Author's note: Epilogue time! Like Unbound, this probably isn't what you're expecting. This is all about setting the stage for the trio's next adventure. And there WILL be a next adventure. I'm going to take a little break from this verse, do some RL stuff, maybe start something new, but as I've mentioned before, there are TWO more books in this series. The Swan Jones Trio always drag me back to tell their story, so they will return. (Does this feel like the end of a Marvel movie to anyone else? LOL) I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Nope.

Epilogue

Flashbulbs lit their way, Killian helping his wife from the car. Liam stood at the boot, fetching some of their bags. None of the trio looked thrilled about their welcome, but they put on a brave face. Liam handed a couple bags to Killian, both brothers waving Emma off when she offered to help. The paps yelled questions, which were ignored and the trio climbed the stairs to their home.

Emma unlocked the door and ushered her husbands inside, giving the photographers a sarcastic wave before shutting the door behind her.

The feed cut away, the anchor droning on about the recent controversy; Clara scowled, shutting off the telly with a furious push of a button. She couldn't watch anymore. If she had to look at that woman with her Liam for another minute she would scream.

When she moved back to London, she never expected this. She had it all planned out. Years had passed, but she knew from her friends at Whitehall that Liam Jones was single, on the fast track for promotion, by all accounts and up and coming officer, just like she always believed he would be. Their unfortunate falling out shouldn't have been difficult to overcome now. They were older, more mature; they could finally be on the same page, settled in careers, ready to start a family.

It hadn't been easy for Clara. Her father was still insisting she do her duty, continue the line, and she'd tried. Half heartedly. She'd dated, evaluating men to father her children. In the end, it was useless. There was only one man she wanted. Liam Jones. Handsome, stoic, dedicated, the Navy was his life. Once she pried him from the no account brother, he'd be perfect. They could get married, start a family and she could proudly show him off.

Imagine her shock when she discovered that not only was Liam in a serious relationship, but in a relationship where he shared a woman with his brother! The nerve!

It was disgusting, a perversion, one she never dreamed her Liam would be capable of. He was safe, he revered tradition, he wanted nothing more than to serve Queen and country. She would never have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes.

She'd gone looking for him. She knew he'd come to party with a date, some blonde slag, American no less. Clara hadn't really paid that much attention; after asking around, she discovered that this woman had only been in the picture for a few weeks. Clara had been with Liam for years, knew him better than anyone. If she could just talk to him, she could make him see sense.

How wrong she had been.

The way he'd spoken to her...it was like he was a completely different person. Gone was the solid upright sailor she knew. In his place was a man wrapped up in some sick web of lust and degenerate perversion. She had to free him, she had to save him. She saw it as her duty and she refused to give up.

She unlocked the drawer and pulled out the thick manila envelope. For the last month, her contact kept her supplied with a steady stream of photographs, very discreet, but revealing nonetheless. It was a special kind of torture, witnessing Liam on his supposed honeymoon, looking so happy and in love. The way he looked at that woman was the way he'd once looked at her, when she had him utterly wrapped around her finger.

She refused to believe she'd lost him forever, it just wasn't possible. The novelty of this experiment would wear off eventually, his good for nothing brother would fuck up, and he'd come running back to her.

In the meantime, Clara just wanted to understand. Perhaps if she could discover the hold this shady American had on her Liam, she could find a way to break it. She had to try. Before Liam destroyed everything he once held dear.

She flipped through the photos, looking for one in particular. It showed the trio walking out of a seemingly nondescript Parisian townhouse, dark due to the lack of streetlights, the brothers' arms wrapped protectively around the American. For her part, she looked wrung out and sated, but a happiness shined in her eyes. It hadn't made any sense to Clara, not until she'd done some research. When she found alternately revolted her and intrigued her. Was this the key? Could she use this information to pry Liam away from a relationship that was clearly unhealthy?

She focused on Liam in the photo; his blue eyes shined with love and concern. What had they gotten into? Her research told her that the townhouse was actually a very discreet sex club, exclusive and protective of their clientele. There wasn't anything else she could learn short of going through the vetting process and she was not about to sully her good name with that. Still her imagination had run wild, wondering what kind of perverted sex games the American had convinced Liam to participate in.

"Why are you torturing yourself with that? You know it only makes you irritable."

Clara snapped the picture back on the desk, scowling at her visitor. "Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to barge in on a lady?"

Nottingham leaned casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He cut a fine figure in his suit, his arrogance sitting well on his shoulders. Clara found it mildly amusing, just how arrogant the man could be, in the face of the blows his reputation had taken in the last six months. Everyone knew about the Hood incident, the role Nottingham played, the one that cost him his commission. His family's history enabled him to merely resign in disgrace rather than face court martial, a lesser man would have become embittered. Instead, Nottingham chose vengeance.

His desire to ruin the life of the woman who'd destroyed his career dovetailed nicely with Clara's mission, so she felt no compunction about using him for her own ends. She took the photos and shoved them back into the envelope, slipping it back into the drawer and locking it. After he left, she'd have to put them in a more secure location. She couldn't have Nottingham privy to all her secrets. They may be working together, but she didn't trust him.

"If I saw my mother more than once a year, my dear, that would have been a miracle."

Clara stood and walked around the desk, her heels clacking on her father's hardwood floors. "What do you want? If there was an update, I'd have called."

"So am I to understand that you had nothing to do with that pap at Versailles?"

"That seems to be much more your speed, Nottingham. Aren't underhanded tactics your area of expertise?"

Nottingham stepped into the room, feigning hurt. "You wound me, my dear. Those charges were never proven."

"Because you weaseled out it. You're not fit to even be in my presence."

He smirked. "If you wish to end our alliance, all you have to do is say the word. But we both know you won't."

Clara crossed her arms over her chest. "Won't I?"

"Of course not. You don't want to admit it, but you need me. You need my unorthodox methods. You need to keep yourself smelling sweet so that when the time is right Jones will come running back to you. You'll be his savior."

Clara's breathing got shallower as he advanced, his gait like a predator, sex oozing out of him. She hated everything he stood for, hated him, but her body reacted to his proximity. She struggled, fingers digging into her arms, but he loomed over her, a dark menacing dangerous presence. "You're disgusting."

"And you, my lady, love that I'm disgusting." His index finger traced her jaw; Clara suppressed a shiver.

"Don't touch me."

"Your lips may say that, but I can see your eyes, Clara. You want this. You always want this."

Furious at her own weakness, she shoved him away, stalking off. She needed space, she needed to get her head on straight. She couldn't let him win, she couldn't let him call the shots. She was the one in charge of this partnership, not him. She couldn't be weak. Not again.

"No wonder Jones wants nothing to do with you. Such a cold fish."

Enraged, Clara spun on her heel, recrossing the room and getting right in his face. "Don't you ever talk about him again. He is twice the man you are, Nottingham."

"Seems to me that something's lacking if his hussy needs the other one to satisfy her lusts."

"Shut. Up." It was a testament to how angry she was that she resorted to such a childish comeback.

"Was he that terrible of a lover? Is that why you broke up?"

"Fuck you."

"Oh, touched a nerve, have we? Or perhaps it was you? Being such a harpy, it's a wonder any man will have you."

"Pot calling the kettle black, as you've had me."

"If I recall correctly, you weren't complaining. In fact, there was quite a bit of screaming."

"I hate you."

"Believe me, my lady, the feeling is entirely mutual. But as long as we are forced into this alliance, we might as well get our money's worth, eh?" He grabbed her hips, drawing her flush to his. Clara gulped, feeling just how hard he was. What was this between them, why couldn't she push him away? She wanted Liam, not him. But it was like she was no longer in control of her body. Her gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips, full and begging to be kissed. He was still talking, but she wasn't paying attention. She needed to shut up him, to forget about whatever this was and get off so he would leave her alone. She grabbed the open collar of his shirt and yanked him down, effectively shutting him up with her lips.

Nottingham growled in satisfaction, kissing her back just as fiercely, nipping hard at her swollen lower lip. Ruining her for Jones was half the fun of this operation; he wasn't under any illusions. If everything went to plan, he'd get double what he put in. That Swan girl destroyed and the Joneses disgraced. They would know exactly who destroyed them, leaving prissy Clara alone and equally destroyed. It was brilliant, if he did say so himself.

Clara, so desperate for attention, was putty in his hands.

Nottingham flipped them around, pushing her back against the desk, hands sliding under her thighs. She squealed as he lifted her up, knees splayed wide and forcing her skirt to bunch around her thighs. Clara wasn't particularly attractive (as much as he hated her, Nottingham had to admit the Jones' whore was stunningly beautiful), but this wasn't about attraction or love or any of that nonsense. He wasn't above using every tool at his disposal to lull his partner into a false sense of security.

Clara shoved at his jacket, her hands almost frantic. Now that she'd given in she needed him to touch her, to make her feel, to make her forget. She was pleased that his hands weren't idle, plucking open the buttons on her top, palming her small breasts. She arched, thrusting them into his hands, mewling as he pushed the fabric aside to pluck sharply at her nipples. "Fuck, more," she whimpered.

Nottingham smirked, his plan working almost too perfectly. He knew her kind, desperate to be perfect, to live up to the expectations of her elders, the ones with the access to the money. Deep down she was starved for affection, attention, but too full of her own importance to ask for it. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too, a man solely devoted to her needs, but on her own terms. He could play that role, flip it on her when she least expected it.

And smile as he stabbed her in the back. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

He yanked the blouse down, stripping it from her body. Her bra went next, his mouth hot on her pink nipples. He liked sex, so this wasn't exactly a hardship for him. Clara was a demanding little thing, still under the illusion she was calling the shots here. He heeded her plea, his hand slipped between her splayed thighs. "Hmm, so wet," he murmured, playing with her clit. "One would almost think you were enjoying this, my dear Clara."

She growled, rocking against his hand. "Stop talking," she ordered. "And just fuck me, Nottingham."

"As you wish." He removed his hand and finished pulling off his shirt; he knew how much she liked to ogle his physique. He made her wait, taunting her as he methodically unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Her pupils dilated even more when she caught his sight of his hard cock, her body betraying her. She liked to pretend she was in charge, but he knew better. She wanted him, wanted him to fuck her raw, to ruin her. The act she had to put on was exhausting, no wonder Jones had gone running for the hills. He pumped his shaft a couple of times, easing the ache in his loins. His disgrace lessened his prospects somewhat, his usual cadre of partners turning their backs on him. He was too proud to pay for it, so seducing Clara became his new source of entertainment. The first time had been a shock to them both, the sex quick and raw, but she was tight and sweet where it mattered.

Nottingham grabbed her by the legs, dragging her to the very edge of the desk and lifting one leg over his shoulder. She panted, anticipation thrumming through her veins. She knew this was wrong, but she couldn't stop. She just wanted to forget for a little while, even if it meant fucking some lower being. Nottingham wasn't gentle, shoving into her hard, raw, riding her backbacked. It felt wicked, even though she was on the best birth control money could by. She was only having Liam's children, damn it. He was thick, long, bigger than she'd had since Liam. Not that she'd tell him that. Nottingham didn't need the ego stroke.

Her cries of pleasure told him all he needed to know. Clara could pretend that life's carnal pleasures were above her, a means to an end, but she loved this. She loved the way he fucked her, breathlessly begging for more.

"Did he fuck you like this?" Nottingham demanded. "Deep and hungry and raw? Did you let him? Did you beg for him? Do you think he fucks her like this?" Each question was punctuated with a hard thrust, bottoming out inside her. Clara clawed at the desk, her skin covered in sweat, her voice straining with need.

"Stop. Talking!"

"What does she have that you don't? Haven't you ever wondered? I know you have."

She had, more times than she wanted to admit, but she didn't dare give Nottingham the satisfaction. "Harder," she ordered. "Harder!"

"That's a good girl." He turned her hips slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, her small body shuddering as he found her sweet spot. She screamed, long and loud, convulsing as she climaxed. Nottingham rode her through it, her walls fluttering along his length, trying to drag him with her. He fought it, gritting his teeth, one hand reaching for her clit. She was so sensitive, still spasming, that he had no trouble bringing her off again, hard on the heels of the first, her mouth open in a silent scream. He grunted, his own climax roaring up like a freight train and exploding, making him see stars. Thick ropes of his seed filled her, cock pumping furiously.

Clara sagged against the desk, wrung out and sated, even as Nottingham slowed, still rocking in and out of her. She'd never climaxed more than once during sex; hadn't know such a thing was possible. Her mind was a fog, only vaguely aware as slipped him her. She ached in an unfamiliar way, but she didn't find it unpleasant.

"Another satisfied customer," Nottingham said, licking his lips and zipping up.

His words sliced through her exhaustion like a knife. Pushing herself up, she snatched up her discarded shirt to cover herself. "Don't ever compare me to that whore again!" she screamed. "Get out! Now!"

Nottingham ducked her swinging fist to grab his shirt and jacket, backing away as he did. "Believe what you want, my lady. But you'll be back." He shrugged into the shirt and went to see himself out. She'd brood for a week, then she'd call him. They needed each other to overcome their enemies. It was just as matter of time now.

Clara ground her teeth together, furious at herself for giving in. She was so ashamed, the fleeting pleasure not enough to overcome her disgust. Yet, the worst part was knowing the asshole was right. She did need him. She couldn't bring that woman down on her own, not if she wanted to keep her reputation in tact. Liam must not suspect her. He was a very loyal person (she believed that was why he still gave that brother of his the time of day); if he suspected her hand, he would never take her back. No, a little shame was worth it. She was doing this for Liam's own good.

One day you'll thank me, Clara thought as she dressed. You'll love me again, Liam. I know it.