How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

Epilogue

Thorncroft Abbey

The abbey was filled with suitors.

Where debutantes had once roamed in their white dresses hunting for a duke, gentlemen now waited for Lady Charlotte Black, “Charlie” to those who earned the privilege. Three of the men in the main drawing room had been awarded such a privilege, four were hoping they might be next. There were others at the house party of course, mothers and fathers, Lady Blackwell who always wore a gown to match George’s cravat—George had finally noticed—Persephone and Conall, Tamsin and Henry and Priya.

They could entertain themselves for a while longer.

Dougal had important ducal business to attend.

And anyone who said seducing one’s wife was not important business would be asked to leave.

The wife in question might be one.

“Don’t you dare,” she said laughingly, meeting his eyes in her looking glass. “I know that look.”

“I’m sure this is my most ducal expression.”

“Exactly.” Her thick dark hair was caught up in a simple braid coronet, the way she’d worn it when he’d first met her and wore it still. He had a fondness for it, even though it annoyed her lady’s maid, Betty, who insisted on decorating it with pearl pins at every opportunity. Meg didn’t mind and claimed one did not irritate one’s lady’s maid without severe repercussions. “We’ll be late for supper.”

“Canterbury will get them so drunk they won’t notice.” He paused, frowning. “How has my baby sister suddenly managed to fill the house with suitors?”

“I like Mr. Gracechurch.”

“You like him because he donated a painting of Elizabeth the First to your collection.”

She laughed. “True.”

Her small art museum was beginning to garner attention, especially now that it was growing and secured behind iron bars and patrolled regularly. Alice Atkins had been charged and found guilty. She would have been hanged had Dougal not asked for transportation instead. Still, he did hope, even years later, that she was being stung by scorpions daily. Meg sent Mr. Atkins his medicines anonymously through the apothecary and had done so since the day after they found the treasure. It was just one of the many reasons he loved her.

“Betty just got me into these stays,” Meg added, warningly when Dougal did not look concerned with tardiness or supper guests. “It took some effort I don’t dare undo. I feel like a trussed goose.”

“You look delicious,” Dougal said. She had filled out once she was able to eat more than mint tea and turnips. He loved every new curve, all the softness of her.

“Betty has just gone to fetch my shoes. She’ll be back any minute.”

He reached back to flip the latch on the door behind him. He raised his eyebrow imperiously. A delicate shiver went through her, though she tried to hide it. “Dougal.”

“Yes, love.”

“We really shouldn’t.”

“I have to disagree.” He stalked towards her, keeping her gaze in the mirror. He bent his head and kissed the top of her shoulder, her throat, finally capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. He stepped around to press her down onto the padded bench, still facing the mirror, before lowering to his knees in front of her.

The doorknob rattled. Meg stifled a giggle. There was a pause, and then retreating footsteps. “She’ll know what we’re doing!”

“She is unshockable,” Dougal replied, tugging up the froth of her chemise skirts. “It’s what I like best about her.”

“But…”

He nipped at her inner thigh. “This is my favorite dimple of them all,” he said, dragging his mouth towards her warm center. As hoped, it burned away Meg’s half-hearted concerns. He pushed her legs open wider, suddenly, firmly. She gasped, head tilting back.

He licked at her once, twice, just enough to tease her.

There was a sound from downstairs, a shout of laughter, a clink of glasses. “Blasted suitors, already being a nuisance,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Meg said. “I’ll find out everything we need to know about…oh, there… them.”