Epilogue

Another rogue has been officially inducted into the Leighton Cluster with the hasty marriage of Jasper Noble to the widowed Countess of Edgerly. These men are known for their passionate unions and their adherence to securing the most interesting partners.

~Newspaper clipping pressed between the pages of a scoundrel’s wife’s folio

E ven after a year of marriage, Cece didn’t understand everything about her husband.

Why he preferred his boots be placed by the front door rather than in his wardrobe, for instance. Why he chose coffee over tea most mornings. Why he felt he must ask her every five minutes how she was feeling, a common occurrence since she’d told him she was expecting a baby two months ago.

Their relationship was changing in the best of ways, and the mystery of it thrilled her most days. Most .

Crispin’s past had come out in scattered fragments of conversation in the dead of night as they lay entangled in each other’s arms. With every story he shared about his emissary work, his heroism diminished in the telling, she loved him more. The risks he’d taken for his country terrified her to contemplate. He was a complicated man. A generous, loving, exasperating husband and father.

Actually, she didn’t wish to know everything about him. She hoped her search to understand such an enigmatic person would take her a lifetime.

Cece wrinkled her nose at the sound of a fist striking a jaw. The Leighton Cluster were gathered around a large bald circle on the Duke of Markham’s lawn the men called the “testing grounds.” The boxing sessions they held on the spot were brutal, but when there was a disagreement, this is where they resolved it. They were barbarians, to put it plainly. Why Crispin felt he and his friends must battle it out instead of discussing the issue like women did, she’d never understand. Another mystery.

However, she hadn’t heard Crispin cough or seen him pat his chest in months.

Brawling was evidently an excellent cure for asthma.

As was an incredibly joyful marriage.

“Don’t let their antics startle you,” Pippa Macauley murmured from her sun-drenched spot on the duke’s immense veranda. Lounging on a chaise and looking for all the world like a languid portrait meant for an art gallery, Pippa yawned lazily behind her hand. Her eyes closed, Cece hadn’t even known she was awake. Who could sleep through the uproar of men tussling and ten children of various ages bellowing? The serene woman across from her, that’s who. “They’re fools, utter and complete, but boys must have an outlet for their energy, or they’re miserable to deal with. Sometimes I think Xander is one of my brood, roughhousing and destroying furniture, coming home with torn clothing and bruised cheeks, then he kisses me, and I remember that’s not the case.”

In the event Cece didn’t get her meaning, Pippa winked.

Cece sat back, her cheeks burning.

This was new as well .

Friends. A circle of incredible people closing ranks around her. Scandalous discussions and laughter. So. Much. Laughter. Cece hadn’t realized how lonely she was until the Leighton Cluster entered her life. Her decision to come to London and fight for the man she loved had brought her more than she could have imagined. An additional joy was the upcoming visit from her sister, Rose, and her family. Her life was turning out to be wonderful.

Looking across the lawn, her heart skipped a full beat. Josiah was in the middle of a pack of children, dancing about in glee. He had a bow clutched in his fist, although he wasn’t yet allowed to handle the arrows. She had done something right if her son was this happy.

They had a true family . The tears intruded, as they did all the time, and she fumbled in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief. It was right beneath the new loop she carried each and every day, one Crispin had given her on their wedding night. To past and future love , he’d had inscribed on the metal lip. He’d kept her old one, an item he claimed he couldn’t give up.

“It’s the babe,” Hildy said from her place beside Cece, giving her a comforting pat on the arm. As the two who freckled horribly, they were sitting in the shade. “I cried, uncontrollably at times. Toby was frantic, though I tried to tell him it was normal to experience staggering bursts of emotion. We are carrying another human, after all. If only men had the chance to experience such a thing.”

Pippa gave a graceless snort. “Oh, bother, as if! They’d not make it a day.”

“They’re simply not built for it, body or mind .” The Duchess of Markham, called Georgie by everyone who loved her, tapped her temple with a smirk. “Can you imagine? Dex can’t even find his left boot most days. If it isn’t some fancy rock, he’s hopeless.”

Shooting Crispin a quick glance, Cece hastily dabbed her eyes. “Cris can’t see me upset. He’ll spirit me away to the nearest parlor. I’ve never taken so many naps in my life.”

This said, she issued a huge yawn, causing everyone around her to smile.

No one batted an eyelash at her calling her husband by another name, something she did only among this small circle. In public, she called him darling or Noble, both to the grave displeasure of society. Their friends knew about his past, enough to quiet the questions, anyway. Besides, they had their own secrets; Jasper Noble’s weren’t the most scandalous. Every man standing on the faded circle on a duke’s Mayfair lawn had a past they’d chosen to leave behind for a brighter future.

One filled with love, family, and friendship.

As if she’d whispered something in his ear, Crispin glanced over. Seeing the handkerchief in her hand, he frowned and gave his spectacles a nudge.

“Uh-oh,” Hildy said, her voice threaded with amusement. “Here comes an anxious daddy.”

“Another one falls,” Pippa added with a drowsy sigh.

Cece watched Crispin give Josiah a nod, then set across the lawn with a long-legged stride that meant business. Watching him, her heart gave a tender leap. He was grace in motion, summer sunlight awash down his long, lean body. Amazingly, he’d gotten more attractive in the past months. His eyes were a clear, brilliant, blissful blue; his jaw stubbled as he preferred; his dark hair long enough to curl over the collar. He looked relaxed and content.

He looked happy . She’d fought for him and won peace for them both.

This realization gratified her to the ends of the earth and back.

“You’re not going to argue, are you, minx?” he asked as he climbed the veranda stairs, coattails flapping. “You seem ready to wilt, and I can’t have that.”

“This promises to be a laborious five months,” Pippa whispered, awake enough to share her opinion.

Hildy flapped her hand, shushing her. “Goodness, are you mad? Xander Macauley was the worst expectant papa I’ve ever seen.”

“Jest all you wish, ladies, I won’t be deterred,” Crispin said with one of his charming smiles. They were meant to bend a person’s will to his choosing and could be quite effective, Cece would admit.

Although these ladies had cut their teeth on charming smiles. They were a skeptical crew.

“I’m not going to argue,” Cece murmured as he reached for her. She was, in fact, fatigued. She’d had no idea being pregnant took so much out of a person.

“Brilliant,” he whispered for her only.

She hummed and stood, placing her hand on his chest. “Oh, no , not this time.”

He only grinned and looped his arm around hers as he led her into the house. “I have no clue what you’re referring to.”

Last week, he’d rescued her in a similar fashion from a painstaking discussion about politics in Leighton’s parlor. They’d ended up in the duke’s linen closet, her back pressed against the door as they tupped like the world was ending.

Her prodigious hunger was another aspect of pregnancy she’d not expected.

When they entered the hallway, Crispin halted at the first door they encountered. “Care to show me your underthings, Mrs. Noble?”

She giggled, then covered her mouth in mortification. Women who organized rallies for legislative change and still dabbled in the occasional forgery did not giggle. “You are incorrigible, Mr. Noble.”

He leaned to press a nibbling kiss beneath her ear, a spot meant to stoke a blaze in her as he well knew. “Is that a no ?”

After checking to ensure the hallway was deserted, she pulled him into a kiss that finished with them breathless and clinging to each other. She wiggled her hips against his. “Is this a loop in your pocket, or are you thrilled to see me?”

He released a gusty laugh against her lips. “Both.”

Reaching around him, she checked the knob, and found it unlocked. “It has to be fast. The children will be racing inside for luncheon soon.”

He scrambled to shove her into a tight space that was, indeed, another linen closet. Strangely, the scent of linseed oil was becoming a mild aphrodisiac.

Locking the door, Crispin brought her in until they stood in a full-body press surrounded by starched linens and misty illumination streaming through the high, narrow window. Dust motes drifted around them like snow on a winter morn. The way he looked at her, dreamy and dazed, sent her spiraling. It was a blatant look of possession, of love.

She was dazzled, once again, by the splendor of him.

“What?” he whispered, his eyes glowing in the light.

“I just love you more than I can manage some days,” she said and bowed into his chest. The tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

His arms came around her. “Ah, minx, you’re going to have me weeping along with you instead of taking you against this door. I’m no good at one while feeling the other.”

“I disagree. You’re good at both. So very, very ”—she streaked her hand down his body, halting at his waist—“good at both.”

Crispin caught her hand before she could touch him, his fingers linking with hers. “I love you and Josiah and our babe more than I can manage, too. I lie awake at night, watching you sleep, watching Josiah sleep, worry streaking about in the darkness. Yet, I’m finding love gives me strength rather than weakens me, as men expect it to do. Honestly, I feel stronger than I did with a knife pressed to someone’s neck.”

“Do tell,” she said and laughed into his coat. The superfine wool was a gentle caress against her cheek, his breaths a calming echo in the small space. She broke his hold and touched him then, listening for the kick of his heartbeat beneath her ear. “I can be dangerous in my own right.”

He groaned as she traced the outline of his shaft jutting against his trouser close. “Prove it.”

Gazing at her husband, Cece smiled as his lids drifted low. From the time she was fifteen years old, she’d known. This man was her everything. “Don’t worry. I will.”

The End

Thank you for reading Three Sins and a Scoundrel!

This was the final book in the legendary Duchess Society series.

Have you read all books in the series, including the Christmas novellas The Governess Gamble and The Daring Debutante ?

As the last chapter of this unforgettable saga closes, we find ourselves still basking in the afterglow of romance and adventure. We've laughed, we've cried, and we've fallen in love over and over again with characters that feel like old friends.

But as one door closes, another opens. It is with great excitement that we introduce you to the start of a brand new series that we're confident will capture your heart just as much.

From the vibrant ballrooms of the Regency era comes a romance that sparks with wit, charm, and the delightful dance of two hearts destined to find each other. USA Today bestselling author Charlie Lane ushers in a new series with a story that promises to be as brilliant as its characters.

A group of unconventional debutantes is turning heads and breaking hearts, in the glittering ballrooms of Regency London. The Debutante Dares series follows these audacious young ladies as they defy societal norms, challenging the ton's most eligible bachelors to fall madly in love. Get ready for a whirlwind of passion, wit, and scandalous romance that will leave you breathless.

Start with book 1, Daring the Duke .

To save her family, bluestocking Lady Tabitha must marry well. Can she convince the Duke of Collingford — her opposite in every way — that she will make the perfect duchess?

"Daring the Duke is a steamy, dreamy, all-consuming historical romance. Unforgettable characters and a captivating happily ever after that you don't want to miss!"

~ Tracy Sumner, USA Today Bestselling author

Dive into this fun, and sizzling Regency Rom-Com!

Read on for a sneak-peek!

CHAPTER ONE

The ballroom was perfect, all dusky purple blooms and candlelight. Its corners brimmed with music, and its center, swirling with perfect dancing bodies, might as well have been the center of the known universe. And Tabitha and her friends were the discarded debris of some passing comet. Detritus no one noticed, no one looked for through the lenses of powerful telescopes or even more powerful quizzing glasses. Old, plain, penniless, unfashionable, and—stars above, no!—outspoken debutantes were ignored or acknowledged with disdain and then forgotten.

Why then did the Duke of Collingford’s gaze rake over Tabitha like she was some sort of errant servant, visible only because she’d done something wrong? He couldn’t possibly know . Could he? No. He could not.

Tabitha shook herself free of his searing consideration and returned her attention to her friends.

“What were you saying, Jane?” she asked.

“Gathering wool again, Tabby?” Jane said. “What about this time?”

“I know!” Lillian bounced up and down, her blond curls bobbing. “You’re counting things again. You always do at some point during a ball.”

Tabitha shook her head. “I can’t help it if there’s an unimaginable number of candles lighting ballrooms. One can’t help but wonder how many. And it’s always good to know how many doors there are.” And where they were located. “But no, that’s not it. I—”

“I don’t,” Lillian said, rearranging a curl that had fallen over her eye.

“Don’t what?”

“Wonder how many candles. Or doors. Ever. That’s only you, I think. I know . You were trying to remember what color Lady Jersey wore at Almack’s a month ago.” She leaned closer as if expecting something.

Tabitha knew exactly what she wanted. She unlocked a few trunks in the attic of her memory and peered inside. She had put it away. How unnecessary. Lady Jersey wore lavender a month ago. “Why would I do that?”

Lillian shrugged. “Because you can. If I had a memory like yours, I’d use it all the time.”

Jane shivered. “I think I’d try to forget all the things my mind wanted to remember. I wouldn’t want to get”—she waved her hands around her head—“cluttered. Oh, I know what you were thinking of, Tabitha. It’s the stars again.” She lifted a perfectly arched chocolate brow. “You’re always thinking of the stars.”

“No.” Tabitha raised her voice, using the tone she used with her younger sisters and, well, parents, too, to ensure no one interrupted her again. “Maybe a little. Think on it. If this ballroom were the universe, what would we be?”

Jane frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Tabitha waved toward the crowd of dancers shimmering in the candlelight. “They are the planets whirling on their certain paths toward their destinies. We are”—she shrugged—“dead stars. At best. Our time for shining has come and gone. Yet, somehow, we still remain. Not that anyone notices.”

Jane whistled. “My, you’re in a sad state tonight.”

She was in a sad state. She’d discovered her youngest sister Maggie hemming her own dresses before she’d left for the ball. And in the carriage this evening, her Papa had once again mentioned selling the paintings. They had been in the family forever, acquired by her ancestors from renowned painters of each generation. Was she to be the reason they’d lose them, too? Apparently so.

Unless she could find a husband.

Lillian frowned. “If we must apply your celestial metaphor, I’d rather think of us as…” She tilted her face toward the ceiling and pressed her lips thin. “As-of-yet-undiscovered stars.”

“No, planets!” Jane brightened.

Lillian bounced once more. “Suns!”

“If we speak too loudly,” Tabitha grumbled, “we’ll be stoned for knowing such things exist.”

Jane tapped Lillian on the shoulder. “Quick, we must raise Tabby up before she crashes completely.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “What say you to a dare ?”

Lillian clapped her hands. “Excellent! I’ve not had one in a while.”

“I’m in the middle of an ever ongoing one, as you may remember. I’ll pass.” Tabitha crossed her arms over her chest.

“Ooh, yes, Tabby,” Lillian said, “tell us how it went last time. At the garden party, wasn’t it?”

Tabitha slipped a glance across the room to where the duke still stood, his profile in hard-jawed relief to the softness of the room and the gaiety of the dancers.

“Yes, Lady Fitzsimmons did not know we’d been introduced before. Couldn’t even consider that it would be possible such a personage as the Duke of Collingford could have ever been introduced to an old maid with such an unfashionable appearance as…as… now what was her name again?” Tabitha patted the back of her coiffure.

It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with wild red hair. And it wasn’t her fault those sorts of locks happened to be considered the worst of the worst to the fashionable minded. And it certainly was not her fault no one remembered who she was despite the very fact that her extremely identifiable hair should make her unforgettable.

“So, for the fifth time in my life, I was formally introduced to the duke.”

Jane held out her index finger. “The first time you gave him your true name, yes?”

Tabitha nodded. “And the second time as well.”

Lillian held out her thumb and index finger, then popped out another finger. Three fingers for three introductions to the duke. “Then we dared you to seek a third introduction and give a different name,” Lillian said.

Tabitha sighed. She reached over to Lillian and lifted fourth and fifth fingers. “I can’t believe the man doesn’t realize what’s going on.” He must be dreadfully dumb. Or dreadfully full of himself. “I’ve been Imogen, Mary, Tabitha, of course, and yesterday I gave him the name of Miss Priscilla Pickles.”

“No!” Jane and Lillian exclaimed together.

Jane chuckled. “What’s equally unbelievable is that the women introducing you have no clue you’re lying.” She shook her head. “How?”

“I suppose either they know but don’t wish to make a scene, or they don’t know and are trying to hide the fact they do not have Debrett ’s perfectly memorized.”

Lillian studied the duke. “The garden party was yesterday, yes?”

“Mm,” Tabitha answered. It hadn’t been too bad. She enjoyed being outside more than she enjoyed balls. She enjoyed looking at a pale blue sky and knowing that once the dark of night fell like a blanket across the country, everything hidden by daylight would appear—bright sparks far above, out of reach to all but the imagination.

Lillian’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Seek out a sixth introduction.”

Tabitha blinked and refocused on the conversation. “A sixth…”

“Introduction!” Jane exclaimed. “Perfect, Lillian! Tonight.”

Tabitha smoothed her skirts despite the complete lack of creases, avoiding her friends’ eyes. “So soon? Again? Surely, he’ll notice if I do that. Then the game is up.”

“But what will happen then is what I’d like to know,” Jane said.

“I don’t think I would.” She rather liked the game. She didn’t want it to be over. Their dares lent a levity to the tedious ton events, made them enjoyable. And what would happen when he found out? Those cutting eyes would slice her in two—or more—pieces. Or worse, he’d make sure she paid for proving him a fool. “I think Lillian had the right of it at first. It’s her turn.” She tapped her bottom lip. “What should you not like to do, Lillian?”

“I’m not afraid. Do your worst!”

Jane wiggled her eyebrows. “Dance barefoot.”

Lillian sucked in a breath, then let it out with a chuckle. “I would if anyone would ever ask me to dance.”

Jane elbowed her friend gently in the ribs. “They would if you weren’t always so quiet, if you didn’t always look at the floor, and if you had friends other than the plain spinsters standing before you.”

Lillian gasped. “You’re not plain!”

Jane looked across the ballroom. “I’m sure my stunning beauty has simply intimidated all the men. That must be the reason for my singularly unsuccessful first season.”

“That is a better explanation than many,” Lillian insisted.

Tabitha smiled warmly. “We love you, too, Lily. But Jane is right. You’re perfectly lovely. With that golden hair and slim figure, you look as if you stepped off a fashion plate.”

Lillian blushed. “My figure is too boyish to attract a husband. Or a dance partner.”

Jane took Lillian’s shoulders and turned her about, then she straightened her posture, pushed her chin up, and turned her back around. “There. Now.” She pushed her away from the wall that was their home and toward the edge of the dancers.

Lillian sank low and pushed back toward Tabitha.

Jane pushed her right back out into the light. “No. This is your dare. You stand there, chin high, shoulders back. Meet the gaze of every man who comes your way, and say yes to the first one to ask you to dance.”

Lillian’s gaze dropped to the floor, then bounced back up. “What about my shoes?”

“Keep them this time,” Tabitha hissed. “But next time.” She raised both eyebrows. “Barefoot.”

Lillian’s face beamed red, but she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and turned toward the dancers.

“Think she’ll do it?” Jane asked.

“Yes.” Tabitha had no doubt. Lillian had everything Tabitha did not—looks, money, and the normal accomplishments of a woman. She could sing, play pianoforte, paint watercolors, and—though Tabitha had never seen it—in all likelihood, she could needlepoint pillows for every room in her future husband’s house. And she wanted a husband, a safe marriage, and a man to love. She wanted children. So did Jane.

Tabitha wanted everything else. She wanted to know everything simply for the sake of knowing it. If she could do some good with that knowledge, well, that would be nice, too.

Because she had much to atone for.

And she couldn’t do that if she remained unwed.

And she would likely remain unwed because she was who she was, and she wasn’t a Lillian. Ah, the ironies of life.

Tabitha glanced at Jane. “Has your brother come to town yet?”

“No. But do not worry. I will introduce you to him when he does. He needs a wife like you.” Her face scrunched up. “He only needs a wife, really, but he would be lucky to have a wife like you.”

“He’s a practical sort, yes? Willing to marry for practical reasons?” Tabitha knew this. She and Jane had discussed the issue more than once, but she seemed to need the reassurance this eve.

“Oh, yes! Practical is the only state of being Edmund knows.” She smirked. “Speaking of impractical—”

“We weren’t speaking of impractical. We were speaking of practical . They are antonyms.”

Jane waved her hand. “Yes, but the idea of one always brings about the idea of the other. So, as I was saying, speaking of impractical things… What about your sixth introduction to the duke?”

“I cannot. Not tonight. Perhaps in a week or so.”

“But you must!” Her face fell, and she placed a hand solemnly over her heart. “You’ve been dared.”

A smile twitched at Tabitha’s lips, but she suppressed it. If Jane knew she was tempted even a tiny bit, she’d poke until she got her way. “I can’t. If the duke realizes I’ve been playing a joke on him, he could ruin me. He is just the type who would do so.”

“Hm.” Jane nodded. “Likely.”

“And then I would never get a husband.” And though she didn’t like it, she needed a husband more than she needed the invigorating levity of a dare, more than she needed the knowledge she craved.

“I think even my brother would balk at the fact you’ve been tricking a duke. He is a good sort but not much on fun.”

Tabitha grimaced. “Sounds like it will be a joy to be married to him.”

“My apologies beforehand. At least we’ll be sisters.”

There was that. Tabitha took her friend’s hand and squeezed. “My greatest hope.” She meant it, too.

Jane pointed at the dancing couples. No, not the dancing couples. She pointed at a man and woman—Lillian—standing on the edge of the dance floor. “Someone’s asking Lillian to dance.”

“It appears so.”

The man bowed before Lillian. She curtsied and blushed, and then he led her out onto the dance floor.

Perhaps the man would fall in love with Lillian. And perhaps he had a brother with enough blunt to get her family out of their financial difficulties. Her father’s title was old enough and prestigious enough, after all. Only her stupid hubris had drained the family coffers. And she must refill them. She needed to marry and fast. The man did not matter as long as his pockets were deep enough to atone for her sins. She’d never had much chance of a marriage built on the heart anyway.

Her hands shook, and her chest constricted, so she inhaled slowly, then exhaled and turned her eyes to Lillian, who was dancing and laughing. It was enough to release the tension. A little bit. She grinned at her friend.

Then she met the duke’s eyes across the crowd. He did not look away, and his gaze burned with something she did not care to translate.

The hum of strings floating in the air stopped. The couples stopped dancing and gentlemen escorted their partners from the floor. Still the duke’s eyes focused on her alone. No. It could not be. She looked over her shoulder. Nothing there but wall. She looked over the other shoulder. Still wall. She swallowed and slowly turned to face him.

But he had moved. He was striding across the ballroom, cutting through the crowd, heading straight toward her. Her heart fell to her feet, and a small gurgling sound escaped her throat.