Page 12 of How to Bewitch a Duke
They arrived at Thornridge Hall just as the sun began to rise, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson. The air was crisp and filled with the scents of the estate: pine from the forests, the fresh earth after the rain, and the undeniable fragrance of home—his home. He helped her down from his horse, his hand strong as he guided her into the great hall. The familiar warmth of the estate greeted them, and Isla’s heart felt a strange mix of comfort and something else—hope, perhaps.
“I will take you to a guest room,” Lucian said softly, his voice a soothing balm after the chaos they had just endured.
Isla nodded, grateful for the unspoken care he offered. She was not afraid, not here, not with him. Not anymore. As they reached her room, Lucian paused at the door, turning to her with a look that sent her pulse racing. “Isla,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “There is so much I want to say, but right now, I only want you to know how much I love you. How much I have always loved you.”
Her breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze, the depth of the emotion he conveyed without a single word. Isla stepped closer, her heart a maelstrom of emotions—fear, hope, love—and all of it for him. “I love you too, Lucian,” she whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of everything she had held inside for so long. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like a promise, an unspoken vow that had been waiting to be fulfilled for years.
The kiss deepened, as though the world outside of them had ceased to exist. Lucian’s hands roamed to her waist, pulling her close, while she melted against him, her own hands tangled in his hair. The kiss was not just one of passion; it was a release, a letting go of all the barriers they had both built between them. It was everything they had never said and everything they had always felt.
With a soft sigh, Lucian pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “I have waited for this for so long, Isla. I have hurt you. I know that. And I will never forgive myself for it, but I will spend the rest of my life making up for it.”
Isla’s heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice. She could see the remorse, the regret in his eyes, but more than that, she saw the unshakable love he had for her. “Lucian,” she whispered, her hands resting against his chest. “I am not the same woman I was before. I can’t go back to that.” His brow furrowed in confusion, and Isla smiled softly, running her fingers over his jawline. “I do not want to go back to that young girl I once was either,” she said, her voice full of warmth and affection. “I want us to move forward, together.”
Lucian nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then we will.”
With a gentle urgency, Lucian kissed her again, his hands wandering to the ties of her gown, his touch reverent, as though asking permission. Isla, with trembling fingers, helped him, her heart racing in anticipation. She wanted him, as much as he wanted her. The need, the longing they had both fought against for so long, was now too much to resist. The gown slipped from her shoulders, and Lucian’s breath caught at the sight of her, his hands immediately skimming over her skin as though he couldn’t get enough. Isla responded eagerly, her hands working deftly to remove his coat, her fingers tracing the broad muscles beneath his shirt.
In moments, they were both undressed, their bodies close, skin to skin. The world outside seemed to disappear, and all that existed was the feel of his touch, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the sound of their breath mingling together. He trailed kissed down her body, pausing to give particular attention to her breasts. He drew one taut nipple into his mouth. She moaned as pleasure spiraled through her body. Lucian tweaked her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Isla writhed beneath him. She had forgotten how wonderful being with him like this could be.
He lowered himself to settle between her legs. When he spread her thighs she knew what he intended. This was not their first time together and he had kissed her like this before. She recalled that pleasure and braced herself for the intensity. He slid his tongue over her sensitive flesh and then sucked her into his mouth. She screamed as her release overtook her, and then he was pressing his arousal into her, filling her. Each stroke, each thrust, taking them toward bliss together.
As they made love, the connection between them deepened. It was not just physical; it was emotional, spiritual. In that moment, they were two halves of the same soul finally reunited, as though the years of heartache and separation had never happened. Afterward, Lucian held her close, his arms wrapped around her as though he could keep her from ever slipping away. Isla rested her head against his chest, her heart still racing. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, the rhythm of the man she had loved for so long.
“I want forever with you, Isla,” Lucian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the one I’ve always been meant to be with. Will you marry me?”
The words hung in the air, both a question and a promise. Isla lifted her head to meet his gaze, her heart swelling with love. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “I will marry you.”
Lucian’s smile was all-encompassing, full of joy and relief. “I will never hurt you again, Isla. You are mine, and I am yours.”
She smiled, her heart full as she kissed him once more, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And I will love you, forever.”
In that moment, the world outside of them seemed to vanish. There was only the two of them, their love, and the promise of a future together—a future that would be built on trust, on forgiveness, and on the love they had fought so hard to find again.
Epilogue
One year later…
The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft glow across the rolling hills that surrounded Harwood Hall. The grand estate, so familiar to the Thompson sisters, was peaceful. The air was warm with the scent of summer flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Inside, however, there was a quiet sense of nostalgia in the air as three sisters gathered together in the drawing room, each holding a piece of the past in their hands. They were there to have dinner with their father. Their respective husbands had joined the earl in the library for drinks before the meal—leaving the women alone to have a visit with each other.
Maeve, Isla, and Athena sat side by side, their hearts intertwined by love, loss, and the path they had traveled together. In front of them lay the faded leather-bound journal that had once been their mother’s most intimate possession—a journal that had guided them through trials, heartaches, and, eventually, to the love they had all so desperately needed in a matter of months.
Isla looked down at the journal, her fingers lightly tracing the embossed initials on the cover. “It’s hard to believe it has been a little over a year since we found this journal,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion. “And in that year, we each found our way to happiness and love. All of it started with this.”
Athena, now a radiant mother of twin boys, smiled gently. Her eyes had softened in the light, joy reflected in them. “I’ve often thought about how much our mother’s words helped us find our way. How she spoke of love, of family, and of the strength in following our hearts.”
Maeve, sitting beside her sisters, nodded. She was no longer as quiet or as reserved as she had once been. Her marriage to Viscount Pemberton had brought her a sense of completeness she had never imagined. She had found a love she had and a renewed sense of hope, and her paintings had become even more exquisite in the past year—that delight reflected on canvas. “I think we’ve all found the happiness she spoke of,” Maeve said quietly. “Perhaps even more than we expected. But now, it feels like it’s time to let go.” She rubbed her extended belly—her first child would be born in a few short months.
Isla looked at her two sisters, a deep sense of peace settling over her. The heartache of the past, the pain of lost love, had been replaced by something far stronger: the love of family. And love, she realized, had always been the answer. Her mother had been right all along. “I’m ready,” Isla said softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “We don’t need this anymore. The journal. It helped us, and it will always be a part of our past. But we have our future now.” She had her own secret to share, the child that she would have with Lucian safely in her womb. She would be a mother not long after Maeve gave birth.
Maeve smiled and gently took the journal in her hands, feeling its weight—the weight of the memories it held and the lessons it had imparted. “We’ve made our own choices. We’ve walked our own paths. And now, we can look forward with open hearts.”
Together, the three sisters rose from their seats, walking to the attic door that had been left untouched since Maeve had found those gowns for the masquerade. The attic had once been a place where memories were stored, a place of bittersweet recollection, but today it felt different. Today, it was a place of closure. They would store their mother’s journal, along with their childhood, and move forward into a future filled with love and the knowledge that they had been guided by their mother’s wisdom all along.
Isla stepped into the attic first, her footsteps quiet on the old wood floor. Maeve and Athena followed, and together they reached the small wooden chest where so many of their belongings had been kept—treasures from the past that were no longer needed, but would never be forgotten. Maeve opened the chest, and Isla placed the journal gently inside. As she closed the lid, a quiet peace settled over her. “She would be proud of us,” Isla whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“She would,” Athena agreed, her voice soft with love. “And I think she knows we are all exactly where we are meant to be.”
“Now we should join our husbands,” Athena said, then laughed. “They’re likely overwhelming father.”
