have come out ahead as my father is merely sulking down in Tortuga over me not marrying that old merchant.”
Abigail sighed. “How is it that we all ended up with such spectacular disappointments?”
“Well, perhaps we should start a society of our own.” Josephine gave them a wry smile. “The Troubled Fathers Society?”
Samantha snorted. “More like Daughters of the Damned Society.”
The oak doors creaked open, slicing through their laughter.
Their smiles faded as their husbands stepped back into the church.
Samantha quickly took Josephine’s arm and drew her away, leaving Abigail alone as Lucien approached.
He stopped in front of her, close enough for his warmth and subtle cypress scent to wash over her.
“Are you alright?” His gray eyes searched hers with a quiet intensity.
“I am. I will be.” She hesitated, glancing toward her retreating friends. “But I worry for them. For Samantha. And Eloise. They have such heavy burdens to carry.”
He followed her gaze, his expression softening.
“Forgiveness is a powerful force. It does not simply erase the past; it burns it away until only what is strongest remains.” He took her hand, the calloused warmth of his a stark contrast to the drafty church.
“It will never be the same for them as it was before the truth came to light.
If they can find the strength to let go, that very act will forge them into something new.
“Something stronger.” His thumb brushed across her fingers.
“Just as you’ve done for me, Abigail. Before you, I was drowning in guilt and ghosts of my own making.
You’ve given me hope, a reason to look toward tomorrow instead of being forever chained to the past. And it’s all because of you. Loving you has remade me.”
Abigail’s breath caught, her heart swelling until it felt too large for her chest. For a long moment she could only squeeze his hand, the words tangling inside her.
Love.
It was far more than everything she’d once dreamed of. It was messy, complicated, and raw. And it was theirs.
“Well then, I think it’s time to burn our pasts away and see what rises from the ashes.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I’m rather confident it will be something unbreakable.
“Unbreakable?” The gray depths of Lucien’s eyes warmed. “I like the sound of that. What else could we need?”
Abigail lifted her hand and settled it over his heart, the steady beat beneath her palm a tether to her soul. “I have everything I need right here.”
He pressed into her touch. “You and me both.”
A laugh built and died in her throat as his eyes darkened with intent. He brushed a hand along her cheek, tilting her face toward his.
“Now, can I steal a kiss from my bride before I have to share you with well-wishers?” He framed her cheeks, fingers tangling in her hair.
She laughed and tugged at his hands. “Careful, you’ll mess my hair beyond repair. Samantha’s maid spent ages getting the pins in.”
He grinned and angled himself to shield them from any curious onlookers still lingering. With a low chuckle, he leaned in until his lips brushed her ear, his breath a warm caress against her skin.
“And later,” he murmured, his voice thick with a promise that made her toes curl against the stone floor, “I look forward to taking them out in a matter of seconds.”
The End