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Marietta was trembling.
He stood up. And then he said, loudly, so there could be no mistake, “I love you. If I have to be a duke, then the least you can do is make it bearable by being my duchess. And as for the club, I don’t give a damn. Do what you like. Open half a dozen.”
He meant it; he really didn’t care about anything except having Marietta as his wife.
She began to cry, and then she clung to his neck and kissed him, and he kissed her back.
“I thought he was going to shoot you,” she sobbed. “I thought I would lose you, Max, oh Max, I love you so.”
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he retorted hoarsely. “Don’t ever play the heroine again.”
And then they just held each other, finding comfort in their love, and grateful that despite all of the bad things that had happened they still had each other. And that was the best thing of all.
Epilogue
One year later in Cornwall…
Blackwood wasn’t as grim as Max had threatened, although it was certainly no Valland House. Marietta found its isolation rather exciting, especially at night, like now, with the sky ablaze with stars and the sea breaking gently against the sand. They had been married for ten months and every day was wonderful, but it was no easy matter being the wife of a man in Max’s position. She had duties to perform and tasks to oversee, and hundreds of underlings who looked to her for guidance.
Exhausting.
Which was why it was so nice to be here, at Blackwood, alone together. Well, almost.
Marietta grimaced as she picked her way down the cliff path that led to the cove and its white sand. Max had been very diligent, checking over the details of the running of the old mine he had reopened. The people in the village had applauded him, actually cheered and clapped as their coach passed through, on the way to the house. Marietta had not realized until then how much the mine meant to them, and how desperate they were for the employment Max had given them.
He was a hero.
But even heroes need to enjoy themselves, and Marietta had something she wanted to tell him, so she’d left a note on his desk, where he could not help but see it.
The duke had reinstated Max as his heir and publicly apologized. Max had not forgiven him yet, not completely, but Marietta had seen signs of him weakening. Whatever the duke had done in the past, he was Max’s father after all, and despite herself, she had felt almost sorry for him. Sensing it Barwon had begun to turn to her more and more—they dealt quite well together these days. But Max had warned her not to take sides against her husband, and proceeded to show her what she would be missing if she did. Very pleasurably.
Harold and Susannah were gone, although there were letters. Max had insisted that the duke return Susannah’s property to her, and although it was far too late and far too little, at least it went some small way to balancing the ledger. Susannah seemed not to remember what she had done and why, and Harold spent his days making her happy. Marietta wanted to be angry, and she was, for Max’s sake, but she pitied them, too. At least, she told herself, they had each other.
Lady Greentree and Mr. Jardine were very coy of late, but Marietta was beginning to believe they might find their happy ending. As for Lil and Ian Keith…matters had cooled between them. Lil would not discuss it, but Marietta hoped that whatever impediment lay between them would eventually be resolved.
Love conquered all. Didn’t it?
The night was warm, and a salty breeze stirred the sea. It was calm, hardly any waves at all, and Marietta smiled as she reached the sand at last. She glanced back then and saw him following, his
dark shadow against the moon. She begun to remove her robe as she walked, letting it fall to the sand. The air was cool against her skin.
She heard his steps quicken, drawing closer.
“Marietta?” he sounded as if he needed to swallow.
“You’ve been neglecting me,” she said gently, walking naked toward the waves, her golden hair rippling down her back and brushing the curve of her bottom and thighs.
He cursed, and when she glanced over her shoulder, saw that he was hastily removing his own clothing. With a smile she began to wade into the water, shivering a little.
His arms came around her, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth hot against her cheek. “My darling courtesan,” he murmured. “Have I really been neglecting you, Madame Coeur?”
“A little. I just wanted you to myself for an hour or two. It’s impossible at Valland House, and even in London there’s always something to do or someone to see.”
“Ah, the hectic life of a budding duchess.”
He turned her in his arms, letting the waves wash over their legs, content for a moment to hold her naked body against his.
“Are you sorry you married me after all?” he asked her at last.
