Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(106)

She nodded, understanding.

“So it’s come to this. Your choice. Part ways with James Bell, or stay married to Julian Bellamy.” He held her response at bay with an open palm. “Understand, you’ll be a tradesman’s wife. Think about what that means, Lily. Think long and hard. Your social standing and connections will suffer. Our children will not be accepted to the same schools and circles of friends you and Leo enjoyed. People may be cruel. You’ll be spitting in the face of social convention.”

She stared at him.

“That is, if you were the sort to spit.” He shifted uneasily. “I know you’re not.”

“Social convention,” she said musingly. “The same social convention that left you a penniless orphan? The same social convention that made my brother the target of violence and scorn? I’m not keen on social convention of late. If I were the sort to spit, that should be my first target.”

She touched a hand to the stack of papers and folios. “I adore ledgers, Julian. I love sitting in the pit at Drury Lane. And I wasn’t joking that evening. I find spectacles wildly attractive.”

Smiling, she reached across to trace the rim of one lens with her fingertip, then follow the earpiece back to where it plunged into his thick, dark hair. Tenderly, she framed his cheek with her palm.

“I think I was born to be a tradesman’s wife. Or perhaps I was just born to be yours.”

For a long moment, he seemed incapable of reply. “I’m certain I was not born to deserve you,” he finally said. “But I vowed long ago to never accept the limitations of my birth.”

“I’m so glad of it.”

They stayed that way for the longest time, lost in one another’s loving stares. Sitting across a desk crowded with paperwork, in the midst of a busy office, under the curious gaze of several clerks. Elegant ballrooms, nothing. Lily couldn’t imagine a more romantic scene.

“We’re going to be so happy. You told me that, the day we wed.” He pressed his hand over hers. “I confess, I didn’t believe you then.”

“But now you do?”

“I do. Heart, mind, and soul. We are going to be so happy.”

The words alone filled her with joy. Heart, mind, and soul. “We’re going to be unstoppable.”

She reached to slide the spectacles from his face. As she slowly teased them free, his gaze flicked to the window and the curious clerks beyond.

“They’re watching us.”

She folded the spectacles and carefully set them aside. Leaning toward him over the desk, she asked, “Isn’t there a curtain for that window?”

“Yes,” he said, closing the rest of the distance. “There is.”

And then he kissed her, long and slow and deep. In plain view, without drawing any curtains at all. Because they weren’t hiding anything anymore. Not from each other. Not from the world.

Well, and because beneath the clerkish spectacles—her husband remained, at heart, a scoundrel.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Epilogue

Years later

“She’s grown up well.” Julian propped his elbows on the fence rail. “Pretty thing, isn’t she?”

Morland and Ashworth turned to him, surprised.

“Where did you come from?” the duke asked. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

He doffed his hat and hung it on a fencepost. “I finished my business in York early.” To the duke, he said, “Remind me. How old is she now?”

“Turned three this past spring.” Morland’s voice was rich with pride.

“And the dark one?” Julian pointed. “He’s yours, too?”

“No, no,” the duke said. “He’s Claudia’s. Note the intractable spirit. Take care with him around your little ones. He’s been known to bite.”

He chuckled. “Why am I unsurprised?”

“What took you to York?” Ashworth asked. “Another mercantile venture?”

Julian nodded.

“How many does that make?”

“Eleven, all told. Our twelfth opens in Liverpool this autumn.”

He’d just come from the grand opening of the latest Aegis Emporium, a shop selling quality, ready-made clothing for the working man. The idea had come to him back during the war, when the military contracts were rolling in faster than he could fill them. Rather than custom-tailor each coat, they’d begun producing them in advance, based on the most common measurements. In recent years, Julian had adapted the process to civilian attire, making above-average clothing affordable to the average man.

It was honest trade, and worthwhile work. And thus far, a very lucrative venture.

He squinted. “Which one is yours, Ashworth? The big one under the tree?”

Ashworth nodded. “Only a yearling, but fast as a demon. I plan to sell him for racing, but Morland’s training him here for another year first.”

“Osiris left quite a legacy,” Julian mused.

Collective silence served as agreement, as the three of them stood there, leaning on the paddock fence and watching the ponies graze. The grand old stallion had died this past winter, but Osiris was survived by several colts, a good many fillies, and a lasting circle of friendship.

The summer sun warmed Julian’s face, and a light breeze lifted his hair. He was tempted to stay and rest, enjoying the fine Cambridgeshire afternoon and the simple pleasure of not talking with old friends.