Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(75)

The soft summer breeze rustled the edge of the paper and it fluttered in his hand. He pressed it into her fingers. Juliet stared questioningly at it a moment, and then unfolded the sheet. She skimmed the page. Her heart stilled.

“This is a special license to wed, Juliet,” he said quietly. “You can have your Rosecliff, or you can have your cottage and my offer of marriage. I would that you take both, because I am nothing without you. But if you want nothing more than the return of your cottage then…oomph,” he toppled backward as Juliet hurled herself into his arms. He landed hard on his back upon the cobbled path.

Tears seeped from her eyes and fell onto the day’s growth of beard upon his cheeks. Jonathan grinned up at her, the reckless, devilish smile that had first rattled her world outside of the Hell and Sin Club. He brushed a loose curl that had fallen across her brow. He paused. His fingers lingered upon the familiar green ribbon from long ago.

The ribbon is yours, Juliet. And as your employer I can give you a gift should I so desire.

“Is this a yes, love?” he murmured. “You would make this old rogue your husband, then?”

Juliet lowered her brow to his, lips so close their breaths mingled as one. “This is a yes, love,” she whispered. “You may always be a rogue, Jonathan, but you will be forever my love.”

He claimed her lips in a soft, fleeting kiss, and then brushed a kiss along her temple. “You are wrong, Juliet. I am only your rogue. Only yours.”





Epilogue


Juliet’s purplish-pink skirts danced in the nighttime breeze. She studied Jonathan’s deliberate movements as he snapped open a crisp, white blanket. The wind caught the edge, and then fluttered it back to the earth.

He bent down and gave his black Hessian boot a tug. “Demned boots,” he muttered to himself.

Juliet buried a giggle in her hands as he hopped up and down on one foot until he at last freed a foot. “Do you think they’ll be mad?” she murmured.

He tossed the boot to the edge of the blanket, where it landed with a solid thump. “Oh, yes. Spitting mad.” The second boot proved a deal more cooperative than the first and landed on a different corner of the blanket. “They told me to bring you back but I imagine among the four of them they had grand plans for our wedding.”

“What of your mother?”

He snorted. “The last topic I care to discuss at the present moment is my mother.” Jonathan reached for her, and she willingly slipped into his arms, tilting her lips up to receive his kiss. “You do know some might find this quite wicked, my lady wife,” he whispered against her lips.

They’d been wed only a handful of hours ago, and he’d surely called her that easily two dozen times. She twined her fingers about his neck. “Say it again.”

“Some might find this—”

Laughter bubbled past her lips. “You are incorrigible. Say…”

His wicked grin faded, replaced by a solemnity not typically shown by her husband. “Wife.” He kissed her lips. “Wife.” He kissed her right lashes. “Wife.” He kissed the pulse wildly fluttering at her neck.

Juliet arched her neck, allowing him better access to the sensitive skin there. She would never grow tired of hearing him utter that single word.

He tugged her skirts up, higher, higher, ever higher, until the cool night air caressed the sensitive skin of her legs. Reality intruded, a reminder of her crippled leg. She buried her face into the white cambric of his loose-flowing shirt, humbled at the perfection of his body when she should be so flawed.

He brushed his knuckle along her chin and forced her gaze to his. “What is this, love?” He lowered her to the blanket and came over her, his gaze searching.

Jonathan’s lips hovered above the swell of her breasts exposed by her modest décolletage. “It’s horrendous,” she blurted.

He looked up at her and frowned. “Horrendous? I’ve never been called—”

She swatted him on the arm. “I’m talking about my leg.” Juliet motioned to the slightly angled bone at the lower portion of her right leg. “It’s horrid,” she said again because it needed to be said.

Jonathan remained silent for a long while. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. A startled squeak escaped her. She made a sound of protest as he raised her skirts and exposed her skin. He gently wrapped his strong fingers about her ankle. Then, he stroked a hand up and down over the flesh of her lower leg. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “There is no one more beautiful than you.”

“Wh-what a-are you d-doing?” she breathed as he angled her leg upward toward his mouth.

“I’m loving you.” His kiss, as feather light as the summer breeze upon her skin, sent waves of warmth spiraling through her. “As you deserve to be loved.” Jonathan expertly divested her of her gown and it shimmered about them in a purple-pink puddle of satin. His shirt followed suit. “Do you know how desperately I longed to be the man to lay you down on the warmest summer day at your Rosecliff Cottage and make sweet love to you?”

A moan slid past her lips when he cupped the soft curve of her breast. “In the gardens,” she managed to say. He closed his mouth over her breast. She arched her back. “Jonathan,” she groaned. He took her nipple in his mouth and he gently sucked at the swollen flesh.