A Scot in the Dark

Epilogue

CITY CELEBRATES!

DEPARTED DUKE & DUCHESS DESCEND

Ten months later

The door to the sitting room between the master and mistress’s chambers at 45 Berkeley Square flew open, ricocheting off the wall as the Duke of Warnick pulled his duchess inside.

“Alec,” she whispered with a mix of glee and horror. “Someone will hear!”

“Don’t care,” he growled, closing the door behind them and pressing her against it. “You should be grateful I did not break it down to get you inside. Come here, wife.”

Lily wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the feel of his hands on the bodice of her dress. Wishing the dress gone. “What’s happened to you?”

“You danced with too many men tonight,” he said against her lips. “They all wanted a look at the queen of the season. I didn’t like it. Poncey Englishmen. Stanhope was the last straw.”

She laughed at that. The Earl of Stanhope was the least threatening man in England now that he’d found himself a lovely young widow who was purported to be quite wealthy. Considering the way the Earl and Countess lingered together at the edge of the ballroom, seemingly unaware of their surroundings, Lily thought he’d made a very good match, indeed.

As had she.

She pulled back to look at her husband, moonlight streaking through their bedchamber. “You once wanted me married to one of those Englishmen.”

“An error in judgment.”

“Indeed,” she said, and he kissed her, deep and thorough, pulling away only to run his lips over her jaw until she sighed her pleasure. “I needed that.”

A low laugh rumbled from him. “Am I neglecting you, love?” His hands moved to her skirts, and Lily ached for his touch as the silk rose higher and higher. “It’s only been a few hours, but I am happy to redouble my efforts.”

“You do your very best, Your Grace,” she said, gasping as his strong hands found the skin of her thighs above her stockings. “But sometimes, a woman surrounded by England needs a taste of Scotland.”

He stilled at that, his head coming up, whisky-colored eyes finding hers in the darkness. “What did you say?”

She smiled. “I know we’ve only been here a week, but I miss home.” In the ten months since they’d left London, Lily had made a home for herself at Dunworthy, learning the nuances of the estate’s distillery, glorying in the warm, Scottish summer, wrapping herself in wool from the castle’s sheep in the winter—when her husband was not keeping her warm, which was rare. She went back for another kiss before adding, “And you . . . you taste of it.”

“You like it?” he asked, and the doubt in the question surprised her. It had been months since she’d heard it last, on late nights when it would creep into his thoughts and he would offer to bring her back to England if it would make her happy.

But England did not make her happy. Not the way he did.

She kissed him again, deliberately misunderstanding. “Yes, husband. I like the way you taste. A great deal.”

Doubt was replaced with desire. “I meant Scotland, minx.”

She matched his look. “Aye, mo chridhe. I like it very much.”

He growled at the words in perfect Scottish brogue, and let out a long sigh of his own. “Well then, why in hell are we here?”

“Because you have a sister who begged for a season.”

Cate had been thrilled to receive Lily at Dunworthy when they had returned from London, excited beyond measure to have a sister, just as Lily had been. The two became fast friends and, within weeks, Alec had agreed that Cate could have the season of which she’d dreamed.

It had not occurred to him that the season would require months in London. “Let’s leave her here and go home.”

“No. Did you see her tonight? Her happiness?”

“No,” he lied. “Between the two of you, I spent the entirety of the evening wanting to beat off London’s male population with a large stick.” He kissed her again, deep and lovely. “Let’s go home, lass. I want to make love to you in the mist.”

She shivered at the words. “They have mist in London.”

“Not Scottish mist.”

Her laugh was replaced by a long groan when his hands moved again, sliding higher, toward the place where she wanted him quite desperately.

He cursed soft and wicked. “Duchess?”

“Mmm?”

“Why aren’t you wearing underthings?”

She sighed. “For this precise reason.”

“And you did not tell me so at the ball? Do you realize what I could have done with that information? We could have defiled several of the Eversley House sitting rooms.”

“I intended it,” she said, willing him higher. Aching for him to give her what she desired. “But I was waylaid.” She stopped. “Between ensuring that Cate received the proper introductions and the Duke of Montcliff—”

“What about Montcliff?”

“I’m feeling quite proud of myself, honestly. The Duke of Montcliff added one hundred thousand pounds to the scholarship fund tonight.”

Inspired by her own childhood and Alec’s past, Lily had thrown herself into the work of ensuring that children who lacked funds or connection had the means to secure the futures they desired. The ones they deserved. She wished to give possibility to as many children as she could. And the stoic Duke of Montcliff’s surprising donation had made that goal even more real this evening.

Her announcement garnered Alec’s attention. “One hundred thousand? Honestly?”

She reached for him, her fingers feathering through the hair at his temple. “Remarkable, no? Think of the choices they’ll make. Think of the freedom they’ll have.”

He bowed his head, leaning into her touch, before he took her in his arms once more. “You, my love, are remarkable.”

She blushed at the praise, even as she basked in it. “Apparently he liked the idea of being in partnership with us. Did you know that we are society darlings? It’s a disappointment, really. I had thought scandal had more stick.”

“Mmmm. Disappointing indeed,” he said, distracted again, turning her to face the door, working at the buttons down the back of her gown. “I am happy to scandalize you now, if you like.”

“If you do not mind very much, Your Grace.”

“Not at all,” he teased at her ear. “I want a look at these missing undergarments.” He began to work at the buttons. “Must there be so many of these?”

She laughed. “You need a button hook.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said with affront. “I need no such thing.” His hands went to the top of the dress and Lily gasped as he gave the dress a mighty tug, sending buttons flying across the room.

“You ruined my dress.” She gasped, not caring in the slightest.

“I shall buy you a dozen more,” he said as the dress fell in a pool of silk at their feet. “It was worth it. Turn around.”

She did, proud and fearless, eager for his gaze. For his touch.

For him.

“You are glorious.”

She smiled, heat coming high on her cheeks. “I’ve something for you.”

He raised a brow. “I see that.”

The smile became a grin. “Something else.” She took his hand then, leading him to the entrance to the duchess’s bedchamber, which served as a wardrobe and private office rather than sleeping quarters, which was best, as the bed was currently occupied by dogs.

Two massive grey tails thumped at their appearance, and Alec went to greet the hounds as Lily crossed to the little desk in the corner of the room.

She lit a candle, revealing the box she had left for just this moment. Lifting the parcel and turning back to face her husband, she said, “I had a conversation earlier this week with Bernard.”

“Love, I have to say, your invoking the name of our solicitor standing in the nude, candlelight flickering across your stunning skin, is not precisely how I wished the evening to proceed.”

“It turns out, husband, that tomorrow is your birthday.”

He quickly calculated the date. “It is, as a matter of fact.”

“And we shall have a serious conversation about you keeping such information from me, I assure you. As I intend to do with your sister. I shouldn’t need a solicitor to apprise me of such a thing. But thank goodness for Bernard.”

“Yes. I’ve always found him a great asset.” She laughed at the dry words, and he came closer, pointing to the box. “Is that my present?”

“It is, as a matter of fact.”

“May I have it?”

“Do you deserve it?” she teased. He did, of course. She’d never known a man so deserving.

His gaze darkened. “Only tell me what I might do to earn it, my love, and I shall do it with pleasure.”

The words sent a thrum of desire through her as she imagined all the things he might do for her. To her. The things she might do in return. Her breath quickened, and he drew nearer still, his fingers coming to the box, removing it from her hands as he said, soft and low and liquid, “I do not require a present. I only require you.”

She shook her head to clear it of her own desire. “No,” she said. “Open it.”

He did, sliding the top from the small, square parcel and peered inside. Lily was riveted to his handsome face, made even more beautiful in the flickering golden candlelight, his perfect, tempting lips already curving in anticipation.

And then anticipation was gone, replaced with confusion.

And then surprise.

And then joy, as he reached into the box and extracted the pair of little white boots, complete with red leather soles.

Joy turned to adoration when he looked at her. “Your boots.”

Lily smiled. “No longer mine.”

Alec was on his knees, then, pulling her to him, pressing kisses across the soft, bare skin of her stomach, whispering in Gaelic to the child who grew within. “You have given me so much,” he said, finally, to Lily. “And now . . .”

Lily’s hands came to his head, reveling in her proud, strong Scot—the man who had given her everything she had ever dreamed. Holding him. Loving him.

They stayed like that for a long time, until the Duke of Warnick stood, lifted his duchess into his arms, carried her to their very sturdy bed, and loved her, quite thoroughly, in return.