by Sophia Nash
When the rising sweet pain of pleasure overwhelmed her, William strained as deeply as he dared, thrusting a final fraction to meld their two bodies together. A crest of pure light swept over them both, and Sophie held her breath to experience the last wave of rapture.
His overly long hair drifted over her eyelids and his achingly familiar scent curled through her senses. She was finally content and at peace.
Long moments passed before he moved to his side, drawing Sophie alongside the strong planes of his body. William flung one arm carelessly over his eyes as he regained his breath. She tried to imprint in her mind the image of his sharply chiseled face against the white blanket of fog beyond.
He moved his arm to stare into the sky, revealing the character lines around his eyes and mouth that betrayed the harshness he had endured in his lifetime. The faintest trace of gray at his temples added to his mystery.
He turned his head to look at her and grinned. "I do believe you have cured me of all dreams of kilts and sporran. Only stays and ribbons shall fill my head—all the days of my life."
"As long as they are my stays."
He wove his fingers into her tangled hair. "Naturally, my love, for I have already learned the Error of my ways, thereby saving you the trouble of teaching me. But"—he cocked his infamous brow— "if your lessons are always so pleasurable, perhaps we should begin a thorough review." He nuzzled his head against hers. "I missed you so, my love."
"And I, you."
He gently brushed a kiss on the top of her head.
"I suppose," she said, "we should go back."
"The fog is lifting," he said, rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms. "And it wouldn't be at all the thing to have a passing fisherman spot your petticoats flapping in the breeze."
Will dragged their rumpled clothes forward and helped her with her gown. Within minutes, they were clothed, albeit with more wrinkles than before and with color in their cheeks.
He extended his hand in a mute appeal for the few hairpins she'd found then attended to her hair. Sophie leaned back, closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his hands working her tresses.
"You've not formally agreed to be my wife, you know." His lovely deep voice made her neck tingle.
"Even though you gave me your unspoken consent, I find I should like to hear the words if only so we will have a proper version to tell our children." There was amusement in his voice.
"Mon chéri—" she began. "Ah, my love, once again, please. I have long waited to hear those words." He nibbled her ear.
"Mon chéri, you already know my answer. But if it's formality you seek, then you shall have it." Sophie turned into his embrace. "You captured my heart many months ago, when I saw you—"
"Completely starkers? Yes, you did appear slightly shaken by the encounter," he said, grinning.
"William, that was not what I was about to say. I do believe I fell in love with you when you freed me from"—she smiled—"that torturous corset."
He threw back his head in laughter. "Our children will take enormous delight in the story."
"That won't do at all. We shall tell them you asked for permission from my guardian then asked for my hand while down on one knee and I accepted—demurely and with proper decorum."
"I think they will prefer hearing about your corset." He held out his hand to help her negotiate the steep ledge to the pathway.
Uncertainty filled her when she contemplated their future. "William, are you certain our marriage will bring you long-lasting happiness? I fear—"
"Yes?"
"I fear you will not be happy hearing the whispers that will surround us the rest of our lives—that you were a notorious fortune hunter who married me solely for my money."
"I like the idea of being a kept man, actually."
"You will not."
He grinned. "Well, if your inheritance is the only thing standing in the way of our complete happiness, I must reassure you." He scratched his jaw. "You see, my family lost much of our fortune and it's always been my dream to restore our name. I seemed so close to realizing it when I met you. Good fortune had smiled on me during a card game where the stakes had been high. I won a small fortune that night—from your Lord Coddington in fact."
Sophie stopped for a moment to catch her breath on the steep ascent. Impossible. "So we are now adding gaming to your list of fine qualities?"
"Only in the most dire of circumstances." Sophie turned to continue the climb up the narrow path.
"The fortune," he continued, "was enough to go forward with a set of methodically laid out plans for a wholly new venture—in commerce. My first visit to Yorkshire was to see if Tolworth, a man known for his shrewd business propositions, would invest in a new bank with progressive ideas in lending. Little did I know he had an entirely different shrewd proposition. But, enough said. I am happy to report that in gratitude for arranging his daughter's marriage, Tolworth agreed to a sizeable outlay."
Sophie stumbled slightly and William helped her regain her balance.
"And before beginning my journey to see you, I visited a cousin I had not seen in many years, per Alex who knows her quite well. You would like the newly married Duchess of Cavendish. The duke agreed to provide capital as well."
Sophie looked over her shoulder at him and raised a hand to cover her lips. "You are laughing at me, madam?"
"So you are now a merchant, sir—as well as a gamester, a rake and a fortune hunter? My father would be most gratified with my choice."
"Now I'll hear no more of that. Everyone knows that a plain reformed rake cannot hold a candle to an unapologetic common merchant and gambler, with fortune hunting and rakehellish tendencies. At least I am not a drunken fool." His lips curled in dry amusement.
"No, indeed you are not. You at least left one asset for other rogues to enjoy."
Slightly out of breath, they paused at the top of the cliff and surveyed the wild beauty before them. Will exhibited his most endearing, wolfish smile. "Speaking of assets, a lesson in the art of hiding yours would not be amiss for I find I don't care to share my good fortune with others any longer." He eyed her impressive bosom.
"I'm insulted. I'm already adept at this art—even you have no idea how much wealth I'll possess now that I've secured a proper aristocrat despite your penchant to join the merchant class. In addition to the duchy and my uncle's fortune, which I shall now inherit upon our marriage, my aunt has decided to leave me her similar riches in future."
Stunned, he swayed in the breeze lifting the fog.
"Well, I see I've finally accomplished what no other female has, chéri. You're speechless." She smiled brilliantly. "Perhaps you'd prefer I tell Aunt Rutledge we've decided there is no need for two fortunes?"
"Good God, no, madam. I see we must continue your education after all. Take it from one well familiar with poverty; one can never have too much money. Those who suppose wealth cannot buy happiness may live in their cold little huts. We shall live in bliss—richer than Croesus."
"I suppose it will take my whole life to teach you the pleasures of charity and good works."
He rubbed the tip of her nose with one finger. "No, no—you misunderstand. We shall have the double pleasure of improving other lives as well as our own. And we'll also take joy in the knowledge we will have earned a sizeable portion of it in future—by helping others get a solid start in their own ventures."
"And what will be the name of this fine institution?"
"Why, my family's name—Barclay's Bank, of course," he said.
"Of course."
Will pulled her under the shade of a large horse chestnut tree and swept her into his arms, pinning her hands to his chest. "I almost forgot. I've brought you two presents, my love."
The emerging sun and rustling tree branches fanned a pattern of shaded leaves upon his elegant features. Her heart swelled with giddy pleasure. "Two?"
"You shall find them in my pockets."
Sophie reached into the warm pocket of his dark wais
tcoat. She withdrew the beautiful sapphire and diamond ring from long ago.
"If this has too many poor memories attached to it, I shall choose another for you." He kissed her forehead.
"You shan't be able to pry it off my finger."
"You've forgotten there is one more item of importance," he murmured into her ear.
She noticed a slight glimmer in his eye. He glanced down at her fingers as she searched the inner pocket of his coat lining and touched the edges of paper.
A rush of wind rustled the leaves all around them as she read the document which would allow them to marry without delay of the banns.
"You probably have guessed there is one more fault in my character." He rained a slow shower of kisses along the sensitive angles of her neck. "I've never been a patient man."
"Patience is highly overrated, Lord Will."
"A return to formality, Your Grace?" A certain wickedness lurked in the curl of his smile.
"I am certain, my love, patience and formality will never be known as the chief assets or —she leisurely tugged loose his neckcloth—"Lord Will and Her Grace."
Bonus Excerpt!
A Secret Passion
by
Sophia Nash
Winner “Best Debut Romance” – Romance Readers Anonymous
Winner “Award of Excellence”
Lost in thought, widow Jane Lovering almost failed to notice she had arrived at the field. It was eerie in the mist with the dark tree trunks and branches covered with a hint of new leaves.
“Mrs. Lovering, it is almost time for breakfast. I assumed you had forgotten our engagement.” The earl was attempting to bridle his stallion, who kept pawing the ground. Lord Graystock was wearing the same deplorable outfit in which she had first seen him. Almost against her will, she verified that one could positively see the man’s smalls through the tear on the hip of his breeches. If anything, it had grown larger!
“Fear not. I would not dream of depriving you my help in taming your beast, sir.” Jane averted her eyes, jumped down from her sidesaddle, and secured the reins to a tree. She had a difficult time maintaining a composed expression, as his arrogance seemed misplaced given that he had new mud stains on his shoulder and cheek. “And how lovely that you dressed on my account!” she continued.
She detached the riding habit skirt, revealing form fitting, dove colored riding breeches. She had had her seamstress make the skirt of the habit and breeches to her specifications years ago, much to the shock of her father.
“As did you, I see Madam,” the earl said with one eyebrow raised.
“If I am to get on and more importantly stay on your animal, it will have to be astride. I would only ask you not discuss my attire with anyone.”
Lord Graystock rolled his eyes and smiled. “Heaven forbid, Mrs. Lovering. I daresay your reputation could not bear another mark.”
“And yours, sir? Is it superior to mine?”
“I daresay it could withstand word of my riding astride wearing breeches.” His eyes roamed slowly down over the offending article of clothing. “Not that I am complaining, you understand.”
Jane refused to allow him to make her blush. “Yes, well, at least my smalls are covered.”
“More’s the pity,” he said, from much nearer than Jane recalled him being.
She disregarded the comment and walked toward the animal in the middle of the field. “Now, sir,” she said, taking possession of the bridle from the earl along the way, “Let us see what is to be done about this recalcitrant stallion of yours. And by that—lest you find yourself confused—-I do mean your horse.” She was rewarded by his laugh, which caused a sensation in her midriff that she would just as soon not examine.
When she was within reach of the warm, moist breath of the stallion, he snorted, wheeled around, and galloped away.
Lord Graystock chuckled. “You must have better methods in your repertoire. I daresay your entire arsenal won’t do the trick.”
“We shall see,” Jane retorted as she watched the stallion. She felt little of the self-confidence she tried to show. The stallion exhibited a sort of wildness in the eye she had rarely seen before.
“Care to wager on it?” he asked.
“Wager on what?”
“On your ability to ride the beast, of course. Or perhaps—” his eyebrows quirked insolently, “—we should better your odds by making it on your ability to capture him?”
“I have never wagered in my life.”
“Are you unsure, Mrs. Lovering, of your abilities?”
She looked at him for a long moment. “What would I win?”
He smiled. “More importantly, what would you lose?”
They paused for a moment, each thinking as quickly as possible. The earl closed the gap between them.
“A kiss. If you lose, that is,” he said.
“No,” she said.
“A kiss if you win, then, if you prefer.”
“No,” she said again.
“Then we are back to if you lose.”
She knew he expected her to refuse again, stomp off and refer to her reputation and the like. What could she counter it with to wipe the smug expression off his face and end this entire wagering business?
“Alright,” she said, slowly, “But, if I stay on the brute, you’ll marry me.” Really, she just wanted to see him unsettled, just a little. Titled gentlemen were so sure of themselves, this one in the extreme. He antagonized her beyond measure. And, she knew she could unseat herself if she did manage to ride the beast. She could tell by the strained expression on his face that she had outmaneuvered him.
“Mrs. Lovering, ah, your wager is so very tempting, but…” She smiled as she realized he was not going to accept the challenge. “But, not very equal in terms. What say you to upping my end to a bit more than a kiss?”
She felt flustered and annoyed. “I think not,” she responded as she jutted out her chin.
He looked delighted. “Ah, well then let’s shake on the original wager,” he concluded as he reached for her hand. “And by the by, he seems to favor trees. Best be careful.”
She was too embarrassed to ask for clarification of the original wager or the comment regarding the trees. The truth was the infuriating man had her doubting her own abilities. Jane had ridden many young, difficult horses but never a difficult stallion in his prime. And she was distracted by Graystock, who sat on a log under the shade of a young sapling, watching her with a hooded expression in his gray eyes.
After a full hour, the horse was caught, bridled and shaking. She had got within a few feet of the horse and then turned her shoulder to him while pretending to be working on the bridle. The horse’s curiosity had gotten the best of him in the end, as she had known it would. He had walked up to her and put his head over her shoulder. She had shown him the bit and he had allowed her to slip on the piece of tack with only one whinny and head toss.
Jane checked the tightness of the girth and swung up into the saddle with well-practiced ease. Before she was seated, the horse began backing up at full speed and then reared. She leaned forward and pulled down hard on the reins. With a half turn, the horse came down on all fours in breakneck speed. Instead of hauling back on the reins, Jane leaned forward near his neck and let the animal have his head. After circling the field four times, the horse changed tactics.
She was going to get hurt. She could feel her dwindling control over the animal slipping from her grasp. Desperate to unseat her, the stallion began bucking and twisting in mid air. An abrupt stop after a near fatal sideswipe of a tree found Jane somersaulting off the horse’s back. She fought for control of her lungs as she realized the wind had been knocked out of her. The earl’s shadow fell across her face as she tried to sit up.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. He began feeling her legs and arms when she did not respond. She pushed away his hands as she tried to get enough air to speak. Really, she just wished he would give her space and time to regain her senses. When she opened her
eyes and sat up, she noticed a gash on her thigh. The earl examined the wound as she tried to compose herself.
“You are in luck,” he said grimly. “Looks like you’ll not need stitches.” He pulled a flask out of the leather saddlebag lying in the grass and began sprinkling the contents on the slash. She bit her tongue as the liquid burned the raw edges of her skin. He untied his loose neck stock to bind the wound.
“I’ll send a doctor to see to this, once you return to your aunt’s house. It should be fine as long as it doesn’t become putrid,” the earl added as he rocked back on his knees.
“I’m fine, really, just fine,” insisted Jane, embarrassed. She paused before continuing. “I now see how your breeches came to be in their current state of disrepair.”
He smiled. A heavy silence descended on them as the earl looked at the widow’s person for any other signs of misfortune.
“Well, then.”
“Well, then what?” asked Jane, trying on her most innocent voice but feeling all the nervousness of a never been kissed girl of six and ten.
The corners of his lips curled as he looked at her and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I fear you have a bit of dirt on your face.” His large hand felt warm as he brushed the earth from her face. She could read desire in his gaze.
“As do you, my lord.” As his hand touched her cheek again, she held her breath with anticipation and a bit of fear. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
“Was that not the wager?” he asked with a lazy drawl.
She looked up at his heavy lidded eyes and whispered, “Yes.” Jane felt as if it were inevitable, yet she was so uncertain. She had always been in control of every situation. This was unchartered territory. Forbidden territory, really.
As he pulled her to her feet, he took her hands. “Come, come, Mrs. Lovering. I am a gentleman. I would not take advantage of you without your permission, especially when you have already suffered battle wounds.”
She looked at him.
“I’ll take that as permission to continue.” He cupped one side of her face with his palm and lightly kissed her. She could feel the hot creep of a blush forming and dared not look up at him. “You are embarrassed now,” he said.