Epilogue

Two months later

F or an evening in September , when the sun had already set and given way to a sliver of moon, the air in the Beaumont Manor garden stayed particularly warm. Then again, Phoebe couldn’t imagine ever feeling cold while walking arm-in-arm with her husband.

Without breaking the leisurely pace they’d established as they meandered down the gravel path, she cast a glance his way, her heart giving its usual flutter. Nicholas’s features were shadowed, lit only by starlight and the faint glow of the lantern he held at his side. Nonetheless , the mere outline of him—the suggestion of broad shoulders, of a strong jaw, of hair that had the slightest hints of bronze—was enough to evoke memories that made her pulse quicken.

She pressed her fingers a little tighter against his coat sleeve, relishing the feel of the heat, of the rigid muscles beneath. Sometimes , she still needed to do this—to take an especially thorough look at her surroundings, to press her hand or lips to his—to remind herself she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. However , the dusky figure next to her squeezed back, meeting her gaze with a languid half-smile.

He was, unequivocally, real. Hers . Her husband.

With a slight increase in speed, he led her across the footbridge and continued along the path at the other side of the lake. They hadn’t come this way in a long time—not since the night of the storm when they’d fled to the temple and let desire consume them. A shock of heat pooled between her legs at the memory. That passion still ignited each evening when the house fell quiet at last and they could close themselves into his bedchamber. However , opportunities to go beyond the manor’s walls, alone and unhurried, had proved rare of late.

The past two months had indeed been a whirlwind, filled with life-changing things. Wonderful things. Their marriage by special license in the Rockliffe House drawing room. Her journey to the young ladies’ seminary in Bury . And then, the moment she’d been introduced to the girl with the blond braid and eyes of the same color Phoebe saw when she looked in the mirror— changeable eyes , Nicholas called them—and recognized her as her own.

Eyes , on Phoebe’s part, that had filled with tears that spilled over in a steady trickle, despite how she’d sworn to herself that she would remain composed until after saying everything she needed to.

Are you sad, my lady ? They were the first words Mary Anne had spoken to her in her bell-like voice, watching intently as Phoebe crouched at her level.

Words that had made Phoebe’s tears flow harder, although her smile had become so wide, it felt like her cheeks might split. No , darling. She’d shaken her head. Let her fingertip run along the edge of her daughter’s soft, wispy braid. I’ve never been so happy in my entire life .

The schoolmistress had placed them together in a quiet sitting room, leaving Phoebe to explain to Mary Anne the purpose for her visit as she saw fit. An endeavor that could have taken hours had she recounted every detail from the past eight years, but that she also needed to make suitable for a young child to hear. And so, she’d simply come out with it, peering into the face that had instantly captured her heart. I’m your mama .

The declaration had understandably made the little girl’s features pucker in confusion, although instead of shying away, she’d come closer, as if to whisper a secret in Phoebe’s ear. But … I don’t have a mama .

You do . And I love you all the way to the stars . Phoebe had held out her arms, knowing she was a stranger to the girl, that she had no right to expect anything. Closeness would take time. Except then, Mary Anne had walked right into her embrace, burying her face against Phoebe’s shoulder as if she’d always belonged there.

Phoebe didn’t have words to describe what she’d felt in that moment as the two of them clung to each other. Only that those precious seconds would be forever etched in her memory as the time when all facets of her heart had finally become whole.

She’d departed the school with Mary Anne shortly thereafter, passing the hours in the carriage by asking her questions about her likes and dislikes, about all the little details she wished to learn. By telling her, in return, of the father and sister who awaited her back in Kent .

Arriving at Beaumont , where everyone Phoebe loved was under the same roof at last, proved another monumental occasion that evoked emotions too powerful to name. It marked both a new beginning and the start of an adjustment period. The time in which the four of them learned to be a family.

The change hadn’t happened seamlessly overnight. After all, each one of them had been placed in a role they never could have anticipated. After a few days, though, of wandering around the house in quiet wonder, Mary Anne — Anna , they’d taken to calling her—had begun conversing more and more, showing herself quick to laugh and eager to ask questions. She especially enjoyed frolicking in the garden throughout the day, bestowed them all with the biggest hugs before bedtime each night—a privilege Phoebe would never take for granted—and held a particular fondness for Emily , the distinguished lady five years her senior.

Emily deserved commendation, for she’d adapted to the position of older sister splendidly. She was both thoughtful and patient with Anna’s questions, was generous with gifting her old playthings, and never complained—much—when the younger girl wouldn’t cease following her around.

The two had spent many hours together on a picnic blanket by the lake, laughing at Marigold’s antics and reading aloud from Emily’s favorite books. And as the summer days slipped by, Emily’s face grew less gaunt. Her limbs sturdier. Her body slower to tire.

The result of good country air, surely. Although Phoebe liked to think that perhaps the company in which she found herself also played a part.

As for Nicholas —she stole another glance at him, grinning at the strand of hair that had toppled roguishly onto his forehead—the summer had brought some subtle changes to his countenance as well. He’d recovered his strength in short order—fortunate, as the period directly after the injury, in which he’d been forced to slow down and rest, had irritated him to no end. The recent news that Ambrose had been sentenced to Newgate made them both go about with a little more lightness in their steps. However , she knew that wasn’t the true reason for why he no longer held his shoulders so stiffly. Why the lines around his mouth had softened. Why his smiles had become more frequent.

The reason for those changes could only be love. An elusive happiness that had finally settled.

She’d witnessed it in the simple moments. The times he and Emily walked side by side in the garden, pushing themselves to go a little farther each day. The times he swung Anna atop her first pony, leading her out of the stables as she squealed with delight. The times—twice, now—that she’d caught him asleep in his study with Marigold in his lap, his fingertips buried in her mass of orange fur. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

They were all moments that pulled at her heart, too, filling her with bright, unsurpassable joy. A joy she and Nicholas couldn’t always discuss at length—truthfully, the days were often too busy, and the nights too impassioned—but that they expressed with glances across the breakfast table. With the brushing of fingers whenever they drew near one another. With quick, stolen kisses beneath the trees.

Tonight , however, was different. After close to a week of rain, the four of them had taken advantage of the returning sun by staying outdoors until dusk, rendering Anna tired enough to sleep early for a change. With the drawing room silent, devoid of the girls’ usual poetry recitations and songs upon the pianoforte that proved endearingly … creative , Nicholas had suggested a walk. A proposition Phoebe had accepted wholeheartedly.

She cherished every second spent in her girls’ company, had relished the entire carefree summer, and was already lamenting the arrival of October , when they’d agreed they would hire a governess specifically trained for the role.

Nonetheless , it felt nice to have Nicholas alone for a spell. To saunter instead of run, to rest her arm upon his indefinitely, to know that if she leaned in for a kiss, they wouldn’t have to rush it.

She was about to tell him so—and perhaps demonstrate the kiss part—when their surroundings gave her pause. They’d veered off the path and were starting down a gentle slope, the grass tall and soft beneath her slipper-clad feet. Why , he was leading her toward the lakeshore, although the lake beyond was little more than a black expanse, catching only a tiny glimmer of light from the lantern in his hand and the stars above.

He trod carefully, holding tight to her so she didn’t stumble, and he seemed to recognize the exact place to stop and set down the lantern despite the darkness. After which he whirled her around, his fingers deftly locating the row of buttons that fastened her new sapphire silk evening gown.

Blood rushed to her head from the sudden spin, from the feel of his bare fingertips against her back. “ What are you doing?” The words came out fluttery and breathless.

He kept going, working down the entire row until the dress gaped, and he pushed it from her arms. “ Something that is long overdue.”

She gasped as the dress hit the ground and the warm breeze rustled through her shift. He got to his knees, his hand falling squarely upon her thigh. Eliciting a husky moan from her throat. However , instead of traveling upward, stroking and circling the places that always made her shatter, he slid his hand to the ribbon that held up her stocking and unfastened the bow. Repeated the process on the other side.

Night air danced against more unclothed skin, and her head whirled at a dizzying pace. He seemed so determined, rising back to his feet and ridding her of her stays before taking hold of the final ribbon upon her person—the one securing her shift. Yet here he remained fully clothed, not lingering and caressing like he usually did but giving her only the barest of touches.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders, stepping sideways and pulling him along with her so their faces both fell under the lantern’s glow. She parted her lips but didn’t attempt speech, shooting him a look of silent curiosity.

The corners of his mouth twitched in response, and he gave his chin a pointed nudge toward the stretch of blackness beside them, distinguishable as water from the soft lapping sounds that hit the bank. “ You once had aspirations of swimming in this lake, did you not?”

She felt her brows shift and her eyes go large. “ Yes , but?—”

“ Your chance has come, wife. The night is warm. We’re alone.”

Oh , Lord . How did he manage to make such seemingly innocuous words sound so deliciously sinful? They shot through her with a thrilling little jolt, causing gooseflesh to appear on her skin and need to pulse between her legs.

He didn’t say the phrase that, nearly a decade prior, had set all this in motion: I dare you . It felt like a challenge nonetheless, and, as was the case with Clara at the vicarage eight years ago, a challenge was something from which she wouldn’t back down. Especially when it contained such wicked promise.

She peered at him through her lashes, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “ Will you join me, husband?”

A stifled noise rose from his throat, and his fingers jerked where they hovered above her neckline. Nonetheless , he shook his head. “ Not yet.” He retrieved the lantern with his free hand, his body remaining vexingly beyond the point of brushing against hers. “ You got to observe me as I swam. Now , I’m inclined to watch you.”

The words curled low in her belly like a caress. He had a valid point, and she supposed it was only fair that she obliged. But more importantly … she wanted to oblige. To feel his gaze upon her, worshiping her like a water nymph. A goddess.

He glanced down at the ribbon securing her shift and back up to her face, his eyes two gleaming, desirous pools that voicelessly posed a question: May I ?

Yes . Any brief thought she had of making him wait, of filling him with the same maddening anticipation he’d evoked with his brief, featherlight touches, vanished in the blink of an eye. Rather , vanished in the span of her brisk nod, which came of its own volition. She couldn’t wait any longer, for her body had grown too hot, and she wanted, needed ?—

He wrenched the ribbon loose, and in a single fluid motion, the fine lawn garment slipped away and puddled at her feet. Leaving every inch of her exposed to the whispering breeze. To his heated stare.

She shivered, her skin tingling and nipples pebbling, although certainly not from cold. He made another sound, low and ragged, and for one charged, anticipatory moment, it looked like he would finally grant her the pleasure of his lips.

In the end, though, she got only his breath, which skirted along the shell of her ear as he leaned in. His exhales had become unsteady. His voice a rasp. “ Go on. The water’s deep here. You can jump.” He shifted abruptly, holding out the lantern to illuminate the place where shore became water.

This was it, then. If she stayed on land any longer, she may very well attempt to pull him down to the grass with her and forget a lake existed.

She turned to the dimly lit stretch of water, taking a step to the edge of the shore. She briefly entertained the thought of easing her foot below the surface to test the temperature. But no. If she was to fulfill the dare, she would do nothing by half measures.

She closed her eyes, envisioning sunlight. Swaying trees. His powerful limbs pushing through the water.

And then, she jumped, plunging below the inky surface.

The sudden blast of water shocked her nerve endings, for the air above had been too warm, too heavy, but the lake was cold, bracing … exhilarating .

The numbness evaporated, leaving her senses sharper, and she began kicking through the depths, hurtling upward in a euphoric rush. During a handful of the summer’s hottest days, she and the girls had sat on the shore and dipped their toes in the water, sending up gentle splashes as they moved their feet. However , that feeling couldn’t compare to the bliss of being submerged in it, to having the coolness inundate her overheated skin, to hearing it roar past her ears as she made her ascent.

She broke through the surface and threw her head back, releasing a giggle. She hadn’t felt this way—so free, so alive—since … well, ever.

The scrap of moon shone directly above her, surrounded by a plethora of twinkling stars. As for the lantern—she began treading water, reorienting herself with the direction of the shore—it was no longer in Nicholas’s grip but on the grass beside him. Illuminating the fact that he’d bent over and was hastily tugging off his boots.

With a grin, she dove back under the surface, basking in the water’s invigorating embrace. If only the girl of eighteen who’d stared through the trees at the lake—at the man in the lake, and felt her heart race—could have seen ahead to this moment. Could have watched all her desires come to fruition.

The feeling went beyond elation, and it wouldn’t stop spiraling. For when Phoebe’s head popped out of the water this time, Nicholas was there beside her, capturing her by the waist. Claiming her lips.

Their bodies collided as they bobbed in the water, his taut, slippery chest rubbing against the tips of her breasts. His manhood brushing temptingly against her sex.

The kiss quickly grew deep, urgent, a melding of tongues that sent need ricocheting to her core. She didn’t consciously decide to swim back to land, but regardless, it seemed that’s where they were floating, their rotating legs propelling them the short distance back to shore.

Which , suddenly, was precisely where she wanted to be. The water and his lips continued to shroud her, perfect and vitalizing. However , it was no longer enough, for she needed …

She needed him to break out of the water and vault back onto the shore, to pull her along with him, to lie with her on the grass in a tangle of limbs.

Which was exactly what he did. He stretched his dripping body atop her, nudging his swelling cock between her thighs. Pressing his wet lips to her ear, her throat, to each of her hardened nipples.

Until all at once, everything spun, and she was no longer beneath him but atop him, peering down into eyes dark with longing.

With her body aflame, she leaned into him, kissing away the droplets that dotted his left shoulder. The place that, not so long ago, had contained an injury but now bore only a small scar as a memento of his resilience. Despite her escalating need, she lingered to breathe him in, to kiss every part of the ridged surface until the only moisture remaining on his skin came from the tip of her tongue.

Only then did she raise her spine, gasping as he took hold of her hips and shifted them upward. Positioning her in the place they both desired most: directly above his arousal.

Her mind flashed back to one of their earliest nights in the marquess’s bedchamber as man and wife. A night when she’d retrieved the pilfered book that had been stashed away in her clothespress and they’d lain in bed, flipping through the pages together. When he’d asked what illustrations best pleased her, and, with her pulse beating between her legs, she’d pointed to a woman sitting astride a man like one might sit on a horse. After which he’d dragged her atop him, guiding her onto his cock while issuing a guttural command: ride me, wife .

She repeated the motion now, plunging downward until his rigid length filled her to the hilt, causing the same shower of sparks to flare. In fact, the fire seemed even more potent this time, ready to burn to the stars above.

She established a rhythm, moving her hips up and sinking back down in a relentless cycle, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge of a dizzying height. The gentle breeze continued to sway over her wet skin, but she felt nothing except heat. How could cold exist when he fixed her with his stare, rapt and smoldering beneath the lantern’s glow, like she truly was a creature to be revered?

Her limbs grew tight and quivering, the sound of her needy cries floating through her ears as if they came from afar. And then, as yearning began to feel like it would drive her mad, his fingers joined his eyes in the veneration, tracing along her breasts, down her abdomen, to her mound. Finding the pearl that contained the heart of her pleasure and circling, stroking?—

Release crashed over her like a flood, making the stars come down from the sky to dance before her eyes. Her intimate muscles pulsed around him with sharp, blissful spasms, and he thrust his hips upward with a groan, a burst of warmth shooting deep inside her as he found his own release.

She collapsed onto his chest, embracing the lingering pleasure-filled waves, inhaling the crisp scents of grass and leaves, the heady scent of arousal. He held her tight, his fingers sinking into the curve of her bottom as they waited for their heart rates to slow and the world to stop spinning.

Eventually , her breath returned to a normal tempo, and his chest went from heaving with exertion to subtly rising and falling beneath her cheek.

That was the moment he bent his head so he could whisper in her ear. “ Tell me, sweet. Was your swim in the Beaumont lake everything you hoped it would be?”

She’d thought herself sated, but that low hum, that kiss of breath, didn’t fail to elicit its usual twinge between her thighs. And a caress upon her heart.

She turned her neck, resting her chin upon his chest so she could gaze at him. The man she’d once desired from afar as an impossible dream, but who now, against all odds, was hers . Her partner. Her strength. Her true love, now and forever.

“ It was everything , husband.” She let the final word linger on her tongue, never tiring of the chance to use it, to remind herself of her remarkable good fortune. “ Everything , and so much more.”

THE END

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