by Gayle Wilson
“With my father in the vicarage, my lord.”
“The proverbial vicar’s daughter?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“And have you finished gathering your berries, Mary Winters?”
“Oh, no, my lord. The very best spot, you see, is just through here.”
As she spoke, the girl stepped off the apron of the road and, pulling aside a limb that had blocked a small footpath, she disappeared into the shadowed undergrowth.
Horse and rider were left alone in the sudden quietness of the lane. Stanton dismounted and, displacing the same branch, he led the gelding into the clearing into which the girl had vanished.
The man’s gray eyes lifted to seek her. Surprisingly, she was standing on the gnarled trunk of an oak that had forked early in its existence. The basket rested on the grass. She had removed the straw hat, releasing a cascade of dark brown curls that seemed to lure all the leaf-diffused light to glint in their richness. She watched as Nick Stanton crossed the clearing.
“You appear to be limping, my lord,” she said.
“I’ve just spent three days successfully not limping,” he answered, smiling, “so I should think you might try to be less critical.”
“A war wound, I suppose.”
“An honorable one, I assure you. Taken in the front.”
The girl’s mouth quivered, almost a smile.
“And heroic, no doubt?” she asked tauntingly.
Smiling, Nick shook his head in denial, but his steps didn’t falter. Inexorably, he continued his approach to the oak.
“And foolhardy? Incredibly brave?” she suggested.
“A matter of opinion, I should imagine,” he said dismissively.
He stood now directly below her, his height enough that their eyes were almost on a level. Blue met gray and held a moment, and then she touched him. She had turned her hand so that her knuckles trailed against the golden hair at his temple. He put his left hand up to catch her fingers, bringing them to his lips.
His mouth drifted slowly over the slender fingers, stained at the tips with the juice of the berries she’d gathered. Nick released the hand he’d captured and, putting his on either side of her slim waist, he lifted her from her perch into his arms. There was no resistance. She melted against his body, arms clinging around his neck, her mouth automatically opening and lowering to his. Familiar and practiced, his tongue slipped inside, as intimate as a lover’s. And as welcome.
The kiss was long and unhurried. Despite the limp with which he’d crossed the expanse between them, Stanton held her without effort, her body resting trustingly along the hard, masculine length of his. Slowly he lowered her until the toes of her kid slippers touched the ground, and still their mouths clung, cherishing one another. Finally she broke the kiss, her palms resting on either side of his face.
“Tell me that they refused you,” she entreated.
Smiling, he shook his head. “You know better than that, Mary. The Beau needs every experienced officer, every veteran he can find. I told you that before I left.”
“And you convinced them you were fit.”
“To be truthful—”
“To be truthful, you lied about your leg,” she accused.
“They were too glad of my offer to think of refusing,” he said, still smiling down at her. “Don’t be angry, Mary, my heart. That’s where I belong. It’s where my men will be. My regiment. It’s where I want to be.”
“Not again,” she whispered. “I can’t let you go to that hell again.” There was no answer for that plea. No comfort. “How long?” she asked and watched his lips tighten.
“Three hours. Less…” His voice faded at the pain in her eyes, suddenly glazed with tears. “I came as fast as I could. But I have to be back in London to board the transport at dawn.”
“You just arrived. Surely—”
“Three hours, Mary,” he reminded, his mouth finding the small blue vein at her temple. “Shall we spend it arguing?”
“No,” she whispered, her lips lifting to his, fingers tangling through the golden curls. “No,” she said again as his mouth shifted over hers, turning to meld, to possess what was his. And always would be.
* * * * *
eISBN 978-145926-8586
HEART OF THE NIGHT
Copyright © 1997 by Mona Gay Thomas All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic. mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the wntten permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited. 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills. Ontario. Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone beanng the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S A.
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
She knew that somewhere she'd crossed the line…
Dear Reader
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Preview
Copyright