“Yes,” she said. “As long as you never leave me again.”
“Never,” he promised. “I intend to spend the rest of my days loving you.”
“And spying?” she asked. “You are a spy are you not? That is what all of this is about.”
He sighed. “It is who I was,” he admitted, “and I suppose who I still am at the heart of it. Can you accept that?”
“As long as every time you spy,” she said. “You keep me by your side. Because nothing will keep us apart again.”
“I promise you,” he told her. “That you will always be my priority. No matter what you come first.”
“Good,” she told him.” Her heart leaping rapidly inside of her chest. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“You need me to ask?” he lifted a brow.
“I do,” she told him.
“Lady Sabrina Fairfax,” he began. “My Sabella,” he added softly. “Will you be my wife, my duchess, and my partner for the rest of my life.”
“You only had to ask,” she replied cheekily. “I would like nothing more than to be yours, as long as in turn, you are also mine.”
“You’re perfect,” he said. Then he leaned down to press his lips to hers. His kiss was soft at first—as though he feared overwhelming her after so much had been taken from them. But Sabrina leaned into him, rising onto her toes, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. The warmth of him, the steady strength, the familiar scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him—it all swept through her like a promise fulfilled.
He drew back and met her gaze. “I adore you.” Warmth spread through her, filling all the broken places she had feared would never mend. She rested her hand over his heart—steady, strong, hers.
“I’m yours,” Sabrina whispered.
“And I,” he replied, voice rough with emotion, “am eternally yours.”
Their lips met once more—no hesitance, no fear, only the promise of the life that awaited them. A life hard-won. Earned. Cherished. At last, Sabrina allowed herself the sweetest luxury of all…happiness, and hope for a future. One that would have Leander by her side and many, many years of bliss.
Epilogue
One year later…
The summer sun hung low over Lionston, gilding the great house in warm amber light. The breeze was soft, carrying with it the scent of roses—Sabrina’s roses, coaxed to fuller bloom than the gardeners had ever managed. It was a small triumph, but one she treasured.
Lady Sabrina, Duchess of Lionston, stood upon the terrace overlooking the eastern lawns, her hands resting lightly upon the balustrade. One year. One year since she had stood before family and the astonished beau monde to vow herself to Leander. One year since the quiet ache in her heart had finally given way to something far stronger: peace, hope… and love she had once believed beyond her reach.
They had not had an easy start, but she had faith that they would have a much better present and future. Her brother, Basil, had been disappointed when Élise had disappeared. No one could find her. Apparently, her brother had fallen in love and had hoped to marry the Frenchwoman. He had been heartbroken when Leander had explained that the woman was a spy.
Leander had confessed everything to her after their ordeal. He did not want to keep any more secrets from her. She had believed him when he had told her what had happened with Bastien’s wife. There was no reason not to… The plot surrounding Élise and Bastien had dissipated with the man’s death. They were still wary though that Élise might make another appearance. Leander had his organization actively searching for her.
“Still haunting the terrace, are you?” The teasing murmur came from behind her. Sabrina smiled as she turned, though the familiar flutter in her chest was as potent as it had been the first time she had seen him.
Leander, her husband, crossed the terrace with the easy, confident stride that had once unnerved her. Now, it warmed every corner of her world. He slid an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I am not haunting it,” she replied, leaning subtly against him. “I am merely enjoying a quiet moment before dinner.”
“A dangerous pastime,” he said solemnly. “One might assume you are reflecting.”
“I was,” she admitted softly. “On everything that has changed.”
He grew still beside her, his thumb drawing patient, loving circles along her hip. “Are you unhappy?”
She glanced up sharply. “No,” she said at once—because it was the truth. “Never that. Only… grateful.”
Relief flickered across his features, quickly followed by a tender smile. “As am I. More than I ever knew a man could be.”
