His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two
His Grace, The Duke: Bonus Epilogue

“Stop fidgeting,” James muttered.

Rosalie’s hand immediately stilled on the fur trim of her pelisse. “I’m not fidgeting,” she replied.

Yes, she was.

James just smirked, curling his fingers protectively over the hand she had draped on his arm. He gave it a soft squeeze. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

She frowned. James had been repeating that sentiment nearly every hour for the last week. It wasn’t helping her anxiety. In fact, if anything, his own lack of concern was only making things worse. If he said it again, she was going to replace a stick and whack him about the knees. She was about to say as much when Burke let out a soft laugh.

“Careful, James. The duchess is not above salting people’s tea when they irritate her.”

Rosalie shot him a knowing look, the corner of her mouth quirking into a little smile.

He returned it, his grey eyes as stormy as ever against the December sky.

Between them, James just sighed, checking his pocket watch for the fourth time. He glanced over his shoulder at Lawson, the butler. “She did say two o’clock, yes?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lawson replied with a nod.

“She will come,” said Rosalie, her smile falling. “I doubt very much she will miss this first chance to excoriate us both. What a fine Christmas present for herself.”

“If she dares try it, she will sleep in the stable with Magellan,” James replied.

“Perhaps a Christmas miracle might occur, and we will replace the dowager on her best behavior, merely happy to be home amongst family for the holiday,” offered Burke.

James cast him an incredulous look. “You’ve met my mother, right?”

Burke just chuckled again.

Rosalie tuned them out, her eyes locked on the sweeping curve of the drive as it disappeared into the stretch of woods separating Alcott’s northernmost grounds from the little village of Finchley. The trees were a tangled mess of leafless brown branches, dotted by the dark green of an occasional pine. Everything held a silvery glaze, dusted by the frost. Rosalie smelled snow in the air. She exhaled again, her breath coming out in a little puff of smoke. She inched closer to James, feeling the chill down to her toes.

“This is ridiculous.” He jabbed his watch back in his pocket for the fifth time. “Rosalie, go wait inside where it’s warm.”

“She will come, James,” she replied, soothing his arm with a stroke of her gloved hand.

They stood on the front steps of Alcott Hall, flanked to either side by a set of servants, waiting to receive the Dowager Duchess of Norland, who was now late by over half an hour.

Exactly one week ago, Rosalie was sitting alone in the morning room, enjoying a good book and a cup of oolong, when a footman entered with a letter on a tray addressed to Her Grace, the Duchess of Norland. Rosalie flipped the letter over to see the dowager’s seal in red wax. She opened it in a rush and read the contents:

December 15, 1812

Dear Duchess,

I have at last tired of the London air and wish to return home. Expect my coming one week hence. I shall send a man ahead to inform you of the hour.

Yours etc.,

Harriet Wakefield Corbin

Dowager Duchess of Norland

Two months. Rosalie had enjoyed two whole months of wedded bliss alone in her new home with her husband…well, husbands. For that is what Burke and Tom were to her. For two perfect months, she’d been able to live as if the outside world did not exist. There was only their love. The deepening of it, the exploring, the delicious testing of limits…and occasionally tempers.

True to his word, James woke her the morning after their return to Alcott Hall, his lips and hands rousing her from sleep. He’d claimed her so sweetly, Burke and Tom watching to either side, and said once more those two perfect words, words that had for so long terrified her.

“Marry me.”

“Yes,” she replied, with no feeling of hesitation or doubt.

The four of them shared each other in bed before sharing a breakfast. Then they walked to the church in Finchley and James and Rosalie were married. Just like that, she became a duchess.

Now here she stood, in the freezing December air. Her serene bubble was about to be popped, and the one to hold the pin was none other than her scheming mother-in-law, the lady who set this all in motion by inviting Rosalie to Alcott in the first place.

“She comes,” said James.

Rosalie tensed, seeing for herself a team of four black horses trotting down the lane pulling a carriage. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Umm, James…”

“What the…” Burke muttered from James’ other side.

As Rosalie watched, one carriage became two, became four, became four and a luggage wagon, with two more carriages trailing behind. It was a caravan. The dowager duchess may have tired of the London air, but she had apparently not tired of her London set, for she had apparently brought half the ton with her.

“Bloody fucking hell,” James muttered.

“James,” Rosalie whispered, heart fluttering. This could not be happening. She hardly felt ready to entertain the dowager, let alone all her high society friends.

James turned to stare daggers at Lawson and their housekeeper, Mrs. Davies. “What is the meaning of this? Did you two know?”

Mrs. Davies had the good sense to look a little sheepish. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. She made us promise. It was to be a surprise. A Christmas present, she called it.”

“Are we really all that surprised?” Burke said with a shrug.

James turned to Rosalie, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand. “I’ll send her straight home. She and all her friends will not even alight from their carriages. Just say the word—”

“No,” she said quickly, placing her hand over his. “James, I’m fine. No reason to be nervous, eh?”

His frown deepened.

Determined to soothe him, she tipped up on her toes and kissed him. His lips felt like marble in the icy air. “Do you now doubt your duchess? Shall I disappoint you, Your Grace?”

His arm curled around her waist as he pulled her closer, kissing her again. “Never.”

She broke their kiss with a smile. “Then let her come and be dashed upon our rocks, for she will not break us.”

He smiled too. She could sense the want in his look, his touch. “You are fierce, wife.”

“This is my house now,” she replied, keeping her arm around his waist as she turned to watch the caravan approach. “You wanted a duchess, and you have one. It’s your own fault you picked one who prefers to solve her problems by hurling fists rather than whispering gossip.”

“I think James has excellent taste,” Burke said from his other side. “I could not have picked a more perfect duchess for you.”

“You claim credit for this?” James said with a raised brow.

“Of course, I do,” he replied. “I was the one who discovered her in that back-alley brawl. I practically served her to you on a silver platter. You should be on your knees in gratitude to me every day of the week.” He flashed James a sly smile that had James rolling his eyes.

Rosalie ignored them. The front carriage rattled past, the wheels crunching on the pea gravel. In moments, the doors of the front two carriages were open, and the footmen were fishing out the passengers. The dowager duchess was the first down the steps of the first carriage.

James let go of Rosalie and descended the steps, offering his mother his arm. “Mother, you’re late.”

“A horse went lame and had to be changed out at Newbridge,” she replied, her bright blue eyes settling on Rosalie.

Rosalie felt that look pierce straight through her very bones. The dowager duchess had a sense about her, a knowing. It had unsettled Rosalie from the moment of their first meeting. She saw people. She saw through disguises and artifice. She saw Rosalie. In fact, Rosalie may as well have been waiting naked on the stairs, for no amount of fine fur-trimmed coats or feathered hats could disguise what she was: a nobody, unworthy, wholly undesired for this lofty role. Rosalie swallowed back the negative thoughts as the dowager had her gaze pulled away by James.

“What is the meaning of all this, mother?” he declared with a wave of his hand.

She lifted her chin most haughtily. “George denied me the joy of one wedding. I’ll not let you deny me a second time, James. I am here to see that I get what I want.”

Rosalie’s eyes went wide, glancing from James back to his mother.

“And what is it you want?” James replied, leading her up the stairs. “Rosalie and I are already married. We’ll not be repeating the act just for your benefit.”

She paused, turning on the stair to look up at her son. “I want an apology. A heartfelt one.”

He stiffened. “An apology?”

“For not inviting me,” she replied. “I am your mother, James. With Rosalie’s mother gone, I am all she has too, or did you forget this? It may be too late for me to see you both married, but you will not deny me this chance to see you celebrated. A new duke and his duchess, and thus, a new era of the Corbins begins.”

James glanced back over his shoulder at the pooling guests. “So, you brought half the ton with you to what? Offer us their congratulations and drop off a few belated wedding gifts?”

“No, I am hosting a ball,” she replied. “Tomorrow night, we shall celebrate Christmas, as well as the new Duke and Duchess of Norland.” She let her eye settle on Rosalie. “Does that suit you, Your Grace?”

But Rosalie was distracted, watching as the passengers from all the carriages were escorted out. One lady had just exited the last carriage. Her shockingly pink pelisse instantly drew Rosalie’s eye. “Is that…Madame Lambert?”

“Of course,” the dowager replied with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Madame Lambert is the best modiste in town, and I wanted the Duchess of Norland dressed by the best. We have a reputation that must be maintained.”

“Of course,” Rosalie replied with a growing smile.

“I’ll go welcome her,” Burke said, trotting down the stairs towards the modiste.

The dowager huffed. “Well, is someone going to show me inside, or shall I expect my feet to freeze here on this stair?”

Recovering himself, James offered out his arm again, leading his mother past Rosalie and into the house.

Rosalie watched as the rest of her house guests began climbing the stairs. There was the Viscount and Viscountess Raleigh, with Madeline smiling between them. The Marchioness of Marlborough and her two young children. The Duchess of Somerset, a close friend of the dowager, was instructing two footmen on the care of her pair of corgis. The Countess of Waverley stepped past her, flanked by a giddy Elizabeth and Mariah, who came bounding up the stairs to give Rosalie hugs. Rosalie greeted them warmly, shooing them inside with promises of hot chocolate and dancing after dinner. Her attention caught on Burke.

“Rosalie, you remember Paulette Lambert,” he said, climbing the stairs towards her.

“Of course,” she replied, offering out her hand.

The modiste took it, dipping into a slight curtsy. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.” The one and only time they met, the lady had been so sure James meant to court Rosalie with his extravagant wardrobe purchase. Now here Rosalie stood, his duchess.

Burke pat the lady’s gloved hand. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

“I shall replace you in an hour, ma chérie,” said Paulette over her shoulder. “I ‘ave a new gown for you and we must get you fitted. I call it Les Trois Diamants,” she added with a wink, letting Burke lead her into the house.

With a warm feeling settling deep in her chest, Rosalie followed them all inside.

Just as she promised, an hour later Paulette was ordering Rosalie to her bedroom so a new ballgown could be tried on and properly fitted. They left the rest of the boisterous house guests below. Mrs. Davies led the way as Rosalie, Paulette, and the dowager made their way towards her room.

Paulette wasted no time directing the maids. They soon set up a trifold mirror in the corner. A set of boxes were arranged on the end of the bed, their lids already removed. “I ‘ave three for you to try, Your Grace,” Paulette explained.

“Tell me my James at least offered you a nosegay on the day,” the dowager said with a sigh, sinking into a chair.

Rosalie stilled, her hands on the clasps of her dress. “Umm…no, he didn’t.”

“Did you have a veil? The barest trim of lace? Anything that might denote you were a bride on her wedding day?”

“No,” Rosalie replied. “It was all a bit rushed,” she admitted, focusing her attention on her claps rather than the sternness of her mother-in-law’s eyes. “We had breakfast together and walked to the village. Burke and Tom joined us as witnesses. It was quiet. Perfect, actually,” she finished with a smile.

“It sounds like a dream,” said Paulette distractedly. “Aha, zis is ze first choice,” She lifted a beautiful cream silk gown out of its box. “Simple but elegant, non?”

“No,” the dowager replied with a frown. “She is not a debutante at her first ball. She is a duchess. What else did you bring?”

Paulette was unfazed by her rudeness, handing the dress off to a waiting maid, as she reached for the next one. “Zis one is a new design,” she said, holding it up. It was a lovely thing of soft pink satin with a lace overlay. “I call it La Rose Rose,” she said with a chuckle.

“Your thoughts, Duchess?” the dowager asked with a raised brow.

“It’s beautiful,” Rosalie replied.

Paulette narrowed her eyes at her. “Hmm…and back in ze box she goes,” she said, stuffing it unceremoniously away. “But now we come to ma précieux trésor. Zis one you cannot deny.” She folded back the paper of the last box and lifted out a stunning ballgown. It was ivory silk, gathered at the bodice. A geometric diamond pattern in shades of blue and silver beads circled the waistline. The diamonds grew in size as the eye fell to the floor. The bottom hem was scalloped, ending with a lovely little train.

“It’s beautiful,” Rosalie sighed. “The diamonds are like snowflakes.”

“Try it on,” the dowager directed.

In minutes, Rosalie stood on the stand before her trifold mirror, marveling at the cut and style of the gown. The sleeves were sheer and capped. The beading made the bottom of the dress heavy, swaying a bit as she moved.

“This is the one,” the dowager declared.

“Absolument,” chimed the modiste. “I always know ze right gown for ze right lady. I shall take ze others and burn zem.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rosalie cried. “Please, would you go to Elizabeth and Mariah and offer them the other dresses as my gift? Could you alter three dresses in a night? Oh no, that is too much,” she said more to herself.

Paulette just laughed. “As long as your belle-mère is content paying a hefty bill, I shall sew until my fingers bleed, ma chérie. I ‘ave your measurements from before, so zis gown is almost parfaite.”

Rosalie smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She caught the dowager’s eye and her smile fell. “Could you umm…would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Of course,” Paulette cooed. “I shall go replace my Horatio and feed him too much cake.”

The two maids followed her out, softly shutting the door behind them.

Rosalie stood still, her eyes on her own reflection in the mirror. “Why did you really come?” she murmured.

“I told you why,” the dowager replied, tapping the edge of her teacup with her sugar spoon.

“And that’s it then?” she pressed with a raised brow. “You came to throw us a ball to celebrate our marriage…and you have no harsh words for me? No admonishments? Shall I walk through the doors of my dining room only to have a piano fall on my head?”

The dowager snorted. “Do you want harsh words from me, Rosalie?” She lifted her gaze to Rosalie’s reflection in the mirror. “Do you want me to hate you, child?”

“No,” Rosalie replied. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she added softly.

“And why would I hate you?”

Rosalie balled her hands into nervous fists at her sides. “Because I did the one thing you asked me not to do. You asked me to keep my distance from the gentlemen in this house. From James and from Burke…even George. I did not. George is my friend. In the end, he took my advice over yours. Burke is…well Burke,” she added, eyes darting away. “And James is my husband.”

“Burke was never mine to keep,” the dowager replied, taking a sip of her tea. “I knew that first morning when he brought you to me that he was lost. He has always been obstinate and passionate. I tried to rein him in, but the man is wild,” she added with a sigh. “He’s yours now to make or break. I wash my hands of him.”

Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. “And James? You don’t resent my marrying him?”

The dowager caught her eye’s reflection in the mirror again. “Having arranged the thing myself, I’m not sure why I would now resent it?”

Rosalie blinked. “What can you mean?”

The dowager laughed. “Who do you think had the Special License issued?”

“The—what?”

“Come, Rosalie, don’t be a fool,” she said, setting her tea aside. “James is a peer. He cannot simply marry on a whim. Either The Banns must be read, or he must apply for a Special License directly from the Archbishop of Canterbury. The day James was invested as duke, I had the Archbishop issue the license. I knew it was only a matter of time until you set aside your confounded pride and married him. In truth, I was already planning for a Christmas wedding,” she added. “But it is easy enough to change one’s plans from a wedding to a ball. I doubt I lost more than fifty pounds in the exchange.”

The air left Rosalie completely. “The license was your doing?”

“Of course,” the dowager replied. “Almost from the moment you arrived in my house, I saw the change in James. He was always so focused, so driven. In the span of days, you began unraveling him. You broke him down, piece by piece, remaking him into something new. Something better, stronger.”

Rosalie could hardly believe the words she was hearing.

“I always knew something was missing from my James, some piece of him that would take him from excellent to extraordinary. Of course, it had to be a woman,” she muttered, almost to herself. “How can I deny you what you’ve rightfully won, when it will clearly bring only benefit to my family? You were most unexpected, Miss Harrow. You vex me, it’s true. For you are willful and proud and too often indiscrete. The fact that you forced my son to accept your lovers into your marriage is obviously a chief concern, but I imagine if I try to wedge Burke or Renley away from you now, I’ll only get my hand bit for my trouble. Am I right?”

Rosalie stepped off the dress stand and sank onto the nearest chair. The dowager knew. Of course, she knew everything. How long had she known? Did everyone know? Rosalie had kept her eye on the papers and read nothing except recycled stories from the day of the investiture—the failed wedding, the shooting, Olivia’s midnight escape. The Corbins were mentioned just last month when the news of Piety Nash’s wedding was announced. Apparently, she’d bagged herself a wealthy earl. But there was nothing about Rosalie being a jezebel in the house of Corbin.

“Am I right?” the dowager pressed.

Rosalie raised her chin, meeting her mother-in-law’s gaze. “I see there is to be a truth between us. I know your secret…and you wish to know mine. But can I trust you with it?”

The dowager pursed her lips. “I am a woman of the world, Rosalie. I imagine I already know your secret.” She leaned forward, those eyes holding Rosalie captive in their gaze. “What I care about is that the center holds. James would hardly be the first peer in England to have an unconventional marriage. And he’s made it clear he cares nothing for my ideas, nor my advice. If I give it, he will be sure to run the opposite direction as quickly as his legs will carry him. I am thus resolved, at last, to stay out of his affairs.”

Rosalie raised a brow in wry disbelief.

“Well…for the most part I mean to stay out of things. I am still a Corbin, and I have my own opinions,” the dowager added with a sniff. “But my paramount concern is that the public face of House Corbin shines without a blemish. Whatever happens behind closed doors shall be your own affair. But what society sees. What the ton sees. This matters, Rosalie. It matters immensely.”

“I know,” Rosalie replied. “And we would never dare act in a way as to bring any undue suspicion to the family or the title. No one will ever doubt we are happy and in love because we are. I love your son madly, wildly, utterly and completely.”

“But what of Burke and Renley?” she said with a raised brow of her own.

Rosalie took a steadying breath. When the day began, she hadn’t been sure how much she was willing to reveal to her mother-in-law. But the thought of sharing a life with her—sharing a house with her—and hiding how she felt about Burke and Tom felt intolerable. It would be miserable for everyone involved.

The last thing she wanted was for his mother to be forced out of Alcott—her home for the last forty years—all in the name of making them more comfortable in her absence. But a life of hiding her feelings for Burke and Tom in every moment not shared in private felt like a kind of torture the likes of which would cause so much pain as to leave her a broken and bleeding thing.

“Burke has accepted a position as James’ steward,” she replied. “Tom stays with the Navy for now. He is returning from Town as we speak. He had a meeting with his captain. We believe he may soon be called out.”

“So, they intend to stay here at Alcott…with the two of you.”

Rosalie focused her attention on her own cup of tea. “Yes.”

“And if there is gossip—”

She glanced up sharply. “Horatio Burke and Tom Renley have been dear childhood friends of the Duke of Norland for nigh on twenty years,” she replied, her speech already well-practiced in her dressing mirror. “Long before he met me, James had a well-established record of housing them here. Nothing has changed now that we are married. James sees them as family, and so do I. They will always replace a home with us.”

The dowager held her gaze. “An answer without answering.”

“You seek my frankness, and I have given it,” she replied. “Enough for you to understand our feelings on the subject, at least. If there ever comes a time where I believe I can trust you with more of my frankness, I will most agreeably oblige. For now, I have said enough.”

The dowager pursed her lips. “All I really need to know is that you love my son, and you are committed to being his duchess. That is the only thing that matters. The public face of things must hold. Alcott must hold.”

Rosalie rose from her chair, taking the dowager’s hand in both of hers as she sank into the empty chair beside her. “I will love your son until my last breath. I will be a duchess, a wife, a mother, a proud lioness. We Richmond ladies are strong, are we not? I didn’t know my own strength at first, but James helped me to see it. He is so good and kind, so strong, so loving. I will not fail him. Not ever. And I love Alcott. It is safe in my hands…besides, you’re not dead yet,” she added with a soft grin. “I imagine you may continue to be useful to me, at least for a little while. I should like to have your mentorship as I learn to run this grand estate.”

The dowager gave Rosalie’s hand a pat. “Good. Love my son as he should be loved, manage this estate as it should be managed, and you’ll hear no complaints from me. I think…is it wrong of me to say that I think Elinor would be proud of you?” She raised her hand and tucked one of Rosalie’s dark curls behind her ear.

Rosalie’s eyes bloomed with tears at the touch. “I am not my mother,” she whispered.

“No,” the dowager replied. “You are something…more. You are wiser and stronger than ever we were. You will be the duchess I could have been, the duchess I should have been…the duchess worthy of wearing a tiara born out of love and self-sacrifice. A kind duchess. A loving one. You will do well here.”

A tear slipped down Rosalie’s cheek.

“And I brought it, you know,” the dowager added, rising to her feet.

Rosalie rose too. “Brought it?”

“The Duchess Mary tiara. Spun silver vining with diamond and amethyst grape clusters. You’ll need to wear something for the ball tomorrow night. A duchess must always be properly dressed,” she counseled with a frown. “You should wear it.”

Rosalie nodded, her voice still thick with emotion. “Thank you for your kindness to me. I-I don’t know where I’d be had you never written…had you never invited me to Alcott—”

“Do not dwell in the past, dear. Look forward. That’s what I do. Everything we do now is for our future, yes?”

Rosalie nodded again. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Sarah.” Rosalie smiled at her maid’s reflection in the mirror.

Sarah smiled back, stepping back from her handiwork. Rosalie’s hair was expertly styled in a column of curls. The dress was on, as were Rosalie’s long, white gloves. The finishing touch was to add her jewels. Rosalie glanced sidelong at the box on the edge of her dressing table.

It was the tiara. The one the third duke bought for his wife. The tiara that symbolized love and fidelity and the hope of a happy, growing family. This would be Rosalie’s first occasion to wear one. It felt significant. She wanted to remember the moment. Glancing back at Sarah’s reflection, she nodded.

With a giddy sigh, Sarah opened the handsome wooden box and lifted out the tiara. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, letting her fingers trace over the vine design. The purple amethysts that made up the grape clusters looked almost black as Sarah nestled the tiara atop Rosalie’s dark hair. “Earrings, Your Grace? Or a necklace?”

Rosalie shook her head, her eyes locked on her own reflection and the glitter of silver and diamonds atop her head. “No, nothing else.”

“Make a statement,” Sarah said with a knowing smile.

Rosalie caught her eye. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“Do you need anything else from me, Your Grace?”

“Nothing,” Rosalie replied, rising to her feet. “You may go. And do be sure to join us,” she called after Sarah’s retreating form. “It’s Christmas, and I want all the staff to enjoy at least one glass of punch. And all you young ladies are welcome to seek out a dance partner. You’ll remind everyone?”

Sarah paused at the door and dipped into a curtsy. “Yes, Your Grace.” She closed the door quietly behind herself, leaving Rosalie alone in the room.

Far below her, the sounds of the growing house party echoed. The quartet was practicing, playing a merry jig. She could only imagine Elizabeth and Mariah were already below, leading a few others in a private dance. Rosalie checked the time on her mantle clock.

Six o’clock.

The ball was set to begin in one hour. Carriages were already lining up outside, delivering guests who were too excited to stay away a moment longer.

Nodding to her reflection in the mirror, she moved towards the door that connected her bedroom with an ensuite sitting room, bathing chamber, and a dressing room she shared with James. The ensuite rooms connected on the far side to his bedroom.

In two months, she’d already made many pleasant memories in all these rooms. Her men hardly ever slept separate from her. If they did, it was only one or two of them at a time. They were all careful to give her time alone with each of them. And she loved when they took their own time together too. Nothing pleased her more than to catch them together, entangled and in love, holding nothing back.

She stepped through her door into the sitting room, half expecting to replace them waiting. But the room was empty. A door off to the left led to the bathing chamber, but the other door directly across was wide open, leading through to the dressing room. She crossed that room too, seeing the door to James’ room open.

She heard them before she saw them.

“Don’t tell her,” came James’ curt voice. “Not yet. At least, not tonight.”

“I agree,” said Burke.

Heart fluttering, she stepped through the door to see all three of her men standing together in James’ bedroom. Burke and James were already changed for the ball, their crisply cut black evening coats framing their broad shoulders. But Tom was clearly only just back. He was still in his travel clothes.

“Tell me what?” she said, pausing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

Her men turned as one to face her.

“Bloody hell,” Tom muttered, his blue eyes wide as they trailed from her head down to her slippered feet and back up.

Burke’s mouth curled into a devilish smile, while next to him James went still as stone.

“Don’t tell me what?” She leveled her stare at Tom. His pained look gave everything away. Her heart sank through her chest. “You’ve been called out.”

He nodded.

It was then she noticed the thickly folded piece of parchment in his hand. No doubt they were his new orders. She glanced from Burke to James, fighting to keep her tone casual and her tears at bay. They all knew this was coming, but it still felt too soon. She wasn’t ready for everything to change. “How long do we have?” she murmured.

“Two weeks,” Tom replied.

She swallowed, doing her best to replace him a smile. “And how long will you be gone?”

“Six months.”

She breathed a sigh of…what was this feeling? Relief? Loss? Acceptance? It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Tom had spent the last two weeks preparing her for a reality where he was gone for a whole twelve-month, or relocated altogether, like Hartington who was leaving for a new posting in Jamaica just after the new year.

“This changes nothing,” Tom said, stepping closer.

“I know,” she replied.

“Six months will hardly be noticeable,” said Burke with a false smile. “It’s barely enough time to even start missing you. Before we know it, you’ll be back, eating all the chicken and hogging half the bed.”

Neither Rosalie nor Tom shared his hollow laugh. James stood still and silent as the grave. Slowly, Tom turned to face him. “Christ, J. Say something.”

“I told you I would buy you out if that’s what you wanted,” James replied, his tone flat. “You said no, and now you must leave us.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Tom tossed his orders on the end of the bed and crossed over to him, placing both hands on his shoulders.

James stiffened.

“Over the cliff, and over again. That was the vow I made, and I intend to keep it. Work calls me away, but I will return in six months,” he said, letting his gaze drift from James to Burke to Rosalie.

“That work being fighting for King and country in the middle of two wars,” James replied. “They could send you to the Americas—”

“They won’t,” Tom replied. “It’s to be the Mediterranean. Italy and Greece, Malta, perhaps Constantinople, but then back again. Six short months. Please, J.” He cupped his face with one hand, and James stiffened further.

Rosalie understood his anxiety. James was always slowest to accept change. He wasn’t angry or resentful about Tom keeping his job in the Navy, he was just afraid. His fear was urging him to pull back, retreat, fortify the walls of his emotions. He needed someone to drag him back from the ledge before he tipped into darkness.

Burke stepped in before she could, clapping a hand on both Tom and James’ shoulders. “Right, well we have a fortnight to accept Tom’s news, but for now we have over a hundred guests filling the rooms downstairs. We cannot possibly go down there looking as if we are attending our own funerals.” He cast Rosalie a reassuring smile adding, “Besides, it’s Christmas, remember? We must appear jolly and joyous. Surely, we can focus on that for tonight instead of Tom’s leaving.”

James was still too quiet. Tom dropped his hands away from his shoulders, looking defeated.

“At the very least,” Burke tried again, “Can we not all acknowledge the way our goddess floated into our midst? For the first time in her life, she is bedecked with a tiara denoting her proper station. James, for the love of god, do you of all people have no comment?”

James let his eyes settle on her. She saw the heat there, the need. He was aching with it. Between the dowager’s sudden reappearance and Tom’s upsetting news, he was feeling out of control. Her Atlas hated nothing more than a loss of control.

She lifted her chin and smiled. “Well, Your Grace? Do I pass muster?”

He gave a curt nod, the darkness receding somewhat from his eyes. “Yes.”

Tom had turned too, crossing over to her with a smile. “How much time do we have? I want to get lost in your cunt before I’m forced to go mingle.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “My sweet girl. My life, my love.” He made to grab for her dress, but she instinctively thrust out a hand, pressing it flat against his chest.

“Hold on,” she said with a laugh. “Do you have any idea how long it took Sarah to get me looking like this?” She gestured to her perfectly set curls and powdered nose. “And if even one bead of this dress is out of place, Paulette will murder me.”

Burke came up behind Tom, one hand on his shoulder. “And how are we to pleasure you, if we cannot touch the dress?”

Her smile wavered as a thought sparked in her mind. It was weak, like the flame of a candle lit on a blustery winter’s night, but growing warmer, heating her from this inside out. They needed this. Her men were on edge, unsettled, ravenous. She needed this too. She dropped her hand from Tom’s chest and took a step back. “Pleasure can take many forms, can it not? You know how much I love watching you together.”

Burke’s devious smile spread. “Say what you want, little siren.”

She held his gaze. “I want you to please me.”

She stepped around them, crossing over to James. His eyes traced up her body, lifting to note the sparkle of the tiara in her hair. She saw the ache in him, twisting and fighting as he tried desperately to lock it away. She cupped his cheek with a gloved hand, and he closed his eyes. “Look at me, my love,” she murmured.

He opened his eyes, the green slowly being swallowed by black.

“Tom needs you.”

He stilled under her hand, eyes darting over her shoulder to where she knew Tom stood.

“He doesn’t need you to protect him, or fight for him, or make his decisions for him,” she went on, drawing his eyes back to her. “He just needs you. Not the Duke of Norland. He needs James. We all need James. I am your duchess and your wife, and I’m telling you to comfort him. Nothing will give me more pleasure in this moment than to watch you please him.”

He swallowed, dropping his gaze to her lips. “I can’t protect him outside of this house, outside of my reach,” he admitted softly.

She smiled in understanding. “And thank god for that, for your hands are already more than full.” She brushed her gloved fingers over his brow, sweeping an auburn curl back into place. “Tom has always been a free spirit. He was made to sail away, but he always sails back again. Shall we be his safe harbor?”

James nodded.

Relieved, she tipped up on her toes, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Then show him.”

James let out a deep breath and nodded again, holding out his hand. “Tom, come.”

Tom came without hesitation, wrapping himself in James’ arms, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in. James held tight to his shoulders. “I love you,” Tom murmured, the words muffled by James’ cravat. “I love you so goddamn much. Push me away, and I will die.”

“Never,” James replied, digging his fingers into Tom’s curls. He pulled Tom’s head back, holding his gaze. “You are mine. Christ, I would give you the Corbin name if I could,” he said, kissing Tom’s cheek. “Shower you with my love for all to see.” A kiss to his brow. “Call you ‘husband’ in a crowded room—”

Their lips met, Tom fighting James for dominance as they began feverishly shedding their clothes. Rosalie stood back and watched, love blooming inside her, matched by her white-hot, aching need. But she could wait. She was more than happy to wait and to watch. Tom and James needed this.

“They’re beautiful,” Burke murmured, coming to stand at her side. “How did we ever get so lucky?”

Before Rosalie could respond, James was breaking his kiss with Tom, glancing over his shoulder. “Burke—I need—” His words died on his lips as a shirtless Tom latched his mouth onto James’ neck, sucking on his flushed skin. Tom’s hands roved, stripping James of his waistcoat. He broke his fevered kisses long enough to drag James’ shirt off over his head. “Burke,” James groaned again.

Next to Rosalie, Burke chuckled. “You have to actually ask me, James. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes, you are,” James panted.

Tom shoved his hand inside James’ high-waisted dress pants. Both men groaned as Tom wrapped his hand around James’ hard length.

“Please, Burke,” James tried again. “Let me have him. Let me—god—” Tom squeezed him, silencing his request.

Burke laughed and Rosalie let out a relieved sigh.

“Does this mean I win?” Tom muttered, his lips and tongue still hungrily teasing James’ flushed skin.

James went still in his arms, his eyes losing some of their haze. “Wait—what?” He looked from Rosalie to Burke.

“Oh, we wagered on how long your stupid rule would last,” Burke explained. “You know, the one where Tom cannot take you with his mouth?”

Tom chuckled, not minding when James tried to shove him off.

“What?” James growled.

“Rosalie’s been out for ages,” Burke added. “She didn’t think you’d last three weeks.”

She had the good sense to blush, using Burke as a shield when James glared at her.

“But I know your stubborn streak,” Burke went on. “And I know how much you love my mouth, so I rather assumed it would take you half a year to bend or break. Tom, the sly devil, bet he could break you by Christmas. I’ll put on a brave face and pretend this doesn’t wound my pride. The only balm will be to see you give in to him now.”

James blinked, glancing around at all of them, his eye landing on Tom. His surprise hardened into resolve as he reached out a hand and grabbed Tom by the hair, jerking him forward. “How much money did you bet?” His voice was low, hungry.

“Ten pounds,” Tom replied, his hands on James’ hips, a smile tipping his lips.

“Is that all I’m worth to you?” James growled. “Perhaps I’ll make a bet of my own then. I wager one hundred pounds I can go without this sweet mouth for a whole year.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Tom snarled, dropping his hand back down to stroke the hard length still concealed in James’ pants. “Admit it, Your Grace. You want me so badly you can hardly breathe. I feel your heart racing.” He leaned his face closer, licking James’ throat, his face dropping to James’ shoulder. “I taste your need, James. I want to taste more. And I have been more than patient. All I’ve ever wanted is to be yours. How much longer must I wait?”

James pushed him back, smoothing his hands over Tom’s tattooed chest and down his arms. He leaned in close and murmured loud enough for the others to hear, “I was ready to break the first night we were all together. The moment I saw your cock sliding inside my wife’s cunt, I wanted it in my mouth. I wanted to taste you both together.”

Tom whimpered. Rosalie did too. It was too much. She was shaking with need. Beside her, Burke was barely holding himself back.

“You will walk around my house tonight feeling me inside you,” James went on, wrapping his hand around Tom’s throat, brushing his thumb against his pulse. “You’ll laugh and charm my guests, you’ll dance with my duchess, and you’ll think of me all the while. Agreed?”

Tom wordlessly nodded.

“Good. Now, get on your knees, and show me what ten pounds is worth to you.”

Tom groaned, dropping like a stone to his knees. “Yes. Please, god. Own me, James. Ruin me.” He worked the fall of James’ pants, sliding them down his hips until James’ hard length was out and in Tom’s hand. Tom wasted no time, sinking his mouth onto James, swallowing him to the hilt.

“I can hardly bear it,” Burke murmured, his eyes locked on the thrusting of James’ hips against Tom’s face.

Rosalie understood his pain. They were heartachingly beautiful to watch. The trust, the longing. It engulfed them, daring to set Rosalie and Burke aflame too. Her men made her so happy.

“God, enough,” James panted, jerking himself out of Tom’s mouth. “Get on my fucking bed.”

Tom stumbled to his feet, working himself out of his boots and riding breeches. James stepped around him, striding purposefully straight for Rosalie, fire burning in his eyes.

Her own eyes went wide. “I’m sorry about the bet—”

He silenced her with a kiss, nearly tipping her off her feet with his need to dominate. She returned his kiss, her gloved hands smoothing over his bare shoulders. He broke first, gripping her by the hips to keep her standing. He captured her gaze, his own so intent it made her quiver. “I want to fuck Tom. Do you consent, wife?”

She nodded, her hands still on his shoulders. “Of course,” she whispered, replaceing her voice. “James, I love you and I love Tom. There is nothing you could do together that I would not desire. He has waited for you for so long. Go to him. Burke and I will be here.”

Next to her, Burke groaned.

James turned to look at him. “You want to join us.”

“Of course, I bloody well want to join you. My cock is hard as stone. I’ll frighten off your guests if I must go downstairs without relief.”

As if thinking it over, slowly James nodded. “Give me a moment with him, then join.”

Burke sucked in a breath, glancing from Rosalie back to James. “Join you? What would you have me do?”

Surprising them both, James flashed him a smile. “If you really need instruction, perhaps its better if you just watch.” Not waiting for Burke to respond, he turned away, crossing the room back towards their waiting Tom.

James kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants to the floor, stepping out of them. Tom was waiting on the bed. With a dizzy smile, he sank backwards, rolling onto his stomach. Then James was behind him, his firm hands sliding over Tom’s naked hips. James dipped down, running his tongue over the curve of Tom’s arse. Beneath him, Tom quivered and groaned. James repeated his exploration on the other side.

“Turn over,” he muttered.

Tom glanced at him over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Turn the fuck over, Tom,” James repeated, tugging at his hips.

Tom let himself be turned, his proud cock pointing in the air as he settled on his back, James standing between his spread legs. James slid his hands up Tom’s strong thighs, smoothing them over his hips, as he dropped to one knee.

Rosalie’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched James take Tom in his mouth. Tom groaned, arching up to meet him, his fists gripping tight to the coverlet.

“Fucking hell,” Burke muttered.

James popped his mouth off Tom’s cock and leaned forward, placing two fingers against Tom’s lips. “Suck.”

Tom dragged James’ fingers inside his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked them. After a moment, James pulled them out, wet and glistening. With his left hand, he dragged Tom’s thigh up, opening him wider. Then his wet fingers trailed between Tom’s legs. In the shadows of the room, Rosalie couldn’t see, but she knew the moment James pressed them inside. Tom groaned, letting his leg open wider as he dropped his head back against the bed, eyes closed. Her own body reacted too, knowing well that aching sense of fullness.

Losing his patience, Burke left her side, crossing the room towards them. He stepped behind where James stood and fished in the drawer of the bedside table. Uncorking a little vial, he oiled his hands. Then he stepped behind James, wrapping both hands around him and fisting his cock. James groaned, dropping his head back against Burke’s shoulder, even as his fingers continued to stretch Tom.

“He likes to be dominated,” Burke muttered in James’ ear.

“I know.”

“Don’t be gentle with him—”

“I bloody well know.” James pulled his fingers out of Tom’s arse and curled his hands under his thighs. Tom lay there, panting on the bed, his tattooed chest glistening with a sheen of sweat. “Do you want this, Tom?” James said, all his attention narrowed on Rosalie’s beautiful sailor. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes,” Tom panted, fisting his own cock with one hand while the other reached blindly for James. “If you make me wait any longer, I’ll go mad. I’m yours, and I’m aching to be filled. Put your cock in me, James. Tear me apart.”

James grabbed Tom’s hips with both hands, dragging him to the edge of the bed. With one hand on Tom’s hip, the other on his own cock, James pressed in. Rosalie watched as he claimed Tom for the first time, sinking his length in to the hilt as Tom trembled.

“How does he feel?” said Burke, standing at James’ side.

“Like home,” Tom replied, a look of pure bliss on his face. “James, you have to move. Don’t hold back.”

James gave a few teasing thrusts, both hands holding tight to Tom’s hips.

Rosalie stepped to the side, reaching blindly for the closest chair as she watched her men together. Slowly, she sank down onto it, feeling the heat and need burning through her. They were magnificent, strong and confident. They were more aggressive with each other than they ever were with her—holding tighter, driving deeper, seeking a gasp of pain with their pleasure. Part of her envied them all. They shared a history together so much richer than anything she yet had with them. Friendships nurtured for twenty years. Trust, yearning, peace.

Looking at them together, she saw her future. Or she saw what she wanted for her future. She wanted to need and be needed. She wanted to be the center of their world. She wanted to know them better than she knew herself.

Please, God, if you have any mercy in you, spare a little for me. Let me keep them. Let me earn their love. She whispered the prayer in her mind, locking it away deep in her heart.

“Seven,” Tom said on a breathless laugh, pulling her back to the present. He stretched his arms languidly above his head.

“What?” James panted.

“This is seven pounds worth of bliss, and I am owed ten.” The playful glint in Tom’s eye made Rosalie’s stomach flip. James did not like to be teased.

A feral sound escaped James as he lunged forward. Keeping himself buried to the hilt, he wrapped a hand around Tom’s throat and jerked him closer, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Tom did a half curl, grabbing hold of James’ arms as James pounded into him.

Tom gasped, nearly falling back when James wrapped both arms around Tom’s thighs, pressing them back against Tom’s chest, opening him even deeper. “Yes,” Tom panted. “Fucking Christ, you feel so good. Burke, please. Take him.”

Burke stepped in behind James, wrapping his own hand around James’ throat. He pressed his whole weight against him, bending James over Tom. Rosalie held completely still, eyes wide. In all their times together, James had only given of himself; he’d never received.

“Tom asks me to take you,” Burke breathed in his ear. “He wants me to drive you into him. He wants his duke worshipped and claimed. Shall we give him what he wants, Your Grace? Shall you yield yourself to me while our wife watches?”

James gasped between them, his eyes locked on Tom. “Is this what you want?”

Tom licked his lips and nodded. “No beginning, no end, James. You promised us.”

Rosalie could hardly believe it when James returned his nod. Then he said three words that had her ready to shatter without a single touch. “Do it, Burke.”

Burke wasted no time. He didn’t even shed his clothes. He just opened the fall of his pants, oiled himself, and began pressing in. James choked on a groan as Tom arched up to kiss him, greedily swallowing each sound.

“Relax, and take it, Your Grace,” said Burke, easing himself in with careful strokes.

“Holy god,” James groaned, dropping down to his hands, framing either side of Tom.

Tom held him by the hips, keeping him in place. “Burke, move. Take us,” he demanded.

Burke didn’t hesitate. Wrapping his own hands firmly around James’ hips, he pounded into him, making James let out a hoarse cry, all but falling atop Tom.

“Yes,” Tom cried, gripping James by the shoulders.

“I can’t,” James panted, eyes shut tight. “Oh, god—”

“Kiss me.” Tom pulled him closer. “James, kiss me.”

James sank atop him, meeting Tom in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. He broke it with a strangled groan as Burke dared to smack his arse.

“Stroke Tom’s cock,” Burke demanded between thrusts. “Make him come.”

James pushed his weight off Tom with one hand, reaching for him with the other. Tom sighed with relief when James wrapped his hand around his hard length and stroked him from root to tip. Tom arched his hips, meeting his every touch with eager sounds while Burke chased his own release. James’ hand stilled on Tom’s cock as he gasped, his body going rigid.

“Come, Your Grace,” Burke growled. “Now.”

James gave a guttural groan, soon matched by Tom. Rosalie watched it all, completely enraptured, as James and Tom at last found their joy together. Two more thrusts and Burke broke, spilling himself inside James. All three men panted, breathing as one into the sacred silence that followed.

James moved first, slipping his hand off Tom and collapsing atop him, his cheek on Tom’s sweaty anchor tattoo, his legs still pressed between Tom’s open thighs. Tom curled his arms around him, stroking his hair with one hand as he closed his eyes, utterly at peace. Burke gave James’ hip a soothing stroke before he pulled out and flopped down onto the bed next to them. It was odd to see him still fully clothed next to their naked forms. It was a stark reminder of where they were…or where they were all supposed to be.

Rosalie glanced up at the mantle clock.

Five minutes to seven.

She got up from her chair and crossed over to them, smoothing her gloved hand over James’ bare back, up to his shoulder. “That was beautiful, my loves. You know, you all make me very happy.”

Burke and James each gave a response somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. Tom just gave her a sleepy, satisfied smile, his fingers still brushing James’ hair back from his brow.

“We’re going to be late,” James said, his words muffled against Tom’s chest.

“Of course,” Rosalie replied. “But I can think of no better reason to be late to a party we did not ask for nor plan.”

“Don’t worry, love. We will make sure His Grace is presentable,” Burke muttered, curling back up into a sitting position with a reluctant grunt. “Up, James,” he said, giving James’ arse another smack.

James groaned, seemingly unable to lift his weight off Tom. It was all he could do to roll himself to the side.

Rosalie just smiled, joy and contentment bubbling inside her. “The sooner you three ready yourselves, the sooner you can come celebrate with me as you ought.”

“Christ, are we expected to sing carols?” James muttered.

“Hell on earth,” Burke echoed.

Rosalie’s smile widened. “I’m sure we’ll do that too. But I’m thinking of another reason we have to celebrate tonight.” She’d been keeping this secret to herself for nearly a fortnight, and it was eating her alive. She’d meant to wait until actual Christmas day, but this moment seemed as good as any other. In fact, given the nature of their unique relationship, the timing felt perfect.

Burke glanced sharply at her, his eyes narrowing. The man’s ability to read her ran positively occult. “Rosalie…”

James and Tom sensed his tone and turned towards her as well.

Fighting the laugh that bubbled up inside her, she backed away from them, her smile spreading from ear to ear. “Make yourself presentable, husband. Then come downstairs and tell all your guests our happy news.”

She had their full attention now. All fatigue forgotten, James and Tom both sat up. Burke stood, his body coiled tight like a fox on the hunt. “Rosalie,” he repeated, a warning and a plea.

Backing away another step, she placed a gloved hand over her stomach. “Your duchess is with child.” Soaking in the shared looks of surprise and delight on their faces, she turned and darted away through the open door. Laughing out loud, her smile filling her face, she glanced back to see all three of them stumbling off the bed, eagerly chasing after her.