Page 52

ONE YEAR LATER

“ G entle reader, it is the humble opinion of this scribe that the scandal concerning the Duchess of W. was, in truth, naught but lies perpetuated by a bitter Lord A.,” Miranda read triumphantly as she pored over the latest edition of the gossip rag that had, a mere year ago, nearly proven her ruin.

A gossip rag that had, instead of destroying her happiness, been inadvertently responsible for helping her to secure it.

She very much doubted Ammondale would appreciate the role he had played in her marriage to Rhys.

But she couldn’t lie—there was a certain, profound pleasure to be had in knowing she had triumphed in the end.

Rhys kissed her nape. “Do continue, kitten. I can see there’s quite a bit more to it, and I rather like the sound of this. There’s nothing I can appreciate more than the Earl of Ammondale getting his comeuppance and my beautiful wife receiving the adulation she so rightly deserves.”

She sighed contentedly and leaned into his tall, muscled form, the undeniable ridge of his cock against her bottom a potent lure. “Meanwhile, the new school of cookery recently opened by the Duchess of W. continues to attract far more pupils than it can reasonably hold.”

Rhys nuzzled her throat as she paused to once again savor his attentions.

“The Duchess’s School of Cookery is going to need to expand to the neighboring property soon,” he murmured before nibbling at her ear.

“Do you truly think so?” she asked, delighted by the notion, even as desire shimmered through her.

The sinful man knew her ears were indecently sensitive. A bit of licking and nipping on his part was all it took to make molten heat pool between her thighs.

“I know so,” he said.

Miranda had closed the Lenox School of Cookery following the scandal that had robbed her of pupils.

But with Rhys’s help, she had found a far more convenient location in a larger and newer building.

The new school, complete with a fresh name, had a massive room that could be used for lectures or cooking demonstrations, complete with multiple stoves and four immense tables that stretched its length, allowing plenty of room for the pupils who had slowly begun filling the benches.

It had taken effort and time, but they had turned opinion in her favor, thanks to their marriage and the support of those closest to them.

“Thank you for believing in me,” she told her husband.

“You know you needn’t thank me for that. Your skill is unparalleled, my love. You’ve more than earned your sobriquet the Queen of Cookery.” He kissed the hollow behind her ear now, his hands gliding to cup her breasts through the gossamer fabric of her French peignoir.

How she adored lazy mornings when they stayed in their bedchamber and spent hours taking their breakfast in private, talking, bathing, making love, or, as was the case today, reading the scandal rags and newspapers.

The rain was pattering lightly on the windows, and all was right in their little world.

“I suppose you were right to call me your queen,” she said lightly.

“I do know a queen when I see one.” He licked the shell of her ear, eliciting a pang of desire.

She smiled. “So modest, husband.”

“Modesty was never one of my virtues.” He kissed her temple, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. Have I told you that I adore your scent?”

“Perhaps a time or two,” she murmured, enjoying his praise, regardless of how many times she was the recipient of it.

Just as he was a very attentive lover, Rhys had proven to be a most devoted husband.

Their marriage was so very different from the icy, miserable union she had escaped with Ammondale.

She was grateful each day that she had found the husband of her heart, a man who loved her for herself, imperfect as she was.

He rolled his thumbs over the peaks of her breasts. Her nipples were hard, and his touch felt so wonderful that it took her a moment to recall she had been reading the article to him.

“The rest of the article, darling,” he reminded her, plucking at her nipples some more.

Clearing her throat, she continued. “Undoubtedly, the Duchess of W.’s coterie of loyal friends, the Duchesses of B. and C., in particular, and their insurmountable support has proven a boon, as has the more recent praise of her newly married sister.”

“I am glad that Daisy has broken with your family and spoke up on your behalf,” Rhys said, his hands slipping lower now, to where her full belly stretched beneath the transparent cotton and silk.

“I am as well,” she agreed.

Miranda had never blamed her sisters for the estrangement between them following her divorce.

They had been under the aegis of their mother and father, with no ability to speak for themselves.

With Daisy married, she had finally been free to pay a call upon Miranda, and the two of them had taken tea together for the first time in years, sharing girlhood reminiscences and forging their sisterly bond anew.

She hoped that when Elizabeth married, it would be the same between them, but Miranda was firm in her determination to keep the distance between herself, her parents, and her brother. Not all fences could be mended.

A thump on her stomach distracted Miranda momentarily from her thoughts, the miracle of the small life within her still a source of wonder.

“Did you feel that?” she asked Rhys.

“I do believe our child has just kicked me,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “The rest of the article, if you please, whilst I mend my shattered pride.”

Miranda smiled, filled with love so strong she had to blink, lest tears of happiness begin to fall. These days, she tended to turn into a watering pot at the slightest provocation.

“However,” she carried on reading, “the hundreds of testimonials from loyal pupils and the delicacies which the duchess has shared in her most recent Book of Cookery , which is on its third printing as of this writing, are ample proof that the Duchess of W. is indeed the reigning Queen of Cookery.”

“ Brava , my love.” Gently, he turned her so that she faced him, his expression full of so much tenderness that she blinked again, clearing a fresh wave of tears. “You’re not weeping again, are you? What is wrong? Do you not like the article?”

“I love the article.”

“Then why tears?”

“Because I love you,” she sniffled. “And because I could not possibly be happier.”

“I love you too, kitten.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, and he caught it with his lips.

“I even love it when you call me kitten,” she said with another sniff, maudlin sentiment threatening to overwhelm her, along with the desire that was never far.

“That is because everything I say and do is irresistible,” he informed her.

“Outrageous man,” she said without heat. “How did I ever find you?”

“Well, my love,” he began in a teasing drawl, “this love affair of ours all began because I wanted to eat your ices. Now, I’m more than happy to eat your?—”

Laughing, Miranda devoured his last word, which would have undoubtedly been vulgar, sealing her mouth over his and kissing her wicked duke with all the love overflowing in her heart.

Thank you so very much for reading Duke with a Secret !