Page 91 of Rules for Heiresses
“That is not possible,” he said, halting on the threshold.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, argumentative and contentious to the last. “Then we shall have to agree to disagree.”
He kissed her nose. “Are we quarreling already?”
“I am about to win this argument because I have two words for you, Duke.” She rolled her eyes impertinently. “Sexual. Frustration.”
His blood ran licentiously hot.
It was a wonder they made it into that room at all.
Epilogue
Ravenna descended the steps of the terrace leading down to the sandy beach overlooking the azure waters of the Caribbean Sea. A balmy island breeze caressed her skin, the faint smell of citrus teasing her nostrils. She was glad she and Courtland had elected to return for a few months every year. While most of their time was spent in London during the season, and sometimes for part of the little season, the rest of the months were split equally between Kettering and Antigua.
After the debacle with Sommers in London, with Stinson’s testimony of the foiled plot and the location of the warehouse containing the man’s illegal goods, Sommers had been arrested for attempted murder, thievery, and smuggling, and summarily deported. Waterstone had received the queen’s own commendation.
In the aftermath, Ravenna and Courtland had remained in London for the better part of that first year, while he got his affairs in order. Bingham had finally awakened and corroborated Courtland’s status as duke, which had helped to strengthen his position. In his role as Duke of Ashvale, Courtland had been very vocal in championing bills that made for better living conditions and wages for free peoples in the British colonies.
He’d also used the time in London to get to know his family, including Bronwyn and Florence. Courtland’s and Stinson’s relationship, however, had needed effort and care to repair. When Stinson had asked to be part of the family business, Courtland had put him through his paces as a lowly deckhand for months. To everyone’s surprise, he’d borne the drudging work without complaint. Ravenna had always felt that it’d been a sort of penance—Stinson’s way of showing his brother that he was sorry, instead of just saying it.
Her husband had never said anything, but she knew it’d meant something to him.
With a man like him, actions always did speak louder than words.
In due course, Courtland had relented and pulled Stinson into his shipping businesses and railway investments. Stinson had inherited their father’s knack for numbers, and he’d proved to be an invaluable asset. Though it had taken her husband some time to truly trust his brother, eventually he had. As for Stinson’s love child, eventually the truth had come out when his mistress had admitted her infidelity with none other than the Marquess of Dalwood. It helped when the child looked exactly like his sire. Stinson was off the hook, but for some reason, he still sent money for the care of the boy.
Lady Borne, however, had been another story. She was much too hardened in her views to see things differently. Not everyone wanted to listen or learn, or change. Ingrained bias could not be dismantled so easily, and while Bronwyn was determined to keep trying with her mother, Courtland saw no reason to keep the marchioness in their lives. Her burdens and her choices were hers to bear.
Digging her bare toes into the crumbly sand with a delicious sigh, Ravenna lifted her arms and turned her face up to the sun. Her mother would shriek to high heavens that she needed a parasol, but Ravenna loved leaving the trappings of London behind. The joy was worth every second of a burned nose and a few freckles.
“Praying to the sun gods?” Her husband’s lips tickled her hair as a pair of sun-browned forearms wrapped around her curved belly. He rubbed the small bump gently. “How’s baby doing today? Still causing havoc?”
Ravenna leaned back into his lean frame. “Honestly, I don’t remember it being this bad the last time.”
“It was,” he reminded her. “You simply put it out of your mind the moment you saw our beautiful girl.”
On cue, a screaming toddler raced toward them, followed by a hapless nurse who looked like she was on her last reserves. Ravenna swallowed her smile. At nearly two, Isla was a handful and a half, always curious, always daring, and always getting into everything. If there was trouble, she’d proved that she was more than capable of finding it. She grabbed her daughter and kissed her nose, grimacing at the dusting of sand covering her skin. “You need a bath.”
“No bath! Come see, come see!”
“What is it, my teeny mermaid princess?” Courtland said after plopping a kiss on Ravenna’s head and collecting the tiny bundle of chubby arms and legs. He made her squeal with delight as he tossed her high into the air. “Come see what?”
“Shells!”
He propped her up on one shoulder, and Ravenna marveled at the similarities between them. Born with a head of inky-black hair, Isla had also inherited her father’s dark eyes, and even with her button nose and cherub lips, they were like two peas in a pod. Her mischievous and rebellious nature, though, Courtland had insisted was all Ravenna’s.
“I was never so willful,” she’d insisted after discovering Isla in the pantry covered in sticky jam.
Courtland had shot her a wry look. “You forget who chased after you all day long in Kettering. Trust me, you were worse.”
“I think you’re going addlebrained in your old age.”
He’d shown her just how old he was by flinging her over his shoulder and carting her to bed, whereupon she’d been thoroughly convinced of his youthful prowess. A fond smile slid over her lips. That virility was probably the reason that baby number two was so swiftly on the way. Ravenna rubbed her fingers over the protruding swell, humming softly underneath her breath.
Their first baby had been a bit of a surprise, but when her breasts doubled in size and her bedroom appetites increased indecently, Sarani had been the one to discreetly suggest that she might be with child. And so Isla had arrived and promptly charmed everyone within arm’s reach into submission. At first, Ravenna had been worried, given her husband’s earlier assertions about children, but Courtland had fallen irrevocably in love the minute her tiny fingers had curled around his.
The duke’s laughter drifted back toward her as their daughter pointed out a pink and white shell with fringed edging that was bigger than her head. He crouched down beside his pint-sized princess to investigate. At the sight of the linen trousers stretching tight over the flexed muscles of his thick legs and firm behind, Ravenna’s mouth went instantly dry.
