Page 110 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Only for you,” she gasped as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot.

Water splashed onto the floor as their movements grew more urgent, more focused. She rose slightly, then sank onto him with deliberate slowness that made them both groan with pleasure. Her fingernails scraped lightly across his shoulders as she began to move.

“Leo,” she breathed, her voice catching on his name in a way that made his heart stutter. “My love.”

The endearment, still new enough to surprise him, unleashed something primal in his chest. His hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust upward to meet her. Every touch was a conversation, every caress a declaration of things too profound for words.

Beatrice’s soft gasps echoed in the chamber, the sounds of pleasure bouncing off walls that had once witnessed only pain. When she cried out his name, her back arching, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her inner walls clenching around him, Leo felt the familiar surge of possessive triumph that only she could inspire.

His release followed swiftly, her name torn from his lips like a prayer as pleasure crashed over him in waves.

For several heartbeats, they remained joined, their foreheads touching, their breath mingling in the small space between them as the water lapped gently at the sides of the tub.

Later, wrapped in thick towels before the fire, Beatrice rested her head against his shoulder, her damp hair leaving wet patches on his skin. Contentment settled over them like a blanket, comfortable and warm.

“Leo,” she said softly, breaking the peaceful silence. “I have something to tell you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, too relaxed to open his eyes. “What is it, my Duchess?”

Her hand found his, guiding it to rest on her still-flat stomach. “We’re having a baby.”

His eyes flew open, his body tensing in shock. “What?”

Beatrice nodded, her smile radiant in the firelight. “The physician confirmed it yesterday. Spring, he thinks.”

Joy surged through Leo, so intense that it was almost painful.

A child. Their child. The culmination of everything they had built together, a future neither of them had dared to imagine when they stood at the altar as strangers.

“Are you happy?” Beatrice whispered, vulnerability flashing across her face.

In answer, Leo gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her neck to hide the moisture in his eyes.

“Happy doesn’t begin to describe it,” he managed, his voice rough with emotion. “Beatrice, you’ve given me everything. Everything.”

She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“And you’ve done the same for me,” she said softly. “Love, family, purpose… all the things I never thought I’d have.”

He kissed her then, pouring into it all the emotions he still struggled to convey in words. The gratitude, the wonder, the bone-deep certainty that he had found his home not in a place but in a person.

Against all odds, against his own fears and defenses, Leo Ashwell had discovered that true strength lay not in enduring alone, but in loving completely.

In Beatrice, he had found not just a wife, but also a partner. Not merely passion, but also peace.

And now, incredibly, he found a family of his own. One built on pure love.

“Our child will never know the coldness we did,” he vowed, his hand splayed protectively over her stomach. “Only warmth. Only love.”

“I know,” Beatrice whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Because that’s what you’ve shown me, Leo. That’s who you truly are.”

In the transformed garden folly, as firelight danced across their entwined figures, the Duke of Stagmore finally believed it.

The End?