Tears pricked her eyes, studding her lashes. “That is how I feel, too. I was afraid to acknowledge it before, because I feared Drummond and what he would try to do to you and Verity. I didn’t want you to be in danger because of me. At first, I was too afraid to trust you—”
“You can trust me, darling,” he broke in. “I have been telling you all this time. If given the choice between duty and love, I choose love. I choose you.”
“I know that now.” She swallowed against a lump of intense emotion. “In truth, I think I have known it always, deep in my heart. But I was so afraid, after the bomb that was planted at your home and the fire…”
“It is in the past now,” he said. “Tonight, we move forward. Together.”
“Together,” she echoed, liking the sound of that.
Loving the sound of that lone word and all it encompassed.
“Now let me take care of you. I am certain you must be starving.”
“I am,” she said, blinking away her tears, feeling reckless and bold. She was searching for the light. Reaching for love. For Felix. “But not for food.”
He raised a brow, his eyes dipping to her lips and then returning to her gaze. “Oh? What is it you are hungry for, my future scandalous duchess?”
“You,” she confessed.
“That is scandalous indeed,” he told her, and then he smiled.
It was one of his truly mesmerizing smiles, the kind that made little crinkles bracket his eyes. She wanted to kiss them. In fact, she was suddenly beset by the urge to kiss every inch of him. He was so beloved to her, and every part of him was perfect, from the blade of his nose to the breadth of his shoulders. To his well-formed calves, the muscles of his chest, his strong arms, his wonderful lips.
If she had not already been in love with him, she fancied she would have fallen in love with him all over again for this night. He had saved her life. And then he had held her in his arms the whole way home. He had come to her with food. With his warmth and his love.
Emotion seized her at the same moment as his mouth claimed hers.
Love.
Such raw, undeniable, frenzied love. His lips were open, hungry. One of his hands found her hair, his fingers tightening in the chignon she had fashioned herself when she had emerged from her bath. Pins were falling. She didn’t care.
Tonight was a celebration of life and love.
They were alive. They were together.
Tomorrow, she would worry about everything else. Tomorrow, she would think about how a scandalous duke and duchess would be received. Tomorrow, she would fret over all the details of today. The pain, the terror, the anguish, the death.
All of the darkness could wait.
She was alight and alive, on fire for this man she loved. This man who loved her in return, against all odds, and despite what it had already cost him. Despite what it would potentially cost him still. They would not have an easy road to travel as husband and wife. She knew that, of course. Her past could not be changed, and neither would she hide it. She was an actress. Some part of her life would always be in the theater.
The thought gave her pause.
She pulled her head back, gazing up at him as her lips tingled and every part of her cried out for more. “I am an actress,” she told him.
He stared at her. “I am aware, darling. And a very fine one. The finest I have ever seen.”
“Being an actress has been my life for the last eleven years. It is all I have known,” she added.
A frown creased his forehead. “Of course it has. I have no wish to stifle you.”
Did his goodness and his love for her know no bounds?
“But you must,” she argued. “For your own good—for your sake, and for Lady Verity’s I must stop being an actress. I cannot be both.”
“Of course you can.” He cupped her cheek, his gaze plumbing the depths of hers. “I am not going to ask you to stop being an actress when you wed me, if that is your fear.”
No, he would not, would he? Because he was Felix, and his love was so unbelievably pure and strong. As she searched his handsome face, she could see the truth for what it was.
A weight lifted from her heart. If he had demanded she cease acting, she could not have borne it, regardless of how much she loved him. But here he was, being selfless, telling her she could continue acting at great peril to his reputation.
And it was her concern for his reputation and Verity’s that told her what she must do.
“You need not ask me, Felix,” she said. “I will stop acting. It is what is best for everyone, and I know it.”
“What would you say if I told you I was planning upon building a new theater with Theo Saville, and that it would be yours to run as you saw fit?” he asked then.
She stilled, so taken aback by his question, she did not know what to say at first. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said. “After the night I went to you in your dressing room, I knew you still had feelings for me, merely that you were doing your damnedest to thrust them aside and ignore them. For the past few days, I have been doing everything in my power to both see to it that you were safe and that I might have something to offer you as my wife.”
“Felix.” She stared at him, caressing his jaw. “The last thing I want is for you to make concessions for me. Please do not give up anything on my behalf. You, Verity, and your love are all I need. I promise you.”
“Along with Theo, I have invested in a new theater, to be named as you choose. We will own two thirds of the theater, and he will own one third.” he continued, ignoring her protestations.
“Why would Mr. Saville accept such a disparate partnership?” she asked.
She had seen the way in which Mr. Saville had run the Crown and Thorn. He was a perceptive man, quite canny, adept at marketing himself and his theater to those around him. Surely he had no need of an additional theater, especially one where he would only own a third, when he had such a thriving venture all to himself.
“Because he has seen you in action, Johanna,” Felix said. “He knows how talented and perspicacious you are. Running another theater from afar will suit him. He can fill his pockets without all the work.”
“The work will be mine,” she guessed, rather warming to the notion. One of her dreams—far-flung, she had supposed—had been to run her own theater one day. The inevitable end to every actress and actor was that their roles became more difficult as they aged. She had not yet reached that point, but she had reached the point of understanding what lay ahead of her.
She was a career-minded lady. A new woman, after all. And she would not feel ashamed or deny that part of herself. Nor would Felix want that, she was sure.
“If you want the work,” Felix elaborated carefully, “it will be yours. I make no expectations or demands of you. If this is not what you want, we shall not do it. If it is what you want, the stage will be yours to do with as you wish. If you want to continue acting, you may. I will admit I have my own best interest at heart, hoping that you would choose to act here in London rather than traveling the Continent as you had originally planned.”
He still wanted her to act?
Her heart was pounding.
And aching. With love. So much love.
“You do not mind if I continue as an actress,” she said slowly.
“Of course I do not mind,” he said, his voice wry now. “How dare I deprive the world of such an impeccable talent?”
“What if I want to stop acting?” she asked.
She loved acting, it was true. But she was not averse to making a change. She had been pursuing the same vocation for almost half her life. The notion of running her own theater held untold appeal.
“Do you want to stop acting?” he asked, searching her face.
“If I can run my own theater, I would like nothing better.” She paused, working through her thoughts as the notion settled in. “I could direct, perhaps teach others. But Felix, you have already given up so much for me. I cannot as
k you to make any more sacrifices.”
“For you, there is no sacrifice too great to make,” he told her intently. “All I want is to make you happy. I promise you, here and now, that I do not care what society thinks. I do not give a damn about what is proper and what is not. I lived my life for duty alone these past few years, and I will be damned if I continue.”
“You make me happy.” She caressed the proud line of his jaw. “Happier than I ever imagined it was possible to be.”
“Christ.” He cupped her face in his hands, his expression tender. “I love you so much. When I thought I would lose you…”
She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling the words. “You will never lose me, Felix. I am yours now. Forever.”
“Forever,” he echoed against her fingertip, and then he kissed it.
They stared at each other, gazes holding, exchanging so much heavy sentiment with that lone look. And then, they were kissing. Their lips moving, tongues chasing each other. It was a kiss of life, of promise, of hope. A kiss of the future.
Of beginnings.
Of light after darkness.
Of happiness after so much bitter sadness.
He tasted sweet and sinful, like wine and Felix. She never wanted to stop kissing him. She wanted his lips on hers forever, branding her, giving her strength. They were moving, the tray of food forgotten. She was only starved for his touch, his claiming. That was all she needed, all she craved.
Their hands were on each other, traveling. Knots came undone. Robes slid to the floor. Naked skin met her questing touch. Strong, smooth shoulders. The broad plane of his back. Sinews of his muscled arms.
They were still kissing when they fell into the bed together. Felix cushioned their fall by catching his weight on his forearms. She was on her back with him atop her, her thighs spread naturally to accept him. His cock was a rigid temptation prodding her belly. His desire for her inspired an answering throb in her core.
She was wet and aching for him.
Desperate for him.
He broke the kiss first, dragging his mouth down her neck to a place that drove her mad. Then to her ear. He tongued the hollow, his breath hot and decadent, sending a new frisson of desire through her.
“I want you inside me,” she said, half plea, half command.
“Patience,” he murmured against her skin.
And then he kissed his way lower still.
Felix found his way to the beauty mark on her right breast. Her skin was so soft, scented delicately of the floral soap from her bath. Tonight, she smelled like a summer’s garden in full bloom, rich and exotic. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked.
She made the breathy sound he loved and arched her back, offering her breast to him. He flicked his tongue over the distended bud, then blew on it. She made another sweet sigh of surrender. What a sight she was, all creamy curves, her golden hair damp from her bath and fanned out around her. He lowered his head to her other nipple, sucking it slowly, using his fingers to pluck at the other one, tugging and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
He wished he had all night to worship her, but the truth was, his hold on his control was slipping. He had gone from fearing he would watch her die before his eyes to hearing her tell him she loved him and would be his duchess in the span of one night. His body was raging with the need to claim her, to possess her.
He kissed down her belly, all the way to her hip bone, where he teased her by delivering an open-mouthed kiss. She shimmied against him, as eager as he was. He parted her thighs wider. There she was, the very center of her, pink and glistening and all his.
He could do nothing but lower his head. He swiped his tongue up her seam before lingering on her clitoris. He laved the swollen bud with slow, savoring licks. The taste of her on his tongue was nothing short of delicious, a blend of sweet floral notes and Johanna. Her hips shifted restlessly, telling him she wanted more as her fingers slid into his hair.
So he gave her more. He drew her into his mouth and sucked until she cried out and her body trembled beneath him with the force of a great, rushing release. But he was not finished with her yet. He had only just begun.
He licked into her, using his tongue on her as he would his cock. Penetrating thrusts, as deep as he could go. She made another mewl, writhing beneath him, her fingers tightening on his hair. He went back to her pearl, flicking his tongue over it, then sucking once more as he thrust a finger into her channel.
She gripped him, body bowing from the bed. He added a second finger, beginning a rhythm. The tight grasp of her slick cunny on his fingers was delicious. His cock hardened, his ballocks drawing tight. And then he caught her bud in his teeth, biting gently.
She came on a moan, contracting on him as her entire body stiffened. He remained where he was, fucking her with his fingers, biting and sucking, until the last of her spend. He could not wait any longer to be inside her. He had tortured them both enough.
Felix rose over her, guiding his cock to her entrance. One surge of his hips, and he was inside her. He kissed her, his lips still wet with her essence, and ran his tongue against hers so she could taste herself. She moaned into his mouth. He pumped into her again and again, his pace turning frenzied, almost savage. All the care was gone from him. There was only raw, all-consuming need.
She milked his cock, bringing him deeper into her depths, her hips slamming against his as she caught his rhythm. It was so good. Too good. This was not just a mere joining but an affirmation of life, of love, of them.
Felix and Johanna. In her, he had found himself again. And he told her with his body. As he whispered the words. As he kissed her everywhere, every patch of delectable skin he could find. As he thrust in and out of her slippery cunny. He reached between them, finding her pearl and stroking it.
She came again on a scream he silenced with his lips. As she tightened on him with such delicious, slick strength, he knew he could not last a second longer. He slammed deep into her one last time before pleasure exploded. His release was potent and sudden. He spilled into her hot, wet depths, filling her with his seed because he could. Because tomorrow, she would be his duchess, and they would never again spend another night apart.
When the last pulse of his pinnacle faded, he collapsed against her, holding her tight. Their hearts matched a frantic pace, beating almost as one.
“I love you, Felix,” she whispered, clutching him every bit as tightly as he did her.
He kissed her swollen lips once more, emotion cracking open inside him, the sweetest release of all. “And I love you.”
Safe in each other’s arms, they fell asleep at last.
Epilogue
New York City, 1883—Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Winchelsea, of London, England, have today announced the opening of a well-appointed new orphanage called the Pearl-Verity House. Her Grace, more famously known by her former stage name, Mademoiselle Rose Beaumont, previously presented a generous donation of five thousand pounds to the New York Foundling Hospital in honor of His Grace.
The Duchess, who has retired from the stage and is now an expatriate, has also recently taken on the management of a three thousand seat capacity theater in the West End of London called The Pearl. His Grace, the Duke of Winchelsea, purchased and restored the theater along with renowned theater owner Mr. Theodore Saville, to tremendous opulence…
reported in The New York Times
Johanna was seated at the piano in the grand music room she and Felix had designed as part of the restorations to Halford House in the wake of the explosion and fire. Tucked to each side were her two favorite people in the world: Felix on her left and Verity on her right.
Felix’s long fingers worked nimbly over the keys as the melody of a familiar ditty filled the chamber. Verity’s little hands joined in seamlessly. Johanna looked from father to daughter, love filling her so full she could do nothing but radiate pure, unadulterated joy.
She had never been happier. Nor had she ever loved more, or been mor
e loved. It seemed she had found her brave new world, and it was here and now.
“I walked past a spruce,” sang Felix then in his beautiful, deep voice, “and found a goose on the loose who was pecking the feet of a man named Pete.”
Verity giggled. “Good one, Papa!”
“Thank you, poppet.” He cast a wink in his daughter’s direction before glancing back to Johanna. “Your turn, my dear.”
He sang the words to her. Sang them. The man would have won her heart all over again had it not already belonged to him, for that alone. He was such a good father. And soon, their little family would grow. She cradled her burgeoning belly, just beginning to be noticeable beneath her gown.
Fortunately, she had been working up her rhymes and had one at the ready.
“There once was a man from New York,” she sang, “who refused to use his fork. He said when I dine, I shall eat like a swine.”
She ended her verse by mimicking the snorting oinks of a pig.
She was an unconventional duchess, it was true. Fortunately, Felix was an unconventional duke, and Verity was an unconventional little lady. She had no doubt that the daughter or son in her womb would emerge quite unconventional as well. They were a family, and that was all that mattered.
Verity and Felix both collapsed in peals of laughter at her pig impression, Felix wiping tears of hilarity from the corners of his eyes. “My favorite part was the bit where you made the pig sound. Your nose scrunched up adorably.”
“The naughty goose was terribly funny,” Verity added as her giggles subsided, “but I must admit Mama outperformed you once more. It seems to be a going concern, Papa.”
Mama. No matter how many times she heard Verity say that precious word, it would always find its way inside her heart. She had become the Duchess of Winchelsea when she had wed Felix, but Mama was the greatest title she could ever possess. And Mama to Verity—that was a title which had been earned. A title she had been reluctant to usurp. She had never asked for it. But when Verity had chosen to call her Mama for the first time, it had been one of the best days of Johanna’s life.
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