One year later
e’ve done it, my love.” Will slid his arm around Victoria’s waist, drawing her in a snug embrace to his side. Before them stood the result of their mutual hard work and determination: a brand new roof on the east wing of Carrington House. He couldn’t have imagined ever gazing upon the old stone heap of his youth with pride or—even more shockingly—with such sated happiness.
But he was.
And it was all because of her.
She threw her arms around his middle and gazed up at him, her green eyes bright enough to rival the summer grass. How was it possible that she was even more lovely now than ever? A year of marital bliss had blessed her with a radiance that not even the dreary country weather could dim. “You’ve done it, Will,” she corrected him gently, “and I’m ever so proud of you.”
His heart squeezed in his chest at her praise. He’d be strutting about like a damn peacock for the remainder of the day just knowing that she was proud of him. But even so, this particular victory was not his alone. It was theirs, meant to be shared and savored together.
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, unable to resist a swipe of his thumb over her full lower lip. “No, darling, we’ve done it together. Without you and your father, I couldn’t have raised the funds for this endeavor, and we both know it. There’s no shame in putting thanks where it’s due.”
“I’ll be forever grateful for the months that we spent in New York.” A sensual smile of remembrance turned up the corners of her mouth. “My father was more than happy to have you at his side. And I was more than happy for the nights. After all, that precious time is what gave us Alistair.”
Victoria’s large, boisterous family had visited Carrington House as promised, and during that time he’d developed an unlikely friendship with her father. The man was a bit of an enigma, but he was one of the most successful stock speculators on Wall Street. He’d offered to take Will under his wing as an apprentice of sorts, and Will had been willing to do anything if it meant a stable source of income.
He and Victoria had packed up for America and spent several months in the bustling city of New York. They took a modest home not far from her family’s massive Madison Avenue mansion, and Will had thrown himself into learning how to be a financier by day. By night, he came home to his sweet wife. They’d made love in nearly every chamber of that bloody house, and on one of those nights, their son had been conceived.
Alistair William Dalreith, the Viscount of Linton and the future Earl of Pembroke and heir to the Duke of Cranley had been born not long after their return to England. The duke had written with cold congratulations and an edict for the proverbial spare. Will had tossed the letter into the fire where it belonged, savoring the sight of it blackening and curling into ash.
“I’ll forever be grateful for that time in New York as well,” he told her with raw honesty. “You and our son are everything to me.”
She rolled onto her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his mouth, sensing what troubled him without him needing to form the ugliness into words. He’d shared the details of his past with her, and she’d been loving and unjudgmental, the light that drove the darkness away. She tasted of tea and sweetness, and he wanted to consume her. He couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, angling his lips over hers. He could kiss her a hundred thousand times in his life, and it would still never be enough.
She broke away first, breathless, gazing up at him through lowered lashes. “What will the servants think?”
“That I’m madly in love with my beautiful wife, and that we’re ridiculously happy.” He grinned. “Or perhaps that New York robbed us of all our manners and we’re both of us a hopeless cause. Either way, I don’t give a damn.”
Her expression turned pensive. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive the duke?”
If ever there was a subject that cooled his ardor more than talk of his sire, Will hadn’t heard of it yet. “I expect I’ve already forgiven him, darling. I have to, for the sake of my sanity. But I shan’t forget. A man can’t choose the family he’s born into, but he can damn well choose the family he makes.”
The time had come to close the door on the past and its ghosts. Some things were unchangeable. Some deeds could not be undone. But he could build a life with Victoria and Alistair and all the daughters and sons that were yet to come. A whole bushel of them, if he had anything to say about it.
“Oh, Will.” She turned into him fully then, her arms twining around his neck. “I’m so happy that you chose me.”
He rested their foreheads together, savoring their connectedness, this moment of tranquility and pure bliss. “And I’m so happy you chose me, my love. God knows you shouldn’t have after all I’d put you through, but I’ll be happy to the end of my days nonetheless.”
She licked the seam of his lips, the minx. “Will?”
He was rigid in his trousers. They hadn’t made love since little Alistair’s birth as her body recovered from the grueling labor, and his body craved hers in the same way that his heart needed her. “Yes, darling?”
“This roof is beautiful, and I’m so pleased that you raised the funds all on your own.” She licked him again.
Jesus, she knew how to drive him to distraction. “Yes?”
Victoria gave him a look of feigned innocence. “And Alistair will be napping for the next hour at least, so I really think perhaps we ought to make better use of our time than admiring a roof. It’ll be here tomorrow, after all.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “A woman of reason. God, I love you.”
She pulled away and smiled up at him. “And I love you. Now if you don’t mind, I think we are long overdue for a reunion.”
He held out his arm for her. “Do you think it will alarm the staff if we take off at a run?”
It was her turn to laugh, the sound joyous and free. “As a wise man so recently said, I don’t give a damn.”
Read on for an excerpt of Book 2
in the Wicked Husbands Series, .