Джулиана Маклейн - In My Wildest Fantasies

"Your father found his courage in the end. And none of it is your fault. You didn't know."

She felt a painful lump in her throat. "Everything you say is a help to me, Devon. You do ease my pain with your kindness. I am a lucky woman."

He ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her again. "I am the lucky one. The most exciting, exquisite woman in the world fell straight into my lap. I will be forever grateful that I traveled through the forest that night four years ago, and that I was able to be your hero. I love you, wife."

He pressed his lips gently to hers and held her close in his arms all night long, until sunlight shone through the window in the morning. A clear, new day beckoned to them, and when they rose from bed and pulled the drapes open, there was not a cloud in the sky, nor a single drop of rain.

Rebecca, Devon, and Blake remained at Creighton Manor for a few days, long enough to see to the earl's funeral, which was a private family affair. He was entombed in the mausoleum on the hill, where all the Creighton earls had gone before him.

As for Creighton Manor, it belonged to Rebecca now, and she and Devon decided they would spend their summers in residence after the close of the London Season, and enjoy the autumn hunting season there as well. And when-God willing-they brought their children, they would deliver life and laughter back to those quiet, empty rooms.

Promising to return soon, Rebecca and Devon said goodbye to the servants and stepped into the Pembroke coach with Blake.

The journey back to Pembroke passed quickly, for the sun was shining through the coach windows and both Devon and Blake were in high spirits. The sky had been clear for three days straight, and the weather, they believed, was sure to alleviate some of their father's anxieties regarding the family curse. Perhaps in time, he would realize they were not in danger of being swept away by raging floodwaters, and the hasty weddings could be put off.

Perhaps also a grandchild would bring him some peace of mind, Devon thought, feeling hopeful as he gazed at his lovely wife sitting next to him in the coach. He wondered how soon they would be able to call themselves expectant parents. He had never in a hundred years imagined he would anticipate such an event with joy. He supposed anything was possible-and that very simple notion boosted his spirits further as they drew closer to the palace and waved at the villagers in the fields. Everyone was in high spirits it seemed. Sunshine, he supposed, had a way of spreading cheer.

By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was low in the sky and the whole estate was twilight-pink.

"It is good to be home," Devon said, feeling a sense of warmth and completeness he had never known before. He had his wife with him and his brother, and he would soon see his sister, Charlotte, and their mother.

He wanted to see his father, too. He wanted to hear that he was no longer fearful of a flood and a family curse, for the sun was shining.

All at once the yearning to see the man, who had once callously turned him out, affected something in Devon's heart. He remembered his cautious return to the palace not long ago. He had not believed the shattered pieces of his life could ever be put back together and mended. But they had been mended, in some ways, at least, for he felt a deep, soulful compassion toward his father, and a genuine desire to ensure that he was well cared for, no matter what the future held.

The coach pulled to a smooth stop and a footman lowered the step and opened the door. Charlotte and their mother came down the stairs to greet them.

Devon stepped out, into the fresh air. His mother wrapped her arms around him. "Welcome home," she said.

He hugged Charlotte as well, then turned to assist Rebecca out of the coach. The duchess embraced her and held her close for a long moment. "My dear, I am so sorry about your father."

"As am I," she said solemnly. "But he is at peace now."

Just then, the duke appeared at the open palace doors waving a letter over his head.

"What is that?" Blake asked, looking suspiciously up at their father.

Adelaide sighed heavily. "It is a letter from Vincent. It arrived yesterday."

"And what about Garrett?" Devon asked. "Has there been any word from him?"

"No, nothing, but your father sent a man to Greece two days ago to hunt him down and bring him home."

"Garrett won't be pleased," Blake said. "He's likely to toss the messenger into the Mediterranean."

The duke came hopping down the steps in his slippers.

"Has Dr. Thomas been back yet?" Devon whispered discreetly to his mother.

"No," she replied. "But he is coming tomorrow, thank goodness."

"Devon!" the duke called out. "How wonderful that you have returned! And your beautiful wife. You are a work of art, dear girl."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied with a smile.

"I see you have a letter from Vincent," Devon said.

"Indeed I do." The duke handed the letter over. "And just look at the sunset, will you? I dare say, we are doing well."

Devon exchanged a curious look with Blake, then read the letter. A knot tightened in his gut, and he ran a hand down over his face.

"Surely not," he said, holding the letter out to Blake.

Blake read it, too. "Good God. No, he can't be serious. He's engaged?"

"Yes!" the duke said, dancing about on the steps. "Oh, Vincent, I am so proud. I shall give him my best shotgun for hunting. Or maybe that pair of boots he sometimes borrowed without asking. And look at the weather, would you, please?"

They all turned and looked at the colorful sunset on the horizon.

"Who is the lady?" Rebecca asked, while Devon was still unable to speak, for he was in shock.

Blake handed her the letter.

"Good heavens," she said. "It is Lady Letitia, the Duke of Swinburne's daughter." She looked at Charlotte, who was biting her lip. "She will be our sister-in-law."

"Vincent has acted too hastily," Devon said. "He has not given it adequate thought."

"When did adequate thought ever get a man to the altar?" his father asked. "A young, robust man needs to listen to his John Thomas. Eh? Eh?"

Blake sighed. "She is a handsome woman. That was probably enough for Vincent, under the circumstances."

"She is the perfect young gel," the duke said cheerfully. "I shall adore her. He is bringing her home tomorrow."

Devon inhaled deeply and looked back toward the sunset. Rebecca laid a gloved hand on his arm, expressing her understanding.

"So it appears the curse has been thwarted again," he said, with a notable sense of defeat as he looked into his wife's lovely, knowing eyes.

"Indeed, thwarted again!" his father shouted triumphantly. "Now, do tell me, what time is supper? I'm hungry for beef."

"Shall we enjoy the diary tonight?" Devon asked, pushing through the large portrait on the wall in Rebecca's bedchamber and closing it behind him. He stopped and turned around, however, to swing the portrait open and closed a few times. "These hinges need to be greased."

Suddenly his wife leaped onto his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. He laughed, and she dropped to her feet on the floor, pulled him around to face her, and crushed his lips with hers.

"Where were you?" she asked, after a deep and tantalizing kiss. "I thought you would never get here."

He somehow managed to get an apology out between laughter and more kisses. "I'm sorry-Blake kept me late in the library."

Rebecca pulled his shirt out from inside his breeches and lifted it up to his chest, then went down on her knees, kissing his bare stomach along the way, probing his navel with her hot, wet tongue. He was instantly, overwhelmingly aroused.

She looked up at him with a wicked smile as she unfastened his trousers. "I shall read to you from the diary tonight," she told him, "but this will be the last time."