Page 127 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
When she slid effortlessly into the role of Countess the way she’d soon become a Duchess, working with Titsworth and the solicitors to manage Bonkinbone and soon Stroken. The woman was brilliant, in control, and so very talented.
Aye, he was lucky to have her.
After the exhaustion of the betrothal ball, the wedding itself should have been easy. But first they had to make it through the royal presentation.
It was a formality of the highest order, and if Thorne had been proud of Kit at the ball, the way she handled bloody meeting the bloody Queen of bloody England was even more remarkable.
All of them who’d helped to bring down Blackrose—Thorne, Kit, Rourke, Sophia, Demon, Griffin and Bull, Olivia, Fawkes and Danielle—had been invited to attend. And when Queen Victoria invited, best treat it as a command.
She’d spoken of duty, and honor, and truth, and gratitude, until all the ex-agents were squirming, knowing how they’d inadvertently betrayed their country. But then the Queen had called Thorne forward and spoken to him directly about the way he’d led the charge to right the outrageous wrongs Blackrose had committed.
He’d found himself blushing and stammering and assuring Her Majesty it was a group effort, but the tiny woman had just nodded regally, as if she knew all the details.
In fact, thanks to her daughter Princess Louise, she likely did.
The Queen had personally honored each of them, thanking them for their efforts, and exonerating them. But when she’d called for Kit, a genuine smile had crossed the older woman’s face.
“Countess, thank you for what you have done for Britain recently. I know you were raised in America, but British blood flows in your veins. I hope you understand the service you have performed.”
And Kit, without smirking, without teasing, inclined her head gently. “England is now my home, Your Majesty. I’m honored to be one of your subjects.”
It had been the perfect thing to say, and the Queen had been satisfied that her newest Countess was loyal.
At least, momentary Countess. Today, the Countess of Bonkinbone had become the Duchess of Stroken. Andallof Thorne’s friends—his family—were there to celebrate; celebrate not just his marriage, but the successful closure of a chapter of their lives which had brought so much horror.
It should’ve been a fooking epic party, except Thorne was too busy fretting about place settings and processional order and who was the second-best violinist in Scotland to play them down the aisle.
Turns out, he shouldn’t have worried about a damned thing.
Titsworth and the Stroken butler—because the only thing Thorne had requested was that they marry in Scotland—had handled everything. Perhaps Kit had helped, but she’d been calm and collected and serene, so Thorne couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that the moment the music had swelled and she’d stepped through the doors of his family chapel onher beaming mother’s arm, every single one of his worries slipped away.
She wore honeysuckle in her hair.
Looking into Kit’s eyes, Thorne’s world narrowed until it was just the two of them, sharing this,forever. When he took her hands, his breathing slowed and his heart calmed, and he knew this was how he was supposed to be.
With her.
With her, he could focus. He could let go. He could be the best version of himself, and she was the one who allowed it to happen. It was a miracle someone as special as her could love him, and he wasn’t going to let this chance go to waste.
“I love ye,” he’d whispered, as they turned to face the priest. And she’d beamed back at him.
Aye, the planning part of the wedding hadn’t been any fun, but now Thorne was married to the lass, surrounded by his loved ones, things had turned more exciting.
“I wonder if he kens he looks like an idiot,” came Bull’s musing from his side as they stood watching the crowd dance and mingle and drink.
Fawkes, who was standing on the lad’s other side, snorted. “He’s grinning. That’s no’ idiot behavior, no’ for Thorne. That’s what he normally looks like.”
“Perhaps he normally looks like an idiot,” Bull shot back.
“Aye, well, ye’ll get nae argument from me. I dinnae ken how Kit can stand to look at the dobber. Clearly the Cumming good looks passed him by.”
Rolling his eyes, Thorne turned to his cousin and young friend. “Ye thinkye’remore attractive thanme? I’m the groom.”
Bull shrugged. “So? There’s such a thing as ugly grooms. Remember Demon’s wedding day?”
“I dinnae, thank God,” muttered Fawkes. “And what does ye being the groom have to do with being less handsome than me?”
