At week’s end, Emma stood next to her husband as they bade farewell to Ambrose and Mr. McLeod. With his dark hair gleaming and virile form dressed with effortless elegance, Alaric appeared much like his normal self. At least on the surface. She knew the wounds inflicted by the dowager would take longer to heal, and she was determined to accompany him on that journey, no matter how long it took.

To her relief, he wanted her there by his side.

Talking long into the nights, he’d spoken of memories, feelings so hotly poignant that all she could do was hold him tighter. They’d discussed his realization: there was nothing wrong with him. The rejection he’d suffered—from his mama, his da, even the cruel man who’d been his biological father—none of it had been his fault. The lack of love he’d received hadn’t been because he was unlovable or ugly, stupid or weak.

The truth was terrible yet liberating: he’d been the unlucky product of an illicit affair and the target of a deranged woman.

Alaric had shed tears; so had Emma.

When even that had been insufficient, they’d made love with a frantic rawness that forged them body and soul. The scorching intimacies of the previous night spangled warmth over Emma’s skin, and when she slid a look at Alaric, she saw the answering smolder in his beautiful eyes.

“Well, Kent and I had best be off,” Mr. McLeod said.

“Bring your families for a visit soon,” Alaric said. “We welcome their company.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” A smile in his eyes, Ambrose pulled her aside. “Is there any message you’d like me to pass onto the family, Em?”

“Just this.” Emma rose on her tiptoes and hugged her brother fiercely. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, “for everything. I’ll miss you.”

“Be happy, Em,” he whispered back.

Next to them, the McLeod brothers eyed one another warily.

Mr. McLeod spoke first. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“For now,” Alaric said quietly. “If you change your mind, if you want to take up what is rightfully yours—”

“Nay, you were the one who suffered for it. You’ve worked to make the dukedom what it is. I wouldn’t know how to be a duke and wouldn’t want to learn,” Mr. McLeod said. “In my eyes and that of the world, you are Strathaven.”

After a moment, Alaric gave a terse nod.

Extending his hand, Mr. McLeod said gruffly, “Seems a pity, though. Just when matters were settling between us, it turns out we’re not brothers after all.”

“You’re my brother, William,” Alaric said, “in every way that counts.”

Heat prickled Emma’s eyes as her husband took his sibling’s hand—and pulled the other into a fierce hug. The embrace between the two big Scotsmen lasted approximately half a second before they broke apart.

Mr. McLeod coughed into his fist. “I’ll, ahem, be seeing you then.”

“Aye,” Alaric said, equally red-faced.

“Give our love to everyone,” Emma said.

Alaric put his arm around her, and together they waved as their family departed.

When they were alone, she turned to look at her husband. Touched a hand to his jaw.

“How are you?” she said softly.

He nuzzled her palm. “Never better.”

“After everything with your aunt and now Mr. McLeod leaving—”

He placed a finger against her lips, stemming the flow of words. “Don’t fuss, love. I’m better. Better than I can recall ever being. You see, I came to several realizations this morning.”

Searching his brilliant gaze, she tipped her head to the side. “What were they?”

“The past is over. Patrice is dead, and her soul will be judged for her sins. I don’t want to be imprisoned by hatred—it’s not my cross to bear.”

“No, it isn’t.” Emma’s throat thickened at his courage. Despite all the suffering he’d known, he was choosing freedom, the higher path. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Aye. Even better, when I woke up this morning, you were there beside me.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You held me through the night, were so soft and wet and ready for me when I made love to you at dawn. And do you know what I realized then?”

The wonder in his voice made her eyes sting. “What, my darling?”

“Somehow all of this brought me to you. You’ve freed me, Emma,” he said tenderly. “Because of you, I know what it is to love and be loved.”

How could she resist this man?

“You’ve always known how to love—you just didn’t get enough in return. Never fear,” she said with a sniffle, “I shall make up for it. I’m going to be the duchess of your dreams.”

“You already are. Although, now that you mention it, there do remain several variations to your position that we’ve yet to explore.” His slow, wicked smile sent love and desire tumbling through her. “Care for a demonstration, Your Grace?”

“Always, Your Grace,” she said.

He kissed her with a passion that left her breathless. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her upstairs. And while her duke proceeded to teach her thrilling new ways to love, she proved, as always, that she was a duchess up to the task.