“I realized something important a while ago,” she told him. “You see, I was so worried about losing my heart to you, but the truth was, I couldn’t lose it. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve had it in your keeping all along.” She stared at him with aching sweetness, her fingers cradling his jaw. “Five years ago, I gave it to you gladly. My heart is yours. I’ve always been yours. So yes, duke of mine, I’ll marry you.”
The ballroom erupted in cheers, and Rhystan lifted his future bride into his arms with a ragged laugh and inhaled her sweet scent. “Minx. I thought you were going to say no for a moment there.”
“How could a girl resist a proposal from the man of her dreams who quotes Rumi?”
He gathered her close, loving the feel of her in his arms, right where she belonged. “Because he’s a gorgeous, manly, virile, rich duke?”
Sarani rolled her eyes. “One day, your head will pop and it will be your own fault. For your information, it’s in spite of the dukedom.” She put a tender palm over his heart. “I fell in love with the man underneath it all.”
The musicians began a celebratory waltz, and he moved them to the center of the floor. It felt like they had crossed an entire ocean in between their last dance and this one. And perhaps they had in a symbolic sense.
Rhystan knew times ahead could be difficult, that there would be those who might look down their noses at such a match, but a wise soon-to-be-relative had recently told him that scandal was just noise. They would weather those storms together.
With a shout of joy, he spun her around, and she laughed, the uninhibited sound making him want to kiss her again. But the kiss he had in mind wasn’t one for the ballroom.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked when her toes touched the floor again.
“Because I want to kiss you.”
Answering flames flared in her eyes. “Then kiss me.”
He gave a husky laugh. “If I kiss you now, Sarani dearest, I won’t stop, and the day the duke ravished his beautiful bride and tossed her skirts over her head in a ballroom in Mayfair will be fodder for the gossip rags until the end of time.”
“I expect those drawings will be quite scandalous,” she said, blushing. “Maybe they will make your shoulders twice as broad and your muscles twice as large, though I’m sure certain parts of you won’t require any…padding.”
Certain parts of him went as hard as stone.
“Fuck,” he groaned and dragged her toward him to disguise his erection.
“You say that word far too much for a toplofty duke,” she teased. “It’s vulgar and common, Your Grace, and offending to a lady’s delicate sensibilities.”
“Then you should stop provoking me.” He shunted his hips into her belly, eliciting a gasp from her. “And the only thing delicate about you is the most succulent pair of silky brown nip—”
Cheeks flaming, she shoved her fingers against his mouth. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”
“Categorically.”
Desire lit her eyes, the gold flecks in them burning like hot embers, and Rhystan couldn’t help wondering if she was as wet as he was hard. His mouth watered with the urge to strip her bare, until she was clothed in nothing but her beautiful, luminous skin.
Wasn’t this dance over yet? He had new plans to drag her to an empty room and see for himself. Preferably with his tongue. He was so caught up in his fantasy that he didn’t realize she had spoken until her laughter reached his ears.
“Having fun?” Sarani asked with an altogether wanton, knowing smile. Her eyes had gone dark and her cheeks were warm, too, as though she’d been imagining similar things. To his utter alarm, he felt his face flush, and his beautiful fiancée’s smile widened. “I sincerely hope you’ll share those thoughts with me later.”
“Count on it,” he said. “Because I promise to spend the rest of my life making up for those lost five years.” He grinned, so enormously happy, it felt like he would burst. “To think, we could have had half a dozen little Rhystans running around by now.”
“Half a dozen?”
“I should warn you that I’m not planning to let you out of my bed anytime soon.”
His future duchess laughed, eyes bright with love, and wrapped her arms around him. “I can absolutely live with that.”
Epilogue
Her Grace, Sarani Huntley, the ninth Duchess of Embry, lay naked and sated in her husband’s arms listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. He’d bought her the country estate in Hastings as a wedding present two years before, and though they split a lot of their time between London and the ducal ancestral seat in Kettering, they made the effort to spend time alone in their little slice of paradise, enjoying each other’s company and being themselves.
The first years of marriage had been bliss, and apart from the occasional brush with bigotry, they’d kept themselves insulated from harmful gossip. People did talk and social invitations were fewer, but none of that mattered much to them.
Lord Talbot had squawked like a chicken for weeks but had quieted when Gideon paid him a short visit. Apparently, all he’d had to do was mention that Talbot’s old chum Markham had ended up in Australia, and the craven earl had changed his tune. Rhystan hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving bruises on her wrists, though, and after a few months, the earl had suffered a sudden reversal of fortune that had left him destitute. Word had it that he’d gone back East in search of employment.
As far as Joor, her snake of a cousin had gone missing some six months after he’d stolen her father’s throne—Sarani suspected that Talbot might have had a hand in that—and another heir had been named prince. From what she could discern, the new prince was both kind and capable, but she’d still insisted on a trip to Joor to see for herself; she’d had enough of half-truths and lies. The people seemed content with him, and the truth was, apart from making sure her people were in good hands, Sarani felt her efforts were better served in London, where she could make a difference.
Going back home had hit hard, especially with her father not being there, but it had also been a chance for her to say her goodbyes to him properly. She was touched to see that a statue had been commissioned to be built in the palace in his memory. Asha, her dearest friend, had chosen to stay in Joor with her family, but Sarani had made sure that she would never have to work again. Sarani would miss her, but at least she still had Tej, who would no doubt be an excellent man-of-business one day.
Rhystan, for his part, had taken to being duke like he was made for it, supporting efforts in the House of Lords to improve the conditions of the people in India and humanizing popular opinion in Britain, hitherto shaped by biased reports. He championed bills that stood against the injustices brought on by colonialism, not just in the east but also in the West Indies, and fought for fair practices in trade and commerce. Unlike most peers, he listened to her ideas and saw them to fruition in chambers, which pleased Sarani to no end. It was satisfying having a hand in changing the tide. She might not wear the wig and the robes, but she was determined to be part of the solution.