Page 101 of Her Beast of a Duke
“I swear to you, Isabella,” he murmured. “I swear to you that I will truly let you lead me out of my darkness, no matter how hard it is.”
“Just do not order me to leave,” she told him, pulling him to his feet. “Not from your chambers, and not from your heart. I love you, Oscar. Ilove you.”
“My wife.” He cupped her face. “My beautiful wife, I love you, too.”
Isabella laughed through another sob as he pulled her face to his. He gathered her in his arms as he had ached to all this time, and he pressed his mouth to hers in a sealing kiss. Behind him, he heard footsteps pause.
“How improper,” a lady whispered, but somebody else giggled.
Oscar found he did not care.
Isabella pulled back, rolled her eyes, and leaned back in to kiss him again.
“I love you,” he murmured again between more kisses, and the sound of her soft laughter against his mouth was far brighter than anything else.
Epilogue
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Isabella was knocked from her thoughtful, happy reverie by a hand on her shoulder.
She turned to look at Oscar, who sat next to her at the pianoforte in the music room.
“You are happy,” he murmured, leaning into her so the comment was just for them.
In the early afternoon light, he looked so handsome, and part of her still wondered how she had the honor of waking up to him every morning, of falling asleep in his arms every night.
He had recently cut his hair a little shorter, and his beard had been trimmed. It was still there, and Isabella still adored raking her fingers softly through it, but he did not look like the unkempt, devastated man who had turned up at Hermia’s townhouse begging for her to come home four months ago.
“I am,” she answered, turning to look out at the music room.
Around her, Hermia and Charles sat with their new arrival, Samuel, on Charles’s lap.
Phoebe was crouched on the floor near them, her hands toying with Morris’s floppy ears. Her giggles filled the room whenever Morris shook his head, but she continued to go back to him for more.
Next to her, Sibyl had her face tilted downward into sheet music, deciphering a melody she intended to use to impress her next favorite suitor. For her, music still remained a gift and a joy, and Isabella swore to protect that from their mother’s calculations of qualities in her daughters.
“Are you?” Isabella asked, and Oscar answered with a breathy laugh as he wrapped an arm around her waist.
He took his other hand and grasped hers, shaping a chord on the pianoforte. He guided them to play it, and the room stopped for a moment before continuing.
“I have a wife whom I adore,” he told her, “and I have a home that is now filled with more warmth than I ever thought possible. You have opened both my heart and eyes to this world, Isabella. How could I ever not be happy?”
And she could see it: how light did indeed linger in those green eyes that held her own with so much love.
“I am just happy that you let me decorate your study a little more,” she teased.
“Ah, yes, the painting of the sweet shop,” he chuckled. “It entices me endlessly. You are a tease, my beloved.”
He had begun calling her that not long after he had proclaimed his love to her, kneeling on the street.
Beloved.
No, not just that:mybeloved. Because she was his, as he was hers, Isabella had never known what it was like to be kept in one’s heart until Oscar.
“Then I shall take you to every sweet shop you desire,” Isabella laughed. “My husband shall have his sweet tooth fulfilled.”
“Indeed, but first, I did once promise to show you my secrets.” Still holding her gaze, he smirked at her as he played several chords with their hands overlapped. “As I said, I am not the most proficient by any means, but I do enjoy it.”
