“Then you’ll have me, Rose?” He searched her face, his breath held. “You’ll be my duchess? We don’t have to go to London if you don’t like it. We can remain in Fairford, either at Grantham Lodge, or Hammond Court. Whatever you want, although we’ll have to stay at Grantham Lodge at first until Hammond Court can be made habitable. Say you will, Rose. Please—”
“Shhh.” She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Of course, I will. Nothing would make me happier.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her lap. She stroked his hair and murmured to him, tender words of love and desire, longing and devotion. He didn’t try and make sense of it all, but just clung to her, and let her voice drift over him, and into him, filling all the dark, lonely places in his heart.
EPILOGUE
Hammond Court
December 20, 1820
“The candied ginger has disappeared again.” Rose rummaged through her spices, but once again, her stores of preserved ginger were nowhere to be found. “Either someone’s taking it, or it’s found a way to escape the cabinet. It’s the slipperiest spice I’ve ever encountered.”
Max was lounging at the kitchen table, licking the last droplets of sweet, sticky treacle from a wooden spoon. “I’d wager Billy took it. He’s a sneaky one.”
“Is that so?” She gave up on the ginger, hiding her smile as she approached the table, and took the spoon out of his hand. “I’ve only ever caught one person pilfering my ingredients, and that’syou, Your Grace. Shame on you, blaming poor Billy.”
“Me? Nonsense.” He caught her wrist and raised the spoon to his lips for one final lick. “If I have a craving for ginger, Mrs. Watson fetches it from the shop.”
“Ah, but that’s just it. You don’t crave justanyginger. It’s my candied ginger you’re after.” She pointed a dramatic finger at the spice cabinet. “It can’t be had anywhere but fromthatcabinet, and I can’t help but notice my ginger stores are always curiously depleted after you’ve been in the kitchen.”
Goodness knew, no duke ever spent as much time in the kitchen as the Duke of Grantham. Over the past year, they’d gotten into the habit of sneaking down from their bedchamber after the servants were asleep, giggling and hushing each other as they made their way through the house in the dark, and creeping into the kitchen to do some nighttime baking.
Or at least, she baked. Max spent more time sneaking tastes of the batter and watching her than anything else. It was ridiculous, of course, as they employed a most accomplished cook, but she’d always loved Hammond Court’s kitchen, and she loved it even more when her handsome, smiling husband was in it.
“That’s a scandalous accusation, wife.” He licked the last of the treacle from the corners of his lips. “Have you any proof at all?”
“That you’re a thief? One need look no farther than your lips for proof of that.” She sniffed and made an entirely feigned effort to free her wrist from his grasp. “I suppose I’ll have to go into the secret stores I’ve hidden in the stillroom. Unhand me, please, Your Grace.”
“No, indeed.” He slid a strong arm around her waist and drew her closer, settling her between his spread knees, his lips grazing her ear. “Tell me more about your secrets.”
She caught her breath, anticipation curling down her spine. “What about the ginger biscuits? At tea this afternoon you were insisting you must have a new batch at once.”
“Later.” He nibbled delicately at the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Lie down with me.” He patted the smooth, wide tabletop, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth.
She shivered at the caress, her fingers going slack around the spoon. “What,here? On the kitchen table?”
He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve, er . . . made use of the table for something other than baking. You do recall December twenty-third of last year, do you not, Your Grace? Then there was that messy incident with the raspberry fool. Why, only last week we—”
“Hush, you wicked man.” She stroked her palms down his neck and over his broad shoulders to the hard muscles of his chest. A moan tore from his throat when she scraped a fingernail over his nipple, and she paused to tease the stiffening tip before moving lower, letting her fingertips drift over the delicious ridges and hollows of his stomach.
She never tired of touching him. Even after a year of marriage, his body fascinated her still. Every inch of him was hard, angular, with sleek golden skin poured over tight muscles, and then there were the intriguing sprinklings of hair . . .
She slid her hand lower until she found the thin line of dark hair under his navel, following it with her fingertips until the trail disappeared under the crumpled edge of his pantaloons.
Max growled, but he held himself still, the muscles of his abdomen twitching against her touch. “Another inch, Your Grace, and there’s certain to be a ravishing.”
She tutted. “Have you forgotten you asked me to teach you to make ginger biscuits? You’re proving to be a most troublesome student, Max.”
“Yes, but I make up for it with my exceptional skills in other areas,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her neck.
She dropped her head back, baring her throat. “Don’t try and tell me you no longer crave ginger biscuits, because I know—”
She broke off with a startled cry as he snatched her up into his arms and tugged her onto his lap, hiking up her skirts so she straddled him. “Ah, that’s much better.” He took the spoon from her, set it aside, and slid a hand under her hems, stroking his palm over her thigh. “I don’t deny I have powerful cravings, but not for ginger biscuits.”
“Oh? What, then?”
“I think you know.” He gazed at her, reaching out to trace the lines of her face with his fingertips. “You’re so beautiful, Rose, all of you. Beautiful, andmine. When I think of what I nearly lost—”
