Page 88 of The Duke and the Darkness

That was the God’s truth. It had been six weeks since Peyton’s grave was removed from the churchyard, and all of them—including Crewe—were still growing used to its absence. After all, its specter had hung over them for years.

“Chase traced her to Portsmouth,” Crewe added. “The last anyone in England saw of her, she was setting sail for America.” He took a reluctant sip of cider. “Tell Peyton whatever story you think will bring her the most solace. That’s all that matters now. The past is gone.”

Devlin’s gaze landed on his mother and sisters as they stood in the center of the lawn and supervised festivities; they were in their full glory running it all. The warmth of relief filled his chest that they were finally safe. His father couldn’t hurt them any longer.

“At least we’re out of danger now,” Devlin acknowledged.

“Speak for yourself.” Crewe’s eyes narrowed at a woman who was wandering among the booths and entertainments, carefully swinging her gaze around the garden, searching for someone. “If you’ll excuse me,” Crewe muttered as he slapped Devlin on the back. “I have to be somewhere.”

“Where?”

Crewe jerked a nod toward the woman. “Anywhere she isn’t.”

Devlin bit back a knowing smile as Crewe hurried to disappear into the crowd of guests at the far end of the terrace and avoid the woman who was searching for him.

Some things never changed.

But others… He smiled at his mother and sisters. The party was their idea—a fun event that both guests and children could enjoy together, as well as letting any possible patrons interact with the children they would be helping with their donations. Although how the Raines women were able to put it all together so flawlessly, he would never know.

His mother was in her element as dowager duchess, greeting old friends with deep pockets and encouraging them to see the benefits in a place like Brechenhurst. A more regal woman Devlin had never seen, even as she expertly ordered the footmen to bring more apples for bobbing and a bowl of water for the dancing dog.

Teddy was busy playing with the children. For all her protests that she was a grown woman, ready to debut and learn to drive, she still possessed a youthful exuberance and sense of fun he hoped time never diminished.

As for Margaret…sweet Megs never strayed far from the side of Robert Davidson, her new suitor for whom she’d developed a genuine affection.

Devlin liked the man…well enough. As well as he could like any man with designs on marrying his sister. Davidson was the third son of an earl, which no one in the Raines family held against him, because he was hard-working, intelligent, and as down to earth as anyone in society could be. A self-made man, he’d accumulated a small fortune for himself by cornering the market for new warehouses along canals and turnpikes needed for all the American and French goods flooding into Great Britain now that the wars had ended. Davidson might have been only a businessman, but he’d become one of the most successfulones in the empire. His fortune would keep him, Margaret, and their family in the comfortable life they deserved. More importantly, the man doted on Margaret, unable to hide his affection for her even when he tried.

Devlin expected Davidson to request a meeting with him soon to ask his permission to marry Margaret. He anticipated a wedding by Christmastide.

And as for weddings… Peyton stood in the middle of the party madness, as regal as a princess, perfectly at home, and completely happy.

His lips curled into a smile. Dear God, she was lovely. Even now, even after all they’d been through in the past few months—the engagement, the wedding, their wedding trip to the estate followed by settling into Dartmoor House and resettling his mother and sisters into a dowager house across the square…with long, languid nights wrapped in each other’s arms that stretched into lazy, sun-filled mornings—the sight of her still took his breath away.

He prayed time never dulled that feeling.

He strolled down the terrace steps and into the garden to take his place at her side. He had to satisfy himself with an affectionate squeeze to her elbow to let her know he was there when what he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and thoroughly kiss her.

When a devilish smile played at her lips, he knew she’d read his mind, and a knot of hot desire formed low in his gut. He nearly said to hell with the party and scooped her into his arms to carry her up to their bedroom.

“Both His Grace and I are fully committed to Brechenhurst,” she said to a small circle of guests who had gathered around her. Of course, they had. She was simply magnetic. “As we hope all of you will be, as well.”

The guests smiled and nodded, easily won over by her charms.

Thankfully, though, the attention she received was no longer due to the gossip that her sudden reappearance and wedding had stirred across London. Oh, neither of them really cared what anyone else in thetonthought about them. They had each other—that was all that mattered. But being Duchess of Dartmoor wasn’t easy, and whispers and stares had only made it more trying. Yet she’d paid little mind to the vicious tongues, preferring instead to focus on her work with the shelter and reparations for her father’s misdeeds…and in preparing Teddy for her official debut in January, at a grand ball with hours and hours of dancing.

Devlin couldn’t imagine any other woman enduring it as graciously as Peyton, and he would gladly spend the rest of his life as a true partner in whatever she wanted to accomplish.

“What do you think, Dartmoor?” A member from the House of Commons raised his mug of cider to punctuate his question. “Will the new parliamentary reforms have you committed to Whitehall day and night in the coming session?”

Devlin smiled and placed his hand at the small of Peyton’s back. “Fortunately, I’m already committed to my wife for all the days to come.” He smiled in apology to the group as he led her away, then leaned down to murmur wantonly in her ear, “And all the nights.”

When a faint blush pinked her cheeks, he knew she longed to be alone together as much as he did. “Well then.” She paused as they walked through the garden to take a small sack of roasted chestnuts from a booth as they passed. “Parliament’s loss is my gain.” A wicked smile tugged at her sensuous lips. “And a-gain and a-gain….”

He laughed. He’d never been happier in his life.

“I think,” he began as he stole one of her chestnuts and popped it into his mouth, “that you and I should let my mother and sisters—”

A loud crack of flesh on flesh punctuated the noise of the festival. Everyone’s attention bolted to the terrace, where Crewe stood in front of the woman he’d wanted to avoid…the same woman who had just slapped him.