Chapter 24

Kit waswet before Thorne even rolled between her legs, and she hummed slightly in pleasure, eyes still not open.

“Wake up, love,” he murmured, kissing her jaw. “I need ye to open yer eyes.”

“Why?” she whispered, arms snaking around his delightful nakedness as she blinked against the mid-morning sunshine. “You’re doing perfectly fine without me.”

His hips rocked forward and she opened her legs, the tip of his cock probing at her entrance.

Thorne’s grin was wicked as he lowered those lips to the skin of her throat, then her shoulder. “I want ye awake to enjoy this.”

“Yes please,” she gasped as he thrust forward, filling her.

Completing her.

Their love-making was slow and sensual, no thought to the events of last night or what may come later. There was only now yes oh yes please God right there now.

When Kit’s pleasure crashed over her, she stiffened, tightening her hold on Thorne, as if she could hold him to her forever. Her orgasm triggered his, and he spilled inside her with a gasp.

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized he was staring down at her. Her body was still humming, and the intensity of the experience—she’d been sleeping only minutes ago—surprised her. That, and the look of such love in Thorne’s gaze…with an amazed gulp, tears sprang to her eyes.

Thornewas the romantic one, not her. But here and now, Kit was feeling very fragile, very gentle.

His lips curled. “I love ye,” he whispered, still buried inside her. “I love ye, Kit.”

Kit’s hand shook as she untangled it from his backside and dragged her fingers along his arm, up to his neck. “And I love you, Thorne.” Her fingers cupped the back of his neck. “Can you wake me like this every morning?” she murmured, pulling his lips down to hers.

A look of intense joy flashed across his face as he claimed her, and she remembered all those weeks ago, when he confessed to what he wanted in a marriage. In a wife.

But they weren’t married.

You’re the Countess of Bonkinbone now, cousin of the Duchess of Lickwick. You’re not illegitimate. You’re worthy of being the Duke of Stroken’s wife.

If only she hadn’t been so angry yesterday, so dumb, that she’d chosen to appear in public in men’s evening wear!

Now, regardless of what rumors leaked out about her prior relationship with Thorne, Society would see her as a dangerous deviant.

Wouldn’t they?

“What is it, love?” Thorne asked as he rolled them both to one side.

She sighed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “Just…regrets.”

“No’ about us, I hope?”

Kit smiled sadly and brushed her lips against his skin. “Never.” Never. “And I’m hungry.”

Chuckling, Thorne pushed himself upright. “Such a romantic. Come along, lover, let us break our fast and face the gossip columns.”

Today Kit chose to wear a simple gown, and turned her back to Thorne for help as he finished tying his neckcloth.

“What are these?” he grumbled after a few moments. “The world’s tiniest buttons?”

She snorted softly. “A few weeks ago you couldn’t manage to button your own waistcoat.”

“I mean, I could. I just didnae want to.” His breath was warm against the nape of her neck.

“You could,” she corrected him, “you just liked the company.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “True. I’ve proven my buttoning ability is sufficient.”

“My hero.” Grinning at him over her shoulder, Kit winked. “Food, remember?”

“Blast it, I’m going to have Titsworth deliver us breakfast in bed every morning.”

Presuming, of course, that they would be in bed together, every morning. Kit liked that presumption.

“To be fair,” she managed past the lump in her throat, “it is almost time for luncheon.”

“Well, as long as he’s serving kippers and toast and eggs for luncheon, I’ll no’ complain.”

They walked hand-in-hand down the stairs. Not as if they were on their way to a grand assembly, but as if they were dangling from the edge of a cliff and required the other to keep them safe.

Luckily, there were kippers and toast and eggs in the dining room, and Titsworth himself served it, his mien even more somber than usual. Kit noticed that he briefly clasped Thorne’s shoulder, and that Thorne offered him a thankful little nod.

He had so few true family members left, but in that moment, Kit realized Titsworth was just as much a member of the family Thorne had found as Bull or Demon or Rourke. Desperate for love and affection, Thorne had built a family around himself.

Thorne was the tie that bound them all together. He’d vowed to bring down Blackrose to protect them all…and he had.

The newspapers accompanied breakfast.

Silently, Kit and Thorne each scooped up a paper and their fork, digging into both.

“Fook,” hissed Thorne after a moment. “It isnae looking good. Apparently a countess in trousers is the biggest scandal this side of Lord Marrywell’s elopement.”

But Kit had frozen, her forkful of sausage inches from her mouth, eyes flicking across the front page of The Daily Movement. The Duchess of Effinghell had used her newspaper to twist the story into something…wonderful.

“Kit?” Thorne prompted. “What is it?”

Clearing her throat, she lowered the breakfast to her plate, the gnawing hunger in her stomach replaced now by something like…hope.

“Listen—” She sounded so raspy she had to clear her throat again. “Listen to this.” She began to read the article.

“Music lovers were treated to a magical experience last night at a musicale hosted by the Duke of Stroken. The new Countess of Bonkinbone is a talented, eccentric violinist, transporting a room of listeners including one very esteemed representative of Her Majesty, into amazed bliss during the time she played. Everyone present agreed that her ability to create such beauty mitigated any eccentricities of her dress.”

Kit paused, glancing across the table. “The article doesn’t even mention what I wore.”

Thorne nodded grimly. “That’s Olivia’s hand. She likely scheduled the front page slot days before and wrote it last night. But she doesnae have to mention yer attire—the other rags do it for her,” he ended bitterly.

Nodding, Kit swallowed and lifted the paper. “But she doesn’t just praise my playing. Listen…” She found her place and continued to read. “The new Countess, the result of the union between the recently deceased Earl of Bonkinbone and his long-time wife, the noted soprano Gloria Pastorino, was raised in America and came to London as part of a campaign to bring her father to justice. William Stoughton, who only gained the Bonkinbone title six months ago when he succeeded in murdering his elder brother, was in fact a criminal wanted by the Crown.”

Thorne whistled softly. “She doesnae beat around the bush, does she?”

Kit shook her head, eyes not leaving the article as she began to read faster. “With his elevated status, it had been impossible to efficiently prosecute Stoughton, so the Crown asked a group of concerned citizens to help bring him to justice. Last night, thanks to his daughter’s eccentricities, Stoughton realized the trap was closing, and actually threatened the Crown’s representative. He died as a result.”

“Well that certainly simplifies things, aye?”

Kit was frowning. “It doesn’t mention all the horrible things Father did over the years.”

Thorne chuckled dryly. “Dinnae fash, I’m certain Olivia will drag this out for weeks, and sales of her paper will explode. She’s the only reporter with direct access to the sources, after all.”

Kit continued to read aloud. “While the events of last night are tragic, this paper can confidently report that the new Countess of Bonkinbone was instrumental in not only bringing her father to justice for his crimes, but also saving the life of the Crown’s representative. All her actions since arriving in London have been working toward that end. Her bravery, not just in standing up to her father, but in occasionally making a spectacle of herself and opening herself up to gossip through her choices, is in the best tradition of British womanhood, and should be celebrated. The Queen herself is planning a ceremony to honor the new Countess.”

Her voice dropping to a mere whisper, Kit finished the article. “Lady Bonkinbone, in the mind of every attendee in last night’s musicale, is a hero.”

Eyes wide, Kit finally lowered the newspaper.

Across the table, Thorne was staring back, equally shocked. As she watched, his surprise slowly turned to joy.

“A hero,” he repeated in a low tone. Then, louder, “Yer bravery.” He shoved himself to his feet. “Kit, do ye ken what this means?”

Slowly, she nodded. “No matter what rumors are started, this skews the narrative, assuming London will believe it.”

“Oh, they’ll believe it,” came a new voice.

Kit twisted to watch a beaming Fawkes stroll into the dining room with Ellie on his arm. “They’ll believe it,” he repeated, “because they want to believe it. London loves a good hero, and the only thing better is a hero who is charming, beautiful, and talented. Christ, ye’re still eating breakfast?”

“Last night, while you and Thorne were playing host and hostess,” Ellie explained with a smile, “Fawkes and I sat with Olivia to plan this article. And then this morning, we have been visiting the offices of the other papers, offering exclusive interviews. Georgia and Demon went as well, as did Rourke, although his language was less colorful and therefore printable, thank goodness.”

Slowly, Kit pushed away from the table, rising to her feet. “What—what does that mean?”

Ellie reached for her hand, and squeezed it with a smile. “It means, dear cousin, that by tomorrow, all of London will know that you were the hero who saved the Princess’s life. No matter what nasty rumors are started about your time in trousers, that fact will make you beloved.”

But Kit was shaking her head, the information still dazing her. “Bull saved the Princess, by killing my father. I wasn’t useful at all.” When she felt Thorne step up beside her, she whirled on him, pulling out of Ellie’s hold. “You were the ones who brought down Blackrose, not me.”

Thorne, however, wore a huge smile as he reached for her, cupping one hand around the back of her neck, the other around her waist. “Kit,” he murmured, “do ye think that matters to us?”

“It should!” She was beginning to feel frantic. “Everything you—all of you—your family! The sacrifices you all made, the fear you lived in, everything you’ve fought for these last few years…” She shook her head, curling her fingers around his lapels. “I can’t take that from you.”

“Ye dinnae have to.” His grin managed to grow. “Do ye think we want acknowledgement? Doing so would admit our sins, the horrors we committed at Blackrose’s hand. Besides, Griffin wouldnae allow Bull’s name to be associated with this any more than the rest of us would.” His grip on her neck tightened as if he wanted to shake her, but with happiness instead of frustration. “Do ye see? By laying the credit at yer feet, Olivia has protected us all, and nae one will care about yer attire last evening. Because ye only did it to protect the Princess—that’s what everyone will assume.”

And if it became known that she’d spent time dressed as a man, working as Thorne’s valet…well then, Society would assume that was also somehow part of the plan to bring down Father.

All her actions since arriving in London have been working toward that end.

Kit’s eyes slowly widened as everything became clear.

“Do ye ken what this means?” Fawkes asked.

She nodded, still staring at Thorne. “Aye,” she rasped.

“Aye,” he agreed, beaming. “It means the new Countess of Bonkinbone—clever, beautiful, talented—is the new darling of Society.”

“And that means….?” prompted Ellie with a chuckle.

“Marry me,” Thorne whispered, gaze warm and welcoming and full of promise. “Kit, marry me. Please. Don’t make me do a grovel. At least consider it? I wanted to marry ye when—”

“When I was nobody,” she cut across, chest tight. “But now…”

“Now it’s me who isnae worthy enough for ye.” Thorne tugged her closer. “It’s always been me unworthy of ye, Kit. I love ye. I’m sorry I didnae tell ye the truth.”

“I know why you did it,” she whispered. “And I forgive you, remember?”

His grin managed to grow again. “I love ye, and I ken that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of yer love. Ye’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a forever, and I’ll do whatever it takes to—”

“Oh, shut up,” Kit growled, yanking him closer with her hold on his jacket, and smashing her lips to his.

The laughter from their cousins was contagious. Kit felt her lips curling, and as the kiss ended, realized Thorne was already chuckling. He pulled away far enough to stare down at her. “Always the romantic.”

“Octavius Cumming, scion of the great Clan Comyn, unwilling and unprepared Duke of Stroken. Thorne.”

She’d made her gaze serious and her voice hard, while in the background, Fawkes hissed, “His name is Octavius? Can I call him Big O? Oof, why’d you elbow me? Fine, I’ll shut up and listen.”

Kit hid her smile as she moved her hands toward Thorne’s cheeks. “Thorne,” she repeated seriously. He had earned this. “You are my lover, my friend, my family. You are the reason I wake up in the morning. I want nothing more in life than to know you need me the same way I need you.”

He blinked.

He blinked again.

Finally, Thorne opened his mouth, then closed it, looking bemused. And Kit’s lips lifted, knowing she’d shocked him speechless.

“What I’m trying to say, Thorne, is that I like you rather a lot, and I’d like to spend the rest of my life doing your fiddly buttons and listening to you complain about sheep and also join your family.”

There were tears in his eyes when Thorne pulled her against his chest. “I dinnae deserve ye,” he rasped.

She nodded cheekily. “I know, but you’ve got me anyhow. Better make the most of it.”

“I love ye, Kit. Please be my wife?”

Pursing her lips, she pretended to think about it. “No, I think it only fair that you become my husband.”

With a loud whoop of joy, Thorne scooped her from her feet and swung her around. There was cheering in the background—when had Titsworth joined them?—and then Thorne was wrapping her in his hold.

Keeping her safe.

Cherishing her.

“I love you, Thorne. I will marry you.”

“Thank God,” he growled teasingly, lowering his lips to hers. “Finally.”

She was laughing when they came together, and knew even more joy was in their future.

Their forever.