Page 56 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

“…by the giving and receiving of a ring, and by the joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The Bishop of London’s words washed over Octavius in St. George’s Church, Mayfair.

Before him stood the woman he loved, her gray eyes sparkling with tears of love like diamonds.

Temperance was in a long pelisse the color of pure rust, as was the custom of his house, and a pale orange silk gown with gray flowers embroidered in a spiraling pattern.

Winter sun seeped through the stained-glass windows, casting dazzling colors on her hair and face framed by a pretty bonnet.

Finally she’d left behind the dull brown gowns she’d worn for weeks as a governess, and he could see the lady she was born as and the duchess she would be.

His lady. His duchess. His wife.

“Amen,” echoed his family and friends sitting in the dark mahogany pews behind him.

Under the white vaulted ceilings of the church decorated with ornate plasterwork of flowers framed by gold-painted trim, feeling as though he was receiving blessings through the colorful light that shone on him and Temperance through the stained-glass image of the Virgin Mary in the window over the altar, Octavius felt complete.

Love flowed through him, richer and more complex than the most exquisite dish he’d ever tasted in his life.

Love brought greater bliss than strawberries and whipped cream in winter, deeper elation than the rarest of smuggled cognacs.

Unlike every other thrill he’d chased, this one wouldn’t leave him empty.

And now, as he walked up the aisle holding the hand of his wife, the woman he loved, Octavius was completely and fully satisfied for the first time in his life.

His soul was finally at peace, no longer a restless, hungry creature aching to fill the void.

He would always crave more time with Temperance, more moments like this, but the desperate emptiness which had driven him to excess was gone forever.

Octavius met the eyes of the people most dear to him: Margaret, James, Sophie, Dorian and Patience, Lucien and Chastity, Constantine and Modesty, Sylvester, and Roderick.

All of them were smiling and clapping, clearly happy for him.

Sophie bounced up and down with the biggest grin on her face, while James was doing his best to appear untouched, though his brown eyes were wet.

Margaret held Temperance’s wedding bouquet of white winter roses and handed it to her as she passed.

The only dark spot in the clear, bright sky of happiness and joy was Enveigh.

He stood in the shadows behind the other guests, leaning on a white gilded column that supported the dark galleries elevated over the ground level.

Octavius was certain Archibald was here only out of a sense of duty.

His expression was pure ice. No smile, no applause with the rest of the guests.

Enveigh kept his face straight and collected, but Octavius knew his friend all too well.

He saw the venom of envy seeping through the depths of his eyes.

Was Archibald imagining he was supposed to walk with Temperance down the aisle, his hand holding hers, his ring on her finger?

Octavius’s grin weakened as he locked eyes with Archibald. What more could he do to restore this friendship? Guilt and sadness weighed in his chest, the crack in their brotherhood a slice through his own flesh.

It was his fault, of course it was. Enveigh had clearly stated his claim, and Octavius had broken the credo. And he would do it again, a hundred times over, to be with Temperance.

Thanks to his love for her, he had become a better man. A man no longer ruled by his sin of gluttony.

And as for Archibald…he could still make amends with him. He had to do something. He didn’t know what, and his wedding day was not the time to make plans for that, but he’d think of something.

When they returned home, the grand wedding breakfast was served, a feast truly worthy of the Duke and Duchess of Eccess.

Silver platters gleamed with omelets enriched with cream, an array of cold cuts including roast beef, tongue, and pressed fowl, game pies, white rolls with butter curls, and preserves of strawberries, raspberries, cherries, and figs.

Cook had outdone herself with syllabub, trifle, and a spectacular bride cake.

Before the guests arrived, Octavius took his wife to his study to have a moment alone with her and fell swiftly on her lips. After all, his favorite activity was kissing her.

“I love you, Temperance,” he murmured. “I love you so much. God, you make me so happy.”

She cupped his face with such a bright smile that it almost split her face in two.

“You are so beautiful,” Octavius murmured, his heart overflowing, “and mine, mine, mine.”

She laughed. “Yes, I’m yours, and you are mine. And whatever joys and challenges life brings our way, we will stand together.”

Octavius nodded fervently. “I’ll make you the happiest woman alive.”

They heard their guests arrive, but he didn’t want to leave her.

In fact he wanted to make their own little feast in his study, just as he had done when she tried to seduce him with that scandalous French novel.

Unable to help himself, Octavius brushed his hand up her stocking-clad leg and felt her beautiful arse fill his palm.

Temperance moaned.

“I’ll have a very special feast for just the two of us later in our bedchamber,” he promised.

His wife smiled. “Will it involve a lot of whipped cream?”

He chuckled. “Your wish is my command…”

Octavius resumed kissing her neck and her chest, savoring the taste of her skin, the scent of flowers and lavender in her perfume mixed with the scent of her, sweet and decadent. His hand proceeded to her breast, which felt so full in his palm, and then to the very core of her.

As his hand moved under her skirts and parted her slit, his fingertips slid along her dampness. “You’re wet for me,” he murmured. “I adore you like this.”

Temperance chuckled softly, but before they could enjoy any more, there were voices behind the door.

When there was a loud, insistent knock, Octavius glanced over his shoulder and growled, “Not now!”

But the knocking continued. “Octavius, open the door.”

Damn it. Octavius shook his head. “No, no one will take me away from you now,” he said before returning to the important business at hand.

But the knock sounded longer, louder. A devious drumming. “Octavius!”

Was that goddamn Enveigh’s voice?

“Go away, Archibald!” he growled as he slowly rubbed his wife’s sweet folds, making Temperance’s head drop back as she moaned.

“You will want to open this door,” Archibald’s voice scoffed. “Believe me.”

There was a barely contained vindictive pleasure about that scoff that made Octavius freeze. Why did it feel like his friend had just dropped a bucket of ice over his heated skin?

He looked at Temperance, who pursed her swollen, red lips, mirth playing in her eyes. “I guess you had better open that door.”

He nodded, withdrew his hands from her with deep regret, kissed her swiftly, and was forced to correct his breeches, which were bulging with his erection. “Woman, what you’re doing to me…”

Octavius looked over at Temperance as she adjusted her bodice and smoothed her skirts. Only when she looked proper did he nod and walk across the room to unlock the door.

Behind the door, his gray gaze hooded in the smuggest, most satisfied, most cunning expression Octavius could ever imagine, was Archibald.

His arms were crossed over his chest clad in his green velvet coat, his weight leaning onto one leg while the other relaxed at the knee.

How unnerving it was to see him at ease like this when not merely half an hour ago, he looked like a snake coiling to strike.

“What is so damned urgent—” The words died on his lips as his gaze drifted to Archibald’s right. Behind the man’s shoulder stood Octavius’s mother.

She was young, not older than one and twenty…

which was impossible, because when last he’d seen her, she was thirty.

But the woman looked like her, had the same a curvy body under her dark blue traveling gown.

Her lovely face with the same brown eyes as his was flushed, with her high, round cheekbones and the tip of her pretty nose rosy, and full lips that reminded him of the way his mother had given him a good-night kiss with a soft smile.

This couldn’t be. Mama is dead . If she weren’t, she’d be over fifty now.

While Octavius tried to think, his mind somehow registered Jacobs as well as all their guests gathered behind the woman, staring.

“Congratulations, brother,” he heard the woman say in the clipped English of a highly educated lady, but with a slight foreign accent. “I hear you got married today.”

Octavius couldn’t feel the floor under his feet. Tears blurred his vision, and his heart, which had been happy and full for days, squeezed with an impossibly tender ache.

His throat dried and he swallowed what felt like a stack of hay, then managed, “M-Mercy?”

Shock was pouring through him in waves. He had so many questions. Where had she been? How did she get here? What had happened to her?

But before he could ask any of them or even take his sister into his arms, Archibald chuckled.

“Look at that, Octavius. Your little sister. So innocent, so fragile, so unprepared for the treacherous life of the London ton. Of course we will all protect her; she’s family, is she not?

That was our second credo—protect each other’s family as your own.

Oh, wait, I forgot. Credos aren’t sacred anymore.

You’ve proven that. I suppose you should be careful more of us don’t just start breaking them all, one by one.

Especially when your sister is so lovely, so vulnerable to a rake’s seduction. ”

With a long, calculating gaze at Mercy, the Duke of Enveigh walked away towards the door, grabbed his greatcoat and top hat, and was gone.

Yet unlike the terrified boy who’d once cowered before his father’s gun, Octavius felt only steel in his spine.

Let Archibald come with his schemes and his spite. He had Temperance at his side now, his sister he’d been searching for over so many years, his sweet wards, and six…no, five best friends who could weather any storm.

The Duke of Eccess had finally learned to plant his feet and hold his ground, rather than fleeing into the next indulgence when life demanded something from him. Love had taught him the difference between being full and being satisfied.

Even the darkest deeds he’d committed in the throes of his sin no longer bore any weight.

And with Temperance at his side, he was finally whole.

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