London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  Heart aching for the naked pain she saw in Miles’ eyes, Dianna fought the urge to wrap her arms around him and draw his head down to her breast. The only thing that stopped her was not knowing how he would react. Now more than ever before she needed to keep her head about her so when it mattered most she might still keep her heart.

  “Be that as it may,” she said steadily, “you are not leaving.”

  Behind them the chestnut Miles had been grooming began to paw the ground, shifting its weight from hock to hock as it grew increasingly impatient. Another horse nickered in soft inquiry, swinging its large head up and over its stall door to study them, ears twitching back and forth as though to ask, what are you doing here and did you bring any treats?

  Miles’ eyes slid shut. “Dianna…”

  “You asked me why I didn’t run from the robber when I had the chance. That was your question. The one I couldn’t answer before. Well I thought about it, and I have an answer for you now. I didn’t run because I love you.”

  She heard his breath catch and then he was the one holding her, one hand closing possessively around the small of her back while the other tipped her chin up until their gazes clashed, hopeful blue against fiery green. The last rays of sunlight spilled across his countenance, illuminating the hard planes of his face in a soft golden glow. “Do not say that to me unless you mean it down to your very soul.” His thumb caught on the curve of her jaw, hovering over the spot where her pulse beat fast as a butterfly’s wing.

  “I do,” she whispered achingly. “I am sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I know now that I love you. That I have always loved you. That I will always love you.”

  “Why now?” The hand touching her jaw trembled ever-so-slightly. “Damn it Dianna, why now?”

  “Because I was afraid before. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid you would leave again. Then I realized… I realized the pain I felt after you left would be nothing compared to the pain I would feel if I kept us from having a second chance.”

  They weren’t the words she had practiced, but they were pulled straight from her heart nevertheless. She waited for Miles’ reply with bated breath, not knowing what she would do if he turned her away… and nearly wept with sheer joy when a ragged smile took possession of his mouth and he pulled her close, holding her so tightly against his chest she felt the accelerated beat of his heart through their clothes.

  “I never thought I would hear you say those words to me again,” he murmured, lips catching on the soft strands of her hair. “I wasn’t ready to hear them as a boy, but as a man… as a man they’re the only thing I’ve wanted to hear since I returned to England. Say them again,” he urged as he pulled her even closer against his chest, mouth descending to press gently against her temple.

  “I love you.”

  His mouth went lower still. “Again,” he murmured.

  “I love you,” Dianna whispered, tilting back her head, lashes sweeping against her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

  “Again.”

  Feeling the heat of his mouth at her collarbone, she sucked in a startled breath as her body gave one long, hard tremble of awareness. “I-I love you,” she said shakily.

  Miles followed the line of her neck up to her lips, peppering her flesh with soft kisses, each one lingering longer than the last. “Once more,” he breathed.

  “I love-”

  He kissed her full across the mouth before she could finish, devouring her lips with a heavy groan that Dianna felt more than heard. Her spine arched as she pressed herself against him, fingers tangling in the thick softness of his hair. The kiss deepened and grew slick, tongues entangling as they desperately sought more.

  More pleasure.

  More passion.

  More desire.

  Too long denied, the force of Dianna’s lust shot through her body like a flame. She moaned as Miles worked his way back down her neck, tugging at the bodice of her gown as he went until it spilled to the side, revealing the rosy tip of one breast, the hardened point visible beneath the see through fabric of her chemise. She cried out when he took her nipple between his lips, using his tongue and teeth to bring her arousal to a feverish pitch.

  “So long,” he murmured before he began to lavish the same attention on her other breast, supporting it with his hand as he feasted. “So long I’ve waited to touch you like this… To taste you like this.”

  Dianna’s head lolled to one side, fingers clutching weakly at the nape of Miles’ neck as her knees trembled and threatened to give way. She began to pant, breaths coming in short, uneven bursts of pleasure as wave after wave of stunning sensuality crashed over her.

  It felt so right to be in his arms. Her mind may have been satisfied with precious words, but this was what her body secretly yearned for. To be kissed. To be tasted. To be touched in places too wicked to name.

  Miles drew a ragged breath and lifted his head to reveal green eyes gone dark with desire, pupils dilated to twice their normal size. “I want you,” he said hoarsely. “But not here. Not yet. I do not want to hurt you and the first time… the first time can be painful.”

  Dianna shook her head, clinging firmly to his shoulders when he would have stepped back. “I trust you,” she whispered, gazing deep into his eyes, willing him to understand this was exactly the right place and exactly the right time. It wasn’t perfect. They were in a barn, not a bedroom, and she would have preferred to wait until they were bound by more than promises, but for once… for once she wanted to seize the moment as it was, not as she wanted it to be.

  He kissed her brow. “If you are sure…”

  Ignoring the slight tremor of nerves in her belly, Dianna rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. “I am.

  “There is a guest cottage on the other side of the stables.” Entwining their hands Miles led her out of the barn. Smiling, laughing, they dashed like playful children towards a stone cottage, using the light of the moon to guide them. Breathless, Dianna reached the cottage first and threw open the door.

  She made it two steps past the threshold before Miles caught her and spun her around. He cupped her jaw with both hands, nibbling her lips to distraction as he backed her slowly inside. One well aimed kick of his boot and the door slammed shut behind them. Dianna shrieked when he picked her up. Shrieked again when he carried her to the bedroom and dropped her onto a soft mattress covered in luxurious white linen and a half dozen pillows stuffed with feather down.

  They undressed one another, Dianna’s fingers fumbling clumsily with the buttons on Miles’ shirt while he unlaced the stays of her chemise with ease. Lifting her golden curls, bathed silver by the moonlight cascading in through a large picture window, he kissed the long ivory curve of one bare shoulder as he gently encouraged her to lay all the way back.

  For the first time since they’d begun Dianna tensed, muscles coiling in apprehension as she began to fear the unknown. Easing her trepidation with soothing whispers and soft nuzzles, he kissed only her mouth until she began to instinctively seek more, hips rising up and off the mattress as a pressure began to steadily build in the secret place between her thighs that had grown suddenly slick and damp with desire.

  He touched her with his fingers first, readying her entrance and preparing her for what was to follow. As he’d forewarned the initial thrust of his body into hers was painful but he went slowly and soon they were moving in tandem, working towards something Dianna desperately craved but could not name.

  “Miles,” she gasped, head thrashing from side to side. “Miles, I… I don’t know what is happening to me.”

  “Almost. Almost, love. We’re… nearly there.” He kissed her flush across the mouth, tongue sliding between her teeth to move in unison with the ebb and flow of their bodies.

  The sudden flood of release took Dianna by storm. She cried out, spine arching as she clung desperately to Miles’ broad shoulders. He released a guttural bellow, hands convulsively gripping the sheets on either side of her head as they soared o
ver the edge of blissful oblivion together.

  “What do we do now?” Leaning up on an elbow once they’d both recovered their breath and were capable of speech, Miles toyed with a blonde curl at the nape of Dianna’s neck, rubbing it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger as his other hand trailed up and down her arm in long, sinuous strokes. Sweat glistened on both of their bodies as they bathed in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Dianna stretched like a cat, arms flinging out to the side and toes unfurling before she gave Miles’ question due consideration.

  “We get married,” she said after a long, thoughtful pause.

  The hand on her arm stilled. “Married?”

  “Yes.” With a bit of effort Dianna rolled herself onto his chest, blonde curls trailing across his cheekbones as she kissed the tip of his nose. “Married. I think our betrothment has lasted quite long enough, don’t you?”

  Miles was silent for a long, lingering moment as he searched her eyes. Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in the sparkling depths of her sapphire gaze he crushed her against him and rested his chin atop her head. “I would like that very much,” he said gruffly.

  “Only like?” Dianna teased.

  “Love,” he corrected, chest reverberating with a quiet laugh as she playfully skimmed her fingertips across one side of his ribcage. “I would love that very much.” A long pause, and then… “I love you, Dianna Foxcroft.”

  It wasn’t the perfect happily-ever-after Dianna had always dreamed of. There’d been far too much heartache for that. But at long last, nestled in the arms of the one man she loved beyond reason, she knew what true happiness felt like.

  And that was all that mattered.

  Lady

  Harper

  { London Ladies, Book Four }

  JILLIAN EATON

  Lady Harper is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events

  portrayed in this novel are either products

  of the author’s imagination

  or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © by Jillian Eaton 2015

  2nd Edition © 2020

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

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  All Rights Reserved.

  Except for use in any review, the

  reproduction or utilization of this work in whole

  or in part in any form is strictly forbidden.

  PROLOGUE

  Private Residence of Lord & Lady Farcott

  First Ball of the Season

  Lady Harper Radnor, never a patient woman under the best of circumstances (and the circumstances under which she found herself could hardly be considered the best) waited precisely thirty-one minutes before she went in search of her missing brother. A brother who should have been chaperoning her but instead had disappeared to heaven only knew where with heaven only knew who. She only hoped he hadn’t gone off with Dianna Foxcroft. The last thing their family needed was another hint of scandal, and what could be more scandalous than Miles being discovered with the woman he had publicly jilted so many years ago?

  Jaw set, Harper made two complete circles around the ballroom, giving a wide berth to any man who even glanced in her direction. This may have been her first official season, but she had little interest in finding a suitor. What she wanted - what she needed - to do was find Miles, although it was becoming quite apparent he was nowhere to be found. Her tightlipped scowl and flashing green eyes at odds with her softly styled hair and flowing ball gown, she stepped out of the way of a dancing couple and folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  If Miles had left her here she was going to kill him.

  “I say, are you lost my lady? My lady? Can you hear me?”

  It took a few moments before Harper realized the young gentleman with tousled hair the color of wheat and eyes several shades lighter than brandy was speaking to her. Huffing out an impatient sigh she turned to face him, the toe of her right slipper already tapping out a quick rhythm on the marble floor. “I am not deaf, if that is what you are implying.”

  “Ah, just inexplicably rude then.” The gentleman grinned when she gaped, revealing surprisingly white teeth and a dimple high on his right cheek. “Doyle Flynn, at your service. Might I ask your name, beautiful lady?”

  “You can ask,” she retorted. “It is does not mean I will tell you.” Her patience officially at an end, she looked pointedly over Doyle’s shoulder hoping he would get the thinly veiled hint she was in no mood for idle conversation.

  Unfortunately, he either didn’t understand her hint…or he purposefully chose to ignore it.

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked, rocking back on the heels of his black leather boots. “I’ve been watching you run about like a hound sniffing after a bone for the past twenty minutes.”

  Her eyes flicked briefly to his before darting away. “How boring for you.”

  Throwing back his head, Doyle laughed loudly enough to earn a few inquisitive stares.

  Hating the feeling of being watched, Harper took one tiny step towards one of the half dozen doors leading out to the back terrace, then another. If she could just slip out…

  “Running away?” Doyle asked, his damn grin unwavering. “Funny, I did not have you pegged for a coward.”

  Had Harper actually been a hound, the hair on the back of her neck would have instantly bristled at Doyle’s accusation. She may have been many things, but coward certainly wasn’t one of them. With a grimace, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “What do you want?”

  A suggestive gleam entered Doyle’s brandy colored eyes. He made a show of looking left and then right before he leaned towards her and said in an exaggerated whisper, “What are you offering?”

  The urge to slap the smug look right off his face was a strong one, but Harper held herself in check. There was already more than enough gossip involving the Radnor name swirling about. The last thing she wanted to do was put more fuel on the flame. A flame she’d had nothing to do with starting, not that it mattered. “You are a cad and a rake and I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” At that point a lady of higher moral caliber would have no doubt turned an icy shoulder and left it alone, but she was just annoyed enough to add, “Now bugger off!”

  “Marry me,” Doyle said, his grin abruptly fading into an expression of such burning intensity Harper felt an answering twinge somewhere deep inside a secret, hidden part of herself she’d not yet explored. For once she couldn’t think of a single biting retort and, not wanting to stand in place staring up at Doyle like one of the fat-witted ninnies she and the other wallflowers had spent most of the ball mocking, she did what any dignified young woman in her position would do…she picked up her skirts and fled out onto the terrace.

  Shaped like a half moon, the terrace wrapped around the east side of the mansion and was edged with a wrought iron fence. Potted plants had been set at every other post with benches in between, almost all of them occupied as guests sought a respite in the cool night air. Steps led down and away from the terrace, but not knowing where they went and not wanting to stray too far from the ballroom in case Miles was looking for her as she was looking for him, Harper walked briskly to the furthest corner and wedged herself between a towering fern with leafy green boughs and the smooth brick side of the manor.

  It wasn’t a very good hiding spot - not that she was hiding - and so Harper wasn’t surprised (only greatly annoyed) when Doyle appeared, his tall, muscular frame silhouetted in a spill of light before he spied her lurking in the corner and joined her in the shadows.

  “There you are,” he said cheerfully, acting as though she’d stepped away to fetch them both a cup of watered down lemonade instead of blatantly running away from him. Eyes sparkling with amusement, he leaned up against the wall and rubbed his chin. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ to my proposal, then?”

  “Of course it is a no!” Harper cried incredulously. “Who in their right mind would say yes?” />
  “Quite a few women, I imagine.”

  “Then why not go bother one of them and leave me alone?”

  “Because I find you absolutely fascinating.” Despite his casual manner and easy going grin, Harper suspected Doyle was not as harmless as he seemed and her suspicions were confirmed when he leaned in towards her to whisper huskily, “And I always pursue what fascinates me.”

  She jerked back, startled not by his words but by her reaction to them. All of her life she’d always found the men in the books she read infinitely more attractive and interesting than the ones she met in person. Except for Doyle Flynn. He was different, and despite the warning bells going off in her head she found herself mildly intrigued.

  “Do you often propose to women you have only just met?” she asked, lifting a brow.

  “No,” he said, and before she could decide if he was lying through his teeth he added, “I decided long ago I would only ever ask one woman to marry me, and that one woman would become my wife.”

  Most men would have sounded ridiculous making such a claim, but the easy confidence in his tone made every word Doyle spoke ring true. He honestly believes what he is saying, Harper realized with a start. She wondered if he was a bit off in the head, and felt a stirring of pity.

  “I am sure you will meet her one day,” she said kindly.

  Doyle cocked his head to the side. “Meet who?”

  “The woman you are meant to marry.”

  “Betsy,” he began, only to pause and grin when he saw Harper’s expression. “You haven’t given me your name which, to be quite honest, is a bit ride on your part, but who am I to judge? I must call you something, however, and you have the look of a Betsy about you. Plain. A bit simple. Sweet, without being too intelligent.”