Years earlier, she might have spent the rest of the week in a haze of lunches and drinks and dinners and networking—or she would have taken one of the half dozen interviews she’d been offered, in the hopes she might share salacious details of the downfall of Greenwood. But Lilah had something far more tempting waiting for her at home.
Max.
The kitchen was empty, late afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows overlooking the wide expanse of green spring pastures beyond. She paused for a heartbeat to take in the view—one of the many reasons they’d decided to live here, in the cottage, and save the estate house for special occasions.
There, on the scarred kitchen table, was a note in Max’s bold scrawl.
Checking on Mabel.
I love you.
She smiled. Even as he’d dashed off the note, he’d added his love. As though she might not know. As though he hadn’t told her he loved her several times a day since the night he’d told her the first time.
Slipping the paper into her back pocket, she went to the rear door of the cottage, pulled on her wellies, and set off to find him, the thought of him chasing away jet lag and exhaustion. She crested the hill a few hundred yards from the cottage, looking down on the field below, dotted with sheep, Atlas in the distance.
And there, in the center of all of it, was Max. Holding a lamb.
Lilah’s chest tightened at the image—her big, broad farmer cradling the little creature—and her stomach flipped with pleasure, hormones standing up and taking notice. It was ridiculous how easy it was to love him.
He looked up as she made her way toward him, his eyes lighting with pleasure before he crouched to set the little creature on the ground and came for her, long strides eating up the green earth. Lilah laughed, distracted by the lamb stumbling and swaying toward Mabel—who immediately provided shelter.
And then Max was there, catching her to him, lifting her high in his arms and kissing her, deep and thorough and desperate enough that anyone watching would think they’d been apart for months instead of a few short days. Lilah met the kiss, just as thorough, just as desperate.
Wildly in love with this man, farmer, duke, marauder, hers.
When they finally came up for air, he set her back on her feet, Atlas dancing around them for a hello. “I love it when you come home.”
She smiled and said, “I love coming home.” She leaned over to give the dog some attention, then peeked past Max to see the lamb. “And you, just hanging out in a field, holding a new lamb. Could you be more picturesque?”
“Mabel and I have always liked making the place nice for you.”
She laughed, tucking herself into the crook of his arm as they made their way over to the ewe. “Well done, Mabes,” she said, and Mabel seemed to preen under the compliment. Lilah crouched and called to the lamb, who came immediately to her, curious and sweet.
Lilah went to her knees, the two-day-old lamb coming to stand on her thighs, accepting her touch instantly. She lifted it into her arms, cuddling it close. “What a love.”
“He likes your touch. I can relate.”
She flashed him a grin over the lamb’s fluffy white head. “Passionate shepherd flirting is the best kind of flirting.” Lifting the little creature into the air, she studied its sweet face and said “I think we should name you Marlowe.”
The lamb gave a tiny, high-pitched bleat and squirmed to be free, and Lilah released it to the field and its mother with a laugh. Brushing mud and grass from her thighs, she stood, Max reaching down to help her up.
Her laugh caught in her throat as she met his gaze, hot and delicious on her.
“Marry me.”
She stilled, surprise and a deep, delicious pleasure coursing through her. Had she heard it correctly? “What did you say?”
He cradled her face in his warm, rough hands, tilting her up to him, until she was lost in his whiskey eyes. “I’ve resisted asking you that for months. I’ve wanted to ask you every day since the day you left for London. I wanted to ask you at the British Museum under your gorgeous photographs, and in the kitchen at the cottage, and in the gift shop of the main house that day when you made me go in and introduce myself to the guests.”
She laughed, delighted by him and the memory. He’d hated it. And then he’d loved it. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I wanted to ask you when we were in the States for Thanksgiving with your friends. And when we spent Christmas here at the Abbey with Lottie and Jez and Simon. And every night we’ve spent at the pub, and again, as we’ve walked home under the stars.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting to scream her answer and also to savor this moment—one she wanted to remember for the rest of her days. “So why haven’t you?”
“Because I wanted to give you time,” he said, softly. “I wanted to give you time to settle back into your brilliant life, and give you a chance to decide that this is enough.” He paused. “That I am enough.”
She kissed him then, soft and sweet, breaking it to whisper at his lips, “This is perfect. You are perfect.”
He pulled her tight to him. “Is that what you’ve decided?”
“I’ve known it from the start.” She paused, then added, “Ask me again.”
He smiled, that handsome, crooked smile that stole her breath. “Lilah Rose, will you marry me?”
Max.
“Yes.”
He kissed her again, until they were both gasping for breath, and he lifted her high off the ground, her arms wrapping around his neck. She sighed in his arms and said, “Ask me again.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Will you marry me?”
The Duke.
“Yes,” she said, turning to catch his lips once more, kissing him until he rumbled his pleasure and lifted her high in his arms, until her legs were wrapped around his waist and he was already headed across the pasture.
“Time to go home,” he said. “Now that you’ve said it twice, I intend to spend the night making you scream it.”
The Marauder.
She laughed, full of hope and love and the future . . . and let him lead the way home.
Also by Sarah MacLean
Hell’s Belles
Bombshell
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The Bareknuckle Bastards
Wicked and the Wallflower
Brazen and the Beast
Daring and the Duke
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Scandal & Scoundrel
The Rogue Not Taken
A Scot in the Dark
The Day of the Duchess
* * *
The Rules of Scoundrels
A Rogue by Any Other Name
One Good Earl Deserves a Lover
No Good Duke Goes Unpunished
Never Judge a Lady By Her Cover
* * *
Love By Numbers
Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
Ten Ways to be Adored When Landing a Lord
Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke’s Heart
* * *
Anthologies
How The Dukes Stole Christmas
About the Author
A life-long romance reader, Sarah MacLean wrote her first romance novel on a dare and never looked back. She is a New York Times, Washington Post, and USA Today bestselling author and the co-host of the weekly romance novel podcast, Fated Mates.
Her work in support of romance and the women who read it earned her a place on Jezebel.com's Sheroes list and led Entertainment Weekly to name her "the elegantly fuming, utterly intoxicating queen of historical romance." Sarah lives in New York City.
* * *
Find her at sarahmaclean.net or fatedmates.net, or sign up for her newsletter at sarahmaclean.net/contact.
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