To Pleasure A Duke (The Husband Hunters Club #3)

Epilogue

T he ball was one of the grandest of the season, but then the Duke and Duchess of Somerton had the means to see that it outshone all the others. Greenery and flowers were banked against the walls and satin hangings and ribbons fluttered in the breeze from the open windows. Hundreds of society guests chattered and danced like peacocks beneath the glittering chandeliers.

Sinclair was speaking with his uncle Lord Ridley, when he heard her voice behind him. He came to with a jolt, only then realizing that he’d been waiting for her like a thirsty man longs for water.

His wife. His duchess.

She was making her way toward him, her fashionable gown molding the swell of her bosom and her waist, before flaring out in a waterfall of ribbon and lace and silk ruching. A necklace of green emeralds rested about her neck and her wild curls were contained, for the moment. She was smiling and elegant, perfectly at ease in the company in which she found herself and if she was aware of his eye upon her she didn’t show it.

Sinclair knew she’d always had this quiet dignity. It was just that he’d been too blind to see it. Like a precious jewel, Eugenie shone in whatever setting she was placed.

He’d been surprised how soon she was accepted by most of the members of society. There were a very few who still refused to acknowledge her, but that was their loss. The others found her charming and refreshing, and the story about her great-grandmother was a great hit.

“You have royal blood?” they cried, eyes wide. “How marvelous! Does Her Majesty the Queen call upon you, Your Grace?”

“I could not possibly say whether she calls or not. It is rather a scandal, you know.”

Sinclair, who’d always thought of her royal blood as a minus, was amused by Eugenie playing up to her heritage, and rather nervous. “You know how your tongue runs away with you,” he murmured. “I don’t want you falling into another scrape, Eugenie.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” she assured him.

He hoped so. Eugenie’s friends from Miss Debenham’s Finishing School had come to the wedding, and he’d been sorely tempted to tell them the truth. Eugenie had sworn him to silence and, he had to admit, she’d behaved herself—more or less—ever since.

Still he couldn’t help but admire her ability to play the duchess. Was this the same girl he had met in the lane long ago? The girl who rode bareback, showing her legs, her curls tumbling about her?

That was why he loved her.

Because in a moment he could brush aside the elegant duchess and bring out that hoyden again. She was always there when they spent time on their narrow boat on the canals. Sinclair, painting in the sunlight, shoes off and trousers rolled up, while Eugenie paddled in the water or sat dreaming.

“Lucky old you.” His uncle was watching him, smiling with satisfaction. “You made the right choice, eh?”

“She’s been the making of me. Everybody says so.”

Eugenie had reached them and now she took his arm. The curve of her growing belly beneath her gown was only visible to him, and he felt a swell of pride. Their child. An heir to the dukedom, or perhaps a girl with wild curls? Whatever it was they would love it.

Sinclair was happy, and gazing into Eugenie’s emerald eyes he saw his happiness reflected. Even his mother had come around, now she knew there was a child on the way. Eugenie said the dowager duchess was lonely, without Annabelle to fuss over. His sister was happily married and reigning queenlike in London society.

Even having the Belmonts for in-laws was not quite as bad as he’d feared. The house he’d bought them was far enough away that he did not have to see them too often, although he was happy to have Jack stay at Somerton whenever he wished. Jack had always been his favorite Belmont.

Apart from Eugenie.

At night, when he closed the bedchamber door, he had her all to himself. Then they were simply Eugenie and Sinclair, wife and husband, together. No one to judge them with cynical eyes, no one to care about who they were or had been. They were perfectly matched.

“Sinclair,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “I can read your mind.”

He smiled and lifting her hand, kissed her fingers, heavy with rings. “Can you now? What am I thinking then, Duchess?”

“You are wishing you were a wicked baron and could ride off with me into the night.”

She’d made him laugh. “You know me very well.”

Her green eyes glowed. “What if I dared you to abduct me?”

His eyebrows rose. “Here? Now?”

She thought he wouldn’t do it. She didn’t believe him capable of it. Sinclair grinned and reached for her. They were about to create another scandal and he was looking forward to every moment of it.