Page 41 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)
Twelve years later…
“Papa, that’s not fair! James is cheating again!” The indignant cry echoed across the expansive lawn of Blackmere Hall.
Leo looked up from his conversation with Gerard and Dorian to see his ten-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, storming toward him, dark curls bouncing with each determined step.
Behind her, his twelve-year-old son, James, wore the expression of practiced innocence that Leo recognized all too well.
“I wasn’t cheating,” James protested, quickening his pace to catch up with his sister. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand the rules.”
“Rules you keep changing!” Elizabeth spun to face her brother, hands planted firmly on her hips in a posture that mirrored her mother so perfectly that Leo had to suppress a smile.
“What seems to be the problem?” Leo asked, setting down his glass as the children reached the terrace.
“James says I have to count to fifty before I can seek, but last time he only counted to thirty and the time before that, twenty!” Elizabeth’s blue eyes, so much like Marina’s, flashed with righteous indignation.
Leo turned to his son, raising an eyebrow. James shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his confident facade cracking under his father’s steady gaze.
“Well, different games have different rules,” James muttered, studying the toe of his boot with sudden interest.
“Yes, they do,” Leo agreed. “But changing the rules mid-game to suit yourself is the definition of cheating, is it not?”
James’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Yes, Sir.”
“Then I suggest you apologize to your sister and play fairly or find another game.”
“Yes, Papa.” James turned to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry for changing the rules.”
Elizabeth’s scowl softened immediately. “It’s all right. I’ll count to forty, and you hide.”
The children dashed off, their dispute forgotten as quickly as it had arisen. Leo watched them rejoin their cousins on the lawn—Diana and George, and Michaela, Gerard and Seraphina’s children; Charlotte and Lawrence, Dorian and Alice’s children; and Emma and George, Caroline and Harold’s twins.
“Masterfully handled,” Gerard remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Though I suspect James inherited his creative interpretation of rules from his mother.”
“Don’t let Marina hear you say that,” Leo warned with a chuckle. “She’ll remind you about the time Diana convinced George that princesses are exempt from bedtime.”
“A dark day in the Irondale household,” Gerard agreed, wincing at the memory. “Seraphina still claims I was the one who told her that story.”
“Fatherhood has tamed you all,” Dorian observed, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. “Who would have thought the three most notorious dukes in London would one day spend a summer afternoon discussing their children’s disputes?”
“Life has a way of surprising us,” came a voice from behind them. William approached from the house, his American wife, Catherine, beside him.
Their young sons, Peter and Michael, immediately ran to join the other children on the lawn.
Leo rose to embrace his brother, the gesture easy and natural after twelve years of healing. “I was thinking you’d miss the entire gathering. How was the crossing?”
“Rough,” William admitted, accepting a glass from a passing footman. “But Catherine was determined the boys should see England in the summer.”
Catherine smiled warmly. “They’ve heard so many stories about Blackmere Hall and their English cousins; they would have mutinied if we’d delayed another year.”
“Well, we’re delighted you’re here,” Leo said, gesturing for them to join the group. “Marina will be thrilled to see you both.”
As if summoned by her name, Marina emerged from the house alongside Seraphina, Alice, and Caroline.
The years had only enhanced her beauty, adding a quiet confidence to her grace. Her gaze immediately found Leo’s across the terrace, her smile widening at the sight of William and Catherine.
“William!” She crossed the terrace quickly, embracing her brother-in-law warmly. “What a wonderful surprise.”
“We arrived just an hour ago,” William explained, returning her embrace before stepping back to allow Catherine to greet her. “The boys couldn’t wait to join their cousins.”
“They’ve grown so much,” Marina observed, glancing at the children who were now engaged in what appeared to be an elaborate game of tag. “Boston clearly agrees with your family.”
“As motherhood agrees with you,” Catherine replied, her American directness refreshing among the English reserve. “Your children are delightful.”
Marina’s eyes found Elizabeth, who was currently organizing the younger children into teams with all the authority of a general commanding troops.
“They keep us on our toes, certainly,” Marina said.
The group settled into comfortable conversation as the afternoon sun began its gradual descent. Servants brought out tea and refreshments, setting up tables on the terrace where they could watch the children play while catching up on the past year’s events.
“I heard your latest series of novels has been translated into French,” Seraphina said to Marina as they poured tea. “The captain’s adventures are crossing borders.”
Marina’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, though I believe the French edition has taken certain creative liberties with the translation. According to my publisher in Paris, the romance elements have been significantly enhanced.”
“Enhanced?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. “One shudders to think what the French consider an enhancement to your already quite stirring prose.”
“I’ve read the translation,” Alice admitted, a flush coloring her cheeks. “It’s quite… educational.”
The ladies dissolved into laughter, drawing curious glances from their husbands across the terrace.
“Do we want to know?” Harold asked, joining them with fresh scones from the kitchen.
“Definitely not,” Caroline assured him, patting his arm affectionately. “Literary matters beyond your comprehension, my dear.”
“Speaking of literary matters,” Seraphina turned to Marina, “has Leo read your newest manuscript yet? The one about the American frontiersman?”
Marina glanced toward her husband, who was deep in conversation with Dorian about some matter in the House of Lords. “Not yet. I wanted to finish it completely before showing him.”
“Is he still your first reader?” Alice asked.
“Always,” Marina confirmed, warmth suffusing her voice. “Though he’s become far too lenient in his criticism. I sometimes miss the days when he would argue with me over every plot point.”
“The price of love,” Caroline said sagely. “Harold used to challenge my decorating choices constantly. Now, he claims to adore every ghastly wallpaper I select, even the one with the parrots he secretly detests.”
As the afternoon progressed into evening, the gathering moved indoors for dinner.
The great dining hall of Blackmere, once cold and formal during Leo’s bachelor days, had been transformed under Marina’s influence into a warm, inviting space. Flowers from the estate gardens adorned the table, and candles cast a golden glow over the assembled family.
Children and adults mingled freely, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. James sat between his cousins, their heads bent together in whispered conference that periodically erupted into poorly suppressed laughter. Elizabeth had positioned herself beside her aunt Catherine, eagerly absorbing stories of life in America.
Leo watched it all from the head of the table, occasionally catching Marina’s eye at the opposite end. Each glance exchanged between them carried the weight of their shared history, the challenges overcome, the family they had built, the life they had crafted together.
After the meal, as the children were shepherded upstairs for bed despite vociferous protests, the adults retreated to the drawing room. William opened the grand pianoforte, coaxing Catherine to play.
Marina slipped away to the terrace, seeking a moment of quiet beneath the star-filled sky. Leo joined her minutes later, wrapping his arms around her from behind as they gazed out over the moonlit gardens.
“Happy?” he murmured against her hair, echoing the question he had asked her that night twelve years ago when they had first learned of James’s impending arrival.
Marina leaned back against his chest, her hands covering his where they rested on her waist.
“Beyond words,” she replied, turning in his embrace to face him. “Are you?”
Leo’s answer was to kiss her, his lips finding hers with the familiarity of long practice but none of the complacency.
Twelve years of marriage had deepened their passion rather than diminished it, each touch infused with the knowledge of what had come before and the promise of what was yet to be.
“I was thinking,” Marina said when they finally parted, “that we might take the children to London this autumn. James has been begging to see the new exhibit at the British Museum, and I have meetings with my publishers.”
“The infamous Duchess of Blackmere and her literary empire,” Leo teased, his hands tracing idle patterns on her back. “Who would have thought the scandalous stories that once drove me to distraction would build such a legacy?”
“You were my first and best muse,” Marina reminded him, rising on her toes to press another quick kiss to his lips. “Though I’ve learned to channel my inspirations more productively since then.”
Leo caught her hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart beat steadily beneath her palm. “I am yours in all ways, my love. Muse, husband, willing subject of your literary talents.”
The sound of music drifted through the open windows—Catherine playing a lively country dance that had Gerard attempting to teach Dorian’s daughter the proper steps while the others laughed at his exaggerated formality.
“We should rejoin our guests,” Marina said, though she made no move to leave Leo’s embrace.
“In a moment,” Leo replied, his eyes drinking in her face with the same wonder that had marked their early days together. “I just want to look at you first.”
Marina’s smile softened, her hand rising to trace the lines at the corners of his eyes—badges of laughter and life lived fully.
“Twelve years,” she murmured. “And still, you look at me as if I might vanish if you blink.”
“Twelve years,” Leo agreed, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And I fall more in love with you each day.”
Inside, their family and friends continued their celebration, voices and music mingling in the warm summer night. But for this stolen moment on the terrace, Marina and Leo existed in a world of their own making—a world built on forgiveness and trust, passion and partnership, stories told and stories yet to be written.
A world that had begun with scandal and secrets, but had blossomed into something neither could have imagined when a determined widow first put pen to paper and a wounded duke set out to stop her.
The End.