Page 19 of The Duke Who Dared Me (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #31)

One Year Later

Gainesford Hall, Kent

One year on, the Duchess of Tunstall is said to spend her mornings rescuing wild creatures and her evenings taming only one: her husband.

- The Polite Observer

The stallion was magnificent.

And entirely unmanageable. At least, according to every groom who had dared venture near him. His black coat gleamed like Alistair’s finest Hessian boots in the summer sun, muscles coiled and restless, nostrils flaring with indignant pride. The animal wanted no hand, no harness, no master.

Which made him Verity’s favorite sort.

She moved slowly into the paddock, skirts brushing the grass. The stallion’s eyes followed her, suspicious, his ears flicking forward and back.

“Hello, handsome boy.”

From the fence line, she spotted Alistair watching her.

He should be used to the sight of her by now, but he still held this awe in his eyes for her that made her heart flutter.

They had been married a year now, and in that year, she had tamed, or at least befriended, every difficult beast brought to the duke’s latest venture at Gainesford Hall, where he rescued injured and ill-tempered horses.

Each time, the grooms shook their heads and declared it impossible. And each time, Verity proved them wrong.

“You are determined to shorten my life,” he called out.

Verity did not turn. “Don’t start.”

“I never have a chance….”

She ducked her head to hide her smile. “You’re thinking it loudly enough that even the stallion can hear you.”

He leaned against the post, sunlight washing over him, his cravat long since abandoned, and his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose fine, corded forearms. She pulled at her dress collar, fighting off the reminder of him lifting her against the wall in the conservatory last evening during the rainstorm.

Still, she felt her cheeks heat, and as if he knew, Alistair chuckled.

“How long until you break something important?”

She extended her hand, palm up, her voice a soothing murmur as the stallion’s ears pricked forward. “I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”

Alistair’s mouth curved in that wicked way she knew too well. “Reckless disregard for your own safety.”

The grooms behind him murmured, but none dared approach the paddock. They learned long ago to leave the duchess be.

At last, the stallion stretched his neck tentatively before brushing his velvet muzzle against her palm.

“There now. You’re not nearly so fearsome once someone bothers to listen.”

“Neither are you.” Alistair reached into a sack and removed a few apples.

This time, she did glance back. “You’re staring again.”

He made no effort to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

The stallion snorted as Alistair carefully approached, holding out an apple.

“You’ve been working since dawn,” he said, his hand closing gently but firmly around hers. “I came to rescue you.”

“I don’t need rescuing.” She grabbed the apple and placed it into her palm before the stallion nuzzled closer for a bite.

“No, you never did.” His thumb traced a slow, sinful circle over her wrist, his voice lowering to that tone which never failed to undo her. “But it’s been a long day, and I missed you.”

Her lips parted, breath catching, though a year of marriage had taught her exactly how insatiable he could be. “Alistair…”

“Yes, love?”

“The grooms are around.”

He stepped closer, the heat of his body pressing into hers. “I promise you, not one of them is brave enough to interrupt me.”

She meant to protest, but he kissed her instead, thoroughly, until the stallion gave a disapproving whinny. She broke off with a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Even the horses disapprove.”

“Let them.” He brushed his lips along her jaw.

“Incorrigible.”

“Yours.” His reply was immediate, fierce, the single word laced with devotion.

The pond glimmered just beyond the trees, sunlight dancing on the water’s rippled surface. Alistair followed her gaze, his own turning hot with intent. “Swim with me.”

“It’s barely noon.”

He kissed her again, rough with urgency, and she found herself yielding as she always did because he was hers, utterly and without reserve, and because he never stopped reminding her of how thoroughly besotted he remained.

When she broke away at last, her breath was unsteady. “Race you.”

Alistair’s grin was pure sin. “I win, always.”

Yet she was already gathering her skirts, darting toward the trees with laughter bubbling in her chest. He caught her before the pond’s edge, spinning her into his arms, and she shrieked and gasped when he scooped her up and carried her under the cover of the willow tree by the shoreline.

A year of marriage, and still Alistair kissed her like a starving man. Still, he wanted her with a devotion so fierce it frightened her, if only because she wanted him the very same way.

And as he laid her back against the cool grass, the sunlight peeking in between the willow branches in the soft June breeze, Verity thought she had finally found her place in the world.

It was not in London ballrooms, living with her brother’s family, or making wagers about finding a husband who loved her.

Funnily enough, it was that very wager which brought her the most unexpected husband of all. It was, in every way that mattered, a happily ever after.

And one that was only just beginning.

THE END

Thank you so much for reading Alistair and Verity’s story. I hope you enjoyed it!