Epilogue

“To think we could have run away, after all.” Caleb smiled down at his beautiful daughter, as his equally beautiful wife placed her in her crib.

A year and a half of fatherhood hadn’t diluted the awe he felt every time he looked into her silver eyes, just like her mother’s.

“We kept the title for a son, and then along comes a daughter.”

Ophelia laughed before pressing a featherlight kiss on their daughter’s forehead then beckoning him from the room.

“There’s still time, you know.” Caleb wrapped his arm around her waist as they strolled from the nursery to their rooms down the corridor.

It was most unusual he knew, for a nursery to be so close to the master suite, but Ophelia hadn’t wanted Claudia away from them and frankly, neither had he.

Besides, his mother had been staying with them for Christmas and wouldn’t leave until the start of the Season, and the closer she was to her beloved granddaughter, the happier she was.

His mother loved Ophelia as much as he’d known she would, and the feeling was mutual.

The dowager marchioness would forever be grateful to Ophelia for pulling Caleb from the path her late husband and son had travelled down, and in the dowager, Ophelia had gained the mother figure she so desperately wanted.

“We could take Claudia and go. Anywhere you wanted.”

“And have your mother chase us down?” She grinned. “I would never. Besides, your ton hasn’t been so bad, after all.”

No, it hadn’t been.

At first, there’d been whispers, rubbish printed in the gossip papers, rumours spread by people with far too much time on their hands.

But Ophelia had borne it with aplomb and over time, when people had gotten to know her true character, they had, as Caleb had once assured her, moved on to the next.

The Duke and Duchess of Balton had also smoothed the way for them both, since Caleb had been the notorious Wicked Marquess, after all.

They’d gained excellent friends and a respectability that he didn’t particularly care about in the process.

They reached their bedchamber, and Caleb turned to lock the door behind them, looking forward to an evening alone with his wife.

“Besides,” she continued as she moved to her dressing table and began to unpin her glorious hair. “You’re going to need it for the next one. I’m sure of it.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, just like last time, but when they did, Caleb lifted her off her feet, desperate to show her just how happy she’d made him.

***

Hours later, Ophelia lay exhausted in the arms of her husband who was fussing like a mother hen and demanding that she get some sleep.

“I take it you’re pleased with the news, then,” she quipped.

“You have no idea, Siren,” he said huskily, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Oh, I think you showed me well enough.”

Her laugh turned to a yelp of surprise as he suddenly flipped them, so she lay beneath him, his eyes burning with blue fire gazing down at her.

“Maybe not well enough,” he drawled. “I think I should try again.”

“You were the one who told me to rest,” she said with mock severity. “This is hardly conducive to resting.”

“That’s the trouble with rogues, sweetheart,” he repeated the words she’d used when they’d first admitted their love for each other. “You can’t trust a word we say.”

The End.