indescribable sensation as their bodies locked, that instant of flagrant intimacy before the dance began.
Sensing the reins slipping, sliding from his grasp, he hauled in a breath and looked down. Saw her eyes glint gold from beneath her lashes.
Her lips curved as if she understood; reaching up with one hand, she cupped his nape, drew his lips to hers.
And kissed him-a blatant invitation to abandon.
He accepted and let go, let passion take and fuse them. Let their bodies surge, merge, surrendering to need, hunger, and wanting.
Opening his eyes, he looked down at her face, glowing with passion, rapturous in surrender, the face of his woman, his lady, soon his wife, utterly and unreservedly his.
Given to him.
He put aside the torment of the day, let their joint passion swamp it, drown it, wash it away. Let himself free and sealed their pact.
And gave himself unreservedly to her.
Twenty
Quietening, the crowd regarded him expectantly. He let his gaze roam the upturned faces, then said, “Wolverstone, too, has an announcement to make.” He glanced at her, with his gaze drew her closer. His smile was all she would ever hope to see; the undisguised warmth in his eyes held her as, capturing her hand, he raised it to his lips, and in full view of the assembled company, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Miss Chesterton has done me the honor of agreeing to be my duchess.”
He hadn’t spoken loudly, yet his voice carried clearly over the hushed crowd…
The crowd erupted. Cheers, huzzahs, triumphant yells, whoops, and shrieks; noise rose in a wave of unalloyed happiness and washed over the scene. Minerva looked, and saw Hamish and Molly, who they’d found and told earlier, beaming up at them. The castle’s staff were all there-Retford, Cranny, Cook, Jeffers, Milbourne, Lucy, Trevor, and all the rest-all looking fit to burst with pride and joy. Looking further, she saw the faces of many of Wolverstone’s people, all delighted, all thrilled. Saw happy, joyous, pleased expressions, clapping hands, laughter, happy tears. Even those from the house party, scattered here and there among the throng, looked pleased to be part of the upwelling gladness.
Royce held up a hand; the cheers and whistles died. “Our wedding will be held in the church here, in just over three weeks’ time. As many of you know, I returned only recently to take up the reins of the dukedom-in just a few weeks I’ve learned a great deal about what has changed, and what yet needs changing. Just as I’ll make my vows to my duchess, and she to me, together we’ll stand committed to you, to Wolverstone, to forging ahead into our joint future.”
“Wolverstone!” With one voice, the crowd roared its approval. “Wolverstone!
Minerva surveyed the sea of happy faces, felt the warmth of their people reaching for them, embracing, buoying; turning her head, she met Royce’s eyes, smiled.
His hand tightened about hers and he smiled back, openly, honestly, his customary shields lowered, for once set aside.
Deep in the crowd, surrounded by, jostled by, the raucous, gibbering throng, all transported with delight over the news of Royce’s wedding, he stood stunned, unable to think-unable to drag his eyes from the picture of Royce and Minerva standing on the dais, lost in each other’s eyes.
Royce was an excellent actor when he wanted to be-he knew that. Minerva could hold her own, too…
He shook his head, wished he could deny what his eyes were telling him. Neither was acting-what he was seeing, what the entire crowd about him was taking in and responding to, was
Royce wanted to marry Minerva.
And she wanted to marry him.
She was in love with him-nothing else could account for the softness in her face.
And while Royce couldn’t possibly love her, he definitely cared for her-in a far warmer way than he’d ever have thought possible.
Minerva wasn’t, had never been, just another of Royce’s legion of lovers. She’d been the one, all along-the lady he’d wanted as his wife…
Their marriage was supposed to be a farce, a travesty-it was supposed to be
He, through Susannah, had been instrumental in giving Royce the last thing he needed to complete the tapestry of an already rich and satisfying existence. He’d been instrumental in giving Royce something he craved, something he treasured…
Suddenly, he knew. Suddenly, he saw.
His features eased.
Then, slowly, he smiled, too.
Increasingly delightedly. He laughed, and clapped Rohan on the back when he passed him in the crowd.
Yes, of course. Now he saw it.
Royce had been the motive, the cause in bringing him his treasure-only then to take it away.
So fitting, then, that he would be the one to give Royce his greatest treasure-so he could return the favor.
Royce had taken his treasure.
Now he would take Royce’s.
That evening, Royce, Minerva, Letitia, Clarice, Penny, and Handley met in the duchess’s morning room. In the wake of the hugely successful fair-made even more notable by the news they’d shared-dinner had been an informal affair. After refreshing themselves, they’d left the relaxed and apparently pleasantly exhausted company downstairs, and retired to address the logistics of a ducal wedding.
While the others settled, Royce, subsiding beside Minerva on one of the sofas, considered his wife-to-be. “Did you say something to the others downstairs? They seem strangely unexercised by our betrothal.”
“I simply explained that Susannah’s intervention was misjudged, and that as your duchess, I would be severely displeased were anyone to paint our betrothal in anything other than the correct light.”
Sinking onto the sofa opposite, Penny chuckled. “It was masterful. She made Susannah’s action appear a childish prank-one of those occurrences that are so excruciatingly awkward that it would be a kindness to Susannah to pretend it never happened.”
Joining Penny on the sofa, Letitia added, “She only had to speak to the ladies-Jack reported that as none of the men were on the battlements, they were very ready to pretend it never happened. But turning the event around so
