“She’s with the princess,” Morgan told Simon right before the man ran off to see his wife.
Morgan led Mena away from the crowds and into a deserted hall in the house. He found an empty room and pulled her inside, and Mena thought of everything she should say to him, starting with the confession of her feelings and hoping it would be enough for him to give her another chance.
He didn’t give her the chance to speak.
Morgan pulled her close. His hand went to the back of her head, and Mena closed her eyes just before his mouth settled on hers. His kiss was warm, and she moaned as he pulled her closer. Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him with all the passion she could summon. If this was to be her last, then she would make it worth it.
And he seemed to kiss her just as desperately. The only sound was the short breaths they took between kisses and the sounds of their growing passion.
Morgan spoke against her mouth. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
Happiness blended with desire and she whispered, “You never have to worry about that, because I’m yours.”
He slowly pulled away and met her eyes. “Does that mean you’ll still have me?”
She thought his question the height of ridiculousness. “Of course, Morgan. I love you. I chose you days ago.”
His hands moved to her cheeks, and he leaned forward and kissed her again before saying, “Thank God.”
She smiled.
“I love you,” he told her. “Even if you’d told me no, I’d already planned to have you anyway.”
She laughed and settled her hands on his shoulders. “How would you have managed it?”
He grinned. “We spies have our way.”
She didn’t doubt it. “Is it always this way?”
He shook his head. “Not always and since I’m titled, I’ll likely have to retire soon. Simon and the others are thinking of doing the same.”
She seemed surprised. “But you’re the Order of the Second Sons.”
“And more Second Sons will follow us,” he told her. “We’ve done our duty. We’ve saved the future queen. It’s time to let another man take over.”
She smiled and said, “I like the idea of you being home, but if you’re doing it for me, I don’t want you to. I believe in what you do, Morgan.”
He slid his hands down her shoulders and to her sides before he gripped her hips. “Thank you for your words, Mena, but I’m doing this for us. I’ll always be a spy, but I want to be more now.”
“What more could you be?” she asked.
“Your husband. I want to spend every moment I can with you and eventually raise my children with you. Nothing will be more important than my family.” He kissed her again and Mena felt tears fill her eyes. He thought being her husband was more important than being a Second Son. Her heart was full and soared with joy.
She was to marry the man of her dreams. A soldier. A spy. A marquess, and as Marianne had called him, her man. He was hers. Every part of him belonged to her, just as she belonged to him and for the next few moments in Morgan’s hands, not a single thought bothered her.
* * *
Epilogue
.
One Year Later
“I don’t get it. How did you know it would work?” Bradley stared at his grandfather as he sat across from him at his desk.
Wardington looked up from his paper and grinned. “You’ll feel it in your gut when you know it’s right.”
Bradley frowned. The duke had been saying similar things for over a year, ever since Bradley decided he wanted to be just like him. Yes, he admired his father and would take over as the Marquess of Clariant as well, but Bradley wanted to be like Martin Dawnton, the Duke of Wardington and the smartest man Bradley knew.
Wardington leaned over the desk and stared at his grandson. He laced his fingers together. “Everyone is meant to be with someone, Bradley, and while some will always miss that opportunity, you will learn to help ensure that some never miss it.”
“By letting my gut lead me?” Bradley asked.
His grandfather nodded.
Bradley stood. “Inconceivable! Such things should never be left up to the gut but the mind. Surely, there is more to love than a gut feeling.”
Wardington leaned back. “Well, of course, there is. Two people need to be desperate for it as well, for while everyone needs love, there are only a few who truly know they need it. The ones looking to fill the emptiness within them, those are the people you’ll aid.”
“And the others?” Bradley asked.
“They’ll fill that emptiness with other things.” Wardington looked troubled at that thought and said, “It was what my generation did. We allowed titles and power to lead us, but I knew it wasn’t right.”
“So, you build marriages on love.”
“Exactly,” Wardington told him. “Because, those who know how to love make the world a better place.” He smiled.
Bradley narrowed his eyes. “And those in love have more to lose.”
Wardington lifted a brow. “You’re catching on.”
Bradley took his seat again and asked, “But why do it at all? Why did it matter to you?”
Wardington sighed and his mouth twitched before he said, “Can you believe I wished the world to call the coming time ‘The Age of Wardington’?” His eyes moved away as though he were imagining it. The entire world respecting him for what he’d achieved. But then he frowned and said, “But thanks to the attack on Victoria, it’s more than likely to be known after her.”
Bradley didn’t want to break his grandfather’s spirits by telling him that more than likely the coming time would be known as Victoria’s time because she was queen. Bradley had attended her coronation a few months ago and had felt at peace seeing the woman take the throne. A heavy weight had been lifted off his grandfather’s shoulders, and thus Bradley’s. He doubted the duke would see another year but wanted him to know how much he was loved. He walked over to his grandfather and put a hand on his shoulder. “Grandfather, when you die, I’ll remember you, and I’ll make sure that my children know the great man that you were.”
The old man’s eyes turned to Bradley and he chuckled. “Bradley, do you still want to be like me?”
Bradley nodded.
Wardington held his eyes and moved forward to reach into a compartment of his desk. Bradley couldn’t see what he was doing, but he noted another door in the drawer open and then Wardington pulled out a thick leather book and placed it on the desk. The casing was worn, and the pages looked old.
“What is that?” Bradley asked.
Wardington stood and started toward the door, the cane taking him the entire way, almost more useful than his legs now. “I’m going to the party and then plan to simply sit in the sun for a while.” Today was Evan’s party, Marianne and Simon’s eldest son, who was five.
Bradley stared at the book then looked up at his grandfather. “What is this?”