“Ahem, Your Graces,” Wheatley called out as he walked toward them.
“I swear I’m going to dock his pay one of these days,” Christian growled.
“No, you can’t,” she whispered. “When Wheatley auctioned off Meriwether’s erotic statuary, he raised five thousand pounds for the charity.”
“Good point. My wife, always the diplomat.” Without letting her go, Christian answered their butler. “What is it, Wheatley?”
“Another bequest from Lord Meriwether. A prized Hampshire boar,” Wheatley said matter-of-factly.
“Put it in the stables. We’ll send it to Roseport.” Christian smiled, then turned to Kat. “At least, it’s something useful.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but the bequest is for Her Grace,” Wheatley said with a smile.
“For me?” Then as if the baby thought it funny, it started to kick nonstop. Kat placed a hand over her belly. “What am I going to do with a pig?”
“Bacon is always a sound choice,” Christian said.
“Sir, based upon its pedigree, this hog is worth a fortune,” Wheatley informed him.
“Will you put it in the stable for me?” Katherine asked with a smile.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Wheatley said with a bow.
Christian watched their butler leave. “I wonder what that’s about?”
Katherine tucked herself closer to her husband. “I don’t know. I didn’t think your brother left me anything.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Christian rubbed his nose against hers in a show of affection, then pressed a tender kiss against her lips. “I love you, wife. Always and forever.”
“And I you.” Tears welled in her eyes at the sincerity and love on his face. Never did she think she’d be this lucky to find the man of her dreams, someone as wonderful as Christian. “I don’t regret my supposed marriage to your half brother anymore. Because of him, I found you.”
Christian cupped her face with his hands. “And I, you, because of him. It almost … but not quite, makes me want to claim him as my brother.”
She nodded and squeezed him tight.
“I’m the richer for it,” he said.
He bent down to kiss her, and Kat closed her eyes, loving the feel of his arms around her. She’d never grow tired of his kisses or the wondrous man himself. When their lips touched, a spontaneous combustion of need and want swirled around them. It always happened when they became lost in each other’s arms because they loved each other.
Forever.
Author’s Note
I’m sure you’re wondering how Meri escaped from being charged with bigamy … or trigamy as Katherine called it. It wasn’t as difficult as you might think.
Between 1750 and 1815, there were one hundred and seventy-nine cases filed for bigamy proceedings in the Old Bailey, London’s Central Criminal Court. Wives and husbands alike were brought up on charges for these crimes. When convicted, the wayward spouse faced a variety of punishments including branding on the thumb, incarceration, transportation, and fines.
Even though marriages were recorded in the parish record books and witnesses were required to validate the ceremony, there simply wasn’t a central marriage license registry. A spouse like Meriwether could disappear and then find another to join him in wedded bliss.
In 1823, a stopgap measure was mandated to keep some type of permanent records of who was legally shacking up with whom. Every marriage had to be entered into the parish register, and a copy of every page had to be sent to the bishop assigned to the parish. Thus, we have the makings of a central department for the recording of valid, certified marriages across the country. In 1837, a civil registry of marriages was established in England and Wales called the General Register Office.
I like to think that Katherine and Christian were quite happy that Meri found a way to skirt around such a bothersome legal requirement of sticking with only one spouse at a time.
Read on for an excerpt from
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
BY JANNA MACGREGOR
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
“Shall I call a doctor? Where are you hurt?” Constance knelt on her knees and lightly placed her hand over his. The sounds of his fall and the accompanying groans of pain still seemed to resonate around her.
Jonathan’s eyes jerked open at her touch.
“Come now. I lied to your valet for you. I said a trunk of my shoes fell. Please don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable with me by your side touching you.”
For an eternity, he didn’t say a word, but stared at her. Without taking her hand away from his, he continued to rub his leg. “It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
His voice lowered, and she had to lean toward him to hear. “Very few have seen the gnarled flesh of my right leg. If you faint at the sight, I can’t pick you up.”
“I won’t faint,” she assured him.
“It’s happened before with others,” he argued.
“I’m not that type of person, nor do I faint at the sign of blood.” She smiled slightly and was rewarded for her efforts when a grin tugged at his lips. “Katherine’s companion is renowned for her knowledge of herbs as well as gifted with medicines. She sent a recipe, and I made a salve for you to help with the pain.”
“You made it for me?” he asked.
She nodded. “Mrs. Walmer was quite accommodating.”
“My cook allowed you into her kitchen.” He ran a hand down his face as if trying to reconcile the fact. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You could charm a badger to share his burrow.” He shifted an inch in the chair, his abrupt exhale ragged.
The poor man was obviously in a great deal of discomfort. “Let me get it. It can’t hurt.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. Finally, he nodded.
After quickly checking that her daughter Aurelia was fast asleep in room next door, she picked up the salve, then returned to Jonathan’s side.
She knelt again at his feet. She scooted closer until she was practically between his legs. He widened his stance slightly. The subtle movement released the scent of cedar soap. The rich fragrance melded with his own, a potent and virile male who happened to be in front of her.
Constance bent her head, pretending all her concentration was centered on opening the jar of salve. In actuality, it was to keep from revealing the effect he was having on her. At the last twist of the lid, the scent of peppermint floated between them.
“Ah.” She brought the container to her nose and inhaled. “It’s very pleasant. I added peppermint oil. It’s still your favorite, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
She silently exhaled. He should know by now that silence had never stopped her before. “I tried the salve on myself. It isn’t harsh nor will it leave a stain.” She held the jar out to him.
Without wasting a glance at the salve or her, he said, “You do it.”
She swallowed slightly. She’d never dreamed he’d ask her to help him, but she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. This might be the only opportunity to break down some of the barriers between them.
“All right.”
He grabbed her by the wrist before she could lifted his banyan out of the way. “Don’t.”
To an outsider, it might have appeared abrupt, as if he wanted to hurt her. Instead, his touch was incredibly gentle as if holding a piece of crystal. She studied his hand holding her wrist. With the long length of his fingers, he could easily encircle both of her wrists with one hand.
“Don’t what?” she asked.
“Don’t look at my leg when you rub it in.” His gaze never left hers as he continued to hold her arm. “Promise me.”
The rough and hardened voice infiltrated her chest. Every organ, cell, and other parts of her body vibrated in awareness. It was the first time they had truly been alone without another living creature disturbing them. Even his dog Regina had retired for the evening, content that her master was in g
ood hands.
“I’ll only look at your face and the jar.”
“Thank you.” He released her.
She scooped some of the salve, then rubbed her palms together, releasing more of the fragrance. “The peppermint oil is designed to mask any odors.”
“I wouldn’t care if it smelled like a horse’s…”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Who would have guessed that the Earl of Sykeston possesses such a vile vocabulary? I’ll have to watch that Aurelia doesn’t hear such language.” The words trailed to nothing as she peeked at him under her eyelashes.
Finally, a small smile creased his lips. “Well, if that’s all she has to be afraid of, she’ll be fine.”
“I think I’ll start at your ankles, then move toward your knee. How far does the injury extend?”
“The worst is above the knee,” he answered. “Flesh is missing on my thigh where a ball had to be dug out.”
It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to cry out at the horror he must have endured. Not of pity, but of outrage at how much he’d had to brave. Not only had he been shot, but then to come under the surgeon’s knife afterward. “Are you ready?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
Constance kept her eyes on his as she deftly placed her hands on his ankle. His skin cool to the touch, and the bones so different from hers. She massaged his ankle down to his heel. His ankle was so large, she couldn’t wrap both hands around it. As she trailed her hands up his calf, she prepared herself for what she might feel. A puckered wound, missing flesh, none of it would surprise her.
“How does that feel?” She continued to stroke upward, kneading the tight muscles of his calf. The hair on his legs was smooth but coarser than what she had expected. “Too hard…”
The words trailed to nothing when she found the first scar. It felt as if a cup of flesh had been carved out of the back of his calf.
He didn’t flinch when she grew quiet. “A little harder, please. That was the second bullet I took. The first knocked me off my horse.”
“Then what happened?” She pressed her fingers into his skin, again and again. With the palm of her hand she pushed straight down. She repeated the movement for several more minutes.
He wasn’t going to answer, so she reached for more salve.
Then she remembered their stupid rules. “I suppose I wasn’t supposed to ask about that.”
“What?” He tilted his head as if truly not understanding what she was talking about.
“Asking about your past. What happened on the battlefield that day certainly qualifies.” By then, she’d reached his knee.
He winced slightly at the movement. “I think I might have landed on my knee. I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. Right above where you’re rubbing is where the first shot hit. It’s the reason for my instability. My thigh bone was shattered.”
Her eyes widened of their own accord. She waited for him to call her out for it. Instead, he turned his attention to the window.
Her perfidious gaze dipped to his shoulders, then rose to study his profile. He had grown into an extraordinarily handsome man. His eyes had almost closed as if about to succumb to sleep.
Yet his stubborn pride wouldn’t let anyone in. He was hurting in so many ways, more than in a physical sense.
“The surgeon insisted that he had to cut off my leg.” He faced her. “I declined.”
“Oh, Jonathan, I can’t imagine the pain and the horror.” She skated her hands over his kneecap, then swooped back down for another rub lower.
He narrowed his eyes. “No pity.”
“No pity.” She swallowed the lump inside her throat and sniffed. To change the topic, she scooped another handful of salve. “I must come closer to work on the rest of your leg.”
His stare never left hers as he nodded once.
Scooting nearer, she rested on her knees much like if she was in church kneeling to pray. She reached under his banyan, then trailed her fingers across his skin until she found the last injury.
Forcing her attention to his thigh, she traced the wound to see how large it was. Though this leg was smaller than his other, it was still massive in size and strength, so different from her own. With the tips of her fingers, she could tell where he’d been shot. Angry striations of raised skin accompanied by a depression of about an inch deep and several inches wide along with a myriad of stitches marked his thigh about his knee. She massaged it over and over.
With every exhale that escaped from his parted lips, she could tell if she was too rough or too soft. If they were sharp, then she pressed too hard. If they were shallow, then her ministrations were perfect.
His breath fanned across her cheek as if kissing her. Memories of their first kiss rushed forward, sweeping her closer to him. This was the worst timing in the world to think about kissing her husband. Constance was supposed to be helping him, not seducing him. She made the mistake of looking down.
God help her. Her husband was aroused. Though his banyan was closed still, the outline of his hard cock resting against his midriff was plainly visible.
She closed her eyes yet the image stayed front and center. She took a deep breath, desperate for control. Inside, an incredible heat was building. His scent was tempting her to take what she wanted.
“Constance.”
She couldn’t ignore the low thrum of her name on his lips. Unable to fight it, she leaned closer and forced her eyes to his. The startling whisky color of his eyes held a fire hotter than the sun. She leaned in an inch, a simple experiment to see how he’d react. If he leaned opposite, he’d have made it perfectly clear he wanted no part of her. He stood his ground.
She wanted to shout to the heavens. But there was still work to be done.
She moved closer.
He still didn’t budge an inch.
Closer and closer she leaned, not giving him any quarter. She moved with a stealth that hunters would have envied. And she didn’t stop until her cheek rested against his. She couldn’t breathe. How long she had waited to feel this close to him—skin-to-skin. His evening bristles teased her to press closer. All she wanted was to cup his other cheek in her hand, then press her lips against his.
A ragged breath escaped as she tried to tamp down the chaos that had erupted in her own body. Feeling and sensations melded together in a combination primed to explode.
She whispered his name in answer. “Jonathan, do you want…?” She couldn’t be certain, but it was entirely possible his lips brushed against her ear.
“It’s entirely possible that I want what you want, but you tell me first.”
She stayed perfectly still. Any movement was too dangerous for either of them. Though their cheeks touched, several inches separated their bodies from one another. His heat radiated toward her, surrounding her, holding her close.
She never wanted to escape.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded softly.
In answer, she moved her hand up his thigh. The muscles underneath her fingers flexed. His hand tightened around hers. Slowly, he pulled it toward his body.
“I want…” She slid her cheek across his, the touch incredibly slow and sure and erotic, yet innocent.
A scant inch separated her lips from his. Their breaths mingled in a prelude that they both knew would lead to another wall between them cautiously dismantled stone by proverbial stone.
If she had her way, she’d much rather obliterate it into bits. However, the moment called for patience.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. “Let me kiss you.”
Also by Janna MacGregor
WILD, WILD RAKE
ROGUE MOST WANTED
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE DUKE
THE LUCK OF THE BRIDE
THE BRIDE WHO GOT LUCKY
THE BAD LUCK BRIDE
Praise for WILD, WILD RAKE
“Passionate, tumultuous.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Incandescent.”
—
Booklist
“Will delight those looking to warm their hearts with a tender read.”
—Library Journal
ROGUE MOST WANTED
“A decadently delightful love story that refuses to conform.”
—Publishers Weekly
“An unforgettable love story.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Deliciously romantic and poetic.”
—Fresh Fiction
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE DUKE
“Sparkling … a richly engaging romance with a heroine we should all resolve to be more like.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Utterly delightful in every possible way.”
—Bookriot
“Effervesces with lighthearted romance … sweet and sultry in equal measures.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[An] emotionally rich, exquisitely wrought tale that superbly celebrates the redemptive power of love.”
—Booklist
THE LUCK OF THE BRIDE
“Sparkling dialogue, a dash of deliciously tart humor, and just enough soul-searing sensuality to keep romance fans sighing happily in satisfaction.”
—Booklist
“Brimming with family, hope, and tender sensuality, this shrewdly plotted, gently paced romance is especially satisfying.”
—Library Journal
“A lovely, sweet, and touching love story.”
—RT Book Reviews
THE BRIDE WHO GOT LUCKY
“Rising star MacGregor once again demonstrates her remarkable gift for effortlessly elegant writing, richly nuanced characterization, and lushly sensual love scenes.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“A heady mix of action, wit, and sexual tension. Readers will eagerly turn the pages to see how this intense story concludes.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Deliciously provocative in historical detail … there is everything in this novel and more. The Bride Who Got Lucky is absolutely brilliant!”
—Romance Junkies (5 stars)
THE BAD LUCK BRIDE
A Duke in Time--The Widow Rules Page 33