Ara was beside him now, sobbing. He was sobbing. His cheeks were wet. Relief hit him, vast and sudden. He fell to his knees, opened his arms, and his son launched himself into him. He buried his face in the lad’s soft hair, holding him as tightly as he dared.
“You are safe now, son.”
“Oh, thank God,” Ara cried, throwing her arms around Clay and Edward at once. “Thank God!”
Leo approached them, ruffling the lad’s hair affectionately. “You are unharmed, Duke?”
“Yes,” Edward said, sniffling into Clay’s waistcoat. “M-miss P-palliser was not u-unkind to me. But she w-wouldn’t t-take me h-home.”
“She will never be able to frighten you again, lad,” Leo said softly, his jaw clenched. “I promise you. Nor will anyone else. This is the end of the road for these villains.”
“Thank you, brother,” Clay said, gratitude rushing through him, fierce and strong.
“I told you he needs more time to get to know his dastardly Uncle Leo, did I not?” His brother sent him a cocky half grin.
“Yes,” Clay agreed, bone-numbing relief joining the gratitude. “You certainly did.”
“Thank you,” Ara sniffed up at Leo. “You are not a dastardly uncle at all, but a hero.”
Leo was solemn. “Some would call me a villain, my dear sister, and they would not be far from the mark. Forgive me for not seeing the evil in our midst until it was almost too late.”
“Nonsense,” Clay said gruffly, still hugging his son tight, relishing the sweet sensation of the lad’s arms linked about his neck. “None of us saw it.”
“The most important thing is that she cannot hurt anyone else, and Edward is safe,” Ara said, smiling tremulously. “I cannot thank you enough for saving him.”
Leo nodded, looking uncomfortable at the open displays of emotion. “It was my duty, and I am happy to say this is all over now. She was the last of the ring of plotters. My hunch is she thought to use Edward as a shield so she could return to Dublin unimpeded. But I’ll be taking her to London now, where she will receive swift and unmerciful justice.”
It was indeed over.
Edward was safe. Ara was safe. Miss Palliser would be on her way to rot in prison, and with the men responsible for Burghly’s death in custody and the last, rogue Fenian related to the plot aside from Miss Palliser dead, their days of living in fear were finally at an end.
“I love you, Papa,” Edward whispered, just loud enough that Clay could hear it above the frantic beats of his heart.
“I love you, son,” he said. “And your mother as well.”
Ara smiled at him, and it was beautiful, so deep and true that her dimple made another rare appearance. “I love you both with all my heart.”
Clay hugged his family to him—Ara in one arm and his son in the other. “Come,” he told them. “Let’s go home.”
The past was done. The danger was ended. And it was time to move forward, together, into the endless possibilities of the life that lay ahead of them.
Epilogue
Ara had asurprise for her husband. One she hoped would please him.
The sickness she had been experiencing in the last few days, coupled with her missed courses, were all too familiar. She would wager Harlton Hall that she was with child.
Clay was going to be a father again, and this time, he would not miss a single moment of their child’s life. Edward would be receiving a younger sister or brother. Their beautiful little family was going to grow in size by one. It was soon, she knew, the ugliness of the past and the Fenian plots against her not far behind them. But the notion of having another babe to dote upon filled her heart with a flood of contented joy.
She knocked at the door of Clay’s study, where she knew she would find him poring over old Harlton Hall ledgers and records. He had made the decision to cease his career as one of Her Majesty’s covert agents on his own, wanting to keep Ara and Edward free of any future threats, and his choice relieved her. She had experienced all the upheaval she ever wished to know, and there was nothing she wanted more than to settle into a peaceful, calm life with their growing brood of children and each other.
In lieu of the League and its intrigues, he had thrown himself headlong into learning the history of the estate and researching crop yields with the intent to make Harlton Hall as profitable as possible. She was about to knock again, assuming him so focused upon the records before him that he missed the sound of her rap when the delicious, velvety rumble of his voice reached her.
“You may come in, Ara mine,” he called.
The smile that curved her lips would not be suppressed as she opened the door and crossed the threshold. His study was one of her favorite chambers at Harlton Hall, as it smelled of him and everything about it—from the heavy, ornate desk to the oil landscapes hanging on the walls—was so very Clay. They had spent many pleasant hours ensconced within it, wrapped up in each other, sharing a brandy and talking well into the night. On more than one occasion, they had made excellent use of the thick, new Axminster.
He stood at her entrance, dressed in black trousers, his shirtsleeves, and a black waistcoat, so handsome he took her breath. Sometimes, it was still difficult to believe the large, powerful man striding toward her was hers. That they were husband and wife. That this new life she found herself in was not a dream flitting through her mind in the night, but was real.
