“Bella?”
In the warm glow from the Wainwrights’ windows, she could make out all the familiar angles of his face: sharp jaw, square chin, high cheekbones. And those lips of his, always half tilted in a smile. His hair looked darker in the shadows of evening, but the moonlight lit up a few golden highlights. It was unfashionably long, a wild tumble with strands falling across his forehead, a few waves nearly reaching his shoulders. He was wearing only his shirtsleeves, dark trousers, and a bloodred waistcoat.
As she assessed him, she sensed him doing the same. Rhys’s gaze always held a unique kind of power, an intensity that made whomever he looked at seem as if they were the only person in the world who mattered.
“Is it really you?” he shouted down at her.
“Yes, of course. I’m glad you recognize me from that height.” The desire to quarrel with him was just there under the surface, yearning to break free.
For weeks she’d imagined going to him, pondering everything from offering a heartfelt apology to asking if he still felt the same and receiving his mask of bravado. Then she’d be tempted to shout until she broke down the walls he was as skilled at building up around himself as she was.
“Miss Prescott.” He drew out her name, lisping both words as if his tongue wouldn’t quite obey. He was intoxicated. Wonderful. Drunk and inches away from a fall.
“Will you be coming down anytime soon, Your Grace? We have a matter to discuss.”
He offered her nothing but a smile in reply.
A smile. After how they’d parted. After weeks of silence. Maybe this was a mistake.
“What sort of matters, my lady?”
“I’ll tell you when we’re both on terra firma.”
“Tell me now.”
Good grief, the man hadn’t gotten any less bossy either.
Bella bit her lip and debated the folly of this decision.
“Marriage.”
He tipped his head as if he didn’t quite understand what she’d said.
She tried again, loudly. “I believe you mentioned marriage the last time we spoke to each other.”
“Marriage to me?” He gestured in a big arcing movement only to finally turn a finger back toward his chest and point at himself. Bella’s heart dropped when he seemed to momentarily lose his balance.
“Yes, of course you,” she said, her voice suddenly shaky.
“Very well.” He nodded once and then shocked her by turning his back to her. Then he crouched on the balustrade, lowered his hands to the stone railing, and heaved his body over the side.
“What are you doing?” Bella rushed toward him, but there was a cast-iron rail that kept her from getting closer and there was little she could do but stare up at the heels of his boots and the curve of his backside.
“I’m coming down to you,” he mumbled.
“Not like that,” Bella shouted, though he was closer now and could probably hear her if she’d whispered. “Your town house is equipped with stairs, surely.”
He was tall and not far from the ground. Unfortunately, there was a servants’ stairwell on one side of where he would drop and a clipped hedge on the other. Either seemed likely to cause damage.
“Quicker this way,” he told her breathily as he changed his grip on the balustrade to move closer to the hedgerow.
“And more dangerous.”
He tipped his head back and looked down at her. “Have you forgotten who I am completely?”
“No.” The word came out too softly, too quickly.
Rhys watched her a moment and then nudged his chin up. “Clear the way.”
“Don’t break anything.”
Bella thought she heard a chuckle in reply. Then she sucked in a quick breath.
Rhys let go and dropped, landing with a thud, though the darkness made it hard for her to see precisely where.
Stomping footsteps followed and a dozen people emerged onto the balcony above, looking over the side. A few called down to him, but he made no reply.
Bella leaned over the rail to get a closer look just as Rhys got to his feet. They were inches apart for the first time in weeks and yet he gave her a smirk that was no different from the one he’d given her a thousand times as a boy. He watched her intently, as if waiting for something. Expecting something. Hoping.
“You’re not hurt?” she asked in the most unaffected tone she could muster.
“Were you wishing that I was?” His tone was teasing but when he looked up at her, his expression grew serious, weighted with an emotion she couldn’t name.
His brows winged up as if he was expecting her to curse him or be angry.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him, trying to match his light tone. “If you’d injured yourself, how could you walk me down the aisle?”
“You really do want to discuss marriage.” His smirk melted into a beaming smile.
Suddenly she knew what she hadn’t realized until this moment. There was never any fear when she was with Rhys. When she was with him, all she truly felt was an odd kind of relief, a rightness, as if they were both where they were meant to be.
He bit his lip and his gaze swept over her from the pins in her hair to the slippers on her toes. When he looked up again, he wore a more sober expression.
“Shall I ask you again?” He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and offered her his hand.
“You’re intoxicated.” Bella took his hand and almost gasped at how good it felt to feel his skin against hers again. “I’m sober, so perhaps I should do the asking this time.”
He grinned and bent his head to nuzzle his cheek against hers. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispered, “so we’re even.”
Bella laughed, the first time she had in weeks. “Shall we talk inside the town house?”
He glanced back at his balcony and grimaced. “There are dozens of people there you probably don’t know.” Turning back, he cast his gaze toward the Wainwrights’ town house. “What about where you’ve come from?”
“A ball. I’m chaperoning Louisa.” Bella peeked at the watch fob pinned to her bodice. “I should probably get back soon.”
“So we must do this here? In the middle of the street.”
Bella squeezed his hand. “I return to Hillcrest tomorrow. You could call on me there.”
“I’m not a patient man.” He reached for her other hand and brought them both up to place kisses against her knuckles. “Also, I think I should be the one to ask.”
“We discussed this.”
“If we had a daisy we could decide this fairly.”
Bella laughed again and all the worry she’d felt for weeks loosened a bit more. “Ask. I’m ready this time.”
Shock chased across his features. “Arry, will you marry me?”
For a moment, she let herself savor the words. Words she’d once longed to hear because she was infatuated and wanted him to notice her. But hearing them now was different. It felt right. Perfect. She didn’t just crave his love, she wanted to give hers too. They could be good for each other. They always had been.
When she didn’t answer right away, Rhys’s expression began to crumple.
“Yes, I will.”
“Yes?” He bent his head as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her and needed to be sure.
Bella smiled. “Absolutely without any doubt whatsoever, yes.”
Rhys stared at her hungrily. She sensed he’d missed her these past weeks as much as she’d missed him. “When did you decide?”
Bella couldn’t pinpoint a moment because she’d loved him for so long that she couldn’t recall where it began. “I love you, Rhys. It’s always been you.”
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. Tenderly. Reverently. And then the kiss deepened into something hungry and heated. He nuzzled her cheek, pressed a kiss against her neck.
When Bella finally came to her senses and realized what a spectacle they were making of themselves in the middle of Belgrave Square, Rhys leaned closer to whisper in her ea
r.
“It’s always been us.”
Epilogue
Seven months later
“Should we have her come down?” Meg whispered but not quietly enough.
Rhys held a finger to his lips. His wife had the hearing of a hawk, and now that the item had arrived, he wanted this to be a proper surprise.
“Maybe we could present it to her in the drawing room?” Meg held the box with all the care she’d take with the crown jewels.
“I think we should deliver it to her in her study.” Rhys glanced down the hall toward the morning room Bella had converted into a space where she could write and plan her next puzzle book.
“The place where she works? It won’t be as much of a surprise there. Will it?” Meg was already making her way toward the drawing room, walking backward.
“Have a care,” Rhys warned when she began veering toward the crate that had come along with the very special box she held in her arms.
“I’ll go and make sure everything is prepared.”
“What is there to prepare?” One box and his wife’s excitement at seeing its contents were the only things Rhys craved.
Meg chuckled. “Trust me. Just go and get her.”
That, he was more than happy to do.
At the door of her study, he paused and leaned his head against the wood. They normally took lunch together, and he did his best not to interrupt her before then. Though he usually failed miserably.
No one had ever warned him that one of the damnable aspects of having a wife was that her nearness would mean he’d want to see her all the time. And of course, it was all so new. They hadn’t yet been married a month.
If it had been up to Rhys, they wouldn’t have left their bedroom for the first month. At least not very often.
Especially since they’d taken no celebratory honeymoon voyage after their nuptials. Instead, they’d vowed to visit the viscount and viscountess—how wonderfully odd that Bella’s family was now his too—in Greece.
Rhys could hear Bella moving around in the morning room. Her creative methods had always involved movement. Pacing, sketching, or tapping a pencil on her lush lower lip. She really had no idea how enticing that habit was.
He rapped softly so as not to disturb her if she was in the middle of a particularly important idea.
She answered a moment later and he relished the blush that crept up her cheeks and the way her eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of him.
“Goodness, is it lunchtime already?”
“It’s not.”
“Then you missed me?” She slid a hand against his waistcoat and his heartbeat sped. His body warmed in anticipation.
Sometimes, when Bella took a break from her work for lunch, they didn’t repair to the dining room but to their bedroom.
“I did miss you, but I also have something to show you.”
“Do you indeed?” She scanned him from brow to boot, and then ran her hand across his chest, patting at his waistcoat pockets.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to take you up to our room before I give you your present.”
Bella chuckled in a husky way that was new and knowing. He absolutely loved it. “I might agree.”
“Good. But first, can I entice you into joining me in the drawing room?”
She glanced back at the table where she’d spread drawings and notes, then turned to smile back at him. “Entice me.”
He bent and kissed her cheek and then swept her hair back behind her ear to kiss her neck. “Will you join me in the drawing room, Duchess?”
“You have me curious now.”
Rhys tucked her hand under his arm and led her back down the hall. He could sense her eagerness as they drew closer. She sped the pace of her footsteps and eventually ended up tugging him along.
Walking through the door she let out a little gasp of surprise.
“Meg, you know the secret too?”
“I do.” Meg beamed and spread her hands to indicate the display she’d arranged.
Rhys could only shoot her a look of surprised admiration. In the minutes since he’d departed to find Bella, she’d gathered all the candles in the room, lit them, and set them around the box as if it was a kind of offering. She’d also found a ribbon someplace and tied it around the box in a pretty bow.
“Is that for me?”
Meg stepped back, hands clasped in front of her. Rhys gestured for Bella to open her present.
Bella tugged at the satin ribbon with an eager smile on her face, but she turned a confused look Rhys’s way. “It’s not even my birthday.”
“A birthday of sorts.”
That made her frown but she continued, lifting the painted cardboard lid off the box.
Rhys’s pulse had begun racing the minute they stepped in the room. He knew how important this would be to her and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.
They’d included a wrap of colored paper, and she peeled that away gingerly.
The gasp she let out was exactly what he’d expected, but he hadn’t anticipated the tears. “It’s so beautiful.”
Rhys placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently. “You did this. It’s all you.”
“Congratulations, Bella.” Meg stepped forward and gave Bella a kiss on the cheek. “It’s an extraordinary accomplishment.”
Copies of Bella’s first puzzle and conundrum book were not due to be available for another week, but Rhys had arranged with her publisher for a special copy, bound in the finest red leather with gold engraving just for Bella.
She swiped at her cheeks. “Thank you, Meg. Would you excuse us for a moment? I’d like to have a word with your brother alone.”
“Of course.” Meg swung a bemused glance from Bella to Rhys and then exited the drawing room.
“Thank you.” Bella smiled at him, one of the warm genuine smiles that made her eyes sparkle.
But Rhys had known her too long not to notice something else. There was more than loving appreciation in her expression.
“There’s a but,” Rhys said warily.
“I didn’t do this entirely on my own, did I?”
Rhys squeezed the muscles of his neck. “Mr. Peabody did agree to allow me to send the manuscript to a printer who could expedite this special edition.” He pointed at the volume in her hands. “But what’s inside those pages is all you. I can barely solve most of your puzzles. I could never write one.”
Bella grinned but shook her head. “You never give yourself enough credit, and all the compliments are overwhelming me, but—”
“I clearly need to compliment you more often.”
“How well do you know Mr. Peabody?”
Rhys felt a trickle of uncertainty. “I’ve corresponded with him.”
“Including a letter urging him to publish my book?”
Rhys ducked his head. He didn’t know exactly how she knew, but she did. “I did not instruct him to publish your book. I simply suggested he give it due consideration. From what you said, it sounded as if he’d fobbed you off far too quickly.”
“Oh, he did, and yet I told you I wanted to do this myself. Did you doubt that I could?”
“Not at all.” He couldn’t repress a smile. “I’ve never doubted your abilities in my life. I only wished to help.”
She stared at him, twisting her mouth as if considering his fate. “I’m not sure whether to be grateful or cross.”
He stepped closer and slid an arm around her waist. “I wholeheartedly suggest gratitude.”
“Thank you.” She laid the book down and slid her arms around him. Their bodies were locked tight against each other, and Rhys suddenly wished they were indulging in their usual lunchtime diversion of lovemaking in the afternoon.
Bella poked a finger against his chest. “But no more interfering, unless you ask and I approve. No more sneaking behind my back. Not with Peabody or anyone else.”
“I understand.”
“Do you promise?”
He’d promise her the wo
rld if he could, and he’d help her in any way that he could. But he understood. Earning his own money and becoming free of his dependence on his father had been essential in shaping his life. He knew that Bella wished to find a kind of independence too. Accomplishments that had nothing to do with her father’s title or her parents’ doting attention.
“I vow to you two things. I will always want to help you. But I will always seek out your approval before doing so in future.”
She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer. “Thank you for understanding.”
Lifting on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his and for long minutes he was lost in the taste of her. The heat of her breath, the little guttural cries she let out when he kissed her deeply.
“We could simply turn this into lunch,” he suggested. He shaped her backside with his hands and pulled her against him.
“Good,” she whispered.
For a moment he wondered if she’d missed the euphemism. He adored her clever mind, but she did have a tendency to take everything as literal.
“I didn’t mean—”
Bella lifted onto her toes again and pressed a soft hot kiss against his mouth. “I know what you meant.” She scraped her fingers through his hair and kissed him again, his face, the corner of his mouth. “I want exactly what you meant.”
Rhys clasped her hand and led her toward the staircase.
He’d always been told he was a man of good fortune, but he had no idea what he’d done to deserve the way Bella loved him. He only knew that he intended to savor every single moment and never take for granted that he was indeed a very lucky man.
Acknowledgments
From the bottom of my heart, thanks to my editor, Elle Keck, for your wisdom, insight, and patience. You always help me make a book better.
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A DUKE CHANGES EVERYTHING
Nicholas Lyon gambled his way into a fortune and ownership of the most opulent, notorious gentlemen’s club in England. But when Nick’s cruel brother dies, he inherits a title he never wanted. The sooner Nick is rid of the estate that has always haunted him, the sooner he can return to the life he’s built in London. But there’s one obstacle—the exquisite Thomasina Thorne.
Nothing Compares to the Duke EPB Page 25