Page 55 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Later that evening, when Temperance climbed the steps of Dulcis Court, she felt lighter than she had in years. For the first time, she wouldn’t enter this house the Mad Heiress. But as her true self. Lady Agatha Temperance Hale.

After she’d signed the deed with Mr. Barton earlier, Octavius insisted he’d take her to her London home so that she could rest and recover after weeks of tremendous ordeal. And then if she could come to his home at eight o’clock at night, he would like to talk to her.

She’d entered Auster House like the proper mistress of the house that she was.

Banister and Mrs. Jones had met her with tears in their eyes, and she had teared up herself as she walked through the familiar halls.

She couldn’t wait to remove her stepmother’s touch from every surface and restore the place to its former subtle beauty.

She was free. She had all her rights and a large fortune to her name to do just as she pleased. The weight had lifted off her shoulders.

As she approached Dulcis Court later that night, she looked up into the sky and sent a silent prayer for her father.

“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered. “Thank you for watching over me.”

She only wished she could share this freedom with the people who had become her family.

Looking now at the grand townhome that had seemed so imposing weeks ago when she’d come here with nothing but her runaway bag, she felt a sense of belonging.

Here lived the man she loved and the children who’d become like her own.

As she climbed the steps, she remembered their previous governess running out with an egg sliding down her face.

Had she listened to the woman’s advice, she might be in Bedlam now, forever trapped.

But here she was, dressed in a red silk gown, with a tiara in her hair, her pelisse trimmed with fox fur, and her own proper half boots…

No longer a fugitive but the lady she was always supposed to be.

Her true self, which she discovered thanks to Octavius—enjoying the present moment, savoring life instead of always be careful and prudent.

She knocked, and the familiar face of Jacobs appeared as he opened the grand front door, a slight smile creasing his eyes. “Lady Agatha, welcome.” He bowed and opened the door for her. “You’ve been very much anticipated.”

Just like on the first day she’d ever come here, behind him, there came yelps and squeals—but this time, they weren’t from scared maids or surprised footmen.

It was Sophie who saw her at the end of the entrance hall, and ran towards her with big, bright eyes.

Margaret followed, the widest smile on her face.

And James strode forward, stoic and straight-backed.

The three of them were dressed as though for a ball, no less pretty than for the Christmas ball two days ago: silk and satin gowns with river pearls and silver embroidery for the girls, and a tailcoat and breeches for James.

Only when she saw people coming out from the drawing room to fill the entrance hall did she notice something different about it.

It was decorated with glistening wreaths of holly, ivy, bay, and fir branches; they covered the mantelpiece, the stair banisters, and hung over the doorways.

But much more than at the Christmas Ball when Temperance had to fight with Octavius for every piece.

No. This was indulgence, excess. Even a kissing bough hung in the entrance hall, woven from holly, ivy, rosemary, and mistletoe. It was decorated with red ribbons, red and yellow winter apples, and even oranges.

Her heart soared as among the six dukes who had come earlier to her rescue and three duchesses who had become her friends, she saw the man she was looking forward to seeing the most. The other children were here, too—baby Augustus in Modesty’s arms as well as little golden-haired Stella, clutching her father’s hand.

Octavius walked towards her without hurry, and his eyes held her in their gaze as though nothing and no one else existed.

He was so large in his tailcoat the color of autumn leaves, shoulders broad as boulders, long legs thick with a rider’s muscles well defined beneath his breeches.

When he came to her, she saw a little fir branch tucked to his lapel.

The man who had hated Christmas had done this for her… A warm feeling of home enveloped her like a hug from the man she loved… He stopped before her, just a step away, right under the kissing bough, and she could bask in the smell of him—vanilla, sandalwood, male musk…and Christmas.

“Lady Agatha?” asked Sophie, who skidded to a stop and stood before her with her hands behind her back. “Are you no longer the Mad Heiress? Are you now…the true heiress?”

Temperance gave her a huge smile. “I am.”

Congratulations surrounded her from the dukes and their duchesses.

“I am very happy for you, Lady Agatha,” said the Duke of Enveigh with a deep bow. “That’s all I wanted for you—to get what is rightfully yours and be safe.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Temperance, more than a little awkwardly. “I am most grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been a great friend to me.”

“It was my pleasure. I will not stay for dinner and for celebrations. Truthfully, I only came to say happy birthday, Merry Christmas, and to wish you every happiness, Lady Agatha.” The Duke of Enveigh turned away, shoulders tight, threw a strange glance at Octavius, and left through the front door.

Before Temperance could protest, he was gone, and guilt wrenched her heart. Clearly, she had been the reason for such coldness from the Duke of Enveigh towards his friend. She needed to ask Octavius about it, but before she could, Margaret interjected.

“But you will stay, will you not?” asked Margaret. “Please? The duke has prepared many surprises for you!”

“So have we!” added James.

She wished she could wrap her arms around them and bring them to her. “Of course I’ll stay! I couldn’t wait to see the three of you!”

“And look where you two are standing!” said the Duke of Luhst, grinning at Temperance and Octavius. “Isn’t that called the kissing bough for a reason?”

Octavius threw him a warning stare, but the golden-haired duke shrugged his shoulders innocently. His wife, Chastity, beamed at her as well, and Temperance was sure he’d laid his hand on the dark-haired duchess’s back.

“It’s a tradition,” the Duchess of Rath added with a bright smile. “Nothing else to do. Propriety doesn’t have a place here.”

Octavius searched her eyes, looking a little nervous and hopeful.

She chuckled. In truth, she’d been thinking about kissing him, touching him, being in his proximity since they parted company earlier in the day.

She let the true smile that had been born in her heart stretch her lips into the happiest grin of her life.

He stepped to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and brought her to him.

“You look positively mouthwatering,” he murmured just for her to hear, looking her over.

“I counted the minutes before I could do this.”

And then his lips were on hers, and her world exploded in a feast of sensation.

His mouth moved softly against her own; his tongue dipped into her mouth and stroked over hers.

She could feel his desire, his hunger for her, but she could also feel he was holding back.

As applause and cheers sounded around them, she knew he was being careful not to show too much impropriety in front of the children and polite company.

He withdrew from her much too soon, leaving her breathless, her blood boiling, and her body aching for more.

“Now that’s a warm welcome,” she said with a chuckle, sinking in the depths of his warm brown eyes.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured. “And Merry Christmas. Please, come in. Let’s celebrate both.”

The dining room glittered with more Christmas decorations and with the warm golden glow of dozens of candles.

Even though it was impolite, Temperance couldn’t wipe a silly grin off her face during dinner.

The table was overflowing with all of the dishes she loved, cooked to absolute perfection, and she savored every bite—the white soup, roast goose, haunch of venison, roast beef, and savory pies were divine.

Wine and wassail flowed freely as numerous toasts were made for her birthday, as well as wishes for good health and future happiness, and the room was filled with the delicious aromas of Christmas. Plum pudding was served for dessert.

After all that struggle and the years of feeling like an outsider in her own house, she felt finally and truly home.

After dinner, as it was customary, they all retired to the drawing room, where they played charades and snapdragon, and the children received gifts: books, wooden soldiers, dolls.

While the rest of the guests played parlor games, Octavius guided her to stand by the windows in the least lit corner of the opulent room.

Her breath caught, in the light of the candles, to be in his close proximity, and she longed to finally tell him everything she should have said.

To ask his forgiveness for deceiving him.

And to tell him she never wished to live her life without him and the children.

But she had to ask about Enveigh first.

“Is the Duke of Enveigh that cross with you, Octavius?” she asked. “Couldn’t anything be done to persuade him to stay?”

“He is,” Octavius said ruefully. “And rightfully so. He wanted you for himself, he really cared for you. We dueled earlier this morning.”

“You dueled ?” Temperance exclaimed, her hands immediately flying to his chest and arms, frantically searching for wounds. “Are you hurt? Where? Show me?—”

“We dueled,” he said, catching her hands, “but we are both well. I couldn’t shoot at one of my best friends, no matter how angry we are with each other, and he couldn’t, either.”

Temperance nodded, dazed by the revelation.

Octavius’s eyes flickered with something that looked like pain. “You couldn’t trust me with your secret. Did I do something wrong?”

Her heart broke for him. “I wanted to tell you so many times, and I am so sorry I didn’t. Lady Auster and Bartholomew were my only family after my father died, and they were the ones who betrayed me. My trust was broken, as was my ability to believe people can truly be on my side.”

“I will always be on your side, Temperance,” Octavius murmured, his hands coming up to frame her face, his brown eyes intense and earnest. “No matter what else, I will always want you. I love you, Temperance, have loved you since that kiss on a dark London street. I don’t need your money, you know.

I have plenty of my own.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping to their joined hands.

“What I need is you. We can go back to speak to Mr. Barton, I’ll sign a contract where you retain all your rights and I may not touch a single penny of your money.

It’s possible. But I want you to be mine before God, before society, before any man.

I want to claim you as mine, and I swear to you, on my honor, on my mother’s grave, that you will always be independent. ”

He brought her hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each palm.

“If at any moment you want to be free of me, you only need to say so and I will let you go with your money and properties and a laboratory to make your electrical experiments. Anything you wish is yours. Please, Temperance…please make me the happiest man alive, and be my wife.”

Be his wife.

His confession made a shiver run through her.

He loved her. He truly did love her!

It was not all in her head. She itched to kiss him again but couldn’t do it in public without the excuse of the kissing bough.

And what of his proposal? He’d offered her marriage for the second time.

She had been convinced she’d never marry and would never be anyone’s property.

Could she trust that he wouldn’t change once they were married, that the man who cherished her independence now wouldn’t try to clip her wings later?

That he would be there for her in difficult times, to support her but also give her the freedom to stand on her own two feet?

Temperance stared up into Octavius’s honest, kind eyes, and she knew she could.

Her love for him smoothed those scars like a warm balm.

Now she was truly in possession of her freedom and her independence, she didn’t need him.

Instead, she wanted him in her life. She wanted to be his wife, to stand by his side and wake up every single morning next to him.

She wanted him, the spark that ignited between them in the darkness, the current that ran through her body at his touch.

And she wanted his children, his wards who looked at her like she was their world.

“I love you, too, Octavius,” Temperance whispered breathlessly. “And I will marry you.”

He picked her up and whirled her around as happy claps and cheers came from their crowd of friends. Three pairs of feet tapped against the floor, and James, Margaret, and Sophie rammed into them and wrapped their arms around her.

“Are you going to stay with us forever now?” asked Sophie hopefully.

“I promise not to point pistols at anyone,” said James with a serious expression.

“And I will create a pulley mechanism to scare the bad men away if they try to come through our door,” promised Margaret.

Temperance beamed. “Well, in that case, how could I refuse?”

She giggled and hugged them as Sophie pulled out a piece of paper.

“This is for you, Lady Agatha,” the little girl said shyly, “from all three of us.”

It was a simple drawing done with a piece of charcoal. There were five knights on it—three little ones and two big ones, one of the larger knights in a gown wielding what looked like a sword made of jagged lightning bolts.

Temperance laughed and felt love bubble out of her.

Octavius, despite all the public attention, kissed her fiercely on the lips. “Happy birthday. Christmas will always be my favorite day of the year now, because it brought you into the world and into my life.”