Page 20 of Her Tempestuous Duke

Her expression was desolate. Neither moved until a new voice broke the charged silence between them.

“I have never met a better man than Parys Pendorran.”

Ariel? That wasn’t his usual screech—it was a more measured tone. There was only one place where he could’ve picked up such a phrase.

Parys laid his hands on Minerva’s shoulders. “Did you teach him that?”

Her cheeks colored charmingly. “Not deliberately. I may have been talking to myself while I was cleaning and cooking.”

She didn’t deny the sentiment, then. Did he have cause to hope?

“You think me a good man?” Why had he asked her that? One should never fish for compliments. Or maybe one should, when it mattered this much.

She nodded and straightened. “I think you’re the most interesting, splendid, impressive, impossible, generous, infuriating man I have ever met. You can make of that what you will.”

The look of hopelessness had gone, and light sparkled in those hazel eyes. She liked him! She actually, genuinely liked him! He felt as if some supernatural power had lifted him several feet from the floor.

“But you barely know me.” How inane! If only he hadn’t shunned human company for so long—he’d forgotten how to speak.

“I’d need more time for that, wouldn’t I?” She was smiling softly.

His head swam. Could she truly want him? But he had so little to offer—even if she liked him as a person, he had nothing but dark secrets, a grim past, and a ruined castle to share with her. Or would she only be his if he took back his title and his responsibilities? What if his weakness made that impossible? Although, perhaps with access to skilled physicians…

He looked down at her expectant face and knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her by his side.

He finally managed to find the words he needed.

“Minerva Harte, would you be prepared to take a chance on me? I offer you every ounce of my soul, every last drop of my love. I will labor both day and night to give you the life—and the happiness—you deserve. Is there any hope that you might care for me in return?”

Her tears were flowing freely again, but this time, they were tears of joy.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you, you foolish fellow? Now, stop talking and kiss me.”

So, he did.

Epilogue

Half a year passed before Minerva saw Prospero’s Castle again. She hadn’t known what she would feel—would it be a sense of horror, knowing her new husband, the Duke of Tremar, had spent three years in tortured isolation there? Would it be nostalgia for that remarkable night and day which had brought them both such intense happiness? Or would it be regret that they had decided not to remain there in splendid, selfish isolation, indulging in their mutual love and passion?

Minerva’s cheeks heated as she walked across the causeway toward the steps. There certainly had been passion since their wedding. Parys had proved himself a tempestuous and energetic lover—perhaps because he had been celibate for so long. His hunger showed no sign of abating, and she hoped it wouldn’t because every night spent in his arms was an ecstasy beyond all imagining.

She stared at the rocky spit of land, crowned by its gloomy castle. “Should we have stayed here? My dowry would have paid for numerous improvements.”

Before Parys could answer, Ariel started fussing on his shoulder, then soared upward and made for the castle.

Parys brushed a loose feather from his arm. “It seems Ariel, at least, misses his old home. I wonder if we should have brought Caliban, too.”

“Caliban is more than happy bullying the hounds at Tremar Park, sleeping in front of the kitchen fire when he manages to get past Cook, and stealing scraps from the table. Now that he lives like a king, I can’t imagine him wanting to return to the haunted, draughty passageways of Prospero’s Castle.”

Parys smiled at her, and her heart melted. It was his new smile, and now that he wore his hair short and shaved his face every day, she could see the appealing dimples that accompanied it. Those dimples appeared to be there most of the time, which pleased her. He worked hard for the tenants and dependents of the duchy, but he didn’t resent a single moment.

“I love that you have called my hermitage Prospero’s Castle, although I’m certain the Shakespearean reference won’t impress the villagers. We Cornishmen consider our ways and traditions the best and are much disinclined to change them, so it will remain St. Tudy’s monastery to them.”

They had reached the steps, and he sent Minerva up ahead of him, his hands resting lightly on her hips in case she slipped. The heat of his skin penetrated the thin fabric of her summery muslin gown, and she wondered wickedly what it would feel like to make love amongst the shivering harebells and gently bobbing heather.

When they got to the top, Parys waited for her to regain her breath, then announced, “A letter came from Anthony today.”

His face had taken on that grave quality it always did when he thought or spoke about his brother. One day, maybe, she would find out if it was guilt, distaste, or merely a lack of affection that lay behind this expression.