Page 36 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)

EPILOGUE

“ I t all looks so modest, yet it must assuredly be the most expensive wedding in the history of weddings,” Duncan said with a grin, too overjoyed to care about what it was costing him. It was a tiny price to pay for the privilege of marrying the woman he loved.

The gardens of Skeffington House had been transformed, taking advantage of the residual summer heat. Linen-draped tables were arranged on the lawn, places set for a small congregation, the trees decorated with bunting and garlands. More bunting was strung between poles, constructed around the dining tables, fluttering in the balmy breeze, and there were torches and lanterns in abundance for when evening fell.

Roger laughed amiably at Duncan’s side, nibbling on a lemon cake that he had pinched from the refreshment table, to the not-so-subtle chagrin of the Skeffington cook, who had come out with more delicious morsels for the wedding celebrations.

“I am just glad to be invited,” he said.

Duncan eyed the man. “It is not strange to be here?”

“Not in the slightest. I have said it to you before, and I shall say it again, you did me an immense favor,” Roger replied in earnest. “All I wanted to do was help a friend and fulfil a duty for myself. It would have been a marriage of convenience, though rather inconvenient for my mother. She could not stand Miss Maxwell.”

Duncan snorted. “What was her complaint?”

“Too old, too outspoken, too… red of hair, if you can believe it,” Roger said, chuckling. “My mother believes that those with red hair are unlucky, destined to curse whomever they marry.”

“I have never been more grateful that my mother is dead. She cannot argue with my choice of bride,” Duncan said blithely, falling into old habits of turning his grief into a joke. That was likely the only old habit he would never be able to relinquish.

Roger stared at him as if he were quite mad. “Yes, well, I should join the others, or I shall be late to the church.” His expression warmed. “It is set to be a beautiful wedding, Your Grace. I could not be happier for you or Miss Maxwell.”

“I imagine not, for the promise of a considerable income is a cheerful thing indeed,” Duncan teased, regretting nothing.

Roger smiled. “I am grateful, Your Grace. In truth, I have never been more popular. Who knew there were such benefits to being jilted?”

“Society ladies cannot resist a man who needs their sympathies,” Duncan encouraged. “Why, I would not be surprised if you are married before the autumn.”

“Perhaps.” Roger raised a hand in a wave and wandered off across the grounds, to where his carriage waited, ready to take him to the wedding that no one had expected him to attend.

It had been a matter of a fortnight since the events in Cornwall, and Duncan had duly fulfilled the stipulation that Valeria had insisted upon, in order to accept his proposal. She had asked him to make things right with Roger, to repay him for the cost of the abandoned wedding, and to ensure that his reputation took no damage because of it.

A business exchange had been agreed upon, with Duncan putting in the majority of the investment, and though both would benefit in the long term, it had not cost Roger much at all. Still, Duncan would have paid a great deal more if it meant that Valeria would accept.

“Mrs. Mitford is complaining that someone is eating her lemon cakes,” a sweet, beloved voice called out to Duncan. “I do hope you are not the miscreant?”

He turned to see Valeria walking through the kitchen garden toward him, a long, woolen cloak draped around her in a dark cocoon. In the lingering ferocity of the early September heat, she looked rather out of place, and at risk of melting.

“I know nothing about it,” he replied, striding toward her. “You realize I am not supposed to see you until the wedding, yes?”

She shrugged. “You cannot see me. That is why I am wrapped in a cloak, boiling myself alive.”

He laughed softly, slipping his arms around her, pressing a sneaky kiss to her forehead.

“Hey! Not yet!” she protested, though she did not pull away, peering up at him with a happy grin.

“We will be married in less than an hour,” he reminded her. “Surely, I can kiss you now?”

She tutted playfully. “So impatient.”

“If I were not, it would be weeks before our wedding,” he said, swaying with her as if they were in the midst of a private dance.

It had taken a great deal of convincing to get hold of a special license that would permit them to marry quickly, and he could not have done it without the support and testimony of his dearest friends. Lionel and Vincent, in particular, had helped persuade the relevant authorities that it should be allowed.

Society, on the other hand, would take longer to convince. For two weeks, the scandal sheets had been filled with judgment about Duncan and Valeria. Still, that had not stopped every significant member of the ton from urgently requesting an invitation to the wedding, for there was nothing society loved more than being in the heart of a scandal.

“The Crostons wrote again,” Duncan said, smirking. “The duchess outright begged, this time.”

Valeria gasped, her eyes wide. “She did not!”

“I assure you, she did. Perhaps, she thought she could convince me to marry Iphigenia instead of you,” he teased, holding her closer.

Valeria pulled a face. “Do not dare.”

“I do not plan to.” He pressed another kiss to her brow, savoring the moment. “You are my duchess. You are my love. You are my Valery. Nothing in this world could change that.”

“Not even a queen in want of a king consort?”

He laughed against her hair. “What is a queen compared to my dark angel?”

She tilted her head up, smiling at him. “I love you, Duncan.”

“As I love you,” he replied, his gaze flitting to her lips.

Pressing her palms to his chest, she rose up on tiptoe, bringing the temptation of a kiss closer. Giving her permission. His hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, his head dipping to meet her lips, moving slowly in case she changed her mind.

The air crackled between them, Valeria’s breath hitching, her eyes closing as she waited for his kiss. He was a moment away from that sweet graze, when a voice exploded from the manor, jolting them apart.

“Valery?” Aaron shouted. “Valery, where are you? Beatrice is insisting that she will wear trousers, Valery! Please, you must come and talk some sense into her!”

Valeria burst out laughing. “I shall see you at the altar, my love.”

“If I have not killed Beatrice first, I shall see you there,” Duncan replied, looking forward to the day they journeyed to Thornhill Grange, where no one would disturb them at the most inopportune moments.

“It is my pleasure to pronounce you man and wife, the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill,” the reverend said with a cheery smile, opening out his arms as if waiting for applause.

The modest congregation got to their feet, beaming with pleasure at the happy couple, as the new duke and duchess joined hands and made their way back up the aisle. The group streamed behind the pair, tossing handfuls of blossoms, cheering to the future bliss of the newlyweds.

The merriment continued as carriages deposited the guests back at Skeffington House, where the wedding breakfast began without delay, presided over by the fearsome Mrs. Mitford. Indeed, the only person who the cook looked on with fondness was Valeria, her eyes brimming with tears every time she glanced over at the couple.

“This is beautiful, Valeria!” Lionel’s sister, Rebecca, chirped.

“When I marry, I think I shall have a garden wedding,” Vincent’s youngest sister, Prudence, declared with a nod of finality. “Or, perhaps, I shall not marry at all.”

“You must marry,” the middle sister, Teresa, gasped in abject horror. “It is expected.”

Duncan, observing the amusing scene with his arm around Valeria’s shoulders, pointed the rim of his champagne glass at Vincent. “Do you hear that, Wilds? It is expected.”

“Do not start with that, Lockie,” Vincent replied, rolling his eyes. “Just because you are now married, which is a miracle in and of itself, does not mean that I shall follow your lead.”

“Oh, but you dearly need a woman’s influence,” Isolde said with a sly smirk, teasing her older brother. “A wife would suit you; I know it would.”

Amelia nodded, sipping her champagne. “Are you not more inclined, now that your friends are all married? They do say that one wedding begets another.”

“I have explained,” Vincent replied, sighing. “I do not intend to even think of marriage until all of my sisters have husbands, and I can be sure they are all secure. I still have two unmarried, as you can see. Please, I beg of you, let us speak of Duncan and Valeria instead. Let us speak of how relieved we all are that they have found each other, and that someone has finally made an honorable man out of him.”

Prudence pouted, raising an eyebrow. “So, if I do not marry, then you never shall? That is an unfair amount of pressure, brother. You are the oldest; you should have married first, not Isolde.”

“Indeed,” Beatrice teased, joining the conversation, “does that also mean that you are not an honorable man, considering you are not married?”

Vincent sank back in his chair, a resigned smile on his face, a weary laugh on his lips. “Respectfully, I am going to ignore you all.” He closed his eyes. “Wake me up when the conversation has changed.”

Giving him grace, the conversation did change, turning back to the beautiful surroundings of the Skeffington grounds and the pristine, sunny day that the couple had been blessed with. There were compliments up and down the tables, everyone marveling at the golden-hued, verdant view, with some suggestions that lawn games could be played after everyone had eaten.

Duncan, meanwhile, could only concentrate on his beautiful wife, a view far more perfect than anything in the world. Even with his arm around her, he could not quite believe that she was his, that they were bound together in holy matrimony, that his life with her was only just beginning.

“Are you happy, my love?” he whispered, dropping his head to flutter a secret kiss against the curve of her shoulder.

She tipped her head, resting it against his. “I have never been happier, my darling. Never.” A contented sigh puffed her chest. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he insisted, kissing her shoulder again, wondering how long it would be until he could steal a moment alone with her. Indeed, it would not feel real until he had kissed her, at long last.

Paper lanterns and torchlight flickered like constellations across the grounds of Valeria’s beloved home, catching the shapes and shadows of wandering guests. Some were dancing, some were eating and drinking, some were promenading, and all seemed to be entirely content.

Valeria watched from the French windows of the drawing room, needing a moment away from the party to savor it all.

“I thought I might find you here,” a soft voice purred, bringing a sultry smile to her lips.

“As I suspected you might find me,” she replied, not turning.

She sighed with the most overwhelming happiness as strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her gently against a firm chest. Her heart fluttered wildly as Duncan lowered his head, grazing a kiss against the side of her neck. He smelled of woodsmoke and lavender, his lips as soft as Italian velvet.

She relaxed against him, letting him hold her weight.

“Have you tired of the festivities already?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “I am just taking a moment.”

“And I am intruding?” he teased, smiling against her skin.

“Not at all. You have made it even better.”

Slowly, he turned her around to face him, his eyes alight with love and hunger, as his hands brushed up the sides of her arms, coming to a halt at her neck, cradling her throat.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you more,” she replied, smoothing her hands up the hard muscle of his chest, looping her arms around his neck, her fingertips sliding into his wavy hair.

He chuckled. “Not possible, but I do not want to quarrel.”

“What shall we do instead?” she asked, biting her lip.

He did not answer with words, catching her mouth in a slow, searing graze that stole her breath away. He pulled her closer, his thumb brushing the column of her throat as he kissed her again, guiding her through the delicious ebb and flow, finally teaching her the one lesson that had remained unknown.

She kissed him back, learning quickly, running her hands through his hair as she sank deeper into the moment. It was a dance of the most exquisite kind, and where he led, she followed. When he kissed her more fiercely, more hungrily, she matched the fervor, clinging to him as she caught his mouth with hers, relishing the heat of each glorious graze.

And when he slowed, she slowed, marveling at the realization that there was much passion in a gentler kiss as there was in a ravenous kiss. Indeed, it was far beyond her expectation, and she doubted she would ever be able to get enough.

As their kiss deepened, the rest of the world and the wedding celebrations faded away, leaving them in a private domain where only the two of them existed. Their breaths grew ragged, his arms hugging her closer, the caress of his fingertips making her tingle all over, his kisses stoking the fire of her love for him.

One thing was for certain: it had definitely been worth the wait.

“Shall we leave our celebrations early?” Duncan whispered, pulling back for a moment.

Valeria nodded, her heart so full she thought it might burst. “They will not miss us,” she said, sighing as he kissed her again, grateful for the night that she had saved him from a trap, and inadvertently snared him for herself.

“I love you so very much,” he told her, sweeping her up into his arms.

She chuckled, kicking her feet. “I love you so very much, my darling, darling Duncan.”

And though no one had the ability to see into the future, she had the most wonderful feeling that theirs was going to be an endless dream, filled with so much love that she would wonder how she had ever thought she could live without it.

The End?