“I’ll think about it.” He eyed those laced fingers. Left hand over right, the same as his own manner of sitting at times. A disconcerting thought. “And now, I believe I have an appointment at my club.”

“Leo?”

Leo jerked the door open, tucking the journal beneath his arm. “We’re done here.”

“I am proud of what you have achieved. You have done what I could not see was necessary for our country.”

The words followed Leo through the doorway, and if he slammed the door a little harder than necessary, nobody was around to see it.

The easiest thing to do would be to walk away and close this chapter of his life. Caine had done little but cause him pain over the years, and nothing about this sudden revelation spoke of any change to that. Caine was—and obviously always had been—a manipulative, cold-hearted bastard. But Leo paused at the bottom of the stairs as the maids rushed forward with his coat, hat, and gloves. …I killed her. I killed my Marguerite… Something had quivered in the duke’s voice then. Not the sound or words of a man who’d married for a political match, and if he truly had been raised the way he’d raised Leo, could Leo blame him?

Perhaps his mother’s death had more of an impact than Leo could ever realize. Caine had no one else to show him how to live any differently. It was true that Caine did not understand change. He was a relic of the past in more ways than one.

The footmen holding the doors open waited impassively as Leo stewed over the matter. He could walk away, but a part of him would always wonder. Perhaps now that he understood why the duke was the way he was, they could form some sort of relationship. It would never be the one he’d desired. Never the father he’d always wanted. But maybe he didn’t need one now.

“Tell His Grace to move my knight to D5.” Taking his top hat, Leo fit it to his head and sauntered down the front steps of Caine House to go find his fiancée.

Epilogue

Six months later…

“I’m not quite certain I understand this custom.”

Leo slid a hand over the small of his wife’s back, the other arm laden with brightly wrapped boxes. Her jacket was a dark aubergine, complete with mink fur around the collar, and a black velvet hat crowned a pile of luxurious red curls. Elegant from top to toe. He’d never had much interest in women’s fashion before their marriage, but peeling her out of each luxurious layer was becoming one of his favorite pastimes, particularly discovering what she was wearing beneath. Mina liked silks and lace and naughty little bits of French frippery that she called undergarments.

Leo liked removing them.

“It’s a human custom,” he replied, holding open the back door to the Warren for her. The scent of baked ham assaulted him, along with something sweet and spicy. “I believe that the Countess of Leverstein brought the traditional customs with her from her homeland. Since the Echelon refused to partake due to the holiday’s religious undertones, humans took to it with deliberate enthusiasm.”

“Christmas,” Mina murmured. “How quaint.”

The realm’s first official Christmas, something the queen had set in motion to celebrate the passing of her husband’s tyranny and help to bring in a New Year. Tomorrow they’d be expected at Balmoral, where the queen was spending the holidays, for a Christmas dinner. Tonight, however, was something he planned on sharing with his own family before the train trip in the morning.

Brushing snowflakes from Mina’s back, he stared around the kitchen. Copper pots hung from the ceiling and an enormous stove dominated the hearth. It was like walking into a wall of heat and scent, almost a little like coming home.

Esme entered the kitchen, moving much more slowly than she had before. The froth of bows and silk drapery on her dress somewhat disguised the distinct bulge of her figure, but nothing could hide her brilliant smile and the bright glow of her eyes. Far from struggling with her condition as Honoria had, Esme looked as though it suited her.

“Oh, Barrons,” she said, hurrying forward. “And Duchess. Here, let me take those from you.”

Leo twisted out of the way. “Absolutely not.”

Esme’s lips thinned. “I wasn’t aware I was suddenly useless.”

“’Ardly.” Rip’s voice echoed in the room as he entered on the heels of his wife. “Leo. Duchess.” He nodded. “What are you doin’ in ’ere, woman? This is tradition.” Taking hold of Esme’s shoulders, he turned her about. “Women stay out o’ the kitchen today. Blade and I managed not to burn the duck last year, and we can do it again today.”

Esme gestured over her shoulder. “Come on in then. Everybody’s waiting in the sitting room. I’ll just fetch some—”

“You’ll sit,” Rip growled, steering her through the door. “And let me do the work. Now what were you goin’ to fetch?”

The door closed behind them.

Exchanging an amused glance with Mina, Leo helped her out of her jacket. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he curled his arms around her and drew her back against his chest. “That shall be us one day.”

“I doubt it.” She laughed. “Neither of us can cook.”

Leo pressed his mouth against her neck, the vibrancy of her laughter jolting against his lips. It was one of his favorite places to kiss her—the soft skin now warmed by her coat and smelling faintly of the rose soap she used on her hair. His arms softened, his lips lingering there.

“Leo,” she warned, tugging free. There was a hint of warmth in her eyes, that melting little expression she got when she was intent on teasing him. “Later.”

“Are you going to be my present?”

“If you behave, I might let you unwrap me,” she teased, reaching up for her hat.

Watching her undress was almost as enjoyable as doing it himself. Leo set the presents down on the kitchen counter and helped her pluck her hat pins free.

“Do you know,” she murmured, glancing up from beneath her thick, dark lashes, “that a trunk arrived from Madame Peignoir’s today?”

“Mmm?” He glanced down into those warm brown eyes, his cock hardening a little. Madame Peignoir was the perpetrator behind most of the flimsy little bits of lace. He could just imagine.

“You should see what I’m wearing under all of this.”

“Is this a new way of torturing me?” He tossed her hat aside and stepped closer. He pinned her against the bench, the sleek press of his trousers lost in the swagged velvet skirts she wore. His voice dropped. “Or are you inviting me to do wicked things to my wife in my sister’s kitchen?”