The Duke’s Wrong Bride Bonus Epilogue

Bonus Epilogue

Five Years Later

The library had become her sanctuary.

A quiet world tucked away from the bustling noise of the estate, from the constant demands of motherhood, and the all-too-knowing gaze of her husband. The large oak doors creaked slightly as Evangeline slipped inside, her fingers curling protectively around the edges of the small, scandalous book she held against her chest. With a soft sigh, she settled herself onto the settee, curling her legs beneath her as she cracked the book open.

It was shameful, really. At least, it should be.

Her cheeks burned the further her eyes scanned the page. The heroine, flustered and wide-eyed, found herself tangled in the arms of her roguish lover, and Evangeline’s breath hitched a little, her imagination spiraling before she could catch it.

The heroine had just been pinned against a ballroom wall—her bodice dangerously unlaced—when the sound of rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“Matthew, do not push!”

“You are too slow, Marcus!”

“She is not in the parlor. Where is she? Mama! Mama!”

That last voice pierced the air, high-pitched and victorious. A small thud, then the unmistakable sound of the library doors slamming open.

Evangeline barely had a second to stuff her book behind a cushion before a flash of curls and sunshine barreled into her lap.

“Mama!” squealed Penelope, her tiny arms flinging around Evangeline’s neck. “We found you! I told them you were hiding in here!”

Evangeline laughed, hugging her daughter close while peeking nervously at the cushion behind her.

“My clever girl,” she said, brushing a golden curl from Penelope’s brow. “How did you guess?”

“She said you always come here when Papa makes you tired,” Marcus announced, marching in behind his sister with an impressive air of confidence for a five-year-old.

“And when you want quiet!” Matthew added, right on his brother’s heels, dragging a wooden sword in one hand and a biscuit in the other.

Evangeline giggled and pulled both boys in with her free arm. “You little spies.”

“We are not spies!” Marcus objected, puffing out his chest. “We are brave knights!”

“I am a princess!” Penelope declared, beaming.

“Oh, forgive me,” Evangeline whispered solemnly. “I should have known by the way you stormed in and conquered the library.”

“You were reading again,” Matthew said, sniffing at her suspiciously. “Are you hiding a book?”

Penelope tilted her head. “What kind of book, Mama?”

“The kind Papa says makes you red like strawberries,” Marcus added with a grin.

Evangeline’s eyes widened. “What?” She gently pushed them back just an inch, rising slowly from the chaise as she skillfully shifted the cushion behind her. “That is nonsense!”

“Is it?”

The deep baritone voice rumbled from the door.

Evangeline turned slowly, her children still clinging to her skirts as Caden entered the room, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one brow raised in suspicion.

“Papa!” Penelope ran to him, arms out. “We found Mama!”

“So I see,” he said, scooping her up and resting her on his hip before glancing at the twins. “All three of you found her?”

“We tracked her down like soldiers,” Marcus said proudly.

Caden chuckled and walked toward his wife, his eyes locked on her flushed face.

“So. Still reading those novels?”

Evangeline narrowed her eyes.

“If you are referring to the well-written literary pieces on women’s romantic liberation, then yes. They are education.”

“For what?”

She smirked. “You seem to enjoy the benefits.”

A sharp glint danced in his eyes.

“Outside, all of you,” Caden commanded gently to the children. “There is a picnic waiting, and I am sure the nanny will be cross if you are late.”

The boys exchanged a glance, then Marcus tugged on Caden’s sleeve. “Can Mama come too?”

“In a bit,” he promised, ruffling his son’s hair. “She and I need to have a little talk.”

“I knew she was in trouble,” Penelope whispered to Matthew as they walked out.

The door closed. And the silence returned.

Caden turned to her slowly, crossing the floor in easy, confident strides. “Now,” he said. “Where were we?”

“I was reading,” Evangeline said with a lift of her chin.

“And I was wondering how you manage to blush like a debutante every time I find you reading your… education.”

She took a step back, bumping against the chaise. “Do you intend to punish me for reading, Your Grace?”

His eyes darkened with amusement—and something else.

“On the contrary,” he said, cupping her cheek with one hand. “I intend to do exactly what those pages whisper about.”

Caden took another step, their bodies now close enough that she could smell the faint scent of leather clinging to his clothes. His gaze fell to the flush on her cheeks.

Evangeline tilted her head coyly. “Well, I am not interested in empty threats.”

“Empty, hmm?” He moved so fast that she barely had time to react before he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. A squeal escaped her lips as he turned, carrying her effortlessly toward the settee she had just abandoned.

“Caden!” she gasped, laughing breathlessly as he dropped her gently onto the cushions.

He stood over her, slowly removing the book from her grip and tossing it onto the nearby table without breaking eye contact. His gaze held fire now, the playful smirk replaced by something far more carnal.

“Filthy stories about men taking what they want,” he said lowly, voice like molten honey. “Tell me, wife… did that book stir something in you?”

Evangeline felt her throat tighten, her lips parting slightly. “Maybe.”

Caden leaned in, one hand braced on either side of her, caging her between his arms. “And do you want me to do what I want with you?”

Evangeline’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the sensation of his breath fanning her lips awakening something primal inside her. “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed against hers, hot and demanding. Her hands tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, tugging her flush against him. She moaned softly when his tongue brushed against hers, every nerve in her body lighting up.

Caden pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath.

“We have only a little time before the children return,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “so you will have to do as I say. Undress me.”

Evangeline’s hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders as he slipped hers down her arms, kissing the newly exposed skin at her collarbone. His hands roamed over her waist, her hips, her thighs—like a man starved of touch, of her.

Caden’s lips trailed from her neck to her chest, to the swell of her breasts, his hands deftly pulling up her skirts. She gasped, arching into his touch as he slid a palm beneath her petticoats.

“You drive me mad,” he whispered against her skin.

“You drive me madder,” she whispered back, a breathless smile on her lips.

And there, in the quiet, dusty sanctuary of their library, beneath the slanted beams of sun filtering in through the high windows, they let go. They loved each other like it was the first time—desperately, sweetly, deeply. The world outside faded, the worries of titles and estates and children melting into nothing.

There was only him.

Only this.

“Do you still think your books compare to this?” he murmured.

Evangeline let out a laugh. “They inspire me.”

“Then perhaps I should write you one,” he said, “though I doubt the publishers would approve of the details.”

Evangeline grinned and rested her head back on his chest. “Sounds like a scandal I would gladly read.”

The End.