Page 97 of The Princess Stakes
Epilogue
Her Grace, Sarani Huntley, the ninth Duchess of Embry, lay naked and sated in her husband’s arms listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. He’d bought her the country estate in Hastings as a wedding present two years before, and though they split a lot of their time between London and the ducal ancestral seat in Kettering, they made the effort to spend time alone in their little slice of paradise, enjoying each other’s company and being themselves.
The first years of marriage had been bliss, and apart from the occasional brush with bigotry, they’d kept themselves insulated from harmful gossip. People did talk and social invitations were fewer, but none of that mattered much to them.
Lord Talbot had squawked like a chicken for weeks but had quieted when Gideon paid him a short visit. Apparently, all he’d had to do was mention that Talbot’s old chum Markham had ended up in Australia, and the craven earl had changed his tune. Rhystan hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving bruises on her wrists, though, and after a few months, the earl had suffered a sudden reversal of fortune that had left him destitute. Word had it that he’d gone back East in search of employment.
As far as Joor, her snake of a cousin had gone missing some six months after he’d stolen her father’s throne—Sarani suspected that Talbot might have had a hand in that—and another heir had been named prince. From what she could discern, the new prince was both kind and capable, but she’d still insisted on a trip to Joor to see for herself; she’d had enough of half-truths and lies. The people seemed content with him, and the truth was, apart from making sure her people were in good hands, Sarani felt her efforts were better served in London, where she could make a difference.
Going back home had hit hard, especially with her father not being there, but it had also been a chance for her to say her goodbyes to him properly. She was touched to see that a statue had been commissioned to be built in the palace in his memory. Asha, her dearest friend, had chosen to stay in Joor with her family, but Sarani had made sure that she would never have to work again. Sarani would miss her, but at least she still had Tej, who would no doubt be an excellent man-of-business one day.
Rhystan, for his part, had taken to being duke like he was made for it, supporting efforts in the House of Lords to improve the conditions of the people in India and humanizing popular opinion in Britain, hitherto shaped by biased reports. He championed bills that stood against the injustices brought on by colonialism, not just in the east but also in the West Indies, and fought for fair practices in trade and commerce. Unlike most peers, he listened to her ideas and saw them to fruition in chambers, which pleased Sarani to no end. It was satisfying having a hand in changing the tide. She might not wear the wig and the robes, but she was determined to be part of the solution.
Forming close ties with other like-minded women in London, she attended functions organized by the India Office, including events for visiting Indian dignitaries during the season. She had even started a charitable organization for those who had resettled in Britain and needed assistance. Her work kept her busy, but she loved every moment of it.
Rhystan still sailed, but only on occasion. The bulk of his fleet was managed by Gideon.
“A penny for your thoughts, Duchess?”
Sarani smiled at her husband. “Only a penny? My thoughts are worth at least a sovereign.”
“Is that so?” Rhystan scrunched up his nose. “Sounds rather dear to me. Just a month ago, they were half that.”
She turned in his arms and propped herself up on her elbows, chin to her hands. “Would you like me to explain how inflation works?”
Rhystan groaned. “I love it when you use big words.”
“You love it when I don’t use words at all.”
The sheet at his hips tented magnificently. “That’s true, too.”
Sarani laughed. Oh, she loved this man to distraction. And he worshipped her, body and soul.
After their wedding, the gossip rags had gotten tired of writing about how besotted the Duke of Embry was with his wife. They’d fixated on the duke’s younger sister, whose refusal to marry had become almost comically legendary. Rhystan had been at the end of his rope, but Sarani had convinced him to give her time. At nearly one and twenty, Ravenna was hardly on the shelf. She was simply particular about what she wanted. Like her brother.
Sarani dragged a fingernail down her husband’s damp chest. “So about those thoughts you were interested in…”
His eyes narrowed. “Do I still need to pay a pound?”
“It’s worth it, I promise.”
“Very well, you drive a hard bargain.”
She stuck out her tongue. “You didn’t even haggle, Your Grace. Haven’t I taught you anything? Haggling is ninety percent of the fun.”
Rhystan grinned and rolled them over so that he was braced above her. She gasped at the deliciously hard pressure between her thighs. Her blood went molten. She was wrung out and sore from his attentions overnight and again that morning, and suddenly, she wanted more.
With a wicked grin, he tilted his hips, making her whimper. “Three pounds, then.”
“I think you’re missing the point of haggling, my lord duke,” she said and wrapped her legs around him, pinning his hardness to her softness. Two could play at his game.
He groaned. “Five pounds!”
Sarani laughed as she tugged his head down to hers, slanting her mouth across his and nibbling on his full lower lip. “You are absurd.”
“Absurdly in love with you,” he said. “Now, tell me these thoughts of yours before I’m forced to increase my offer.”
“I’m with child.”
