Page 10 of 1797 Club 2nd Epilogue Collection (The 1797 Club #11)

E wan Hoffstead, Duke of Donburrow had always enjoyed a long carriage ride.

There was just something about being in the quiet of a vehicle, reading and napping, that appealed to him.

Perhaps it was because the solitary nature of a road trip fit well with his inability to speak.

The silence was expected, embraced even.

But in the ten years since he had married the love of his life, his duchess, Charlotte, a long trip from one place to another had taken on an entirely different tenor.

When they were with their three children, Jonathon, Abigail and little Ewan the second, who they all affectionally called Two, there was little silence to be had.

It was a raucous affair every time, with squealing and laughing, games and books, and all the while everyone talked with their hands in the once-secret language he and Charlotte had developed when they were little older than his youngest.

It was wonderful to be part of such a family. To be loved and to give such love to his children.

But he also very much enjoyed the rare trips like the one he was on now.

When it was just him and Charlotte. When the quiet held a sense of promise in flirtatious looks and exchanges that required no words or gestures.

Even now he reached across the space between them and placed a hand on her knee. She smiled and looked up from her book.

“Your Grace, whatever are you doing?” she asked.

He arched a brow and slid his hand down, feeling the shape of her very pretty legs through her fine gown until he found her ankle. He lifted her foot up, placing it in his lap. She set the book aside silently and met his gaze.

He held there, even as he slipped a finger into the back of her slipper and freed it from her foot, letting it clatter onto the floor between them.

He tugged ever so gently, making her slouch slightly on the bench and then began to massage her foot.

She made a sound very much like the one that was his very favorite, an exhalation of breath that spoke of pleasure, of the edge of release.

Perhaps not quiet as orgasmic as when they were in their bed, but very close.

He worked the ball of her foot with his thumbs, releasing the tension there as she began to writhe ever so gently.

“Ewan,” she breathed.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to let her foot go in order to sign.

At any rate, what could he say? He was tormenting her on purpose, a game of relief and build that they both knew would end with a very different kind of release of tension.

He switched feet, removed the opposite slipper and did the same, taking his time as he stroked the softness of her, memorized the delicacy of her bones and flesh.

“You’re a tease,” she whispered at last as she pulled her feet free and leaned across toward him. He met her halfway and their mouths found each other.

Ten years married and the explosive heat of touching her remained the same.

As did her taste, as did the longing for her.

He tugged her forward, dragging her across his lap while he cradled her head and deepened the kiss.

She was writhing in a different way now, wriggling against him so that he got harder and harder for her .

Her breath caught and she broke their mouths, dragging her mouth across his jawline as her fingers flexed against his chest. “I love being wicked with you.”

He smiled. Wicked was not something he’d ever thought he’d be, but with her it was easy.

And he liked making her surrender, moan, arch, go wild like a wanton.

He liked he was the only one who saw her like this, her face flushed as he scooted her onto the bench next to him and dropped to his knees before her.

They kept their eyes locked as he pushed her skirt up, tugged her drawers open, ripped them ever so slightly so he would have greater access to the pink, wet sex waiting for him beneath.

He made a low moan from deep in his chest as he buried his mouth against her, drowning in the earthy flavor of her desire.

Her hands came into his hair and she lifted against him, her pants growing shorter, her muscles tensing and relaxing as he traced her, teased her and finally focused all of his attention on the rapidly hardened nub of her clitoris.

He sucked her just as she liked, swirling his tongue over her in time to her thrusts, feeling her build.

In any other circumstances, he might keep her there like this, dangling her over the precipice of pleasure until she begged him.

But they would be arriving at their destination soon, so he wasted no time and simply drove her. She came in a burst of wetness and a few shaky cries, her hips grinding against him.

He waited her out, lengthening the pleasure until her trembling slowed and only then did he loosen the placket on his trousers and press himself between her legs, burying himself to the hilt as she found his mouth again.

He stroked into her, gripped by her heat, surrounded by her love and her desire, and he let himself go in the way he only ever had with her.

Pleasure built within him, growing hot and fast and powerful, and finally overwhelming.

He came with her sucking his tongue, her hands gripping him, her body shaking in another powerful orgasm.

They stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, panting breath the only sound between them, but finally he withdrew from her warmth. She made a little grunt of dissatisfaction and then laughed as she smoothed his hair from the mess she’d made with her fingers.

They fixed themselves and each other and at last she pressed one more kiss to his mouth and then returned to her seat. “I do love traveling with you, Ewan,” she teased.

He smiled but as she looked out the window, he saw her lips tighten.

Today, they had been doing more and more of that.

She was trying to maintain her spirits, likely for his sake, but he knew her so well that he felt any little shift in her moods.

He touched her hand so she would look at him and signed, “When will you tell me about it?”

She opened her mouth and drew a breath, as if she were readying to deny his question, pretend he didn’t see what he saw. But then she shook her head and threaded her fingers through his.

“You know me too well, don’t you, love?”

He signed with one hand. “As you do me. I can see you’re troubled. Talk to me.”

She nodded. “The closer we get to Sheffield, I admit the more I think of my father. The last years of his life. The way he behaved and how he destroyed everything. Or almost did. Including Baldwin’s happiness and future for a while.

Thank God for Helena and our friends pulling him from the brink.

But I feel anger toward our father. And guilt. And pain.”

He nodded slowly. He had known the last Duke of Sheffield long before he and Charlotte had wed.

After all, he was closest of friends to her brother.

He’d seen the damage the long-dead duke had done with irresponsibility, gambling and worse.

He knew the pain it had caused his old friend Baldwin and Charlotte.

“It makes sense,” he signed slowly in a combination of movements that represented words and ones that spelled them out.

“A place contains memories. You haven’t been to Sheffield in a long while, you’ve been so busy in London and with our friends and our children.

And when you do go, it’s often with the whole family, making new memories.

But this trip is just us. And part of it for the purpose of fixing things that your father allowed to break. ”

Charlotte nodded. “In some ways I’m happy to do this duty with you alone. The impending arrival of Baldwin and Helena’s newest child keeps him from having to manage our father’s continuing mistakes. And no one is better at supervising recovery from flooding than you are.”

Ewan pursed his lips. His own estate had experienced its share of water issues thanks to its location. He did have vast experience in building barriers that would protect structures and reroute water. It was why he’d volunteered for this duty, taking it off Baldwin’s shoulders.

“I’m here for you,” he signed. “Always.”

“I know it,” she said and leaned up to kiss him, this time more gently, with less passion and more deep and abiding love. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” he signed and tugged her back to his side of the bench, not to make love to her, but to hold her. Which he did all the way to Sheffield and the estate his wife had grown up in, loved and hated all at once.

C harlotte smiled as she slipped through the old halls of the estate, rediscovering old hiding places in the castle parlors and alcoves.

She and Ewan could have a rousing game of hide and seek here, as they had done with her brother and Ewan’s cousin, Matthew when they were all children.

Only this time when he found her, she would very much like the prize she’d win.

She drew in a long breath. For many years this place had been in varying levels of disrepair.

Her father had not taken care of it. But Baldwin and Helena were a hands-on duke and duchess.

They had worked hard, both with their own physical labor and through shrewd investment and intelligent spending, to bring it back to its finest state.

She moved down the hallway and brightened her smile at the approach of her family’s old butler, Walker. He returned the friendly expression.

“It truly is wonderful to have you and His Grace here, Your Grace. I hope you found your rooms comfortable.”

“I did,” she assured him. “And Sylvie and Ewan’s valet are getting us settled nicely. Has the duke returned from his inspection of the damaged areas with Baldwin’s estate manager?”

“I saw he and Mr. Deacon returning to the stables a few moments ago, Your Grace,” Walker said. “I would assume he will be back in the house momentarily.”

She nodded. “Very good. If he is looking for me tell him I’m…” She drew a long breath. “Tell him I’m in my father’s study.” She bent her head and corrected herself. “ Baldwin’s study."

If Walker thought that a strange thing, he didn’t show it. He simply inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace.”

They parted ways and she took the winding hallways to the back of the house, counting doors just as she had as a small girl.

Her father’s study was the tenth door after the third turn in the South hallway.

She would count it in English, sometimes in French.

Today she mixed them, smiling to herself before she stopped before the intricately carved door leading into the room where her father had ruined himself and, for a brief time, all those he loved.

“Papa, papa,” she murmured with a shake of her head before she pressed the door open and stepped into the room.

The servants must have assumed Ewan might want take a meeting here as he worked on the problem they’d arrived here a few hours ago to solve, for there was a low fire in the grate and a fresh candle on the desk.

She moved to the window and drew back the curtains to let the fading light of afternoon into the chamber. And then she turned and looked around.

This was Baldwin’s domain now and it reflected him. The shelves were filled with real books, unlike the mostly false ones her father had placed there during his tenure as duke. The desk was neat and tidy, everything having a place so that her brother could easily find his way.

But somehow she still felt her father here. She closed her eyes and let out her breath in a wobbly sigh.

There was a light knock on the door and she turned to find Ewan leaning against the frame, watching her with worry in his stare. She forced a smile that he didn’t return because he knew her too well and knew it was false. There was never any fooling him.

“How was it?” she asked.

He didn’t respond for a moment but then signed a few words. “Fine. It’s repairable. I’m more concerned about you.”

She shook her head. “You know I used to come in here when he was at his worst,” she said, motioning to the chair. “He’d be sitting right there, eyes bloodshot from being up too many nights, ledger run red, a bottle at his elbow.”

“What would he do?” Ewan asked in a few sweeps of his fingers.

She shook her head. “He would force a smile and sweep me up and carry me to the chair by the fire and read to me.”

Ewan’s eyebrows went up and he stepped in. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

“Oh, even at his worst, he wasn’t cruel,” she said with a sigh. “Never that. Just…careless. Selfish. He lived by his whims and didn’t think of those he hurt unless we were standing directly in front of him.”

She turned around and looked up at the bookshelf behind her. She let her hand trail up the shelf. She faltered as she caught a glimpse of a familiar tome. She snatched it from the shelf and turned it over, letting her fingers trace the filigree that swirled across the front.

“This is what he read,” she whispered. “ Gulliver’s Travels . I think it’s the same edition. ”

Ewan stepped into the room. “Baldwin must have left it when he placed his own materials on the shelves.”

Tears stung her eyes but didn’t yet fall. “Yes. I think our father read him the same book. It must be decades since it was opened last.”

She cracked the spine as she did just that, but to her surprise, it wasn’t lines of text, fantastical stories of travels to thrill and break her. Instead, the book had been hollowed out in the middle, leaving a space for a rolled up piece of paper, tied by a worn ribbon.

She slipped it free and stared at it, then lifted her gaze to her husband. Ewan was intently focused on her, rather than what she held in her hand.

“It-it wasn’t like this when I was a girl,” she whispered. “He must have done this closer to his death. Hid this here with…” She turned the tiny scroll over and her breath caught again. “It’s my name he wrote on the outside. Ewan…this was meant for me. It’s a message from my father.”