Page 106 of Duke It Out
“You have a home here, if you want it.”
I look up at him thoughtfully. “I don’t need a castle, Rory.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because you’re stuck with one. And me along with it, if you’ll have me.” His eyes search mine. “I love you, Edie. Not because you can spin my father’s mess into gold, but because you saw through all of this” – he gestures to the estate below – “to what matters.”
I try to breathe but my throat catches. His words – the ones I never expected to hear – hang in the air around us.
“You already have me,” I say, my voice low. “And not because you’re the duke and all this stuff.” I add, sounding more like myself. I wave my arm around, almost knocking a lantern off the wall. “You could lose all this tomorrow, and I’d still be here.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“I want you, Rory. That’s all.”
EPILOGUE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Sunlight slantsthrough the crooked blinds that never quite close properly, falling across the rumpled sheets of my bed. I open one eye to the sight of Rory Kinnaird, Duke of Loch Morven, gloriously naked, attempting to operate my extremely temperamental coffee maker.
“You know,” he says, without turning round, “for someone who works in a coffee shop, your home equipment is shockingly subpar.”
“Not all of us can afford gold-plated espresso machines, Your Grace,” I tease, as I roll over wrapped in the duvet, watching the ripple of muscles across his back as he reaches up into the wonky cupboard for two mugs.
He growls a warning. “I’ve told you not to call me that,” he says, but he’s laughing.
Movement catches my eye – Mrs MacEwan who lives in the little flat opposite is watering her window boxes, and she has a direct view into the kitchen. I pull the duvet up to cover my modesty, but the elderly woman’s eyes widen at the sight of a naked duke. She makes no attempt to look away.
“Rory,” I hiss as he turns to stretch, raising his arms in the air, his muscled shoulders flexing. “Mrs MacEwan can see everything!”
He turns and glances over his shoulder, unconcerned. “I waved to her earlier when you were still asleep. I think she approves; she gave me a thumbs up. Those plants are going to be wrecked though. I think she’s watered them three times already this morning.”
I flop back on the bed and pull the duvet cover over my head. “Oh my God. This is why you shouldn’t be allowed out in civilised society.”
He passes me a mug and kisses me on the shoulder. “There’s a perfectly good castle five miles up the road,” he says, regarding me over the top of his mug. “My daily campaign for cohabitation is getting off to an early start today.” His mouth curves upwards.
“I like my independence,” I counter, taking a sip of coffee then putting it down on the bedside table so I can snake my arms around his waist.
“You like your leaky ceiling and the weird mould stain over the shower in the corner of the bathroom.”
“It adds character.”
“There’s plenty of character at Loch Morven. You said so yourself, countless times.”
“I did.” I pick up my phone at the sound of a notification.
“And there are no neighbours with binoculars.”
“Apart from Fenella, who probably has a hitman on me at this point.”
He grins. “No, I forgot to tell you. She and Brice are the new Highland power couple.”
I shudder at the thought.
“Yeah, they’re perfect for each other.” He grins wickedly. “Perfectly awful.”
