Like a sleep walker, Maggie went to where Rhys stood waiting. It felt like a dream…until his hand closed around hers. His grip was strong and warm—real.
She stared up at him in wonder. Then he went down on one knee.
“Margaret Goode Foley,” he said in clear, deep tones that carried, “your beauty enchants me more than I can say. But more than that,youenchant me: with your strength, determination, and grace. You are the beginning and end of all my journeys, the only adventure I’ll ever need. With you by my side, I am never lost, for you are my home.”
She was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t speak.
Feminineoohsandaahswent up around them.
“The truth is that I need you by my side,” he went on in solemn tones. “Now that I have wealth to manage, estates to properly run, and long-neglected responsibilities to attend to, I require a wife who will keep me in line. One who will lecture me on the practicality of no-fuss weddings while I plot to spoil her silly with everything she professes not to need but most certainly deserves.”
Maggie let out a watery laugh.
His eyes smiling, Rhys pulled out a ring. A tear rolled down Maggie’s cheek as she recognized the center stone. He’d chosen a huge, brilliant emerald from his uncle’s treasure. The peerless stone was set in a frame of flawless white diamonds, creating a ring beyond compare.
A ring fit for a duchess.
“I love you, Maggie mine. My heart, my respect, and my devotion—they are yours until my last breath.” Rhys’s voice hoarsened with emotion. “Will you also do me the great honor of taking my name…of being my wife?”
“Yes.” She half-sobbed the word.
He slid the ring on her finger: a perfect fit. The emerald shone with the lessons of the past, joy of the present, and promises of their storybook future. Rising, he swept her into his arms. Violins soared and the audience erupted into cheering as he kissed her and she kissed her duke back with all the love in her heart.
Epilogue
Eight weeks later
“Rhys,we can’t. The guests will be arriving at any moment…”
His new duchess’s reprimand melted into a moan as he drove his cock inside her. They were standing, and she was naked except for her garters, stockings, and the pearl necklace he’d given her as a wedding gift. Her back was against her dressing room door, one of her stockinged legs hitched over his hip. Her wet, tight pussy clutched him lovingly.
“The guests can go hang themselves,” he rasped.
They’d returned from their grand wedding at St. George’s an hour ago, where several hundred well-wishers had braved the cold winter day to be in attendance. Now that Rhys’s fortune had been restored—and rumors of an epic treasure hunt added to his mystique—thetonwas once again at his feet. He didn’t give a damn, but he wanted to show Maggie how proud he was to make her his wife. The Upper Crust had been all agog to see the wedding of the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville and the mysterious widow who’d stolen his heart.
Maggie did not disappoint. An admiring hush had settled over the crowd as she’d glided down the aisle toward Rhys in a celestial blue dress adorned with thousands of seed pearls, her manner serene and regal. Ahead of her, Glory had tossed petals like a charming sprite, F. F. trotting beside her.
Rhys’s daughter had beamed at him; he’d winked back.
Then Maggie had arrived at the altar. Lifting her veil, he’d looked into her smiling eyes and known that he was the luckiest bastard in the world.
After the ceremony, they’d returned to their recently acquired townhouse in Mayfair. They would be throwing an intimate supper party for a few selected guests. They’d gone upstairs to change, and after he’d finished, Rhys had gone to find Maggie in her dressing room. He’d caught her wearing nothing but her necklace and the fine silk hosiery.
One look at him, and Bertha had scurried out the door.
Hence, Rhys’s present position with his wife.
One hand braced against the door, he drilled up into her. Into her snug, giving softness. When he saw her gaze grow unfocused, the telltale flush spreading over her bouncing breasts, he knew she was close. He delved into her nest, finding the key to her pleasure, diddling and shafting her at the same time.
Maggie cried out his name as she came.
He groaned as her convulsions milked his prick. It was too much, not enough. He wanted all of his duchess—to bury himself into the heart of her. So deep she would feel him always, the way he felt her.
Gripping her hips, he hoisted her off the ground, holding her aloft against the door. With her feet above the floor, she was impaled completely on his cock. They both gasped when he nudged the opening of her womb.
“All right?” he asked.
“You’re so…deep,” she said, her words slurred with pleasure.
