“I know,” he acknowledged with a groan, genuine remorse etching lines around his eyes. “And I shall regret causing you that pain for the rest of my days.”
“I felt… discarded,” she continued, each word clearly costing her. “As if I had been foolish once again, believing in love when it was merely… convenience.”
“Never that,” Ewan assured her fiercely. “What I feel for you has never been merely convenient. In fact, it has been the most inconvenient, disruptive, magnificent force I have ever encountered.”
Samantha studied his face, as if searching for some sign of insincerity or doubt. Finding none, her expression softened infinitesimally. “You truly want children? A family with me?”
“More than I have ever wanted anything,” he vowed. “The thought terrifies me still, if I am honest. But I would rather face that fear with you at my side than spend another day denying the future we might build together.”
Her hands tightened around his, a tremulous smile breaking through the last of her reserve. “You are a maddening man, Ewan Wildingham. Stubborn and proud and utterly infuriating at times.”
“All true,” he agreed, hope rising with each word.
“And yet,” she continued, her voice softening to a whisper, “I love you with a depth that frightens me. Despite your flaws—perhaps even because of them. Because you are trying. Because beneath all your carefully constructed walls, there beats a heart capable of extraordinary tenderness.”
Ewan felt something tight and painful in his chest begin to unravel, a knot of fear and loneliness loosening for the first time in decades. “Samantha…”
“I see you,” she said simply. “All of you. Not just the duke, not just the guardian, not just the man who carries wounds from his past. I see Ewan, the man who loves with a fierceness he tries to hide, who protects with a devotion that borders on ferocity, who strives every day to be better than those who came before him.”
She released his hands then, but only to raise her own to his face, her palms cradling his jaw with exquisite tenderness. “And I love you, just as you are.”
With a sound that was half-groan, half-prayer, Ewan pulled her to him, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that expressed everything words could not contain. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her against him as if he could somehow fuse their souls together through the sheer force of his longing.
Samantha melted into him, her lips parting beneath his, her fingers sliding into his hair to hold him close. The kiss deepened, heated, years of restraint giving way to the pure, consuming flame that had always burned between them.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Ewan rested his forehead against hers, unwilling to relinquish their closeness even for a moment.
“Come home,” he whispered. “Come home to Valemont. To Percy. To me.”
Her smile was radiant, transforming her entire countenance with a joy that left him humbled. “Yes,” she replied simply. “Yes, I will.”
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
“Imust confess, Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest work has quite exceeded my expectations,” Emma declared, setting her teacup down with a decisive clink. “Though I maintain the Gothic elements were somewhat overwrought in the final chapters.”
“Overwrought?” Annabelle’s eyebrows rose in elegant challenge. “I found them perfectly calibrated to the narrative tension. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
Samantha smiled, her gaze sweeping over the circle of ladies gathered in Valemont Hall’s drawing room. The Athena Society had grown considerably in the year since she had first hosted them, the original members now joined by several local ladies of discerning literary taste.
“I find myself caught between two equally compelling interpretations,” she replied diplomatically. “Though I admit a particular fondness for the heroine’s decision to confront herfears rather than flee them. It speaks to a courage I find admirable.”
“Indeed,” Joanna agreed, her spectacles glinting in the afternoon light. “Far too many literary heroines spend their time swooning at the first sign of danger. A woman of genuine fortitude is refreshing.”
The conversation flowed comfortably around literary merits and shortcomings, the warmth of friendship evident in every exchange. Ewan, pausing in the doorway on his way to the gardens, found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight of his wife in her element—confident, radiant, her auburn hair catching the sunlight as she leaned forward to make a point about thematic resonance.
“Your Grace,” Lady Harrington called, catching sight of him hovering at the threshold. “Come tell us if we have quite exhausted your patience with our literary debates. The gentlemen have been most forbearing while we commandeered the drawing room.”
“Not at all,” Ewan replied, stepping into the room with a smile that a year ago would have been unthinkable in such company. “I find the intellectual discourse invigorating, though I confess my understanding of Gothic conventions remains woefully inadequate.”
“A deficiency your wife has no doubt undertaken to remedy,” Annabelle observed with a knowing smile.
“Among many others,” Ewan agreed, his gaze meeting Samantha’s with a warmth that sent a becoming flush across her cheeks, despite a year of marriage.
“We have nearly concluded our discussion,” Samantha said, rising from her chair. “Though I believe we have one final matter to address before adjourning.”
“Indeed,” Lady Harrington nodded briskly. “The London chapter. With so many of our members dividing their time between country estates and town residences, it seems only practical to establish a formal branch in the city.”
