What a Lady Demands

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Lind scrubbed a hand over his face. The reminder of Jeremy’s parentage set his thoughts along a different path. “That’s twice now.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  At his gesture, she advanced into the room and closed the door behind her.

  “Battencliffe. That’s twice he’s saved my life.”

  “Twice?”

  “The first time I can understand. We were young and stupid and got into a fight we ought to have avoided.”

  “You were still friends then.” She said it cautiously, clearly expecting him to lash out in response, but somehow his anger had drained out of him during the course of the day.

  “You’d think, afterward…You’d think he’d have thrown that in my face once things fell apart between us.” He rubbed at his temples. Trying to work out the whys and wherefores made his head ache. “But he never did. And now he refuses to take back the vowels I offered him. All that debt forgiven, and he walked away.”

  “Perhaps it’s a question of pride, or perhaps punishment.” She approached his desk and leaned one shapely hip on it. “He wants the thought to eat at you. You owe your life now.”

  “Twice over,” Lind muttered, “as I said. I’ll tell you about it another time, but he did save me once before according to your brother.”

  Cecelia nodded. “I think he means the vowels as a reminder.”

  “God, typical. It always was some competition or other with him.” Somehow the specter of Lydia rose in the back of his mind. Yes, that, too, had been a competition between them. One he’d won—or so he’d thought. But had he, truly? “However, I can take part of that away from him.”

  Ignoring the pain in his leg, he leaned over the hearth. With one hand he dug the sheaf of vowels from his jacket. One by one, he fed each paper into the fire, watching as they curled into ash.

  While he was at it, Cecelia padded up close and laid a hand on his shoulder, her fingers tightening about the curve of muscle. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how badly he’d been longing for her touch, yet that innocent gesture burned through him the way the flames were consuming the bits of paper—not with lust, but with the purity of her affection.

  How long have you lived this sterile existence? How long have you yearned after a little affection? Her words to him drifted through his mind. Forever, it seemed. Until she’d reentered his life, he hadn’t realized the true depths of his need, a need that ran past the physical.

  “I’m proud of you for setting this behind you,” she murmured, leaning down to rest her cheek against the top of his head. It was the closest thing to an embrace she could manage in their current position, and he drank in the scent of orange water that lingered about her, and let the perfume fill him along with her encouragement.

  When she pulled away, he set his hand over hers to keep it in place. “I’m not quite sure what I’ll do with myself now.”

  The admission surprised him, but no more than the understanding of how much room his grudge had taken. And maybe there had been something to what Sanford said about doing himself more harm than Battencliffe.

  “But you’ve all this.” Her arm swept out in a gesture that encompassed the study, yet he knew what she really meant. His lands. His estate. His tenants. “You’ve the future. You’ve Jeremy…You have me.”

  Her voice caught on the last, and somehow that tiny hesitation pierced him through more thoroughly than any projectile the war had thrown at him.

  He reached for her, somehow succeeding, despite his hurts, to pull her about until she faced him. He caught both her hands in his. “I do. I have a woman who once told me she was broken, but that’s not true anymore. You’ve healed.”

  Her lips stretched into a tremulous smile. “So can you. I want you to. I want you as whole as you can be.”

  He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. “I need to tell you. I’ve decided about Lydia.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, and he felt her hands slip in his fingers.

  He tightened his grip. “I plan to ask Mrs. Carstairs to see about taking Lydia’s things from her bedchamber. I’ve a new wife now, and she’ll want to claim her quarters.”

  The ease with which those words slipped past his lips surprised him. At one time, they’d have been unthinkable, the worst betrayal imaginable of his wife’s memory. But he’d said his last goodbyes that morning, hadn’t he?

  “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know. And if you’d like to keep a memento or two…” She smiled. “Just perhaps not her ball gowns. In fact, we wouldn’t have to start on her bedchamber at once. I’ve a few ideas for the public rooms in this house.”

  He drew a breath. Life with Cecelia promised to be a continual surprise. “What’s wrong with the public rooms?”

  “You don’t think they’re rather dreary?”

  His protest died on his lips, replaced by a single thought. If Cecelia was talking about such mundane things as the décor, it meant only one thing: She was staying. Whatever odd pang he’d felt earlier in his gut exploded. It filled him, the sensation light and buoyant. The way his chest expanded, he half expected to choke, but somehow it only freed him.

  He hadn’t experienced anything akin to this emotion since Lydia had accepted his offer of marriage. But no, this was different. With Lydia the feeling had been driven by a sense of triumph. This was far deeper. So deep it filled him to bursting.

  He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, first one hand then the other. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he rasped.

  Her gaze snagged on his. Caught. Held. Her brown eyes were large and luminous in the firelight. “Don’t thank me. Just love me.” The muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed. “We both need it.”

  “I do, I do—oh, God, I do. I love you.” Where was this coming from? It felt like a dam had burst inside him. He raised his hands to frame her face, to draw her down to him. To set his lips to hers. “For your strength.” A kiss. “For your pride.” Another kiss. “For your defiance.”

  Before he could draw her deeper, she pulled back, a smile stretching her full lips. “My defiance?”

  Something tugged at the corners of his mouth, a strange, unaccustomed sensation. It might have been an answering smile. “You constantly challenge me to be better than I am. It drives me mad, but it’s somehow endearing.”

  Her fingers enlaced at the back of his neck, and she rested her forehead against his. “That’s very good, my lord, because I suspect I can’t make myself stop.”

  He stared into her eyes, waiting, hoping, yearning to hear the words Lydia had never said to him. Not straight out. He’d always had to ask.

  Do you love me?

  Of course, my lord.

  Never more than that. It was time to stop denying the truth and face the woman who stood before him, solid and steadfast, offering him what he’d needed all these years.

  “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” he prompted. Damn his heart for pounding against his ribs so hard. It felt like a sledgehammer.

  “You drive me mad, as well.” Her grin was pure evil. How could she tease him at a time like this? “Mad with your rigidity. Mad with desire. But mostly mad with love. I am very much afraid you are stuck with me.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good. Because I have plans for you.” And he drew her into a kiss.

  When Mrs. Carstairs knocked on the door some hours later, she let out a loud harrumph, shook her head, and took herself off.

  Epilogue

  A MONTH LATER

  The morning sun peeked through a crack in the curtains, an unwelcome reminder it would soon be time for Lind to rise and see to his affairs. His estate waited, and perhaps he’d oversee Jeremy’s riding lesson later. But not just yet. He pulled his wife closer, her soft curves molding to his body, her legs tangled with his. He breathed in the scent of orange water and woman that lingered about her, letting the perfume infuse him with a sense of peace. His lips strayed to the tangle of dark hair at
the top of her head.

  She’d shared his bed since the first time they made love, Lydia’s old chamber still lay unused, and he wouldn’t have things any other way. The day would come when Cecelia would turn her attentions to those apartments, and he was more than happy to allow her free rein. Whatever she wanted, as long as she continued to spend her nights with him.

  “…and I believe we could paper the morning room in something cream-colored with sky-blue accents. But naturally the furniture would be of darker upholstery to make it easier on the servants. What do you think?”

  “Whatever you’d like.” He’d been making variations on that reply for the past month.

  She planted her palms on his chest, and pushed herself up, so she could look him in the eye. Her naked breasts swayed temptingly. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

  “Of course I have. What do you take me for?”

  “You are a very poor liar. Did you know that?”

  Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to her face. “Would you prefer the truth? I have no earthly idea what the difference is between sky blue and peacock and whatever other color you might name.” He paused to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It does not matter to me, as long as you’re content.”

  She frowned slightly. “As much as you dislike the prospect, you’re going to have to discuss domestic matters with me from time to time. You realize Jeremy needs a new governess, don’t you?”

  Cecelia had continued to oversee Jeremy’s lessons more or less since their wedding, and he seemed to be thriving. Faced with the promise of riding over the estate with Lind, the boy had taken to his pony, as well. Regan had him working at sitting the trot.

  But even Lind was aware Cecelia couldn’t continue to teach Jeremy while fulfilling her responsibilities as Lind’s wife. She saw to those duties as regularly as possible, even if it did give his housekeeper fits to find the door to his study locked in the middle of the afternoon.

  “I thought I’d leave that choice up to you.”

  “Wonderful, because I know just the person.” Her smile broadened into something mischievous. “I’ll write to her straightaway and see if she wishes to return.”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “Why, Miss Crump, of course. Jeremy and I wrote to her ages ago, and we received a reply yesterday. One, I might add, that indicates she still hasn’t found a suitable position elsewhere.”

  “Miss Crump…Miss Crump…” He sifted through his memory, but there had been so many, a veritable parade of young ladies who somehow never managed to measure up.

  “Three governesses ago, I believe Jeremy said, but she made quite an impression on him.”

  Something clicked in his mind. “Isn’t she the one who hired that charlatan? What was his name? The one who claimed to show military history and couldn’t even set the troops in proper order?”

  “Professor Treacher?”

  “That’s the one. Treacher the teacher. Perhaps he should have gone into the ministry. Then he could be Treacher the preacher.”

  “My lord, can it be?” Her lips parted before stretching into a smile. And then she made the most incongruous of sounds—a giggle. “You made a joke.”

  He couldn’t stop his answering grin. “I won’t make a habit of it.”

  “You ought to.”

  “Why, when I’d rather make a habit of this instead?” He covered her mouth with his, and it was a long time before she could formulate any kind of coherent reply.

  To Caryl. Thank you for keeping me company during NaNoWriMo and helping me draft this. And hey, you finished your own book, too. I call that a win-win!

  Acknowledgments

  Dear readers,

  The first acknowledgment belongs to you. Thank you so much for reading Cecelia and Lind’s story. I hope you enjoyed it.

  To find out when Battencliffe’s story, What a Lady Requires, will be available, please subscribe to my newsletter. A sign-up link, along with other social media links, is available on my website: http://ashlynmacnamara.net.

  Want to help an author out? Reviews, both the positive and the negative, are one way a reader can get involved. Please consider taking a few minutes to post your thoughts on this book.

  And now I hope you’ll bear with me while I send out a few thank-yous.

  As always, to my wonderful agent, Sara Megibow for being there and believing. To my amazing editor Junessa Viloria for the same.

  To my critique partners for their thoughtful feedback and eagle eyes.

  To Caryl, Lizzie, Clemence, Carina, Matan, and Paula, thank you for putting up with my kvetching and for nagging me to keep going.

  To Secret Curtsey Society and the Lalala Sisterhood for their moral support. To Mary Behre, most especially, for her boundless positivity and confidence-boosting.

  To my husband and daughters for putting up with the amount of time I spend living in my own little dreamworld.

  Until next time!

  Cheers!

  xoxoxo

  Ashlyn Macnamara

  BY ASHLYN MACNAMARA

  The Eton Boys Trilogy

  What a Lady Craves

  What a Lady Demands

  A Most Series

  A Most Scandalous Proposal

  A Most Devilish Rogue

  PHOTO: NICOLE MORISCO

  ASHLYN MACNAMARA is the author of What a Lady Craves, A Most Devilish Rogue, and A Most Scandalous Proposal. She lives in the wilds of suburbia outside of Montreal with her husband and two teenage daughters. When not writing, she looks for other excuses to neglect the housework, among them knitting, reading, and wasting time on the Internet in the guise of doing research.

  ashlynmacnamara.net

  Facebook.com/AuthorAshlynMacnamara

  @ashlyn_mac

  The Editor’s Corner

  As the hustle and bustle of the holidays, not to mention cold and flu season, approaches Loveswept’s prescription for your well-being is very simple, and reasonably priced too: Check out our new November releases, as low as $2.99. Just what the doctor ordered, right?

  The courageous men of USA Today bestselling author Tina Wainscott’s Justiss Alliance series never give up and never make promises they can’t live up to—Wild Nights comes out this month and features Saxby Cole and Jennessy Shaw in Tina’s wildest story yet. USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy’s Club Sin series continues with the wicked, sensuous novel from Freed. Ashlyn Macnamara’s historical romance What a Lady Demands introduces readers to a smoldering new love story threatened by past betrayals—fans of Julia Quinn, Eloisa James, and Sabrina Jeffries will adore it. USA Today bestselling author Maggie McGinnis has written a captivating novel spiced with holiday magic, featuring a rugged Montana man who mends a Northeast girl’s jaded heart—don’t miss, A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise. And the Weird Girls return in another edge-of-your-seat novel, A Curse Unbroken, from Cecy Robson! Just when Celia thinks the supernatural world can’t turn deadlier, a new rival emerges to prove just how dangerous a power-hungry Were can be, yum!

  For the New Adult reader, check out our Flirt line featuring debut author Amber Hart as she pushes contemporary romance to its wildest limits in the heart-pounding novel Until You Find Me, the story of a girl who travels to Africa to protect the legacy of one man—and stays for the love of another. Regina Cole’s debut, Draw Me In, is a steamy novel of hot ink and delicious angst, where two tortured artists take a leap of faith despite the past that threatens to tear them apart.

  Stay well and follow the prescription above—if you do you’re guaranteed a happy, healthy, romantic holiday season. Until next time…

  ~Happy Romance!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for a sneak peek of

  What a Lady Requires

  by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Coming soon from Loveswept

  Chapter One

  MAYFAIR, EARLY 1822

  Not for the first time since her aunt and cousin
came to stay, Miss Emma Jennings wished she’d been born male. A man wouldn’t have to endure constant twittering over the rules a proper lady should uphold. A man wouldn’t have to tolerate constant reminders to fold his hands just so and to put on a bonnet for goodness’ sake. A man would be permitted to pursue whatever interests he liked.

  “My dear, what has got you so caught up that you cannot even heed our conversation?” From across the sitting room, Aunt Augusta asked the question in a sticky tone that might indicate concern to the unsuspecting.

  Emma knew better. That tone meant nothing less than suspicion. She adjusted her spectacles. “I am merely writing a letter.”

  Surely Aunt Augusta wouldn’t protest such a mundane activity, but the older woman pressed her lips together all the same. The tiny lines about her mouth deepened into furrows. It was as if she knew Emma’s letter was addressed to the owner of a vineyard in Burgundy and discussed the most recent vintages available for import at advantageous price. More, it was as if her aunt could see through the sheets of vellum to the ledger hidden beneath. To Emma, either one was far more interesting than contemplating which members of the ton might attend the Pendleton ball tomorrow evening. She far preferred to speculate on wine futures, even if that speculation was intended to benefit another.

  Her cousin Uriana stabbed her needle into her embroidery, drawing a length of peacock blue floss through the stretched linen. “I still cannot decide which gown I ought to wear. Do you think Mr. Crawley will be more impressed by the pink or the sea foam green?”

  Since Mr. Crawley had spent the last rout the family had attended in the card room with the inveterate gamblers, that question was entirely moot. Uriana might well wear an ostrich-feather headdress and nothing else before Mr. Crawley deigned to notice her, but Emma could not voice that scandalous thought aloud. Aunt Augusta would certainly expire of the vapors in the face of such a breach of propriety.