He looked up at her steadily, but she could feel the tremor in his hands as he spoke the words and she knew that he spoke from the heart.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, yes.’
He surged to his feet and caught her into his embrace, lifting her as his mouth claimed hers. She melted against him, rejoicing in his safe, solid strength. She clung closer, winding her arms around his neck, responding to the urgency in his lips. Without breaking the kiss, he swung her into his arms and strode back to the bridge, crossing it to the summerhouse, where he sat on the daybed, settling Eleanor on his lap. His arms wound around her waist, locking tight.
‘I am not,’ he announced, ‘taking the risk of you running off again.’
She tilted her head back to look at him. ‘How did you know where I was?’ She peppered the words with light kisses feathered along his jaw.
He held her tighter. ‘Your aunt told me where to find you.’
‘I’m surprised she did not insist on sending someone to chaperon us.’
Matthew nuzzled her neck. ‘She was delighted to see me, scolded me for taking so long to come to the point. Besides, she had other things on her mind. Sir Horace travelled up with me.’
‘Sir Horace? Truly?’
‘Truly. We met by chance as we were both hiring a chaise-and-four. He said he was coming north to visit relations and suggested we share the cost of posting up here. Your aunt was exceedingly happy to see him. She told me you were heading for this summerhouse and how to find it. I arrived here and I waited.’
Eleanor felt his chest vibrate as he laughed.
‘I thought it the perfect setting for a proposal to the lady I love more than anything in the whole world.
‘I thought it romantic.
‘I thought to meet you at the doorway, where I would make my apologies and then propose properly. With decorum.’
He looked at her, his blue eyes glinting. ‘I might have known you would set your own agenda. I thought I had missed you, you were such a long time. I was on my way to find you when I saw you at the bridge.’
‘I was in no hurry. I needed to be on my own.’ She paused. There was so much she didn’t understand. ‘You didn’t call on me when you returned to town. I saw you. At Vauxhall. With Arabella Tame.’ Try as she might, she could not disguise her hurt.
‘It was Stephen’s birthday. There was a group of us there, celebrating. I was not just with Lady Tame.’
He stroked her cheek, kissed her neck, ran the tip of his tongue around her ear. She shivered with desire.
‘The Arabellas of this world mean nothing to me,’ he murmured. ‘Why would I want a self-centred creature like her when I could have my beautiful, intelligent baroness?’
Eleanor tilted her head, sought his lips. Several satisfying minutes later, Matthew said, ‘I returned from Rushock a wiser man. When I saw my mother...the truth hit me. I could have been reconciled with my family when I first returned to England. Instead, I allowed my pride to stop me from contacting any of them. I let my pride win and my resentment sour me.
‘I realised then that I was also in danger of allowing my pride to ruin any chance of happiness with you. I was in love with you, but baulked at the idea of being dependent upon my wife. Also—although I did not realise it at first—I was letting my concern about what others would think to dictate my actions. I had lived with the taint of “cheat” for a long time and I hated the thought of being labelled a fortune hunter.
‘I returned to London with the intention of laying my heart at your feet. But...’
Eleanor stroked his cheek, his bristles rough under her fingertips. ‘But...?’
Matthew huffed a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing in not visiting you. You seemed to be happy. You had achieved your ambition of being accepted for Almack’s. I thought... I wondered if your feelings for me had changed. I vowed to give you more time to know your heart and I tried to get on with my own life.
‘The truth is...my courage failed me. I was afraid to find out that your love for me was mere infatuation.’
Eleanor straightened, eyes flashing indignantly. ‘Infatuation? How could you think that, when I all but begged you—?’
‘I know! I know... I was a fool. In my own defence, I was on the verge of throwing myself on your mercy the day after you saw me at Vauxhall. Then I received...the letter.’
The suppressed excitement in his voice was contagious. ‘Letter? From whom? What did it say?’
‘It was from Benedict. My partner.’
‘Benedict? But he—’
‘He is not dead, Ellie. The Laura May was damaged in that storm, but they made it into port, in Lagos. Oh, I can’t describe my joy on reading his news.’
‘That is wonderful indeed. I am so pleased...but...does that mean you have only proposed because you can now match my fortune?’
Matthew threw back his head and laughed. ‘Match your fortune? I shall never do that, sweetheart. The profit I will make on that cargo will be a mere pittance next to your wealth, but I will have enough to continue in business with Benedict.’ He bent a serious look on her. ‘You do understand that I must continue my business interests?’
‘Of course I understand.’
‘And, in the interest of honesty, I should confess I was also on the receiving end of some blunt talk from your cousin Hugo.’
‘Hugo? What has Hugo to do with us?’
‘He talked some common sense into me.’
‘Hugo did? Well, I’m sure it must have been for the first time in his life. ‘
He laughed, then sobered again. ‘You do mean it, Eleanor? You will marry me?’
‘Of course I will. I want nothing more in the world than to be your wife. But...are you certain?’
‘More certain than anything...’
‘You will not resent me in the future? You promise you won’t allow your pride to come between us? ‘
‘I could never resent you, my love. And, yes, I promise. I was a fool. A stubborn fool. Nothing is more important than loving you—and being loved by you. I am a very...lucky...man.’ He interspersed his words with kisses. ‘And now, my wife-to-be...’
Eleanor, her eyes riveted on his, saw them darken as he spoke, desire swirling in the blue depths. Her core tightened, a delicious longing awakening deep inside.
‘...come here.’ His finger slid beneath her chin and nudged it higher. He captured her mouth. Eleanor wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips demanded and she gave, moulding herself to him. He eased her back against the sumptuous cushions, his lips never ceasing their hungry demand.
Eleanor revelled in the weight of his body covering hers as his hand cupped her breast, his touch fiery through the fabric of her dress. Two fingers slipped inside her neckline and found her nipple, teasing the swollen bud until she could scarcely breathe.
She clutched fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair as he traced kisses down her neck to the upper swell of her breasts. She shivered with need, shifting restlessly beneath him...yearning...wanting...needing.
He raised his head and looked deep into her eyes.
‘I want more,’ she whispered. ‘I want everything—all of you.’
He brushed her hair from her face, then placed his lips on hers in a long, soothing kiss as he moved aside and settled Eleanor beside him, cradled in his arms.
‘Not yet, my sweet.’
The bitter memory of rejection rose from the depths of her past to pierce Eleanor’s new-found contentment. She shifted to stare into his face. A frown creased his brows as his eyes searched hers.
‘What?’ he said. ‘Why do you suddenly look uncertain? You surely cannot doubt my love for you?’ He kissed her, long and hard and deep. ‘I want you so much it hurts and it takes every ounce of my resolve to say we must wait until we are wed.’
‘Then why must we wait?’
A smile hovered as he shook his head. ‘You are as impetuous and as impatient as ever.’ He dropped a kiss on
her nose. ‘Since we met, I have not always behaved as a gentleman should. As you said yourself, I thought nothing of stealing kisses from a maiden I thought I could never wed. It is important to me now to do the right thing.
‘Allow me to be the gentleman now, Eleanor. I would have you walk down the aisle an innocent on our wedding day. You are worth waiting for, my sweetest desire.’
His sincerity shone through every word.
‘Then let us wed quickly,’ Eleanor said, leaning into him to capture his sensual mouth in a smouldering kiss.
‘Never again,’ he groaned, as he tore his lips from hers some time later, ‘never again will I allow you to leave without a word. I know...’ he placed his finger against her lips, which parted as she began to protest ‘...yes, I know very well it was my stupidity that made you leave. I know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. I allowed my pride to become more important than our love.
‘Never again.’
He lowered his head, caressing her lips with a tenderness that filled Eleanor with joy and wonder. She kissed him in return, and all the passion and the love she had hidden inside for so long poured out as she surrendered her heart.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from NO CONVENTIONAL MISS by Eleanor Webster.
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No Conventional Miss
by Eleanor Webster
Prologue
Gibson Manor—1805
The child had been missing for three days.
Through the nursery windowpanes, Rilla watched the faint flickering of the men’s torches as they searched. Occasionally she heard their hoarse cries.
It was a wet spring. Heavy raindrops fell rhythmically off the shrubbery. A thick, obscuring mist hung low, tangling in the bare branches and turning the countryside a flat, featureless grey.
Rilla shivered and rested her head against the cool windowpane. She thought of Sophie. The little girl was new to the neighbourhood, a visitor and only five. Even at nine, Rilla would hate to be outside in this weather. And Rilla was strong and tall. She climbed trees, building perches in their upper branches and swinging from their limbs.
Oh, why did her head ache? Why did her limbs feel heavy as though weighted with huge sacks of flour?
Even the glow of twilight hurt and she squeezed her lids tight shut, pressing her palms to her eyes to cut out any vestige of light.
And then ‘it’ happened.
For ever after, Rilla said she slept and dreamed. There was, could be, no other explanation.
Except Rilla did not remember lying down. There was no rest, no comfortable drifting into slumber.
Instead, it felt as though she remained standing while everything about her changed and mutated: the whitewashed walls, the books, the rocking horse with its worn paint, the brick hearth, her grandmother’s ugly portrait and equally ugly embroidered sampler—gone.
Cold mist dampened her skin. Goosebumps prickled. Her breath came in harsh gulps. She stared into the fog’s whiteness, trying to make out indistinct forms and shadows.
Yes, she knew the place. It was the gamekeeper’s cottage, burned down years earlier and now a ruin, its blackened beams softened by ivy.
Sophie.
Sophie was here.
The knowledge came suddenly and completely, without doubt or question.
Sophie was trapped within the cellar, under the slate floor of the broken kitchen.
* * *
Rilla blinked. She was lying on the cold nursery floor, staring upwards at the whitewashed ceiling with its singular crack which looked like a lamb’s hind leg. She sat up. Tentatively she touched the cloth of her dress and twisted her fingers through the unruly tresses of her red hair.
Dry.
Her shoes were clean and dry also.
And yet...
In the distance, she heard the shouts of the men’s voices.
She jumped up, suddenly urgent. She must tell them. They did not know yet. They must know. Then they would find Sophie and save her.
Thank goodness.
And everything would change.
Copyright © 2015 by Eleanor Webster
ISBN-13: 9781460387672
Return of Scandal’s Son
Copyright © 2015 by Janice Preston
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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