The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,91
in this foreign land, so unlike the one of her birth, and found the man with whom she’d spend her life? Found friends and the chance to use her gift?
Found her future.
How strange and wonderful and terrifying.
Sebastian straightened her tiara, his fingers sliding down her cheek. “You haven’t escaped to your attic, have you? While we stand in the place it’s modeled on? Looking for some astonishing element of the grand proposals that I’ve neglected to provide? Or whose marble bust is parked next to us?”
Delaney giggled, stunning herself because she wasn’t a giggler. Heavens, love for this man was making her soft. “No, I’m here, right here. Thinking how utterly perfect we are for each other, aside from the titles and that claptrap. And the ten or so years you have on me, which is ridiculous even to consider.”
“Does this acceptance mean there’ll be no more disputes across the billiard table or on the archery range? The chessboard to become dusty now that you’ve agreed to marriage? I am lord and ruler—”
She slipped her hand over his mouth, and smiling beneath it, he bit her palm. Lightly, but with enough suggestion to have heat swimming through her body. “How long did you say we have, Your Grace? One hour?”
His smile grew, the slide of his lips a sensual caress against her skin. He hummed, glanced around, then took her hand. “I see a shadowy nook behind the last bookcase perfect for arbitration of the marital agreement. And the chair tucked away there looks quite sturdy.”
She sighed, a gravelly, aroused sound, nothing giggly about it. Sebastian loved making erotic use of chairs. Joyously enough, she’d found straddling him to be one of her favorite positions. Such control he allowed her, and she took willingly.
As he tugged her into the dark corner, shadows spilled over them. With a guttural growl, he crowded her into the bookcase, crushing his chest to hers. “No matter. I’m still the superior billiards player. Any day of the week.” His mouth falling to her bodice, he nipped her through her gown. “Although you are a quick hand at archery, I cannot deny. Your skill with a bow must be why I love you so frantically. You’ve made use of the talent to confidently handle things very near and dear to my person on occasion.”
Skill with a bow indeed. “You must be mad, Tremont. I’m better at all of those things,” she whispered and pulled his lips to hers.
However, she was willing to wager with her wicked duke.
On everything but her heart.
That contest, they’d both won.
Epilogue
A Duke’s Oxfordshire Castle
One year later
Delaney strolled across the lawn, lifting her face to the sun and breathing deeply of the scent of wisteria and foxglove rolling in from the garden. Their daughter, Alexandra, was finally sleeping, and Kitty and Victoria had offered to watch her for the afternoon, allowing a duchess to go in search of her duke. Perhaps drag him to the orangery for a little of what Sebastian called “fruit and passion.”
He comprehended what the aroma of citrus did to her, and he regularly used this weakness to his advantage.
She heard the raucous shouts before she climbed the rise and saw them, a smile twisting her lips. Mercy, they were boys in men’s clothing. And she loved each one of them without hesitation. Case lay sprawled on his back in the grass, his legs having been taken from beneath him. Simon, standing nearly as tall and broad as the rest of them now, loomed over her brother with a look of stunning triumph, his fist raised to the sky. Finn, Humphrey and Julian were just behind him, laughing so hard their words were coming out in choked gasps as they elbowed each other with none-too-gentle shoves, clearly ready to knock someone else off their feet.
And Sebastian…
Oh, her heart swelled, her hands aching to touch. Her darling duke was resting against a towering elm, long legs stretched before him, head tipped against the trunk, fast asleep.
Alexandra woke often during the night. Every night. Sebastian, a surprisingly engaged father, liked to accompany his wife to the nursery. They’d not employed a wetnurse. Delaney wanted to do as much as she could herself, and her husband glowed each time he watched his daughter’s perfect rosebud of a mouth latch onto her nipple. It was during the peaceful ease of these night feedings, when contentment and joy were such fierce sensations, she struggled to hold back tears.