Epilogue

Grace felt Philip press his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Her promise to not go anywhere seemed to have broken something in him. Whereas before he had kissed her slowly, sensually, now it was full of need and passion. Grace reached up, clinging to his waistcoat as her hands took hold of her hips.

She didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to be free of this feeling that Philip loved her, that he didn’t want to lose her.

“Stay,” he whispered between their kisses. “Out here with me tonight.”

“To picnic?” she said with a smile. “Is that not a little improper?” she teased him, leaning far enough back, so she could look him in the eye. “A duke and duchess picnicking under the stars when they should be tucked up in bed?”

“I was not just thinking of a picnic.” With his words, his fingers splayed even more, reaching up to her waist, and the tops of his fingers brushed the undersides of her breasts. “I was thinking of something much more improper.”

“Oh?” she gasped, excitement shooting through her core at the mere thought.

“Haven’t you noticed by now, Grace?” He bent down toward her again. “You make me quite powerless at night.”

“Me?” Her voice said a little shakily.

“I can’t stay away,” he whispered, his lips pressing to hers.

Grace wrapped her arms around his neck as he bent toward her. She suddenly understood something that had passed her by before. All the times they had made love, she thought it was him just trying to have an heir, but she was wrong.

All this talk of possessing her, of her belonging to him, was about this need, about love.

I can’t believe it. He has been as entranced with me as I am with him!

He pulled back from the kiss a little and drew her by the hand toward the picnic blanket. She was breathless as she followed him, not just because she wanted this feeling again, this excitement, but because this time, it would be different. They would be completely making love, knowing how much they each wanted it.

As they reached the blanket, Philip turned to her and started to unthread the laces of her gown.

“I thought you liked the dress,” she teased him, watching as his gaze grew hungry.

“I love it,” he murmured. “Wear more dresses like this. Stop hiding in frumpy dresses that don’t show off this figure of yours.”

“Show it off?” she repeated in amazement.

As he pushed the gown down firmly, he turned her around, reaching for the corset. He pulled at those laces too, his movement growing quicker now.

“You don’t have any real idea, do you?” he said with a laugh. “Dear God, Grace.” He turned her back around as he threw the corset off her, bending back down. “I think the first night I ever wondered what it would be like to have you in my arms was the night you fell into me, and I had to catch you.”

“That was the first night we ever met!” she reminded him.

“It was.” He laughed. “I kept trying to push thoughts of you away, these curves of yours…” His voice deepened as she shivered with excitement. “But that night when you tried to kiss another man, it made me snap. I don’t want you kissing any other man but me.”

“Then kiss me already,” she pleaded.

He did, bending down toward her with such heat that she started pulling at his clothes too, determined to shed them and be completely bare with him. When he had nothing but his trousers left on, they fell to the blanket together.

The food he had arranged was tipped to the side of the blanket as he laid over her, exploring her. Her legs raised, wrapping themselves around his hips as he kissed her, exploring her with his tongue.

She shivered though it had nothing to do with the chilly air of that autumnal night. He seemed to sense the cold though, for rather than pulling that chemise off her completely, he raised it around her hips, opening her hips to him.

This time, there was nothing preemptive. He didn’t explore her with his tongue or fingers but released his length from his trousers. Her breathing quickened, just as her heartbeat did, and she wrapped her arms around his biceps, holding him close.

“Say you’re mine, Grace,” he pleaded, not quite kissing her but hovering his lips just above hers. “Say it,” he pleaded again.

“I am yours,” she moaned as he nudged her entrance, teasing her with his hardness, but not yet taking her. “I always was, Philip.”

With this confession, he pushed inside of her.

Her hands tightened around his arms as he entered her, and she moaned his name loudly.

Out here, in the elements, with the wind brushing their skin, she thought they were safe. She could scream his name aloud and prayed the staff tucked away in the houses wouldn’t hear her. It was invigorating, just how free she felt making love to Philip outside.

He kept rocking their hips together. There was nothing gentle about his movements. It was firm and fast so that he hit every pleasurable spot inside of her as he moved.

She raised her legs as high as she possibly could, giving him complete access to her, then he took hold of her hands, placing them over her head and pinning them there in one of his.

To feel so dominated by him was such a thrill that her moans grew louder again. She could no longer form his name, and only managed sounds as her body was rocked with such pleasure.

“Mine,” Philip started to whisper in her ear. “God, I love you, Grace. I cannot imagine you married to any other man.”

The words alone were enough to heighten her pleasure. She threw her head back, feeling how strong he was as he shifted their position. He tucked his arms under her legs and lifted them higher, so he was practically bending her in half as he entered her, maintaining the connection of their gazes the whole time.

To be so penetrated by him yet at the same time, hear such words, created such a pleasure that she had never felt before.

Her end was coming fast. She could feel it rippling through her, overtaking her so strongly that her hands couldn’t stay still. As he had released his grip on her wrists, she let her fingers explore across his shoulders, down his torso, to his strong stomach, then she let them fall back to the picnic blanket as well, creasing it beneath her fingers.

She had no idea her body was capable of feeling such pleasure. That final moment hit her like a great wave from the ocean. She was taken over that edge and into a complete oblivion of pleasure.

“Philip,” she moaned his name as he entered her again and again, never once hesitating or slowing his pace.

She was still moaning, her body sensitive and struggling to come down from that height when she noticed his own sounds changing. He was no longer just breathing heavily but moaning himself, short growling sounds which were possessive and full of pleasure.

Then he thrust into her one more time. He craned his head back as he did so, one final guttural sound escaping him. The sight of him in all that lantern light, the sweat on his chest beading like drips of gold, Grace was sure she would never forget.

She reached her hands up toward him, pulling him back down to her. Panting, he collapsed over the top of her, bearing his weight on one forearm as their lips collided in a heated kiss.

“God, I love you, Grace,” he managed to murmur between his kisses. “Always so afraid of this feeling, so scared of it.”

“Why?” she said, kissing him back. “Why be scared of love, Philip?”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He raised himself just enough to look into her eyes. “Never.”

She felt the irony of the statement. In an effort not to hurt her, he had ended up causing them both pain, but that was over now.

“No more being afraid?” she pleaded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back down toward her.

“No more,” he promised.

“Good. Because if all of our picnics are going to be like this one, I think it might be a very happy marriage indeed.”

He chuckled lightly, the vibrations emanating through their connection as he bent toward her, ready for another of their heated kisses. One of his hands trailed his fingers through her hair, pulling at it until it had fallen out of its updo. Clearly, he had no intention of their picnic ending just yet.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, My Duchess.”

The End?