And then he said the only thing he could.
“Flora, will you marry me?”
Flora stared at Roarke, uncertain if she had dreamed those words or if they were real.
“This is not the best of circumstances,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “Considering what we all went through today. But I couldn’t wait one more moment.”
She reached out to take his hand and looked up into his bruised face. He bore the marks of how far he’d go to protect her. To how he would love her for the rest of their lives if she said yes.
“This was a terrible day,” she whispered. “But perhaps that makes this the perfect time. We never know what could happen from one moment to the next, do we? Loss is just around the corner, so we must also seek the joy that lies in wait. The happiness. The love. If we don’t claim those things, it certainly doesn’t keep out the threat of the other.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Roarke said softly.
She touched his cheek, loving how it was rough with stubble, loving how he turned into her palm like he needed to feel her. “I love you,” she said. “And there is no wrong moment for that. So if you really want me, if you truly wish to marry me, then I will be yours, Roarke. I will be yours and make you mine every day from this day forward.” She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. “For the rest of my life.”
He caught her around the waist, molding her more firmly to him. He kissed her more deeply, a kiss of relief and joy. A kiss of surrender and peace and a future that was laid out for them at last. With no more secrets or lies or dangers to prevent their happiness.
And she couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
EPILOGUE
Three Months Later
The wedding celebration was in full swing, but it was not Flora and Roarke’s. They had not been able to wait and had married in Gretna Green just a week after their engagement had begun. There had been little fanfare and only brief scandal at the surprise union of the former duchess and her husband’s nephew. Neither of them had cared about the whispers, having both experienced how tenuous life could be.
And now they stood together watching Valaria and Callum dance, their eyes locked. At last their friends had begun their life together. Flora tucked her arm through Roarke’s and looked up at her husband. He looked so much more relaxed and happy now. They, along with his sweet mother and her lovely companion, were tucked into her home in Kent’s Row, at least until renovations on their new larger home could be finished.
He had invested a large sum of the money given to him by Thomas into a venture with Grayson Danford that looked to pay enormous dividends. And they only grew to love each other more with every passing day.
She didn’t know if she deserved such happiness, she wasn’t certain any one person did, but she reveled in it and their future they were planning together, each moment.
“And so you and Valaria are both married,” he said, stroking his fingers along hers.
She shivered at the contact and the desire he seemed to inspire with every simple thing. It was wonderful.
“Yes, which means we get to put all our attention onto making sure Bernadette gets her own happy union.”
They gazed across the ballroom together and found that Bernadette and Theo were standing together talking. Theo looked almost surprised as he leaned in, listening to whatever she was saying.
“Oh yes,” Flora said with a smile. “We have a great deal of work to do there.”
Roarke laughed. “I approve of the idea, but I certainly hope you won’t put all your attention on that endeavor, Mrs. Desmond.”
She smiled up at him, just barely resisting the urge to pull him to her and make a spectacle of them both right here in the middle of the ballroom. “I misspoke, my love. I have a great deal of other magical things to keep my attention. And I cannot wait for everything there is to come.”
ENJOY AN EXCERPT OF NOT THE DUKE YOU MARRY
BOOK 3 OF THE KENT’S ROW DUCHESSES
The Duchess of Tunbridge had never been a jealous person. It wasn’t in Bernadette’s nature to covet what others had, nor guard her own possessions or relationships. Certainly, she’d never been one to turn ugly shades of green over the happiness of friends.
And yet she stood at the edge of a ballroom watching one of her dearest friends, Valaria, now the Duchess of Blackvale, dance at her wedding ball with her husband Callum, and Bernadette felt a stir of such an unpleasant emotion. She hated herself for it, because she knew what horrors Valaria had been through and how much she had earned her happy ending with her utterly devoted husband.
She turned away from them and her gaze caught her other best friend instead. Flora Desmond was not dancing with her husband, Roarke, but she, too, looked deliriously happy as they stood close together, their hands linked as they talked together. Flora smiled, blushed a little as Roarke leaned in close to her ear.
Bernadette let out an unsteady sigh and moved away from the happy people celebrating and toward a long table where an alcoholic punch was being served. She took a glass, her third of the night, and swallowed a large mouthful before she got up the courage to turn her attention back to the room and all its happy couples. There was no escaping them, nor the way seeing them made her think and feel.
“That is a sour expression.”
She jolted as she was joined in that vulnerable moment by yet another familiar face. Theodore Alexander Monroe Tinsley, the Duke of Lightmorrow, would likely call himself an old friend of hers. In fact, that was often how he introduced himself if they were together at some event. He wasn’t incorrect. They had grown up on adjoining estates, after all. Their fathers had been friends and they had often seen each other over the years.
Her marriage to her late husband, the Duke of Tunbridge, had put distance between them. Theo’s devotion to being an unattached rake had done the same. And yet they now often found each other thrown together thanks to the courtships and eventual marriages of their mutual friends.
“Good evening, Theo,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as sour as he claimed she sounded.
“Etta,” he drawled, and she stiffened as tingles moved up her spine both at the seductive tone to his voice and the fact that he used a shortened version of her name. He was the only person left on this earth that called her Etta.
She wasn’t sure if she liked that or feared it and the reactions it caused in her.
“You aren’t dancing,” he said. “May I remedy that?”
She turned toward him to find his hand outstretched and anticipation on his expression. She felt a wild desire to refuse him, to run from the room and the feelings that touching him would inspire. This man made her weak and she knew it, even if she tried to ignore it.
But she couldn’t do that, not without making a scene. She didn’t need the ramifications of that, certainly Callum and Valaria didn’t either. So she swallowed down the rest of her punch, set her cup on a passing servant’s tray and put her fingers against his palm. He was warm. She felt that through both their sets of thin gloves. He made no outward reaction to when she touched him, so she schooled her reaction so she would appear just as unmoved.