Page 4 of 1797 Club 2nd Epilogue Collection (The 1797 Club #11)

I t had not yet been a year since Simon Green, Duke of Crestwood had married his wife Meg and somehow it felt both like yesterday and a lifetime, but only in the best sense.

They’d known each other for so long, he’d loved her almost all that time, so he felt like their bond was not just of a couple still in the flush of new love.

She was his everything and he was so glad he hadn’t lost her out of his own foolishness that had come to a head the summer before and led them to this.

This, at present, was watching her as she stood with her friends, all of whom were the wives of Simon’s group of dukes.

They were close as sisters, just as he was close as brothers with their husbands.

And it felt so… right . He hoped when the rest of the group married that their wives, too, would enter the fold and create this ever-growing family that pleased him so very much.

As if conjured by that happy thought, James Rylon, Duke of Abernathe and Meg’s older brother, slipped up beside Simon and slung and arm around him. “Meg looks well,” he said .

Simon glanced toward him. There was not a hint of anything hard to his friend’s tone, though at some point Simon might have earned it in the early days of his marriage when he had nearly let uncertainty destroy them both.

“She is always the most beautiful woman in any room,” he said softly. “And the most intelligent and most kind, as well as a dozen other ways I could wax poetic about her.”

“As long as she is one of the happiest, that’s all I care about.” James said and squeezed him a little tighter. “You make her so, and it’s wonderful to see you two so content.”

“And you,” Simon said, turning toward him. “I’ve never seen you so content since your marriage to Emma and the birth of Bibi over the winter.”

“It seems we are all living our happily ever after,” James said, his eyes bright with joy. “At least those of us who have taken the plunge into marriage.”

Simon nodded, “I wonder who will go next?”

James laughed. “We’ll have to create poll for that. Perhaps with a cash prize. Remind me later when the club is gathered for port. You do have one thing to worry about that is greater than winning the pot.”

“What is that?” Simon asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Emma has arranged a series of games for our entertainment today, since the weather was so fine.”

The two men stared at each other, for the meaning of this statement was entirely clear to them both.

Simon felt his pulse quicken before he moved his gaze back toward his wife.

Meg was watching him now, her own expression lit up with pleasure and excitement.

It seemed she had likely just received this news, herself.

“Warn the others, not me,” Simon said with a chuckle as he clapped a hand against James’s upper arm. “I like it when she wins.”

He headed off toward her with James’s laughter echoing behind him, but Simon hardly heard it.

No, he was entirely focused on Meg now. In the twitch of her hips as she slid toward him, in the bright promise of her dark brown eyes as they locked with his, in the way she reached for him as they met, her fingers curling against his.

“Good day, wife ,” he murmured as he lifted one of her hands to his lips and felt her shiver in response. He did love to do that to her. To make her want and wait and eventually arch beneath him in pleasure at last.

“Good day to you ,” she said and arched a brow. “Have you heard, Simon? Emma is planning games today.”

He laughed at how she couldn’t wait even a moment to tell him. His competitive angel. “Are they?” he asked, feigning a lack of knowledge. “Almost everyone here knows you well enough to steer clear of your singular drive to destroy them."

"Only on the field," she said, all but batting her eyes in innocence. “Don’t look at me that way.”

She was laughing with him and he tugged her a little closer, letting her come flush against his chest. “But you want what you want,” he said.

Her laughter caught in her throat now and she stared up at him, pupils dilating, breath a little shorter. “Yes. I want what I want. I want to win .”

He nodded slowly. They were too close now for public and he didn’t give a damn. People talked about them anyway, their start last summer still caused whispers, so what did it matter if he scandalized the world by showing them how much he adored her?

“And you want me to help you in this endeavor?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She arched a brow. “ Simon .”

“Oh,” he said, drawing out the word. “You want to play. To compete against me.”

She nodded slowly.

“And what do I get if I win?” he asked and suddenly there was no one there but them .

Her gaze moved up and down his frame in one long sweep and then she met his eyes, her gaze lit with desire and love and everything he adored about this remarkable woman. “The usual stakes, Your Grace.”

She lifted a hand to rest it against his chest and he lost his breath. All he wanted to do was grab her and sweep her away right now, to find some quiet corner where he could make love to her until she was incoherent.

Instead he smiled. “Very good. Get ready, Margaret,” he whispered. “Because I offer you no quarter.” He swatted her arse lightly and gave her a little shove away to prepare. Oh yes, this was going to be a very good day.

M eg had spent her entire life sparked by good competition. It was a quality rarely appreciated in a lady, so she had often pushed it down, hidden it deep inside like she did with so many things she felt.

Until Simon. Once they’d gotten past that difficult beginning to their marriage, she had realized, with stunning clarity, that he liked everything about her.

Even the hungry part of her that kicked in when she knew she could conquer the day.

He encouraged it, sank into it…and he played along with it.

Oh, he never let her win, which she appreciated. She didn’t want a boon, she wanted fairness in games or else her triumphs meant nothing. She loved that Simon always provided good competition when they battled in any contest, it made besting him all the sweeter.

As did the private stakes they had always played for when they faced each other on the field of battle.

She gripped the handle of her racket a little harder at the thought of those stakes as she tried to bring her mind back to the present and not the husband who stood across the field from her, watching her with a dark look of desire to his normally pale blue eyes.

Dear God, but that man was a distraction.

In these situations, she knew he did it on purpose.

“I’m shocked to find you lost in thought and not preparing for battle.”

Meg turned to find the Duchess of Northfield at her side. Although Meg had once been engaged to Adelaide’s husband, there was never any issue between them now. They were close friends, Meg adored her and she knew Adelaide felt the same way.

“I am preparing for battle in my mind, I assure you,” Meg said with a laugh as she wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist and gave a light squeeze. “I’m creating strategies in my head, don’t you know.”

Adelaide shook her head. “It’s Battledore and Shuttlecock, is there much strategy beyond keeping the shuttlecock airborne when it comes near you?”

Meg swallowed a snort. Of course, there was more to it than that, but she knew most didn’t see it that way. “With so many players on the field, I think there must be strategy, yes? Is Emma going by a tournament rule?”

“She said so, yes. If you miss, you’re out.”

Meg spun her racket in her hand and met Simon’s stare again across the field. She arched an eyebrow and lifted her racket, almost in a toast. He did the same and she smiled even as needy heat flooded her entire body.

Emma entered the field, her face bright with happiness and excitement. Meg couldn’t help but smile back. She did adore her sister-in-law, she was the kindest person Meg had ever known. And fiercely protective of James, who deserved no less. Her happiness for her brother knew no bounds.

Of course, she still intended to crush them both when the games began.

“Tournament rules, my friends. The winner gets a point toward our party trophy,” Emma said and her gaze flitted to Meg, which made the group laugh, though not cruelly.

This was mostly a gathering of the members of James’s 1797 Club friends and their wives, none of whom had ever judged Meg.

The remaining attendees wouldn’t dare with so many staunch supporters at hand.

“May the best woman win!” Meg called out and that caused another burst of laughter from everyone except Simon. He knew she was serious and gave her a playful glare.

Emma popped the shuttlecock up and the crowd of them moved forward.

With whack after whack they battled to keep the cork and feather birdie in the air.

There was much laughter and playful taunts from the group amongst each other, but Meg hardly heard it.

She was focused entirely on the shuttle.

Every time she hit it, she tried to angle it to make it more difficult for the next player to launch it back into the air.

At last she landed a score when she made Emma miss.

Their hostess was out, but she took the loss good-naturedly and gave a little curtsey before she stepped off the field.

The game restarted. Meg whacked the shuttlecock back into the air and the round continued.

But the players were becoming tired or unfocused and one by one they began to fall out.

Soon there were only six on the field, then four and finally Simon put out James and it was just the two of them facing off.

Simon grinned at her as he flipped the birdie around in his palm. “Well, well, it looks as though all I need to do is best my wife and I’ll claim my prize.”

She felt heat in her cheeks at the way he drew out the word prize. Their stakes were very different from the general ones. But he was teasing her, trying to distract her and she refused to allow it.

“I wouldn’t count on you besting your wife, Crestwood,” the Duke of Northfield called out from the sideline to the great pleasure of the other observers. “She’s far superior.”

“I agree,” Simon said without breaking eye contact from her. “But I’ll still do my level best.”

“Hit the birdie, Your Grace,” Meg said with a shake of her head.

He did so and they launched into a great struggle back and forth, launching the bird with their rackets and then racing to hit the shuttle again when it was their turn.

It went on for some time, this battle royale, with the enthusiastic crowd ohhing and ahhing as their heads swiveled back and forth with delighted glee.

Meg watched as Simon popped the birdie up once more and there was her chance.

She let it fall low and dove for it, hitting the ground with a thud as she snapped the birdie up and over to one side.

He staggered toward it but missed and the cork and feather shuttlecock hit the grass with a delicate swish as the crowd of their friends went wild.

“Great God, Meg,” Simon laughed as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Are you injured?”

“No,” she said though she didn’t admit she’d knocked the wind from her own lungs with that not particularly graceful landing.

He lifted her hand over her head and declared to the group. “Your champion.”

As they applauded, Meg gave a low curtsey and laughed. Pleasure washed over her at the win, but also at the way she felt Simon watching her.

“Come, we’ll take half an hour and then reconvene for luncheon,” Emma said, motioning for the house. “I think we all need to recover from that excitement.”

The rest of the party paired off and moved toward doors off the garden, talking and laughing together. But Meg caught Simon’s hand before he could move the same way.

“Oh no,” she murmured. “You owe me my first boon, Your Grace. There is no escaping.”

He smiled and let her tug him toward the orangery off the garden. “I would never try to escape you, love.”

She pulled him into the warm greenhouse space and shut the glass door behind herself. When she pivoted, he was already moving toward her, his arms coming around her, his nose stroking the side of her own.

“And what is your boon, Your Grace?” he whispered in the quiet of the steamy space .

"I want your mouth on mine,” she whispered.

“Easy,” he said and then dropped his head to kiss her.

It was a claiming, his kiss. But then it always was.

It didn’t matter if they’d been separated a moment or a few days, whenever Simon kissed her it was like it was the first time, the last time, the only time all rolled up in one.

And perhaps that made sense, given how they’d been kept apart for so many years.

Given how they’d nearly lost each other not once, but over and over.

She sank into him, lifting against him, meeting his tongue stroke for stoke, and reveling in the magnificent tingling desire that flowed through her entire body.

“What else do you want?” he murmured as he maneuvered her toward a little bench inside the orangery. “Because I can do so much in such a short time to make you blush the rest of the day when you see me.”

They eased to a sitting position on the bench and he moved to cover her, but she pressed a hand to his chest, looking up into his eyes. A sudden cascade of love for this man washed over her and it was even more powerful than the desire. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly.

As if he sensed the shift in her, he folded her against him and kissed her brow gently. “What happened there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just adore you,” she said and blinked at tears she hadn’t expected. He leaned back and wiped one away with his thumb.

“And I adore you,” he assured her. “Always and forever, Meg. Even if you beat me at Battledore and Shuttlecock.”

She laughed then, the sudden emotion transforming to something softer. “Anyway, it’s too early to claim a prize beyond a kiss,” she said. “I want to draw it out. When I beat you at Bowls, I’ll ask for something more.”

He burst out a great shout of laughter that echoed in the glass enclosure around them. “So certain of yourself, wife. Well, I intend to fight twice as hard to win a boon of my own so that this contest will go all the way to when we play Move-All after supper tonight.”

She cupped his face, taking in every inch of him. Then she leaned up and brushed her lips to his again. “We’ll see. Until then, I’d like a little more of this boon before we go back.”

“With pleasure,” he said before he claimed her mouth once more.