A Duke’s Temptation Poetess – Extended Epilogue

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Two Years Later…

Two years did not seem like so much time, but when Clarissa thought about it, much had changed since that fateful trip to Bath. Not only had she and Colin married, but they now had a daughter, Amelia, named after Colin’s late mother. Clarissa had also, with Colin’s encouragement, published her first book of poetry. Lord Watford and Jane had married and had their son. 

“And this,” Colin said, smiling, “is where it all began.”

Clarissa entered the rooms Colin had secured for the trip. This was the same inn where Colin’s mother had invited Clarissa and her mother to join them in the ducal carriage. Aside from Lady Matilda’s ball, this was the place where her relationship with Colin had really begun.

“Does it seem strange to you how unchanged this inn looks?”

“Not in the least,” Colin replied, “but I understand if you do.”

Clarissa smiled. “I can think of one thing that has changed,” she said slyly.

“Oh?” Colin asked.

Clarissa grinned and raised herself on her toes, placing a quick kiss on Colin’s lips. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Colin pulled the door to the bedchamber closed behind him. He curled his hands in her hair, sweeping Clarissa’s sunbonnet from her head and tossing it onto the floor. Clarissa kissed him deeply, inhaling his familiar cologne. Orange blossoms and bay leaves mingled together in her senses. Colin’s hands swept down Clarissa’s body with feverish passion. He removed her gown with practiced movements and let it fall to the floor. Clarissa stepped out of it and reached for his jacket. Their bodies collided together in a flurry of kisses and caresses. Clothing was discarded in a hurry. His jacket tossed on the floor, her stays thrown over a chair, then with a sudden flourish, Colin swept Clarissa’s chemise over her head.

She stood naked before him, comfortable beneath his familiar gaze. Colin wore only his trousers. Clarissa deftly unbuttoned his trousers, and Colin’s manhood sprang forward, already hard. 

“Eager,” Colin said, grinning.

“That is your fault,” Clarissa replied, “for encouraging me to read all those terribly wicked authors.”

She took his shaft in hand and carefully ran her fingers down its length. Two years ago, she would have never done this. She would not have even known the effect that she might have on a man’s body. Colin curled his hands in her hair, a low and contented growl emerging from his throat as Clarissa brought him pleasure with slow and steady strokes of her hand.

“Ah, my Lady!” he exclaimed. 

Clarissa smiled to herself, pleased that she could make him react like that. Heat built in her core, and Clarissa squeezed her thighs together in silent invitation. He kissed her once again and seized her hips, sheathing himself within her. Clarissa groaned and arched her back. She clung to his shoulders to keep her balance, while Colin thrusted in her. Clarissa tossed her head back. Her body grew warm and flushed beneath his attentions.

“Colin!” she exclaimed.

Her thighs grew tense, and her body shook. Everything inside her coiled up tighter and tighter. Clarissa arched her back and pressed herself against him, meeting his thrusts with every rock of her hips. Her breath came in hot gasps until, at last, the tightness burst. Black spots dotted in Clarissa’s vision, and she groaned in pleasure, riding the waves of the little death.

Colin continued thrusting, and a heartbeat later, he came. He dug his fingers into Clarissa’s hips and grinned at her. Once more, Colin found her lips. Clarissa kissed him back earnestly as he withdrew his manhood from her. “You are a marvel,” Colin said.

“So are you,” Clarissa replied. 

Colin smiled gently and traced a finger down the path of his spine. “We should do this every year,” he said, “return to this inn and remember how our romance began.”

“I agree.”

“Shall we to the bed?” Colin asked.

Clarissa nodded, and Colin swept her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down with the utmost care. Clarissa arched her back and grinned at him. “Just so you are aware,” she said, “I am already thinking about how I might describe this in a poem.”

Colin laughed. “You are going to be a scandalous writer. The ton would be horrified hearing a lady speak of such subjects.”

“It would not be the first time I have been a scandalous lady,” Clarissa said.

“I would not have you any other way,” Colin said, falling into bed beside her.

***

“Clarissa! I am so glad that you could join us!” exclaimed Jane, as they all settled around the table for tea. “I know that you are both so busy.”

Marriage and motherhood suited Jane. Her face seemed to glow, like a flower that had opened to the sun. Clarissa smiled to herself, glad that her cousin had found such happiness. Although she and Jane had always exchanged letters, there was something particularly wonderful about being able to visit her cousin in Bath. Since Clarissa’s marriage to Colin, visits to Bath had become far more frequent. She and Colin seldom even went to London, unless it was the Season. Instead, they spent their days in the countryside and in Bath, visiting Jane, Lord Watford, Aunt Frances, and Lady Matilda.

“We would always come to Bath for you,” Clarissa said. “Besides, a poet may practice her craft anywhere. Colin was the difficult one. I had to pull him away from this new agricultural project he is pursuing.”

“That project will be very beneficial to our tenants,” Colin replied. “I would like to see it completed before the Season begins.”

“You have ample time to finish it,” Clarissa said, gesturing to the gardens, which were awash with the colours of autumn.

Lord Watford smiled. “He does have a habit of burying himself in his projects with a rather singular focus. I am glad that you were able to coax him away from his desk, Your Grace,” he said, smiling at Clarissa. “We are always happy to receive the Duke and Duchess of Hartingdale.”

“Oh, but your mother is not with you,” Jane said.

“Regrettably, Lady Bentley was unable to make it here,” Colin said. 

“I am not certain she tried very hard, though,” Clarissa replied. “My mother has earned the affections of a gentleman in London.”

“Has she?” Jane asked.

“Oh, yes,” Clarissa said. “She is in London, celebrating his birthday. It is the Baron of Wesbrooke.”

“I know him,” Lord Watford said. “He is a good man.”

Indeed, he was. The Baron of Wesbrooke was a widower; his wife had died of consumption ten years before. Theirs had been a love-match, and he had been unable to love another, languishing in his townhouse since her death. He had emerged from his townhouse only for business, and a chance encounter brought him right into the path of Clarissa’s mother. If Clarissa ever had believed in love at first sight, it had surely happened between her mother and the Baron. They had seldom parted since their first meeting.

“That is good for her,” Lord Watford said, “and for him.”

“Indeed,” Colin replied.

There was a small note of displeasure in his voice. While Clarissa’s mother had managed to make amends with Lady Matilda and Lord and Lady Watford, Colin still held an understandable hesitance when it came to the woman. Clarissa could not blame him, but when she thought about those early days when Colin had scarcely spoken to her mother, to the present, Clarissa knew that progress was being made.

“I should like to meet him,” Jane said, “if he is to be family soon.”

“We shall see,” Clarissa replied. “I suspect that theirs will be a long courtship. Now that she has gained the affections of the Baron, my mother seems to take great delight in all those little rituals of falling in love.”

“She deserves that,” Jane said, taking a sip of her tea.

She did. For all her mother’s misdeeds, Clarissa had felt sympathy for her mother. Of course, she would feel as if Clarissa must do anything to be wed. Of course, love would not matter to her poor mother, who had married a man who cared only for alcohol and women who were not his wife. It was lovely to imagine that her mother could now begin living her life as a happy wife with her adoring husband.

“That is what news we carry,” Colin said. “I fear there is little else of interest to say. What about in your part of the country?”

Jane shook her head. “Bath is peaceful, as always. Your aunt has decided to establish a home for orphaned children in the hopes of giving them a proper education.”

“She had mentioned that,” Colin replied, smiling fondly. “Now that Deborah and I are happily wed, I suspect Aunt Matilda feels as though she needs some young ones to dote upon. She has never been without someone to nurture.”

That was likely true. Since their marriage, Clarissa had spent much time with Colin’s aunt. She had been so kind and thoughtful when Clarissa was experiencing her condition and then, after the birth of her daughter. In those early days, too, Lady Matilda had worked tirelessly to ensure that Clarissa and Colin had their estate in order.

“I heard news of Lord Creshire,” Lord Watford said. “He has returned to England. I heard conflicting accounts of precisely where he has gone, however, as some said London. Others insisted that he travelled to Oxford.”

Colin’s jaw clenched, and his whole face was etched with tension. Clarissa reached beneath the table and squeezed his knee, offering silent comfort. She had not forgiven Lord Creshire and doubted that she ever would. He had ruined so many lives and had conspired to keep her and Colin apart, after all, but she knew that for Colin, Lord Creshire’s actions were so much worse. They were deeply personal, and the mention that Lord Creshire had returned must have felt like a knife twisting in his chest. “Deborah and Russell did not mention that,” Colin said, his voice showing none of the turmoil that Clarissa sensed bubbling beneath the surface.

“I only learned myself this morning,” Lord Watford said. “They may not know about the rumours. I doubt you have anything to worry about, however, as it appears Lord Creshire has married. I do not imagine he will vex us any longer.”

“He married?” Clarissa asked.

It seemed unthinkable that someone would wish to wed Lord Creshire now that everyone knew of his treatment towards Lady Roswood. All of the ton despised him. They had showered Lady Roswood with condolences, sympathising with her situation.

“Who is the bride?” Colin asked.

“An heiress,” Lord Watford said. “I did not hear her name, but I believe it was mentioned that she is Scottish.”

“She must be desperate,” Clarissa said softly, “to marry such a detestable man.”

“Yes,” Lord Watford said. “Surely, she knows what character the man has, though. All of England knows, and I find it unlikely that no one would have made her unaware of his reputation prior to marriage.”

Clarissa felt a swell of sympathy for that poor young woman. Had she not also considered the possibility of marriage to Lord Creshire, however briefly it had been? Desperate, indeed. Clarissa had once been desperate, but luck had given her Colin, the love of her life. Perhaps, someday, Lord Creshire’s wife would find her own love. 

“I am sure she had a good reason to wed him,” Jane replied. “I hope whatever that reason was, it was worth marriage to the villain.”

“Indeed,” Colin agreed.

“Since she has money of her own, I imagine she wanted the title,” Lord Watford said. “I would assume she thought the risk was worth the potential gain.”

“It is unfortunate, still,” Jane murmured. “To trap oneself in marriage with that scoundrel.”

“It is,” Clarissa agreed, gazing into her tea.

She took a steadying breath. Clarissa imagined that the heiress had felt that her money was not enough. It was difficult for a woman in England, for they were forced into such narrow ideas of what a woman ought to be. Surely, this heiress had thought that a title was the means by which she would have some freedom or power. Perhaps it was time for her to turn her mind to another project, towards improving women’s prospects throughout London. She did not know how to approach such a subject, but gazing around the table at her friends, Clarissa knew that she had all the encouragement and support she would ever need.

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