“Oh?” The proprietor’s bushy brows rose, and he pushed up his sleeves when he spotted Jasper.
“What are you doing?” the proprietor’s wife asked.
“That’s that ruffian who has been here all week. Claiming he was a duke. Most suspicious.”
Blast.
The other patrons were listening to the conversation, and some narrowed their eyes and rose.
Jasper’s heart beat at a quicker pace, and he leaped up and bolted up the stairs. Margaret was here. He just needed to find her.
“Margaret! Margaret!” he called, banging on doors of the guest rooms, conscious of people chasing him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MARGARET PACED THE room. Tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Owens.
Her plan had worked. They were in Gretna Green, and tomorrow they would marry.
Except... Margaret wasn’t the least bit happy.
Mr. Owens was gone. She could sneak away. Obviously, her reputation would be forever ruined, but...
Perhaps her father would agree for her to remain a spinster and not force the duke into an unwelcome, permanent union with her.
She hesitated, then opened the door tentatively to the corridor.
Commotion sounded from the corridor, then she spotted a man rushing toward the door. The man looked curiously like Jasper.
Obviously, she’d never be able to stop thinking of him, and she gave a wistful sigh.
“Margaret!” the man hollered. “Margaret!”
Her heartbeat quickened.
It couldn’t be him.
She’d last seen him in Dorset.
And this was a posting inn in Scotland.
“Jasper?” she squeaked.
“Margaret!” the man rushed toward her. “You’re here! I found you!”
“Er—yes.” She stiffened. She resisted the urge to leap into his arms or any such sentimental nonsense. Instead, she eyed him cautiously.
Perhaps he desired to bring her back to the castle. No doubt her family had been shocked by her elopement. And perhaps he simply wanted to purchase something from the blacksmith’s shop before they traveled back.
It was just that Gretna Green was awfully far Dorset.
Even the kindest host could hardly be expected to volunteer to return somebody to her parents after another guest absconded with her, no matter how much he concerned himself with his guests’ every need.
No, there could be no other reason for him to be here. This was far from his castle.
He must have come for her.
Jasper might have stopped running, but voices and the sound of pounding feet still could be heard behind him.
People were chasing him? Margaret scrunched her eyebrows together.
“Blast it.” Jasper turned to her. “You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“Tell me you don’t love that man,” Jasper said.
“That’s none of your business!”
“And that’s not an answer.” Jasper grinned and threw Margaret over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Carrying you,” Jasper said. “I can carry things too.”
Margaret didn’t answer. The world was upside down. She was grateful the hotel proprietor had decided to decorate the inn with sideboards and potted plants, and not tables and porcelain vases. The walls looked sufficiently threatening, even if Jasper’s grip was firm.
Jasper.
Margaret’s heart pounded, and not simply for the excitement of being hauled away from her room.
He was here.
Truly here.
People appeared before her. Their faces were red, and they hollered vulgarities, most of which seemed to be about the importance of placing Margaret down.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To a certain blacksmith’s shop!” Jasper shouted, while opening a door.
“A blacksmith’s shop?” Margaret’s heartbeat quickened.
Did Jasper mean—? She shook her head.
He couldn’t mean that. She couldn’t daydream he meant that. She simply couldn’t allow herself to be disappointed.
They descended some stairs. People swarmed around them, and Jasper swore.
He set her down on her feet and clutched her hand. “Don’t let go.”
A tremor went through her at the touch of his warm hand. She hadn’t had a chance to put on her gloves before leaving the room, and their skin touched, reminding her of their time in the maze.
“Hurry!” Jasper shouted, and they rushed through the crowd.
They exited the posting inn and onto the street. Jasper pulled her confidently along, and she soon spotted a blacksmith’s shop.
Her heartbeat continued to quicken.
Jasper did seem very eager to go to the blacksmith’s shop.
But then again, perhaps he’d broken a wheel to his coach and had found it vital to purchase a tool so he might fix it himself. Men could be quite attached to their carriages. Personally, Margaret would have hired someone with the tool in question, but then, no doubt there was a certain satisfaction in fixing the issue oneself.
But perhaps he didn’t want to purchase anything.
Perhaps he—
She swallowed hard.
I won’t hope. I won’t hope. I won’t hope.
They arrived at the blacksmith’s shop. A queue of people was outside, but Jasper barged into the shop, still clutching her hand.
“You’ll have to go in the back of the line,” the blacksmith said.
“I’m the Duke of Jevington.” Jasper let go of Margaret’s hand, then he took out a small satchel that clinked in a most curious manner.
The blacksmith’s eyes rounded, and he accepted it hastily.
“We’ve been waiting too!” A couple said behind. “You can’t simply go ahead.”
“The ceremony is short,” the blacksmith said, as if worried Jasper might take the satchel back.
Jasper grinned and removed another satchel. He handed coins to everyone in the line, and gleeful murmurs sounded around Margaret.
Then he returned.
She stared at him, conscious she’d never met anyone like him, conscious her legs trembled, conscious everything might just be fine.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
He grinned. “Did I not tell you? We’re going to get married.”
An orchestra began to play in her heart.
“You’re proposing inside?” the blacksmith asked.
“Indeed.” Jasper leaned closer to her. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”
“But why?” she asked.
“Because I love you,” he said, his voice more serious. “Because I adore you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because these past weeks without you have been appalling.”
She was quiet.
“Now what do you say?” There was an odd pleading tone in his voice.
She struggled for breath. Emotions cascaded through her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Jasper swept her into his arms and kissed her.
“First things first,” the blacksmith said sternly, and Margaret giggled.
A commotion sounded outside.
“Better be quick,” Jasper said.
The blacksmith beamed. “That’s my specialty.”
JASPER WAS A MARRIED man and he led his bride into their bedroom.
A month ago, he would have thought the phrase would have struck fear in him, but a month ago, everything had been different. Now he was delighted. Ecstatic.
Music wafted from the public house below. He stared at Margaret. She was so lovely, so beautiful.
Jasper had refused to stay in Gretna Green, lest Mr. Owens cause more trouble. Still, Margaret and he were married, and there was little Mr. Owens could do. They’d returned back to the inn to fetch Juliet.
Margaret approached him. “You’re grinning.”
“I’m happy.” He took her into his ar
ms and kissed her.
The kiss was long and delicious, and he clutched her to him.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
Jasper stroked her hair. The bed might not be as sumptuous as the beds in his various properties, but he’d never been so eager to be in one. He flung her onto it. Removing clothes had never been so important, and he wished he hadn’t delegated so much of his clothes removing process to his valet. Any advantage would be valuable now.
Because Jasper’s skin needed to be against Margaret’s skin.
He craved her, as he’d never craved anyone before.
His manhood grew, ready to plunge into her, ready to immerse himself in Margaret’s softness, Margaret’s warmth, Margaret’s wonderfulness.
Her eyes were wide, as if still incredulous at his presence.
He despised that.
He abhorred that anyone had ever made Margaret feel dismissed. He vowed to make Margaret feel magnificent.
Because she was magnificent.
He kissed her throat. It wasn’t his first time kissing her throat, and it wouldn’t be his last.
She shuddered against him, clasping onto his shirt, as if she thought she might faint. Her vanilla scent wafted over him.
He needed more.
More soft flesh to kiss, more silky locks to delve his hands into, more Margaret.
He turned her over and fiddled with her stays until they were sufficiently loosened.
This was Margaret’s back.
And this was Margaret’s right shoulder. And this was Margaret’s left shoulder.
Everything about Margaret was perfect.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Jasper groaned.
“I’m here now.”
“Oh, yes you bloody are.” Jasper continued to kiss her. Deeply, desperately. Because he needed to ascertain that she wasn’t simply an apparition, that she was truly here, truly his.
He’d dreamed of this moment for days, and he didn’t want to wake up in some posting inn and know he’d only conjured her.
“We’re married,” Margaret murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Say it again,” Jasper said.
“We’re married. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Jasper thrust more quickly inside her, allowing the words to sweep through him.
They were married.
And she wasn’t going to leave again.
And they were going to live happily-ever-after.
EPILOGUE
SEVEN WEEKS LATER
The carriage halted before Margaret’s parents’ townhouse.
Jasper extended his hand to Margaret. “Ready?”
She nodded and exited the coach. Her legs moved stiffly after the long carriage ride. They’d taken their time returning from Scotland, driving Juliet to her home in Northumberland, then stopping in picturesque villages and admiring the idyllic countryside.
She quelled her sudden nervousness and strode toward her former home. The black wrought iron gate gleamed in the familiar manner, as did the white walls. She glanced at Jasper, then grasped hold of the door knocker.
The butler opened the door immediately and ushered her inside. She stepped over the familiar marble flooring.
This time though, everything was different.
This time she was married.
“Ah! Miss Carberry—I mean, Your Grace!” the butler sputtered, even though normally his expression only changed when his lips twitched after one of her parents or her used a particularly Scottish word.
“Good afternoon, Jameson.”
Jasper followed her into the foyer, and the butler’s eyes goggled.
“And Your Grace!” Jameson swept into a sudden bow.
Even though Margaret had never known Jameson to not emulate calmness, his voice seemed decidedly more halting and his cheeks seemed a distinct rosier shade.
“Mrs. Carberry is in the drawing room,” the butler said. “She’ll be delighted to see you.”
“Thank you.” Margaret turned to Jasper. “It’s just to the right.”
Footsteps sounded, then her mother barreled toward them, a flurry of carmine cotton. Her cap swayed on her head, and she pushed it up. “Dearest! You’re back!”
“Yes,” Margaret squeaked.
“Margaret, you should have told me you were coming. And you’ve brought the duke.” Mama’s voice reached a high-pitched squeak, as if she were assisting someone tune the loftiest notes of a piano.
Mama looked around frantically, then hollered for a maid. “Cecelia! We must have tea! We cannot have a duke here and not offer him tea. What will the man think of us?”
“I’ll inform the housekeeper,” Cecelia said.
“At once,” Mama said. “You must run!”
Cecelia’s face whitened, but she dutifully sprinted down the glossy corridor, managing to slide only twice before she disappeared through the door to the stairs.
“Oh, my dear duke!” Mama clasped her hands together. “There will be tea. If you can be patient—”
“Mrs. Carberry,” Jasper said. “We are family now.”
“Family!” Mama staggered back, and her eyes glimmered. “So we are.” She glanced at Grandmother Agatha. “What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s lovely,” Grandmother Agatha declared, before kissing their cheeks.
Margaret’s mother leaned toward him. “You must call me Mama.”
Jasper’s chin wobbled. “Perhaps we can stick with Mrs. Carberry.”
Mama tossed him a coy smile. “For now.” She dashed toward the library and pounded on the thick oak door. “Mr. Carberry! We have a guest! An important one.”
“Two guests,” Jasper said.
Mama’s eyes widened, then her gaze dropped to Margaret and she grinned. “My dear duke. You are good at counting. Such talent!” She pounded on the door again. “Mr. Carberry!”
Her voice soared through the townhouse. If Mama’s voice were less grating, she could have enjoyed a career as an opera singer.
Papa appeared, clutching a folder. He straightened immediately. “My dear daughter! And—”
“Your new son,” Mama declared proudly.
“Er—yes.” Papa approached Jasper. “We were delighted to receive your letter. Absolutely elated. You have my strongest congratulations.”
Mama clapped her hands together, and the ribbons on her cap wobbled. “I did it! I arranged this!”
Margaret sighed. “That’s not true.”
But Mama’s smile remained on her face. She clasped her hands together, and even though Margaret had never known her mother to be prone to jumping, unless to avoid a particularly egregious puddle, this time she did.
“I’m so happy!” Mama breathed.
Margaret glanced at Jasper.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m happy as well.”
“My dear,” Mama said. “I don’t know why you gave me a difficult time earlier. Just think of the extra weeks of happiness I could have bestowed you if you’d allowed yourself to be discovered in a compromising position.”
“Mama,” Margaret said sternly.
Jasper’s lips twitched. “She might have a point, Maggie.”
“Nonsense. She mustn’t be encouraged. Would you want her to do something similar to our child? She may have time to improve her knot-tying skills.”
Jasper whitened. “No, no. That’s unnecessary.”
Mama’s eyes glimmered. “What made you mention a child, dear?”
Fiddle-faddle.
The room suddenly warmed.
“Please tell me you’re expecting,” Mama continued.
Margaret swallowed hard, but she refused to lie.
Not about this.
Jasper turned his head and stared. “You don’t mean that—”
Margaret nodded, and Jasper beamed.
The housekeeper and Cecelia appeared with tea, but Jasper took her in his arms and spun her around, even though her parents were present, ev
en though servants were present.
“I’m so very happy,” he said finally, his voice oddly hoarse.
“I am as well.”
And she was.
THANK YOU FOR READING All You Need is a Duke. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Margaret and Jasper.
NEXT BOOK: My Favorite Duke, about Juliet and the Duke of Ainsworth. Tap to order now.
Want to spend more time with Margaret and Jasper? Read how they first met in A Kiss for the Marquess.
MY FAVORITE DUKE
LADY JULIET IS HAPPY. Very happy. After all, she’s engaged. Perhaps it is slightly odd that she rarely sees her betrothed. She also wonders why various men give her sympathetic glances when she mentions her future husband, the Duke of Sherwood. When she learns the Duke of Sherwood is spending time with another woman, there’s only one thing she can do: discover the truth herself.
Lucas, the Duke of Ainsworth, enjoys science and the calm normally found in laboratories. When he travels to the Lake District he is shocked to discover Lady Juliet in disguise. Lucas vows to help her, no matter how distracting her alluring presence is.
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A KISS FOR THE MARQUESS
HE PLANNED A HOUSE party filled with eligible women to choose a bride. She’s a prospect intent on ruining his plans.
Hugh, the Marquess of Metcalfe, prides himself on his efficiency. When he requires a bride, he knows just how to select one: a house party filled with eligible women.
Emma Braunschweig is not in search of a husband. After all, a husband might discover her family’s secret. Instead, her brother has procured an invitation for her so she can ensure the marquess chooses a certain eligible heiress.
Hugh’s methodical approach to marriage should make him eliminate Emma from consideration. Emma’s horse-riding ability is questionable, her piano skills are atrocious, and she spends her time extolling the good qualities of another contestant. But can a kiss change everything?
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EXCERPT FROM A KISS FOR THE MARQUESS
All You Need is a Duke (The Duke Hunters Club, #1) Page 20