by Jason
“Portia,” he warned.
She realized her hands were tight together now. “Bryght, I’m scared. Tell me you love me.”
“Ah no. I’ve done that and had it thrown back at me. It’s your turn.”
She eyed him uncertainly, wondering if he wanted a chance to reject her love. Perhaps his nakedness was an insult.
“What is love?” she whispered.
“What do you feel?”
She turned away from the distracting sight of him. “I can’t imagine life without you. I care about you. I want you to be happy. I ... I want to bear your children. . . .” Still he said nothing. “I desire you.”
His bare feet had made no sound, so she jumped when he touched her shoulders. He turned her and undid the clasp that held her gown together at the front.
“What . . . ?”
“If you want to bear my children, we had best work at it.”
She gripped his hands. “Bryght!”
He stopped. “I’m sorry. That was unfortunate. I’m still a little angry with you.” He raised his hands to cradle her face. “But I love you, Portia. I, too, cannot imagine life without you. I want your happiness, your children, and your desire. Always. And,” he added with a smile, “the River Thames is rather insistently rising.”
She looked down and saw it was true. She curled her hand around him. He felt as hot as her face. “I can’t believe how bold I am with you. It’s as if I’m not me at all.”
“You are entrancingly you.” He slipped her gown off her shoulders, then ran his hands restlessly over her pretty bridal stays and petticoats. “No hoops?”
“I climbed out of another window.”
His hands paused. “The north wall. I know. ‘Struth, Portia! Try to live a cautious life, for my sake.”
“How can I, married to you?”
He laughed and they kissed then, first tenderly, then deeply, then endlessly, lovingly exploring each other fully for the first time.
Portia was dizzy when they finished, and weak with desire. “I am sorry!” she exclaimed. “Sorry for not trusting you.”
“Now, now. Don’t make me think I’ve married a weak, vacillating woman.” Even with unsteady hands he was efficient. Her stays were gone, and her petticoat fell to the floor. He took out the pins and spread her hair.
Then he kissed her again until she was limp and expecting to be carried to the bed.
But he left her then and went to slip under the bed covers alone. “Come join me in our marriage bed, wife, if that is your will.”
“It is my will,” she whispered, and took off her shift so she too was naked. But then, under his intent gaze, she suffered an attack of insecurity and covered herself with her hands. “I’m sorry I don’t have more curves.”
“I’m not.” He flipped back a corner of the covers. “Come. Come of your own will. I’m done with traps and seduction.”
“That seems a shame,” she said with a laugh.
He didn’t laugh with her, just waited. She knew then how much she’d hurt him and her heart ached.
“I think I’m scared,” she whispered.
Humor flickered in his darkened eyes. “Imagine I’m a wall to climb, love.”
Portia laughed and dashed under the covers. He immediately pulled her crushingly close. “I love you. Deeply, irrevocably. Remember that.” He looked into her eyes. “I meant my wedding vows. This is for all time.”
She kissed him. “For all time, this life and after . . .”
As they kissed, he eased her on top of him, his hardness nestled between her thighs.
Portia pulled her mouth free so she could shower kisses all over his face, his neck, his shoulders. “I love you, too. I’ll try not to be so rash.”
His touch was gentle, cherishing skill. “Oh, some forms of rashness I like,” he teased.
She grinned and twisted to delve beneath the covers and assault the River Thames, but he seized her. “No, not today. This is our marriage bed, Portia, and today is for simple love. No tricks, no cleverness, just you and me in blessed harmony.”
Even in her inexperience, she could tell his touch was just that—an expression of love, not an attempt to dominate her senses. Portia allowed herself to do the same. She explored his body with no intent other than to satisfy her desire to know, her need to touch him—learn him—with mouth, hands, and every portion of her skin.
She pushed back the covers so that her eyes, too, could feast. “You are so beautiful.”
“As are you.” His lips played on her breast, and she stilled to take in the pleasure he could bring.
“That feels wonderful,” she murmured.
“Mmmmrnm.”
She was laughing when he sucked, and the sweet pleasure became wild. Portia squeaked, then stopped the noise.
He grinned at her. “Just one squeak? Surely we can do better than that.”
And he proved he could.
“What if someone hears?” Portia gasped.
“You’ll just be supporting my reputation as a mythic lover.”
“What?”
“Our demonstration at Mirabelle’s was much admired. I had to marry to avoid a pack of salivating ladies.”
Portia had other questions, but he was demonstrating that he could raise wild cries by touch as well as mouth. “This isn’t fair,” she gasped, her body dancing beneath to his tune. “I want to do this to you!”
He smiled into her eyes, his own dark, his cheeks touched with the color of desire. “You will. If you don’t discover how by natural genius, I’ll teach you. But let me pleasure you now, love. I have never done this before—lain with a beloved in innocent joy and trust.” His hand slid firm between her thighs. “Rise up my beloved, and open to me. And that,” he added with a smile, “is almost from the Bible, too.”
So Portia did rise up and open to him, closing her eyes to savor his skillful touch, then the blessed relief when he slid in to ease her desire. He was slow this time, so slow she moved restlessly to meet him, to hasten their joining.
“Open your eyes, love,” he whispered.
She did, and gazed breathlessly at him as he filled her with heat and power.
“To think I could have lived my life without this,” he murmured and moved subtly in a way that made her gasp.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said. “But with even greater fervor!”
They burst into laughter as he moved in her, and the laughter blended with their release, so they rolled together afterward, still chuckling as they kissed with joy.
Epilogue
contents - previous
“So, the canal will go through to the Mersey, Francis?” Bryght poured coffee for the duke, who had just arrived at Candleford Park, which lay some four miles west of Winchester.
“Aye,” said Bridgewater with satisfaction. “But it’s been a devil of a trial to get the bills passed and the money raised, particularly when Walgrave took a hand.”
“My fault, that. He’d not have interfered if I hadn’t been involved.”
“It balanced out, for it brought Rothgar in. I’m still not sure why he took such an interest, but I’m grateful.”
“It became a family affair. But when do we see some profit for all our efforts?”
Bridgewater laughed. “Well, that’s another matter. I’m so sunk it debt it’s ceased to worry me! I’m glad you weren’t tempted to sink your windfall into my business though. Candleford is a prime estate, and it suits you.”
“Like a new coat?” Bryght queried.
“Perhaps. You certainly look comfortable enough in it. I can’t wait to meet my godson. He must be beyond lying still and blowing bubbles by now.”
“He is assuredly that. He is nearly two years old, Francis.”
“Is it so long? Damme, in that time we should have made further progress with the canal!”
Bryght laughed and then heard other laughter. He went to the bay window that looked out over the mellow lawns of Candleford, lawns dotted with sp
reading trees, and scattered with small daisies. Francis followed him.
Zeno came to rise up by Bryght’s side, and gave a plaintive woof.
“Yes,” said Bryght, ruffling the dog’s fur. “It is certainly our duty to go and make sure they are safe. Come along, Francis, and meet your godson and namesake.”
For out on the lawns Portia ran laughing through the sun, hair escaping its pins, pursuing a merry, twinkle-legged lad with the same bright curls.
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Author’s Note
Tempting Fortune is about gambling—risk taking—with money, with property, and with lives. It is a suitable theme for the mid-eighteenth century when a seething love of risk consumed everyone. Its most obvious feature was the high-stakes gaming that absorbed so many people, but it also led to the decadent abuse of drugs, alcohol, and sex, and to the exhilarated exploration of new philosophies, technologies, and lands.
To the visionaries of this time nothing seemed impossible, and they had no doubt that the new would be wonderful. They had not learned as we have that progress inevitably brings costs. Or perhaps they simply did not care.
The Duke of Bridgewater was such a visionary.
It is hard to tell now what drove Bridgewater, though the fact that he had grown up a sickly youth called the Poor Duke may have spurred him on to success. Love certainly had something to do with it, however, for it was after his betrothed wife jilted him that he devoted all his energies to construction.
Elizabeth, Duchess of Hamilton, was one of the famous Gunning sisters who took London by storm in the 1750s. As with modern pop stars, people couldn’t get enough of them. When they walked the streets of London, the king had to order out an escort of the Guards to keep back the adoring crowds.
Maria, the elder sister, married Lord Coventry but died young, poisoned by the lead in the makeup she wore to make her beautiful face fashionable pale. Apparently her poor husband, knowing the dangers, scrubbed the stuff off her whenever he saw it.
Elizabeth married the dissolute Duke of Hamilton but was soon left a rich widow. Bridgewater, just back from his Grand Tour and still a young man, fell deeply in love, proposed, and was accepted. Elizabeth, however, changed her mind and married a Colonel Campbell, who would one day be the Duke of Argyll.
Thus, Elizabeth Gunning married two dukes and jilted a third. In time she was the mother of four.
After this blow, Bridgewater turned his back on Society and matrimony and became entranced with canals.
Like many great events in history, the Bridgewater Canal came about almost by accident. The duke owned a coal mine in Lancashire, but it was in a poor location and transportation costs made the mine unprofitable. He came up with the idea of using the drainage channel from his mine to float the coal along part of its journey.
This worked so well that he decided to send the coal by water all the way to Manchester. Manchester was a new city, growing rapidly as the spinning and weaving of cotton became an industry. Development there was being held back only by the high price of coal. If the duke could get his coal there at reasonable cost, he’d make a killing.
Bridgewater’s original plan was merely to link up with an established river-route which used the rivers Irwell and Mersey. The Mersey and Irwell Navigation Company, however, thought they had a monopoly and demanded an extortionate rate to use their system. That pushed Bridgewater into taking the bold leap and planning a canal all the way to Manchester. There was one obvious problem, however. The River Irwell was in his way.
So he decided to build an aqueduct to carry his canal over his competitors’ river.
Nearly everyone thought him mad. No one had constructed a canal in England since Roman times; there had never been an aqueduct in England; and his engineers— Brindley and Gilbert—were largely self-taught. He could not find many investors. But Bridgewater at only twenty-four proved determined. When he could not raise money by other means, he sold or mortgaged just about everything he owned and went around soliciting small loans from anyone with money to spare.
Money, however, wasn’t his only problem. Canal construction required acts of Parliament for each stage, and those proved hard to get. Many MPs regularly sold their vote to the highest bidder. Others believed canals would ruin the countryside. In addition, there were honest doubters who thought the plans, particularly that for the aqueduct, simply could not work. In order to persuade the committee of Parliament to approve the act permitting the aqueduct, Brindley had to build a working model in front of them.
And after all that, the real one began to fail as the first water ran through it. It was a minor flaw, fortunately, and the engineers fixed it, working without sophisticated plans, almost by string and sealing wax. Soon people were making special trips to see this modern marvel, to watch ships seem to sail through the air.
And beneath, the proprietors of the Mersey and Irwell Navigation Company gnashed their teeth and feared the future.
Though there were many years of struggle still ahead for Bridgewater, it was the beginning of a new age, the new age Bryght foresees. By the end of the century, England was crisscrossed by canals facilitating rapid industrial expansion. England was poised for the Victorian age, when it would be the richest and most powerful nation on earth.
The result of all this was to make the Duke of Bridgewater an extremely wealthy man by the time he died, still unmarried, in 1803. The profit from his coal mines had risen from £406 per annum at the time of this book, to £48,000 at the time of his death. In addition, he had the income from fees for the use of his canals, and from many other ventures such as land purchased on the new dockland in Liverpool. I’m sure Bryght became just as rich in the process, but great wealth was never really his motivation. It was the fascination of new opportunities and ideas that stirred him.
You may have noticed that in this book I have used precise figures for many costs. Such things fascinate me. In a time when a workingman was pleased to get a shilling a day, a gamester could lose a hundred guineas and hardly notice it. A man like Prestonly could lose ten thousand and shrug it off.
The value of money is never simply a matter of how many shillings in a guinea. (Twenty-one, by the way.)
I hope you enjoyed Tempting Fortune. There will, of course, be other books about the Mallorens. (The first in the series was My Lady Notorious, published in 1993.) I think the next one will be about Elf who is, of course, destined to bring Fort back from the brink of hate and despair. Though neither of them would believe it if told that now!
The next book on the shelves, however, will be Dangerous Joy in November 1995. This is the next Rogues book, set in 1816 in Ireland and England. For those of you who read Forbidden (Zebra, March 1994) it is the story of Miles and Felicity, surely the most ferociously antagonist lovers I have ever written about. To my surprise, this book turned out to have a thread of Irish magic and mystery running through it.
I have signed bookplates for Tempting Fortune and my other books. To obtain these, send an SASE to the address below, listing the books you own.
I am sorry many of you are having trouble finding copies of my older books. It’s the one down-side of success—my books have mostly sold out, and people hold on to them as “keepers.” (Not that that is a down-side. I love the fact that people enjoy my books too much to let them go.)
If you want to avoid future disappointment, however, keep up to date on new titles and re-issues by being on my mailing list. To get on the list, or just to tell me what you think of the books, write to me, c/o The Alice Orr Agency, 305 Madison Avenue, Suite 1166, New York, NY 10165. I appreciate a SASE to help with the cost of a reply.
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Copyright notice
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Version History
V1.0—Aug2004—Proofread and formatted from the paperback.