A Rogue to Ruin (The Pretenders #3) - Darcy Burke Page 0,109

and Selina wanted to stay in case you needed them.”

Rafe was overcome with the support of so many. “Thank you. All of you. Anne and I are so lucky to have family like you.”

Jane started to turn, but paused to say, “Don’t feel as if you need to come down now. Everyone is taking a rest before breakfast. You should do the same. I won’t say where you’re sleeping.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes twinkling, then turned and went to the door.

“You’re the best sister!” Anne called just before Jane closed the door behind her.

Anne scooted over in the bed and held the covers back. “You heard what she said. You need to rest.”

“That is all we are doing,” he said, removing his waistcoat, then his boots and stockings.

“You can take the rest off,” Anne said. “I promise I won’t try to seduce you. Besides, I’m still wearing my chemise.”

“First, you should know by now that the presence or absence of clothing has no bearing on whether we can shag. Second, there is no try when it comes to seduction. You either will or you won’t.”

Perhaps against his better judgment, he opted for comfort over common sense and removed the rest of his clothing before sliding into the bed beside her. He gathered her gently into his arms, pressing himself to her back.

“Are you saying if I want to seduce you, I can?” she asked breathlessly. “I don’t even have to put forth any effort?”

“Oh, I appreciate effort.” He nibbled her earlobe. “But you mustn’t exert yourself.”

She wiggled her bottom against his erection. “Like you didn’t the other night?”

He knew where she was going, just as he knew he was going to lose this battle. “You are utterly irresistible,” he whispered against her ear as he stroked his hand along her thigh.

“Good. I was counting on just that.”

Epilogue

August 1819

Stonehaven, Staffordshire

After twenty-seven years, there was no indication that there had ever been a fire. The parts of the house that burned, a full two-thirds, had been repaired to seamlessly match the part that had survived. And even though Ludlow had been in charge of the renovation, Rafe didn’t hate it. Because it was different—the décor inside—he felt no sense of familiarity, not like he did at Ivy Grove.

That was preferable, he’d decided. He wasn’t sure he could bear that sense of having lived here, not along with the sadness he already felt knowing what had happened here.

He’d arrived four days ago with Anne, while Selina and Harry had come two days later. Finally, Beatrix and Thomas, along with their daughter Regan, had arrived yesterday.

“Are you ready?” Beatrix came out onto the terrace that overlooked the back garden where Selina and Rafe were waiting.

“I don’t know,” Selina whispered, her eyes tense.

“Come. It’s time.” Rafe offered his arms to both of them, and they left the terrace.

The path to the estate’s small church with its cemetery wound up a gentle slope. It was a good half-mile distant atop a hill and obscured from the house by a copse of trees.

Rafe hesitated as they reached the gate. In the center of the cemetery sat a large tomb. The steward had said this was where their parents rested.

“You go,” Beatrix said, taking her hand from Rafe’s arm. “I’ll be here if you need me.” She gave them both an encouraging smile.

Exchanging a look with Selina, Rafe took a deep breath and opened the gate. He gestured for her to precede him.

Selina walked sedately to the tomb. Several names were carved on the outside. “How many generations is this?” She put her gloved hand over a few of the names. “Five?”

“Looks like it,” he said.

She moved her fingers to the names they wanted to see: Jerome and Alicia. Their parents.

“We’re here,” she whispered. “Do you think they can see us?”

“I don’t know.” He knew it was silly, but he hoped they could. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to see them. It was hard. He couldn’t really visualize their faces, just vague images of his mother’s blonde hair and her coral necklace and his father’s warm smile. Why did he remember that but not the color of his eyes?

He’d searched every wall in the house for a portrait of them, but there were none. And the servants, much to their dismay, weren’t aware of any. They had been, to a person, kind and wonderful to him and Selina—and to their families.

“Do you think they’d be proud of us?” Selina asked, the doubt in