The Duke of Fire Bonus Epilogue

Bonus Epilogue

Fifteen Years Later

“Henry, be careful with your sister’s bonnet!” Amelia called from the blanket beneath the elm tree, her lap occupied by two sleepy toddlers. “You will tear the ribbons—it is brand new!”

“I am only teasing her!” her eldest shouted, already dashing away across the field like a thirteen-year-old thunderstorm in breeches. He often claimed he was too old for such games, but his behavior told another story.

“Stop teasing Esther and come read with me,” said Thomas, the second eldest, without looking up from his book. Despite his request, he was clearly more interested in philosophy than his siblings. His haughty tone and air of impatience—so like his father’s—made the resemblance uncanny.

Meanwhile, the identical twins, William and James, were engaged in their eternal feud over who had the larger tart, nearly toppling the dessert tray. Not far from them, three of their sisters ran after butterflies and cradled roses as if they were treasure. The youngest were nestled with Amelia, drowsy and soft-cheeked.

“It is a miracle you have not misplaced a single one,” the dowager duchess declared as she marched into view. She was five-and-eighty and still as commanding as ever, wrapped in a tartan shawl with a cane that she used more for authority than support.

Sebastian followed with a wicker chair from the house, placing it carefully for her. She eyed it with royal approval before sitting. He always cared about her comfort. She liked her little throne, which she used to survey her great-grandchildren, all seven of them, flailing about in chaos.  

“Oh, some of them have certainly tried to escape,” Sebastian muttered, dropping into the grass beside Amelia. “But I married a woman who can herd seven children like sheep and somehow convince them to speak Latin over supper.”

“We may need Benedict’s help to sort their schedules,” Amelia added wryly.

“Didn’t you know?” she said, raising a brow. “He already has.”

The dowager chuckled, a gravelly sound that made the children giggle. They adored her and feared her in equal measure.

The old lady smiled. “You were an insufferable boy. You might still think I never knew what you were up to, but you made sure that we all knew. I cannot believe that you are now the head of your own nursery, with every child in it your flesh and blood.”

“Papa!” one of their girls cried. “Help us catch Henry! He still has Esther’s bonnet!”

“Henry! It is time to return that,” Sebastian yelled at his running boy. “If I must run after you, I will show no mercy when I catch you.”

Cheers erupted, and soon the duke was running after his eldest son, who was howling like a wolf across the meadow. Amelia laughed until tears sprang from her eyes. 

“Oh, the horror of bringing all these children to a London ball one day,” the dowager duchess muttered, though her eyes twinkled.

Not long after, Sebastian was back with Esther’s bonnet. He did not do so unscathed because he came back with grass-stained breeches. Finally, the rest of the children thought it a good idea to rest, drink lemonade, and eat, not necessarily in that order. 

Sebastian looked at his wife. After seven children, she still looked every bit as beautiful as when he had met her. He leaned down to brush a kiss on Amelia’s cheek. She looked up at him, her fingers still tracing lazy circles on one of the babies curled beside her.

“What is that look for, Sebastian?” she asked softly, her hands still caressing the toddlers. 

“I was just thinking…” he murmured. “You have given me so much more than I ever deserved.” Then, in a low whisper only she could hear, he added, “But I am still a scoundrel. And some days, I want more. I want more of you.”

“Sebastian,” she warned playfully, nodding toward their very present audience.

He smirked. “Grandmother’s half-deaf out of stubbornness, and the children are well occupied. We could still play a game…”

“A game?”

“Run,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I will give you to the count of three. Hope that you can be quicker than I am.”

“You are impossible,” she breathed. “What about the children?”

“Darling, they will survive. Their nannies have been summoned. One.”

Amelia squeaked and scrambled to get up. Sebastian watched her dart across the gardens, past the hedge of roses. Suddenly, they were young again, newlyweds who played games like these. 

“Two,” he yelled, knowing that the children were finally out of earshot. He could not risk having them join this particular game.

“Three!” he roared triumphantly.

Then, he sprinted after her, running as fast as he could. She shrieked. At that moment, they were no longer the Duke and Duchess of Firaine. They were not even a man and his wife with seven children. They were Amelia and Sebastian once more, during the first blush of love. 

They had done it so many times before, but it always felt so new. They fell into the grass behind the hedgerow, breathless and laughing. Usually, they made love in the little hut behind the hedges. This afternoon, Sebastian had other ideas. She tried to protest, but he was already pulling her into his lap.

“Here,” he urged, as he sat in one spot. “Now.”

“B-but the children?” she asked, deeply concerned. 

“Are nowhere near,” he promised.

She straddled him, and he eased her hem up, revealing her thighs. He eased his hand under, testing her with his fingers. 

“You are already so wet for me, Amelia,” he teased.

“I know,” she laughed as she touched him. 

He was thick, hard, and ready. She slid down on him, sighing as he filled her. He groaned, leaning back against the tree while she moved over him in slow, rolling motions.

“There. Ride me, Amelia, while I feast on you,” he urged. 

And that was what she did. She rode him, slowly at first, like a gentle rocking motion. Then, he pulled down her bodice to suck on her nipple. As soon as he pulled at it with his mouth, she rode faster. Harder. The harder she rode him, the harder he sucked. 

There were no words, just moans and pants. Their rhythm became frantic—moans, breathless gasps, and the slap of bodies muffled only by grass and sun. She came hard, biting her lip to stifle the cry.

“Mine,” he growled as he spilled into her moments later. “Always mine.”

She collapsed against him, panting. For a long moment, they just breathed, nestled in grass and sunshine.

“Are you ready for number eight?” he teased. 

“But didn’t the gypsy say we would stop at seven?” she asked, panting.

He cupped her cheek. “We aim higher, Amelia.”

She laughed again, and it was the best sound he had ever heard.

The End.