“I did not understand, for I had lived too long alone. Where there was generosity, I saw recklessness. Where there was trust, I saw manipulation. Where there was love, I looked for lies.
“So I took the gold of the sun into my hand and treated it as brass.
“Rightfully so, you took it back from me . . . and took it away.”
Alicia could hear the beat of her own heart thudding in her ears, almost drowning out the words of a woman seated near her.
“That’s so beautiful,” the woman sighed. “So passionate!”
George went on reading.
“I thought I was done, an accomplished man in control of his surroundings. But I was cold, so cold that I was ice inside.
“You burn so fiercely it alarmed me, unnerved me, unmanned me. I feared that when I melted in your flame there would be nothing left—yet I could not stay away. As helpless as a moth who dies by the candle, I could not stop my circling of you.
“Too late I learn that I should not have tried. You have forged someone new with your fire, someone who might just be able to survive and flourish in close proximity to the molten core of you.
“I want more from you than I have any right to, but you will fare better without me than with me, so I will not ask. I only wish to tell you that you have left me changed. The world will not know me, so far am I from the man I was. The world will benefit, I believe, and I will ever be indebted to you for teaching the ice to thaw.
“I wish you always the joyous summer you deserve and blame you not for fleeing the stark winter you saw in me.
“Goodbye.
“Yours forever, Alicia, my love,
“Wyndham”
Alicia couldn’t breathe for the emotions flooding her. All numbness had disappeared in the storm. She was furious that Stanton would let her be so miserable for so long. She was elated that he would make so free with his feelings in public. She was suddenly, irrepressibly filled with such magnificent hope that she hardly dared move for fear that she would wake from this dream.
She carefully laid her napkin on her plate. “Where is he, your highness? He’s here, somewhere, I know it.”
“I can’t imagine why you would think so,” George said smoothly.
Alicia turned her head to gaze at him, raising a brow. “Your highness, I don’t care what Stanton did to you that you must avenge yourself thus. I want to know where he is. I think you’ll recall that it does not go well with you if you refuse me.”
George leaned away slightly. “Ah . . . he’s in the music room, just through that door.” He pointed obligingly, the other hand casually protecting his left cheek.
“Thank you, your highness.” She stood, pushing back her chair. “I cannot stay,” she called to all present. “My lover is waiting for me. Carry on with your dessert!”
She ran around the table, skidding slightly in her silk slippers. Fortunately, the door to the music room was unlocked, for she would not have allowed such a measly thing as a royal latch on a royal door to stop her headlong rush.
Stanton was there, tall and delicious and hers forever. He’d obviously been pacing worriedly, the dear. As if she could ever deny him!
He whirled at her bombastic entrance and scarcely opened his arms in time to catch her. They toppled back onto a royal settee, then rolled to the royal carpet together.
Finally, she had him just where she wanted him, trapped beneath her while she covered his face with kisses.
“I’m not—all those things—you said,” she whispered between kisses.
“Of course not.” He took her face between his large hands and stopped her for a moment. “You’re more.”
She shook her head. “You’re a fool to think so.”
He smiled slowly. “I think perhaps I am—for you.”
She blinked back the burning in her eyes. “Don’t make me cry when I’m so bloody happy.”
He brought her down for a long, deep kiss that left her knees weak and various other parts humming with glee. “I love you,” he told her, whispering the words into her hair. “If you’ll let me up, I’ll propose properly.”
Alicia shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. Anything you have to say can be said perfectly well on your back.”
He laughed out loud, in that easy, open way she’d heard so rarely and loved so much. She closed her eyes and simply listened, feeling the deep rumble in his chest throughout her entire body. He truly was happy.
“Very well, then,” he said with a grin. “I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to be precisely who you are at every moment of every day, and if anyone in Society, the government or the Church of England doesn’t like it, they should feel perfectly free to jump in the Thames.”
Alicia smiled. “Your terms are acceptable. Now here are mine. I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to be precisely who you are at every moment of every day . . . except once in a while, can we wear costumes to bed? I’ve always fancied you as a highwayman in black.”
A slow, hot smile lighted his face. With one quick motion, he rolled her over to lay heavily, deliciously upon her. “Stand and deliver,” he growled.
She twined her arms around his neck, pushing her fingers deep into his thick hair. “Of course, lord highwayman—but don’t you think we ought to close the door first?”
Epilogue
Alicia hopped on one foot while Stanton hurriedly did up her gown. “Blast it!” she muttered. “Where did I throw that other slipper?”
“My weskit was on the chandelier, so there’s no telling.” Stanton found it under the dressing table, along with his cravat. He frowned at his limp linen. “I’m going to have to call for Herbert.”
Alicia snatched the slipper and donned it, then bent to fix her hair in the mirror. “But if he comes, then Garrett will too, and Garrett will never let me go out without a complete redressing and coifing and we’re late as it is! Antonia will never forgive me if we aren’t on time to meet her new fiancé!”
Wyndham waved his useless cravat. “But I don’t actually know how to tie these things.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you quite serious?”
He shrugged. “It never seemed necessary.”
She turned and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, if you hadn’t kissed my neck that way—”
He mocked her stance. “Well, if you hadn’t filled out your bodice that way—” His eyes darkened as he looked at her now. “You’re still doing it.”
She crossed her arms and inhaled. “Doing what?”
His jaw worked. “Come here.”
She took a step backward. “Make me.”
She only had a moment to giggle wildly before he caught her. Dinner at Sutherland House would have to wait.
Outside the room, Dobbins paused at the door with a tray. Another servant came down the hall and saw him hesitating.
“At it again, are they? The honeymoon’s been over for months!”
Dobbins nodded. “He ain’t human.”
“He never has been.” The other man shook his head in admiration. “Lucky bastard.”
Dobbins sighed and turned back to the kitchen. He’d best be ready with another tray. Her ladyship could be downright frightening when she didn’t get her tea.
TAKE A SNEAK PEEK AT ANY OF
THE ROYAL FOUR YOU MAY HAVE MISSED!
To Wed a Scandalous Spy
Surrender to a Wicked Spy
One Night with a Spy
AVAILABLE FROM ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS
To Wed a
Scandalous Spy
Willa hummed cheerfully, if somewhat out of tune, as she foraged in the meadow for a few greens to round out their noontide meal. Traveling with her husband suited her absolutely. Even with Nathaniel’s strange aversion to staying at inns and his tendency to monosyllabic conversation, she was determined to enjoy his company.
Besides, she was seeing places she’d never seen before. Even though the new stone-walled sheep fields greatly resembled t
he previous stone-walled sheep fields of her experience, they were new. After a lifetime spent in the same tiny village and its monotonous environs, anything new was delightful.
Furthermore, marriage was new. Spending her days with such an attractive man was entirely new, and there was no point in denying the purely female pleasure she took in watching Nathaniel ride, walk—oh, heavens, that leonesque stride!—and basically breathe in and out.
Of course, she’d imagined that by now she and her husband would have managed to put that silly consummation requirement behind them . . .
Willa picked up her sack of found treasure and decided to cross the beck further down to look for watercress. Watching her feet on the damp slope, Willa didn’t look up until she reached the water’s edge.
When she did, her heart stopped beating, the breath left her lungs, and her mouth went dry.
He was beautiful.
Nathaniel knelt in the beck only a few yards away. With his back to her and her arrival masked by the chuckling water, he was entirely oblivious to her gaze.
He was also entirely wet.
And entirely naked.
The water was shallow, and there weren’t enough bubbles in the world to cover the sheer expanse of naked man that rose from the beck.
Willa couldn’t breathe. Her knees went weak at the sight of the sudsy water streaming down his broad back into the crease of his powerful buttocks. She had never seen anything so unbearably delicious in her life.
His back rippled with muscle as he soaped his hair, the cloudy afternoon light doing nothing to dim the sleek shine of soap and water on his male perfection.
Nathaniel bent to duck his head in the water, and Willa could not control the moan that escaped her at the view.
Instantly Nathaniel whirled, one fist pulled back in instinctive defense while his other hand frantically wiped soap from his eyes. Damn, he should have known he was too vulnerable here. He hadn’t been thinking with the mind of a spy but had let thoughts of Willa’s sumptuous thighs distract him.
His vision cleared and he saw her. The impulse to fight eased, only to be replaced by another equally ancient instinct.
It was her eyes. They were wide and hungry, with a shining ache in them that he knew from his own soul. She wanted him. He could see it in the way her chest swelled with heavy breaths and by the sheen of perspiration gilding her face and neck.
His own need rose in response to her hungry gaze, and he saw her gaze drop and her eyes widen in surprise. Then slowly, her gaze traveled back up him. Nathaniel straightened and stood motionless for her perusal.
He was the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. She knew that the thrumming within her was because of his male attraction, but the ache in her heart was from his sheer lonely perfection.
I could have her.
Surrender to a
Wicked Spy
Being one of the most eligible bachelors in London Society, Dane Calwell, Viscount Greenleigh, was actually rather accustomed to saving damsels. In fact, they seemed to drop from the sky to land at his feet in various states of distress.
The Season was nearly over, and Society’s mamas were becoming desperate indeed. Unbeknownst to them, Dane had every intention of marrying this year. After all, he was in his late thirties and his wild days were long done. A man with his responsibilities needed an appropriately demure, composed, well-bred hostess and mother for his heir. Therefore, he looked on all of this attempted entrapment with amused tolerance. Still, Dane had hope that he’d find a young woman with a bit more substance before the season ended.
So when a young lady fell into the Thames right before his eyes, Dane hadn’t hesitated before leaping from his horse to dive into the water next to the struggling miss.
Except that this particular miss hadn’t needed rescuing, at least not until she’d nearly frozen while rescuing him.
She lay in his arms now as he carried her up the grassy bank of the Thames. He didn’t think it was precisely proper for him to be holding her so close, but the unconscious girl’s mother—who only now had thought to run back down the bridge to the bank—was currently indulging in a rather overblown fit of panic and there didn’t seem to be any servants or footmen with them.
Dane wrapped his sodden coat more closely about the pale chilled form of his rescuer. Her frozen state concerned him greatly. He was feeling deadly cold himself, and he was far larger than the young woman he held.
He glanced up at the gathering crowd—where had all these people been while the two of them had been floundering in the Thames?—and picked out a mild-looking young man at random.
“You there,” he called. “Fetch a hackney coach here at once.” The fellow nodded quickly and ran for the street. Dane glanced at the woman he was beginning to think of as “the mother from hell” and tried to smile at her reassuringly. This only sent her into a fresh bout of sobbing and carrying on as she clung to his side. She seemed to feel that she was to blame for some reason.
There was no sense coming from that quarter, so Dane tuned the woman out.
A shabby hack pulled up on the grass. It was a pretty poor specimen and small to boot, but Dane was in no mood to care. He ordered the mild young man to load the mother into the vehicle and carried the girl on himself. Seating himself in the cramped interior, he settled her into his lap, keeping a protective hold on her.
Perhaps he ought to be ashamed of noticing that she was a healthy armful and that she fit rather nicely against him. Still, it was refreshing to be this close to such a sturdy female. She felt rather . . . unbreakable. He always felt somewhat uneasy when he came too close to some of the more petite women in Society. His common sense told him that he was not going to crush them during a waltz, but his imagination supplied many an awful vision anyway.
So when his coat briefly fell away from the young woman’s bodice during the jostling carriage ride, Dane fell prey to his manly instincts rather than his gentlemanly ones and didn’t precisely avert his eyes from what the thin, sodden muslin wasn’t covering very well.
Well, well. Very nice. Very nice indeed. He could safely change his description from “sturdy” to “buxom.”
Dane saw her open eyes and smiled at her, glad to see that she was alert once more. She likely hadn’t seen him peeking, and if she had, he certainly wasn’t going to affirm her suspicions by appearing guilty. Besides, the brief glance at her full bosom capped with rosy points that pressed tightly to the translucent muslin had been the highlight of his rather trying day.
Her gaze left his, however, and slid to where her mother sat opposite them, now sobbing somewhat less vociferously.
“Mother,” the girl said firmly through blue, chilled lips. “T–tell this nice gentleman that you’re s–sorry.”
The weeping woman uttered something unintelligible which seemed to satisfy the girl in Dane’s lap, for she then turned to look back up at him with an air of expectation. Dane hesitated, having the feeling that he was the only one who didn’t know what they were talking about. “Ah . . . apology accepted?” he said finally.
The girl seemed to relax. “You’re t–taking all of this very well, I must say,” she told him as her shivers continued. “That bodes well f–for your character. You must be a man of g–great parts.”
Perhaps it was the fact that he’d recently been peeking at her own rather “great parts”, or perhaps it was the fact that his own “parts” were becoming more and more stimulated by the motion of a curvaceous bottom being jostled against them, but the commonplace saying struck Dane in quite a different way than it was intended to. He laughed involuntarily, then covered it with a cough. Smiling with bemusement at the very unusual creature nestled on his lap, he nodded. “Thank you. I might say the same about you.”
The girl eyed him speculatively for a moment, then turned to her mother again. “Mama, you should allow this gentleman to introduce himself to you.”
“Mama” nodded vigorously, then visibly repressed her sobs and dabbe
d at her eyes with a tiny scrap of lace that truly didn’t look up to the task of drying all those tears.
“That’s not necessary, my dear,” the woman said, with a final sniffle. “The Earl of Greenleigh and I have already been introduced.”
Dane sat there for a long moment with a smile frozen on his face while he racked his memory to place the rumpled, red-eyed woman across from him. Finally, light dawned. Cheltenham. She was the wife of a destitute earl, but the family was of excellent lineage and spotless reputation. “Of course we have, Lady Cheltenham,” he said smoothly, as if he’d recognized her all along.
Then he looked down at the self-possessed and voluptuous young woman in his arms. So this was Cheltenham’s daughter . . .
One Night
with a Spy
The scent of the rose petals beneath seep into my bare skin until I feel steeped in perfume and passion and him.
Well, damn. Marcus looked about him in alarm. The garden was a mess, all brown and dry. The rose garden he’d pictured from her diary entry was nothing but rows of skeletal sticks, truncated a foot from the ground. There was nothing but stripped vines covering the grim stone walls and nothing but yellowed grass and gravel on the ground. In the pearly morning light it looked more like a graveyard than a garden.
How was a bloke supposed to stage a seduction in such surroundings?
Lady Barrowby walked slightly ahead of him down the gravel path, her hands clasped behind her back. He noticed that her fingers were twisting together. Another display of girlish nerves from the Beauty of Barrowby?
That was reassuring, but also a reminder of their other companion, the great Beast who padded along at the lady’s side, his tail twitching ominously.
Why was he having so much trouble with this mission? He knew what he needed to do and he knew how to make her respond to him. He was a charming fellow usually, prone to making ladies smile and flip their fans his way. What was it about Lady Barrowby that left him tongue-tied with mingled lust and fury?
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 04] Page 29