“Oh, Lucy, you look spectacular.” Sabrina gave Lucy a peck on the cheek.
“And well.” Daphne hugged Lucy. “We were thrilled to hear the news of your union.”
“Do you remember everything I told you?” Lenore adjusted the riband. “Because His Majesty will be here, at any minute, to open the dance, and he requested to partner you, which is a great honor.”
“Yes, I remember.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “He always begins with a minuet.”
“And you are to meet him in the center of the dance floor.” Lenore paused and wiped her brow. “Oh, dear. I am not the one making my debut, and yet I am wound tight as a clock spring.”
“I know how to cure that.” Blake waggled his brows. “Just say the word.”
“Will you be serious, impossible man? And do you know any other solution?” Lenore frowned. “This is my little sister, and I want everything to be perfect for her.”
“I am serious, there is no other solution, and if you do not calm yourself, you will provoke poor Lucy.” Blake clucked his tongue. “By the by, Jennings just signaled.”
“What?” In that instant, Lenore hugged Lucy and whispered, “I am so proud of you, and I love you.”
“Thank you, sister.” Lucy tried to relax. “And I love you, too. Now, you had better hurry and take your place.”
Just as Blake and Lenore moved into position, the Prince Regent appeared in the hall, and the musicians played the march from Handel’s Judas Maccabeus, which Lenore explained was His Majesty’s signature tune. And as expected, after the initial greeting, the crowd offered their obeisance.
When His Majesty walked to the heart of the ballroom, Lucy gazed at Damian, who nodded, and then she met her estimable partner. After she performed a precise curtsey, the orchestra segued into Bach’s Minuet in G Major, again, just as Lenore said.
Although Lucy could manage the pas menus, it never occurred to her that certain turns necessitated a right arm, and she paused. For a second, she was lost, and she gazed helplessly at the Prince Regent.
Quick as a wink, he grinned and said, “What say we change sides, Your Grace.”
“What a marvelous idea, Your Majesty.” Crisis averted, Lucy sought Damian, as he anchored her. When she spied her handsome husband, he saluted.
As the dance ended, the Prince Regent returned her to Damian. “Your duchess is lovely, Your Grace.” His Majesty raised his chin. “Felicitations on your wedding.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Once again, Damian bowed, and Lucy curtseyed. “My darling wife, you were wonderful.”
“Do not tell Lenore, but I was frightfully nervous.” The first notes of a waltz filtered above the crowd, and she followed her husband’s lead. “But His Majesty was a vast deal more than accommodating.”
“And he is a devil of a billiards player.” He wrapped an arm about her waist and took her hand in his. “Now, I believe this is my dance.”
“They are all your dances.” Making the rotations, Lucy gave herself into his care, and they shared all manner of endearments, in silence. When they reversed course, her charming spouse whispered in her ear, begging a certain naughty indulgence she could scarcely fathom. “In Blake’s study?”
To wit Damian arched a brow. “On his desk.”
“Do we dare?” Still, she considered it, if only to escape the prying eyes that seemed to follow her, everywhere. “Will that not invite trouble, as people stare at us, even now?”
“Trouble? Us?” He laughed. “Sweetheart, given my lengthy history with Blake, it is all but required. And you need not fear, because you of all people should know how stories like ours end.”
“Now you have thoroughly confused me.” Yet Lucy played his game, with relish. “Pray, clarify yourself.”
Damian rubbed his nose to hers. “And they lived happily ever after.”
THE DUKE WEARS NADA
EPILOGUE
On a warm and sunny afternoon, on the rolling meadows overlooking the Channel, Damian tromped through the tall grass, hauling an aerial net, two small baskets, and an assortment of hand tools. There was only one person who could sway him to perform such menial labor. Huffing and puffing, as he trailed in Lucy’s wake, he paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow, as she marched along the trail.
“Sweetheart, slow down.” With a sigh of relief, he dropped his load, consulted his timepiece, and plopped on the ground. “Let us take a break, as we have been searching for some odd insect or other specimen for almost two hours, and I fear for your health and that of our babe.”
“But I spy some beautiful butterwort near the cliff’s edge, and I wish to collect a good portion.” A subtle shade of pink colored her adorable cheeks, and he marveled at her stunning profile, filled with nothing but joy, after they retired to Penhurst, the ducal pile, for the summer. Adopting a precious pout, which he could never resist, she doffed her lace-festooned bonnet and fanned herself. “And the day is young. Please, Damian. Just a little while longer, and I will return to the castle.”
“Darling, if I permit it, you will give birth right here, in the middle of an open field, as you pursue some peculiar beetle.” As usual, he could not temper her enthusiasm for exploration and discovery, despite the fact that she was just shy of nine months pregnant with their first child, yet he lived to pamper her. Flicking his wrist, he beckoned. “Come and sit with me, because I am worried about you.”
“Not until I secure my butterwort.” A gentle breeze rustled her brown locks, and she turned her face into the wind and smiled. “Oh, is this not glorious weather for intellectual pursuits?”
“Indeed, it is, my dear.” Since his outright plea did not deter her, he resolved to attempt a new tack. “By the by, I received a letter from Blake. Lenore is increasing again, and he is beside himself. You know we will have to keep pace, else I shall never hear the end of it.”
“Ah, such are the trials of your duchess, but I am not bowed, as I desire a houseful of children, and Lenore informed me of the wonderful news, in her missive.” As she surveyed their surroundings, she flinched, and her expression brightened. “Look! It is a Clouded Yellow butterfly, the rarest of the Colias species, and I simply must have it.” Waddling to him, she snapped her fingers. “Quickly, my net.”
“For the love of humanity, not to mention my sanity, let me do it, before you hurt yourself.” Against his better judgment, Damian swallowed his pride, grabbed the tulle webbing, and sprinted and dove in various directions, without success, as she giggled. “This is humiliating,” he uttered under his breath.
“I heard that.” Snickering, Lucy stuck her tongue in her cheek. “My, but you are handsome as you soar.”
That comment stopped him in his tracks. “If you ever tell anyone—”
“I shall be as silent as the grave, my dashing duke.” As she bit her bottom lip, she inclined her head. “If you catch my butterfly, I shall show my appreciation in a manner you will enjoy.”
“No.” The mere thought gave him collywobbles.
“Why not?” Her impressive frown heralded her displeasure at his recent decision to forgo connubial activities until she gave birth. “Lenore and Blake indulged until the very night she delivered little Benedict, with nary a mishap, and Alex and Jason—”
“I know, very well, what that heathen Collingwood does with my sister, given there are five in their brood, with the sixth currently growing in her belly, so you need not remind me.” Now his bride neared, just as he anticipated. “I should have killed Jason when he got Alex with child before marrying her.”
“Nonsense.” Perched on tiptoes, she grabbed him about the back of his neck, kissed him hard, and tempting desire sparked and flared. “He loves her, and that is all that matters.”
“I suppose you are right.” Snaking an arm about her waist, or what remained of it, he dropped the net and nipped at her supple lips. “But I should have hurt him, nonetheless.”
“How I adore this aggressive aspect of your nature, as it stimulates all mann
er of naughty possibilities.” As was her character, Lucy charged the fore, engaging him in a heated tryst, which fogged her spectacles and well nigh slayed his defenses—until she broke their contact and squealed. “The butterfly.”
“You must be joking.” In a flash, she snatched the net from his grasp and waddled in pursuit of the elusive catch, and he ran after her. “Lucy, be careful, else you might rush your fences.”
All of a sudden, she stopped.
“Damian—oh.” Bent forward, she grimaced.
“What is it?” At her side, he cast off the aerial net. “Is it the baby?”
“I believe so.” Then she gritted her teeth and moaned, as a rush of water poured from her. “You had better summon the doctor, but how can we make it back to Penhurst, as I do not think I can walk?”
“Hold onto me, sweetheart.” Offering support, he thrust two fingers into his mouth, gave vent to an ear-splitting whistle, and then waved. “Oy.”
From behind a cluster of trees, his coach emerged, and the driver flicked the reins and whipped the team into an impressive pace.
“What is that?” Lucy glanced at him and frowned. “You had your team follow us, when I wished to be alone with you?”
“Of course.” He bent at the knees and swept her into his arms. “Did you really think I would take unnecessary risks with you and our child?”
“What about my specimens?” Peering over his shoulder, she sobbed, as he carried her from the field. Indeed, he suspected he just glimpsed the remains of his life, following his inquisitive wife on one of her nature walks, until they were old and gray, and he required a cane, and he would gladly humor her. “Have a footman collect my things, else I will not leave.”
“Yes, you will, as you have no choice, my stubborn wife.” When the driver halted the equipage, Damian shoved her into the rig, but she sat upright in the squabs and cast a watery gaze that melted his heart and his fortitude. “Hell and the Reaper.” Somehow, he knew she would protest, so he signaled a servant, who rushed to gather the items. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Yet her smile faltered, which did not inspire confidence, and she winced. “While I am loathe to complain, we should hurry, my love.”
“Are you all right?” When she doubled over, he bit the fleshy underside of his thumb and girded himself. The ensuing scream cut through the calm, and he panicked. “Bloody hell, come back for the footman. Get us to Penhurst, now, else my heir shall be born right here, in the middle of the blasted field.”
The driver turned the heavy coach but slowed so the servant could jump aboard the box seat. As Lucy emitted another gut-wrenching howl, the coachman shouted commands at the horses, and the gig pulled onto the dirt road.
“Hurry, man.” Damian met her gaze, and together they laughed.
Yet, amid the chaos of his heir’s impending arrival, Damian knelt before his bride, took her hand in his, and kissed her knuckles. Without a word, she cupped his chin and grinned, as they required no audible communication to speak to each other.
As the coach bobbed along the lane, speeding toward home, he declared so many things to his lady. When she suffered another round of vicious spasms, he pressed her palm to his cheek that she might draw strength and encouragement. Despite her pain, her glow never faltered, as an undercurrent of excitement pervaded their silent exchange.
No, their connection did not abide by the laws of science or logic, yet he learned such unpredictability often confirmed the presence of true love. Inasmuch as she stripped him bare, every time she looked at him, she saw no titled warrior, despite his accomplishments. No, she saw naught but love. The singular emotion posed the quintessential challenge, and perhaps that was why it resisted efforts to define it. Indeed, everything about their relationship defied the precepts of reason, and Damian would have it no other way.
A NOTE FROM BARBARA DEVLIN
Gentle Reader,
Since I began writing the Brethren of the Coast series, I’ve received numerous emails asking about the vows my characters pledge in every book. There is a specific oath that has garnered the most questions, and I would like to clear up the mystery. During every wedding ceremony, one of my characters states, “From this day forward you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.” That passage is from my wedding vows. I made that promise to my husband, almost seventeen years ago, and it’s a promise I’ve kept. For me, it’s just a way to share something very personal and important to me, with you.
Now, I’ve had some readers ask where I will go from here. The answer is there are still two more Regency Brethren of the Coast books to be written, For Lucien and George, and then I will start on their children. And I’ll also continue to write the original Medieval knights and their offspring. So there’s still so much more to come, and I thank you for taking the journey with me.
~Barb
ABOUT BARBARA DEVLIN
USA Today Bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, DE that forever changed her life. The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a personal favorite. Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature flawed heroes who may know how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage. And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero, before they find their happily ever after. Barbara earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.
Connect with Barbara Devlin at BarbaraDevlin.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter, The Knightly News.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraDevlinAuthor
Twitter: @barbara_devlin
TITLES BY
BARBARA DEVLIN
BRETHREN OF THE COAST SERIES
Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Brethren of the Coast Novella
Enter the Brethren
My Lady, the Spy
The Most Unlikely Lady
One-Knight Stand
Captain of Her Heart
The Lucky One
Love with an Improper Stranger
To Catch a Fallen Spy
Under the Kissing Bough: A Brethren of the Coast Novella
The Duke Wears Nada
BRETHREN ORIGINS
Arucard
Demetrius
Aristide
PIRATES OF THE COAST
The Black Morass
The Iron Corsair
KATHRYN LE VEQUE’S KINDLE WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK
Lone Wolfe
The Big Bad De Wolfe
OTHER STORIES
Magick, Straight Up: A Haven Harbor Novella
Table of Contents
To Duke Wears Nada
Damian & Lucilla
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
A Note From Barbara Devlin
About Barbara Devlin
Titles by Barbara Devlin
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