Page 109 of Cocky August Rake

“The Gale carried me home,” he said. “You, my love, are my home.”

Rose closed the distance between them, laughing and crying as she placed her ands along the sides of his face.

“Then I will make my home with you, Reginald. Yes. I will marry you.”

Relief and joy crashed through him all at once.

“God above, Rose.”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her down onto his raised knee, needing her closer, needing to feel that she was real and had truly said yes. His other hand slid into her hair, and then he was kissing her, marveling that somehow, this woman, the woman he loved with all his heart. Somehow…

“I love you,” she said.

Rose wrapped both arms around his neck, laughing and crying against his mouth while he held her as though he’d never let her go.

He might have stayed there forever.

Only when a discreet cough sounded behind them did he finally drag his lips from hers.

Once again, the Duchess of Malum stood in the doorway of the drawing room, this time, with one brow raised. Her gaze moved first to Reginald, still on one knee, then to Rose’s tear-streaked smile.

“I take it,” the duchess said, “that you have settled your differences regarding The Domus?”

“We have, actually,” Reginald grinned at Harry, who stood behind his wife with their son asleep on his shoulder.

“Wonderful.” The duchess smiled. “Because I have an idea.”

EPILOGUE

The Domus did, in fact, close its doors.

But only for renovations.

And entirely at Rose’s instruction.

The crimson walls had been softened, the heavy draperies removed, and every lock, bellpull, and hidden panel inspected and improved. Most importantly, the receiving rooms upstairs had been converted into private bedchambers for women and children who needed somewhere safe to stay.

But that was only the beginning.

Where gentlemen had once wagered fortunes beneath clouds of cigar smoke, long tables now stood beneath tall, uncovered windows. Shelves lined the walls, already filled with books on history, philosophy, mathematics, and trade. Women could learn to read there, keep accounts, study a profession, or simply sit somewhere warm without being required to earn the privilege.

The Domus was no longer a brothel.

It was a house of refuge and instruction for women who needed safety, opportunity, and time to decide what came next.

Nell and Mr. Huxley had matters well in hand.

All of it was rather exceptional, really.

Rose stood in the center of the former gambling room, studying a stack of newly delivered books, when strong arms slipped around her waist.

“You are distracting the proprietor,” she said.

“My wife owns the building. Surely that entitles me to certain liberties.”

“You do make an excellent point.”

“I have another.”