Page 24 of Duke of Pride (Sinful Dukes #4)

EPILOGUE

One Month Later

C olborne House awoke in full bloom. The gardens were wild with color. Lavender spilled over the paths, roses tumbled across trellises, and the breeze smelled of sun-warmed grass and something ineffably sweet, like the promise of a new beginning.

And it was truly the day for new beginnings. The day Victoria returned to the house, not as a friend, not as a companion, but as its mistress.

The lakeside meadow had transformed into the liveliest reception the house had ever seen. Long tables draped in linen offered chilled lemon cordial, roasted pheasant, sugared plums, and a shocking number of meat pies.

Only close family and close friends were invited. An invitation was sent to Lord Prevost, but for some reason, he declined. And perhaps it was a good choice. The wedding was intimate, as well as the reception, so barely any decorum was shown. Like this moment, at the winding down of the festivities.

Stephen and Victoria lounged barefoot on a blanket under the willows, feeding each other strawberries and plotting mischief. Her back was propped against the trunk of the tree, while his head was on her lap.

“You know,” she said, licking jam off her thumb, “it’s probably illegal for a duke to be this relaxed.”

“I am not relaxed. I am plotting.”

“What?”

“Your annihilation in croquet.”

He jumped up and turned to their guests, who were either lounging in chairs, sprawled on cushions, or wandering under the shade of the trees.

“Everyone ready?”

Everyone was mobilized.

Stephen helped Victoria stand as she looked with a frown at everyone running around, procuring croquet equipment out of nowhere, and setting the field.

“I still insist that this close to the lake is risky,” Maxwell complained.

“What is this?” Victoria asked.

Stephen handed her a mallet. “Let’s finish one game of croquet. Finally.”

Victoria laughed heartily. “Oh, it’s on, Your Grace,” she said and swung her mallet ominously.

“I bet it is, Your Grace,” he countered.

It was not long after that all chaos descended on the gardens of Colborne House. No one remembered how the teams were chosen. At some point, alliances formed purely based on who had been wronged in previous rounds, and no one was keeping score.

“You are cheating, Stephen!” Victoria huffed. “Again! I can’t believe this runs in the family.”

“We are not cheating,” Dorothy, who had teamed up with her son, declared.

“It’s a strategic bending of rules,” Stephen replied smoothly.

Then, he aimed a very questionable shot that sent Victoria’s ball bouncing off course and toward a patch of daffodils.

“You will pay for that.”

“You married me. That’s punishment enough.”

She ran downhill to get her ball.

“Oh, not this again.” Stephen bolted after her.

And then he lunged. She shrieked, laughing, dodging, but he caught her mid-spin, and the force of it, combined with the slope of the lawn and the sheer lack of propriety, sent them both tumbling down the hill behind the willow trees.

They landed in a heap, her skirts tangled, his waistcoat stained with dirt and grass, both of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Stephen propped himself up on one elbow, his hair mussed, grinning down at her. She reached up, still smiling, and tucked a strand behind his ear.

“You were once the man who yelled at me from the window of your study to keep it down.”

“I was once a lot of things.”

He lowered himself slowly, gently, until his forehead touched hers. He kissed her then, warm and slow, the world spinning around them.

“I think we indulged our guests long enough.”

“Stephen!”

“Fine. A little more apple pie, right?”

* * *

The house had finally gone quiet. After hours of dancing, laughter, overturned lemonade, and a croquet match from hell, Colborne House was still for the first time that day. Candles flickered low in sconces, the scent of lavender drifting lazily through the halls.

Victoria was soaking in her second bath of the evening. The first had been practical—to scrub off the grass stains and sweat. This one was indulgent.

She laid back in the copper tub, the water just hot enough to make her sigh, her eyes closed, every muscle relaxing. Alfred had assured her that Stephen was “tending to some affairs.” So, she waited. And soaked. And dreamed of him.

The door creaked.

Stephen stood on the threshold. His hair was mussed, falling on his forehead in a reckless manner. But she didn’t mind that. He was wearing a robe. Just a robe. She could see the expanse of his collarbones, the light hair peppering his chest peeking from the opening in his robe.

“My tub was taking forever to fill,” he lied.

She could smell the soap from his bath. Stephen had come to torture her.

“We can share,” she said coyly.

Stephen looked upon her with hunger and mischief. Her Duke was not going to wait in their bedroom, in the dark, for her to go to him. He came to claim her.

He walked over to her. He reached the edge of the tub, untied the sash at his waist, and let the robe fall to the floor like a sigh. Victoria gasped and stared openly.

She had pictured him, of course. Her mind had wandered more than once to what he might look like beneath his perfectly pressed shirts and those damn cravats. But her imagination, thorough as it was, had not come close.

Her husband looked as if he were carved from stone. The candlelight fell on his broad shoulders, his strong arms, and the planes of his abdomen, which seemed sculpted by an artist. Skin taut over hard muscle, thighs strong, hands relaxed at his sides.

Victoria blushed when she realized she was staring at his naked body shamelessly. She looked away, suddenly too preoccupied with her wet hair.

Stephen chuckled and leaned closer. He caught her chin and made her look up to him. “You are staring, Victoria.”

She blushed even more. “I was merely calculating the golden ratio,” she lied.

“Ah.” He leaned even closer. “And what did your… calculations tell you?”

She pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him close to her.

Water sloshed gently around her as she leaned forward, brushing her lips over his just once. But it was enough to set him on fire.

Stephen inhaled sharply and closed the distance between them. The kiss that followed was nothing like their sweet, laughing ones from earlier that day. This one was deeper, wetter, hungrier.

“I’m coming in.” His voice was low and rough.

Victoria gave the faintest nod, her lips still parted, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. She could feel every inch of him, every breath he took, every heartbeat pounding in time with hers. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as he pressed kisses to the curve of her neck. She squirmed, and every nerve in her body lit up.

Stephen smirked against her skin, before deepening his kisses. Now he was sucking lightly on her skin, his tongue trailing a path to that spot behind her ear that made her eyes close and her mouth fall open.

His hand drifted up, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast in a way that made her breath hitch. His other hand slid lower, below the surface of the water, tracing the curve of her hip.

“Stephen,” she said, urging him on.

“I am here,” he whispered in her ear.

He cupped her breast, his fingers grazing her nipple with a tenderness that was in no way less devastating. She tilted her head to look at him and the look in his eyes—voracious, barely restrained, and all focused on her—floored her.

He leaned in as he caught her nipple between his fingers and pinched it. The water sloshed as she almost catapulted off the tub.

But his other hand was there , nudging her thighs open for his touch. He wandered further and found her center wetter than the water around them. His fingers moved with patience, with skill, with a tenderness that undid her completely. Gentle, circling strokes that sent pleasure to her whole body and coaxed a deep sigh from her.

“You are divine,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe.

There was no part of his body that was not dedicated to unraveling her. His mouth kept kissing, licking, biting. His body swayed softly against hers, his muscles flexing behind her. His fingers kept rolling over her sensitive nipple, making her quiver. As for his other hand…

Her legs parted to bloom, to open fully to that touch that was winding her up tighter and tighter. His fingers slid from her folds to that bundle of nerves in slow but persistent strokes. Then, faster, a pace meant to drive her insane.

Her fingernails dug into his arm as the tension built higher and higher. She bucked her hips to meet him, earning an approving rumble in his chest. Water splashed over the rim of the tub.

“That’s it, Victoria,” he purred in her ear. “You will come undone for me.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

His touch became focused, his fingers circling her bud over and over, in tune with her thrusts, her sighs. Her body tensed as if the waves of the sea retreated. Her breath hitched.

“Yes,” he growled. “Let go for me. Now.”

The waves washed over her. She shattered in his arms with a cry that he swallowed with a searing kiss.

Suddenly, his arms banded around her, and he got up with her in his arms.

“Stephen?”

“I need to taste you. I need to have all of you to myself. Now.”

He wrapped her in a towel and carried her to their bedroom. He laid her on the bed and then slowly pulled the towel off her.

Victoria did not blush this time as his eyes drank her in.

He crawled onto the bed with her, his massive body looming over hers. He braced his hands on either side of her head, his gaze greedy, wild.

“You’re staring,” she whispered, breathless.

“I know.”

His hands began to move, one sliding up her calf, his fingers tracing the curve of her leg, pausing at the soft spot behind her knee. Her eyes fluttered almost shut. Almost. She didn’t want to lose any of this, she wanted to watch as he touched her.

He leaned in for a kiss. It was not slow, and it was not tender. It was a whirlwind filled with hunger. Victoria gasped, and he swallowed the sound greedily. It was filthy, glorious, messy.

Their mouths met again and again, wet and greedy, teeth clashing, breath stolen. His hands were in her hair, tangled, clutching, tilting her head so he could kiss her deeper, rougher, harder. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling every muscle shift under her touch.

Stephen broke the kiss and followed a path down her body. He kissed her neck and nipped her collarbone. Victoria arched into him, and he didn’t disappoint. He took one nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue over it.

“Stephen, more.”

“You have no idea,” he breathed on her stomach, “how much more I want to give you.”

Her fingers curled into the sheets. He lingered, letting his tongue tease and stroke until she was squirming again. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to pull him in, but he pulled away and pinned her hands over her head with one hand. She moaned

“My Duchess,” he drawled, “I want to pleasure you and make it good for you.”

“It is good right now,” she protested. “Just not enough. I feel so?—”

“I know. Let me give you more.”

Victoria nodded. She trusted her husband completely. So, when he kissed down her body, she just surrendered to the sensation instead of chasing it. She bit her lip when he dipped his tongue in her navel. She sighed when he grazed the inside of her thigh. And when he reached the aching core of her, she forgot how to breathe altogether.

Stephen kissed her there. Softly at first. Just a gentle press of lips that made her hips jerk in surprise. Then again. And again. He flicked his tongue, and she saw stars. She knew he wanted to take it easy and slow, but he snapped the moment he tasted her.

A low roar tore from his throat. He grabbed her thighs and lifted them off the mattress so that he could gorge on her essence. She threw her head back, her mouth falling open on a moan she couldn’t contain.

“Sweet like apple pie,” Stephen murmured. “You were made for me.”

Her legs quivered, and she moaned his name as he licked into her.

“Again, let me hear you,” he ordered.

One last flick of his tongue, just right, just hard enough, and she lost all command of her body. The tension snapped, and she cried out his name, the sound drawn out and desperate. The wave of pleasure rolled over her again and again as he wound her down.

When she landed boneless on the mattress, he dragged his body up and settled between her legs.

“I can’t hold back anymore, Victoria,” he grunted. “I am going crazy. I want you, I need you so much.”

She had no power to form words, but her body wrapped around him and pulled him closer. His eyes searched her face, asking for permission. Her response was to trail both hands down his chest, his abdomen, around his hips, and up his back. She watched as his eyes closed at her erotic, feather-light touch.

“It might sting, Victoria,” he warned as he leaned closer.

Stephen guided himself with care, his eyes never leaving hers. He entered her, slowly, inch by inch, watching her face for any sign of pain. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, and he paused to give her time to adjust.

“No, don’t stop. It’s so… I need…”

He pushed another inch into her. She moaned, biting her lip.

“So good. You take me so well, Victoria.”

His words ignited her, making her wet core gush and flutter around him.

“You like it when I say things like that to you,” he whispered, his breath ragged against her ear.

Victoria nodded, her eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers digging into his back.

He rolled his hips deeper. He dropped his head to her shoulder and kissed the juncture where her neck met her collarbone, his teeth gently grazing her skin. Then, he pushed into her further till he was sheathed inside her.

“How perfect you are.”

Victoria tilted her hips up to meet him more, to have all of him, take all of it. The ache was there, yes, but it was a stretching, a filling, an overwhelming sensation that hovered on the edge of pleasure.

Stephen moved slowly at first. Their fingers were intertwined, one arm under her waist, and their breaths mingled, sharp and ragged. Soon, his rhythm quickened and deepened, each thrust more insistent and more sure.

“Victoria,” he whispered. “God…You…”

His hands slid to her waist, holding her steady as his hips rocked into hers. A groan tore from his throat as he thrust deeper.

“Yes,” he gasped.

She moaned, her back arching, her body blossoming around him, clutching him deeper.

“Let go for me. I’m right here.”

She shattered. Her body convulsed around him, her arms locking around his back, her face pressed into his neck. He followed her a heartbeat later, his thrusts growing erratic, desperate, until he pushed deep one final time and stayed there, trembling.

His forehead dropped to hers, and his whole body locked around her as he spilled into her, a guttural groan leaving his lips.

“How are you, my Duchess?”

Victoria couldn’t summon words, but she smiled at him and caressed his face reverently.

“I will take the silence as a good sign, and I will file that information for later use.”

Victoria pushed his bicep lightly, but she was drifting off already, exhaustion taking over.

“Sleep, my Duchess, my love,” he whispered, pulling the covers over them and cradling her in his arms.

Victoria nestled closer, flush against him, and he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Forty-five,” she murmured, half asleep already.

“What?”

“Forty-five rooms in the house.”

Stephen laughed loudly.

“The country estate has one hundred and five rooms,” he whispered in her ear.

Victoria did the math and slipped into sweet bliss.

The End?