Epilogue

Three Months Later

The day had finally arrived.

It had been difficult to postpone this special day until after her sister had already been married. Kitty and William had become engaged first, so it was only natural that her wedding be first. Though, there was no denying that there was something magical about being able to sit with her sister, who was also her best friend, and plan their respective weddings together.

Her first marriage had been rushed so quickly that there had been almost nobody in attendance. A special license had been procured given how swiftly everything had happened and then she had just been… married.

No pomp or circumstance, nothing fancy. It had been enough. Given that at the time she had looked upon it as nothing more than a business deal, a contract that she was entering into, it had not bothered her. Sometimes it frightened her just how feminine and over the top that she sometimes felt while she had been planning out every little detail of her wedding. With Weston, she wanted it to be memorable.

They kept the guest list small, since she was still a couple of months shy of technically being out of her mourning period. It was for the best, there were so few people that she actually wished to share one of her happiest days with. Both her sister and William were in attendance. They were seated prominently in the front pews of the church with Margaret, and Juliet seated between them.

Their governess, of course, was directly behind them. Lydia only took the smallest of peeks out into the main hall of the church. She did not wish to see Weston in his suit until he could see her as well. It was strange to be wearing a white gown once more.

Pearls adorned her hair delicately and two teardrop shaped pearls hung from her ears. Simple, nothing extra was needed. She wore a very simple satin gown with gloves that came up to the middle of her biceps, and soft slippers to complete the ensemble.

The church was decorated with swaths of tulle and ribbon that tethered small bouquets of brightly colored flowers down the aisles. Kitty had insisted on making each of them herself. Including the one that was clutched in Lydia’s nervous hands. It was not cold feet, she had never wanted anything, or anyone, more than the duke, and was overjoyed to start their new life together. Perhaps it was flutters of anticipation.

The quartet started playing music softly, and she knew that they would transition into the wedding march after a moment. It was at that moment that her father came around the corner and came to stand beside her. Lydia kept her head trained forward, not knowing if he was here to say something that would likely dampen her mood and if he was, she did not wish to hear it. Nothing was going to bring her down on her wedding day, she simply would not allow it.

He had lessened the comments about their duties in life since both of his daughters had become engaged. No doubt it was only a matter of time before he started in on the duties of his granddaughters too. She could endure his thoughtless comments when they were aimed at her, she was not going to tolerate them nearly as well if he attempted to aim them at her daughters.

“I am proud of you, for doing the right thing.” he said so suddenly that she could hardly believe what she was hearing.

She turned to look at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. Never before had he uttered those words to her—and saying them so suddenly affected her emotions more than she was ready to admit.

Lydia knew that she should say something, anything, or at the very least she ought to thank him for the compliment but not a single word left her lips.

“I know that I have been… hard on you and your sister over the years, but I hope that you understand that everything that I do is for what is best for you… it is done with love.”

The way he said ‘love’ made it seem like just saying the word out loud was painful for him. Lydia was utterly transfixed, waiting to hear whatever else might come out of his mouth.

“Perhaps I was a touch too hard on you. Not that you did not adequately rise to the challenges that were set in front of you.” the older man continued. “I have seen how gracefully you have carried the weight on your shoulders, Lydia, even if I did not… acknowledge it as such.”

The moment felt too surreal to her, she did not know how to process what was happening.

“I hope that in time, you might come to forgive me for having been so harsh on you, I know that is why you keep your daughters from me. You do not…” He sighed. “What I mean to say, is that I apologize, and that you have grown into a fine young woman in spite of myself.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lydia desperately wanted to inquire as to how deeply he must be in his cups to have said so many positive things all at the same time.

“I… thank you, father,” she whispered, her grip on her bouquet tightening.

He leaned over, kissing her on her temple awkwardly, a bump of his lips against her skin but it was still more outward affection than he had ever shown before.

She knew that she resented her father for the way that he treated her more often than not, but holding on to her anger would only hurt them further. If he had not been the way that he was, then perhaps she would not have been given the opportunity to be standing there today.

She would not be about to walk down the aisle and wake up tomorrow as a Duchess. She would not be marrying the man she truly loved, and who loved her back just as fiercely. Mending the relationship with her father was bound to take time, and a good deal of effort from both of them but she was more than willing to put in the work needed.

She smiled softly at him and slipped her hand into his as the wedding march started to play. They moved forward together like they were stepping into a new, brighter future for the whole family.

Their guests rose to their feet, turning to watch her walk down the aisle but she could not see them. A cursory glance was offered to her daughters, beaming at her in their pretty new dresses. Then her gaze met Weston’s and had no intention of leaving again. Even when her father passed her hand from his own to the duke’s, she could hardly breathe for how handsome he looked.

Butterflies took flight in her stomach, lifting her lips into a bright smile. She could not even focus on the words that were being said to her. She was aware that she was repeating the lines and making the promises as she was asked—but she wanted to kiss him so badly that it was almost painful.

The moment she was allowed to kiss him, she never wanted to stop. It took every ounce of her self-control to keep from being indecent in front of her beloved family. Such a chaste kiss only left her burning for more.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Congratulations from their guests and family—her daughters both clinging to the duke and begging him to return home soon. For the last few weeks during the wedding preparations, the three of them had been bonding, growing closer to one another than ever before.

Lydia took comfort in knowing that the duke loved her children as his own, and would provide for them, which would mean that they would never have to experience any of the struggles that she had had to endure.

By the time that the sun started to set, the pair had loaded up into a carriage and set off on their honeymoon. Lydia had never been to Scotland before and was eager to make the trip if only for all of the alone time that it was going to provide for them both. Plenty of travel time, intimacy in carriages was difficult but she certainly was not opposed to it.

They did not arrive at the inn until well after dark, just the first of many. But Lydia was more than ready to stretch her legs. Rather, she was ready for Weston to and stretch them for her. She had been astride him for the last hour, and while her knees were still weak, she wanted to be in their suite as swiftly as possible.

Weston kissed her cheek, then hurried inside the inn to make all of the proper arrangements. She followed him up the stairs, and Weston could not scoop her up into his arms to carry her over the threshold of their room quickly enough.

Setting her on her feet, she took a look around the space. It was a simple enough room, with a large four poster bed as the focal point of the suite. A small dressing area was cordoned off with a room divider, she could just barely make out the wash basin behind it. A large couch was in front of the divider, and she presumed that the closed door all of the way to the left was an adjoining bathing room. It was tempting to head there first, but she did not wish to wait.

Weston was her husband now, and she was never going to have to wait again. He was hers, and she could have the handsome man any time that she wished. The door clicked shut behind her, Weston twisting the key in the lock, and her pulse spiked.

Weston’s hands found her hips, squeezing softly as he stood behind her. Calloused hands slipped up the curve of her waist, lingering there as he pushed her further into the room. Normally, she would fight him for control over the situation, but tonight? She was more than willing to be at his mercy.

“Hands on the bedpost,” he urged in a low voice. Not quite a command but she wanted him too badly to even think about fighting him on it. Obediently, her hands wrapped around the bedpost, the intricate carvings catching her attention for only a moment before Weston’s hands slipped to the strings keeping her dress in place. Knuckles brushed over the soft skin of her back as he took deliberate time in undoing the laces.

The fabric loosened, and her eyes closed—focusing on the sensation of his lips brushing over the exposed column of her neck from behind. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of their warmth, her grip tightening on the bedpost as anticipation built. Weston slowly pushed the dress lower on her shoulders, and then shifted his focus, only actually kissing the curve where her neck met her shoulder once.

It was not enough. She craved more, she needed him, and he was determined to draw it out.

A soft whine of disappointment filtered through her heavy breathing, only to be cut off the moment that his hands found her stocking covered ankles. Thigh high and a creamy white color, the blue ribbons at the top holding them in place were the only thing keeping his hands from touching her bare skin.

Weston took his time sliding his hands up her legs, pushing her dress up with it until he found the tops of her stockings. His long fingers toyed with the ribbon holding them in place, indenting just slightly into her soft thighs before he seemed to decide that he did not wish to remove them after all.

Warm air kissed the junction of her thighs as he pushed the dress up over her hips and held it there. He wrapped the excess fabric around her waist once to use as leverage to pull her hips back toward his face, forcing her to arch her back into him. She was so sorely tempted to move her hands and rip her own dress off of her wanton frame… but then he kissed her.

Intimately.

First the back of her thigh, and she did not have to be encouraged to arch herself further into the contact as he moved further up, his hands cupping her rear and parting her in a way that if she were not so intoxicated by it all, she might have had second thoughts about. His tongue finding her core a moment later, that pushed all thoughts of modesty far away as he feasted upon her.

Pleasure coiled low and tight in her core as his tongue explored her—all of her—until her legs were trembling. His tongue thrust inside of her with a deep, guttural groan of his own that vibrated against her skin in the best possible way. Her grip on the bedpost quickly became the only thing keeping her upright as her forehead fell to her forearms. Her eyes closed, focusing on his perfect, sinful tongue and the wickedly good way that he made her feel.

Two fingers slipped inside of her, replacing his tongue as he twisted, flicking his tongue higher as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching her—as if she was not always ready for him. They had years of this that they had missed, that she had been deprived of and she was diligently working to make up for the lost time.

Should she have been decent enough to wait for her wedding night to have had him for the first time? Perhaps. Was she sorry that she had not? Not in the slightest. It was something of a wonder that she was not already with his child for how she could not keep her hands off of him when she had been able to see him.

Going forward she could not imagine going even a few hours without his touch. An addiction, a craving. All of those fantasies had happened so often for all of those years… and now she did not have to fantasize, she could just act upon it.

“My wife tastes divine ,” Weston groaned into her skin.

Lydia could only manage a hummed assent to his words, her heart skipping a beat as he attempted a third finger, her body accommodating, somewhat slower than before, but she was determined. Everything that he could give to her, she would accept, and then some. If he was not careful, she would lose the ability to stand entirely as pleasure assaulted her—burning her from the inside out in the best possible way.

“Pl—” she began, the word pushed into the skin of her arms as she wiggled her hips back into him slowly.

“What was that, my love?”

She would be damned if she could not hear the smirk in his voice as he teased her, his movements slower than before, and she slowly started to drift away from the climax that he had been building her toward.

“Wes…”

“Not yet, my love,” he teased, using his thumb to stimulate her as he kissed a reverent curve over the inside of her thigh and worked his way back to her center. When he reached his thumb, his lips closed over that bundle of nerves, sucking softly and flicking it with his tongue—and she almost buckled.

“Not yet,” he repeated, stopping once more to let her drift away. She was going to go mad if he did not stop the torture. She was going to let go of the bedpost, grab him by his hair and force him to do as she was craving. Her patience felt poised on a razor’s edge. Only when she could no longer stop the trembling in her thighs did he switch.

Weston rolled to his feet in a fluid motion, his hands never leaving her skin as his fingers raced up the back of her legs and over the soft curve of her rear, squeezing the flesh there firmly. She could feel herself damned near dripping down her legs. She attempted to entice him just a little, rolling her hips back in his direction.

The soft rustle of fabric as he pulled his shirt off and undid the front of his trousers was music to her ears. Lydia nearly buckled for a second time as she felt Weston free himself from his confines, the hard length of him slipping so easily between her thighs, where she was more than ready for him.

He took her slowly, pushing softly to the point that she was whimpering with need. It would be so simple to just reach back and pull him closer—she needed more .

“Impatient, my love?” he asked, pushing her dress up and over her waist, letting it be held in her hands once it was over her head. He kissed all along the curve of her spine, nipping softly at her skin here and there as he went. His hands explored upward, cupping her breasts and massaging as he fully entered her.

If he did not start moving and swiftly, she might very well lose her mind after all.

“Hold on tightly,” he encouraged, as his hands moved back to her hips, holding her firmly in place as he gave her everything that she wanted and then some. Lydia’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head and her grip tightened on the post… as he thrust into her again, and again.

Each snap of his hips felt like he was going impossibly deeper, the heat in her belly building higher and higher. Weston’s strong, calloused hands slid down her hips and around her thighs, using one hand to keep her upright and still before the other stealthily moved for her swollen bundle of nerves.

It did not take much before she was wholly and utterly undone. She forgot how to breathe entirely as her orgasm ripped through her. Weston was the only thing keeping her upright, having been so close before and been denied, it was like the pleasure was heightened. His name left her lips in a scream as she clenched around him—and he followed soon after.

Still inside of her, he banded a hand around her waist, pulling her back into his chest as he pulled her hands off of the banister and her dress fell to the floor in a pool of satin. Weston slipped free, the dribble of the pair of their climaxes running down the inside of her thighs. Her legs were weak, but she knew that they were far from finished when he pulled her down onto the bed.

Every night, for the rest of her life she could have this. Have him. She would have it no other way.

THE END