A Perilous Passion

by Elizabeth Keysian

  “P-please, come in,” she bid him.

  He doffed his tall hat as she stood aside for him, placed it and his gloves on the hall table, and strode straight to the kitchen.

  The kitchen!

  Good heavens! Mama and Flora would be mortified. They’d be scurrying around in their aprons, tidying up before presenting themselves in the parlor.

  “Not that way, my lord!” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “Do not call me my lord, woman,” he said with a grin. “I smell tea and toast and would gladly avail myself of some. I got up too early for breakfast.”

  “I, um… Oh.”

  Moments later, he was seated at the kitchen table, with Mama and Aunt Flora dancing attendance on him as if he were royalty. He was clearly enjoying himself.

  She was too flustered to appreciate the irony.

  She narrowed her eyes as he crossed his legs under the table, bringing his knee into contact with hers. He returned her look with one of studied innocence.

  Eventually, Mama and Flora sat down, too.

  “Is your business in these parts concluded?” Flora asked.

  “It is, indeed,” he said. “Dovehouse Farm was vacated yesterday after my final dispatches were sent. I’m now restored to Beckport House, much to the relief of my valet. And myself, I must admit.”

  “Does this mean your spying days are over, my lord?” Mama enquired.

  “They are, ma’am. I’m no longer to be trusted with keeping my identity a secret, it seems. I’ve been encouraged by my superiors to take up my inherited duties once more, in the safety of my own estates. A rather harsh treatment for one who thrives on action, don’t you think? I shall have to travel, perhaps, and imperil myself with daring adventures, instead.”

  The mouthful of tea Charlotte was swallowing stuck like a lump in her throat. He was planning to travel? Without consulting her?

  Without her?

  He had changed his mind about her.

  The tea went down, but her throat remained dry. Her whole body felt brittle and empty.

  “Assuming my wife is content to accompany me,” he added, sending her a look, which had Flora and Mama shuffling awkwardly in their chairs.

  Charlotte’s cup clattered to her saucer. “Your wife?” she asked cautiously. Uncertainty assailed her. Did he mean her or some other gloriously fortunate woman?

  Beneath the table, his knee pressed against hers, but he turned away and addressed her mama. “I know it’s unconventional, but would you and your family favor me with a visit, Mrs. Allston? I would like to show you all Beckport House. So you know where Charlotte will hold sway as my wife, and are content with what I have to offer her. I’ve brought two carriages to convey us. Would you be able to leave right away for a short stay?”

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t even accepted him yet! There was still too much to discuss.

  She winced as Mama said, “We would be happy to accept, my lord. We can be packed in the blink of an eye.”

  “I’d better stay here,” said Flora quickly. “Someone needs to look after the house.”

  Charlotte wanted to say she’d be happy to stay at home, too, but she’d been outgunned. Rafe was looking so smug, she wanted to smack him.

  Unfortunately, she wanted to kiss him even more.

  Despite everything, her heart fluttered in anticipation.

  After a violent flurry of activity, she found herself outside, dressed in a warm pelisse over her best day dress, gazing nervously at the two carriages waiting beyond the gate.

  Mama immediately went to the one with the coat-of-arms emblazoned on the side, and a smiling Rafe helped her in. He informed her that he and Charlotte would travel in the other vehicle, as he wished for some time alone with his betrothed.

  “Strange,” Charlotte mumbled, “but I seem to have no recollection of accepting your proposal.”

  “Really?” he said with feigned surprise. “I remember most distinctly. It was morning, and we were still in—”

  “Hush!” she said, scandalized over what might come out of his mouth next. She knew exactly in what direction that particular memory would take the conversation.

  She shot her astonished mama an anxious look as Rafe took her elbow and helped her up the steps into the second carriage.

  Mama, oddly enough, did not look the least bit outraged—as might be expected. She gave Charlotte an encouraging nod, then settled back in the impressive carriage to admire her luxurious surroundings.

  “I knew she’d want to go in the most ostentatious carriage,” said Rafe as he followed Charlotte in and knocked on the roof to alert his driver they were ready to go. “Which means now I have you all to myself.” The look he gave her was that of a ravening wolf.

  She quivered, and wondered how long it would take to get to Beckport House.

  Soon, his knee was again touching hers, the pressure increasing each time the vehicle went over a rut. She was sure he’d chosen the smaller carriage deliberately. The man was incorrigible.

  The thought warmed her.

  “You will be pleased to hear,” he said, “that Jessop is to go to London. I’ve found him a position as a confidential clerk in the Ministry for War. It will make excellent use of his intelligence, and carries with it every chance of promotion. He showed an admirable skill at subterfuge, so who knows? He may one day decide to become a spy.”

  She nodded, her mind distracted by the pleasing cadence of Rafe’s voice and the way his fascinating mouth moved as he spoke. “That’s nice.”

  Despite her reservations, she was coming under his spell again. He looked so utterly desirable in his close-fitting clothes that emphasized every muscle of his body—a body whose heat was even now seeping into her. It astonished her that he could exert such power over her flesh when they were barely touching, but each time his knee brushed hers, she was mentally throwing herself at him and begging him to make love to her.

  Guilt filled her from head to toe. They ought to be talking about the acceptability—or rather, unacceptability—of a match between them. Something far more important than the demands of her body.

  But all she could think about was the feel of his naked flesh pressed against hers, his knowing hands and mouth doing all manner of thrilling things to her.

  “Charlotte, are you listening, my love?”

  “Um, yes. You’ve found employment for Justin. Thank you. That was very generous.” Assuming he’d done it from philanthropic motives, not selfish ones. But then, if he’d really wanted Justin out of the way, he could have sent him further afield than London.

  “You won’t miss him?”

  “Of course not.” She shifted her mental focus back to what Rafe was saying. Or rather, what he was not saying.

  “You think I still care for him? No, I love him only as a friend.”

  Rafe’s gaze raked her face. There was a vulnerability in them that belied his smile. “But you do love him.”

  Realization washed over her. She leaned forward and seized his hand.

  “Not as much as I love you,” she said, blinking away an unexpected tear of happiness. “Nowhere near as much.”

  Rafe’s smile turned brilliant. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  All the gloss of wealth, and the façade of nobility, had fallen away from him. He was just a man, craving a woman’s love.

  Her love.

  But was there enough to sustain a union between the two of them? A union that would not be an easy path for either to tread?

  She turned to him. “Are you quite sure you still want to marry me?”

  “Of course I do. Why would anything have changed?”

  “Won’t your family think you’ve married horribly beneath you? Especially when they learn who my father was…”

  “Perhaps you’re not aware—” He stripped off his gloves and took both her hands between his. “I’ve been researching your pedigree, in case anyone should ask. You may inform those who threaten to look down their noses at you
that you’re descended from no less a personage than Charlemagne.” He grinned. “On your mother’s side, naturally. As to my family, with the exception of my cousin Lilith, they’ve long since put me down as an eccentric whom they’d only visit if overcome by penury or ennui.” He grimaced. “Even before the unfortunate Sneezing Incident.”

  “How very alone that must have made you feel!” Charlotte murmured.

  “Believe me, I find my own company easier to bear than that of most others of my class. You’re an exception. I find I can tolerate you quite well. Most of the time.”

  That required an admonishing slap on the wrist, which made him smile engagingly, which aroused, once more, the yearning she felt for him—an attraction so potent she’d felt it from the very first moment of their meeting, though she hadn’t recognized it for what it was at the time.

  He was looking at her with a fierce possessiveness that only added to the heat she was already feeling. The urge to sit in his lap and nuzzle against the thick tumble of his hair made her dizzy.

  Only one thing stopped her from doing exactly that.

  “Rafe, I love you,” she said. “I can’t deny it. And, believe me, I’d like nothing better than to take you for my husband. But there’s one obstacle I fear remains insurmountable.”

  His expression was impossible to read. “Tell me.”

  “You know who my father was. When word gets out that you’ve married the daughter of Abraham Cutler, you’ll be a social outcast. I couldn’t live with myself if I turned you into a pariah.”

  “Ah.”

  He released her hands and produced a folded paper from his inside pocket. With a flourish, he offered it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked, as she took it.

  “It’s the reason I couldn’t come to you yesterday. I had to await its arrival.”

  She broke the seal and scanned the writing, then stared back at him in stunned amazement. “It’s a pardon! For Papa!”

  She read the words again, and yet again, daring them to take on any other meaning. No, it was quite clear. Her father had received a posthumous Royal Pardon.

  “Oh my heavens, Rafe!” She threw herself into his lap and twined her arms around his neck. “Thank you! Thank you so very much!”

  “I had to pull a few strings to arrange for it,” he said, nuzzling her hair. “But he was quite entitled to a pardon for the information he gave the crown, even if it wasn’t as much as planned, due to his untimely death. If anyone ever dares question us about your father, we have proof positive that he made amends before the end of his life. Enough to satisfy even the king.”

  She sniffed back the tears that threatened and laid her head on Rafe’s chest. “Thank God. We can be married, after all,” she said with a sigh of joy and deep contentment.

  “Yes. We can be married, after all,” he echoed. He raised her face to his and said, “Now kiss me, my love, and seal my complete happiness.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” she said, and obliged.

  He drank greedily from her lips, with a bruising pressure that required her immediate surrender. But that had happened long ago. She was his, utterly and completely. She opened to him and lost herself in the heat of his passion.

  Long before she wanted him to, he broke the kiss and eased away from her. “There’s just one point on which I need to be reassured,” he said, gazing at her intently.

  Instantly, her nervousness returned. “What might that be?” Hadn’t they just covered every eventuality?

  “I need to know that, even in my most eager moments, I don’t make love like a common ploughboy.”

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment, but she quickly snapped it shut with an inward giggle.

  She creased her brow and pretended to think about it for a moment. At length, she looked up at him and said seriously, “Honestly, I can’t be absolutely sure. Perhaps I need more experience on which to base my conclusions. Find me a ploughboy or two, and I’ll endeavor to make the comparison.”

  He stared at her for a moment, utterly shocked. Then he threw his head back and laughed. And laughed.

  She laughed with him until the whole coach shook with the sound of their merriment, and their tears of hope and joy mingled as they joined once again in an impassioned, exuberant embrace.

  “I’ve never loved any woman as I love you,” he told her. “Nor did I ever expect to. Promise you’ll never leave me.”

  “I never knew the true force of love until I met you,” she whispered. “I’ll never leave you. I swear it.”

  And she knew she meant it, because he’d taught her something else as well.

  The true meaning of happiness.

  Did you love this book from Entangled’s Amara imprint? Check out more of our titles here!

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  Acknowledgments

  I am extremely grateful to Nina Bruhns, my editor, and the whole team at Entangled Publishing, for making my first Amara book a reality.

  I’m also eternally grateful to my long-suffering partner, Tim Robey, and the two very special author friends I met early on in my writing journey, Anna Albo and Shelley Iñón. Thank you so much for having faith in me!

  I’d like to make special mention of Harmony Williams and Ingrid Hahn, two awesome authors who gave me such a warm welcome into the Entangled fold. Dear Reader, if you haven’t yet bought any of their books, I’d strongly encourage you to do so.

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Keysian is an English archaeologist, teacher, and museum curator. She first started writing “long stories” when her headmaster father needed something to keep her quiet during school summer holidays. In her teenage years she produced angst-ridden poetry, slightly disturbing sketches for an amateur dramatics group, and even her own magazine, to the mixed delight and consternation of her friends.

  After completing her History degree, Elizabeth joined an English Civil War re-enactment group, messed about with the Middle Ages, and finally settled to an enjoyable reconstruction of Tudor Daily Life at Kentwell Hall in Suffolk.

  Her imagination was further inspired by living for seven years on a Knights Templar estate, with a garage full of skeletons, a resident ghost, and a moat teeming with newts. She now lives near Bath with her partner and cats.

  Elizabeth likes to keep her historical novels atmospheric and authentic, with both tears and laughter along the way. She loves to hear from readers via Twitter at https://twitter.com/EKeysian, and Facebook at https://facebook.com/LizKeysian. You can sign up to her newsletter here http://eepurl.com/cxe369.

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