‘When we came up to town, that first time—on the very first night—I called upon Harriet. I presented her with a gift and we parted on amicable terms. That was the night I was attacked, and I stayed the night at Harriet’s, in the guest bedchamber.’
‘I know,’ Felicity said.
‘You know? How...?’
‘I knew you hadn’t come home that night...’
‘But I sent instructions...’
Felicity felt a blush building in her cheeks. ‘I looked into your bedchamber very early. I wanted...I wondered...I saw the bed was all made and yet, later, after breakfast, it was all messy and looked slept in. I suspected then you had spent the night with a woman, but I never dreamt it was...’ Her voice hitched.
‘But it was not, my sweet. At least, not in the way you mean.’
Felicity’s brain whirled. His explanation made sense. She had begun to trust Richard, had ceased to believe he had a mistress. And yet...
‘You did not return home with the duke...’
‘He had to leave early, to deal with a family crisis.’
‘Harriet went out of town at the same time. Was she with you?’
‘Is that what’s bothering you? You saw me meet with Harriet, and then recalled we were out of town at the same time? And thought the worst of both of us? Oh, dear, Felicity Joy. No wonder... I had not even thought, until this minute, you might imagine such a thing.’
He brushed an escaping wisp of hair out of her eyes, then dropped a kiss on her nose.
‘At least this has solved my quandary.’
‘Quandary?’
‘Harriet wrote and asked to meet me, to discuss some information she had, and whether she should reveal it to you.’
Richard released Felicity to take a letter from his pocket. ‘It’s fortunate I still have this with me.’ He laid it on Felicity’s lap. ‘This is the letter I received from Harriet this morning asking to meet me. Read it.’
Her hand twitched, but she did not touch the letter. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please. Tell me what happened. I want to trust your words. I do not want to live my life searching for either proof of your truthfulness or evidence of your guilt.’
Gentle fingers brushed across her cheek. Deep brown eyes fixed on her lips and she felt her body respond as her blood quickened.
‘Very well. We met in Brook Street because Harriet did not want me to visit her at home, out of respect for your friendship. She said you told her about Emma.’
Misery squeezed Felicity’s chest. She had trusted Harriet. ‘That is true. I also told her where you had gone. I had dinner with her that night, and she made no mention of going out of town, but the next morning she had gone.’
‘She only decided to go away after you left. She hoped to help you come to terms with Emma’s death. She attended the same house parties as your mother and Emma that summer, and thought she could identify the wretch who seduced Emma.’
‘Who is he? I want to see him. He must pay for what he did.’
‘Steady.’ Richard grabbed at Felicity as she turned to jump from the phaeton. ‘He is not in London, which is why Harriet went into Kent, to see him. She did not tell you because she did not wish to raise your hopes if she was mistaken.
‘And she told me of her discovery before telling you because of your delicate condition. She wondered if it might be better to wait—’
‘Who is he?’
Richard sighed. ‘Now you know this much, you must know the whole, I suppose. But understand this, Felicity Joy. There is no possibility of you going to see him. He is Sir Malcolm Poole.’
Sir Malcolm Poole? Try as she might, Felicity could not put a face to the name. ‘I should like to—’
‘Yes, yes—’ Richard laughed, prising her fists loose ‘—you should like to kill him. I know that, my darling, but it won’t be necessary. He is, at this very moment, paying a heavy price for his debauched lifestyle and is close to meeting his maker.’
‘What did he say? About Emma?’
‘He admitted to seducing her, but showed no remorse when told of her suicide, according to Harriet. The fellow has always been a rake of the worst kind—an out-and-out scoundrel. His kind live only for their own pleasure without thought of the consequences for their victims. He has been an outcast from polite society for many years now.’
‘Was he...’ Felicity felt her forehead pucker as her thoughts spun and she strove to weave a coherent question from them ‘...was he an outcast before he met Emma?’
Richard gathered her against his chest. ‘I’m afraid so.’ His voice rumbled in her ear, deep and reassuring.
‘Then that means...Mama...those parties...’
‘They were no place for an innocent.’
A sob built in her throat. Harriet had said the same, and she had always suspected as much, but had given her mother the benefit of the doubt.
‘Your mother... You must remember she did not take Emma to those places from malice.’
‘No. I know. She was just selfish and thoughtless. As she still is. I begged her not to make me—’ Felicity stopped with a gasp. How could she allow her mouth run on so?
‘You begged not to have to marry me?’
Richard’s voice quivered, and Felicity peeked up at him. Then straightened. ‘You wretch!’ She slapped at his chest. ‘You are laughing at me.’
‘No, no, I’m laughing at myself. At fate. I knew you were reluctant to marry me, but I could not fathom why. That only made me more determined to go through with it, hence the speed of the wedding. I did not want you to find a way out. Not only had you landed a bruising blow to my self-esteem, but I found myself eager to learn the truth of your reluctance.’
‘And did you?’
‘We worked that out together, Felicity Joy, did we not? When you read Emma’s diary?’
‘I suppose we did. When I knew the real reason for her suicide, I recognized my greatest fear was based on an untruth. Emma did not kill herself over unrequited love, but because she was with child and the man she loved had abandoned her.’ She touched her belly. ‘I do not believe that will happen to us, Richard.’
‘Indeed it will not,’ he said. ‘I love you, Felicity Joy. I love every inch of you, inside and out.’ He pulled her closer, tilting her chin. His warm breath feathered over her suddenly sensitized lips. ‘Over these past few months I have fallen further and further under your spell. You fill my every waking thought and my every dream.’
His eyes darkened and awareness shivered through Felicity. She leaned closer.
‘Well! Really!’ The outraged female tones penetrated the sensual haze surrounding Felicity.
‘Richard, no! What will people say?’
‘I could not care less. All I care about is you.’
His lips covered hers, warm and seductive, as she melted into his embrace.
When they finally came up for air, it was to a smattering of applause. But they had eyes only for each other.
Epilogue
July 1816—Cheriton Abbey
‘Back where it all began.’
Richard sprawled at his ease on a blanket, propped on his elbow as he gazed around with satisfaction. The Devon air was soft and sweetly scented. The melodious trill of skylarks and the hum of bees working the nectar-rich clover in the meadow were punctuated by an occasional squeal of childish delight.
The duke had thrown a family party to celebrate the birth of his new baby. He had insisted Richard and Felicity also attend as they were—in Leo’s words—family, too.
Felicity caught Richard’s eye and smiled, and he felt the familiar squeeze of his heart. Even after all this time, he still wanted her.
And needed her.
And loved her.
He never stopped wanting her.
&nbs
p; ‘It seems like another life entirely, does it not?’ Felicity said, as she cuddled baby George close to her breast. ‘Do you remember the very first time we met? On the stairs?’
‘I do indeed. You were a naughty minx then and you’re a scandalous minx now.’
Felicty’s giggle tiptoed through his heart. ‘Hush, Richard. The children!’
‘They are far too busy playing to worry about what their staid old parents are up to.’
Richard looked again, picking out their eldest, Emma, now four, and three-year-old Adam, Baron Durant of Fernley. His heir. And now—he regarded George with pride—the traditional spare as well. Life could not be sweeter.
Sarah, George’s nursemaid, approached. ‘Shall I take the baby now, milady?’
George had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms, and barely stirred when Sarah lifted him, merely pursing his lips and frowning fleetingly. As Sarah carried him away, Richard made up his mind. He leapt up, grabbed Felicity’s hands and tugged her to her feet. He studied her beloved face—amber eyes round with amused enquiry, soft pink lips parted on a breathless laugh.
‘Felicity Joy...’
Her laughter faded. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and stroked her silky cheek before taking her hand again. The first time had been business. This was—undoubtedly—his heart’s desire. He dropped to one knee, his gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes widened.
‘...I love you more than you can ever know. You have made my life complete. Although I asked you once, and you accepted, and we are already man and wife...I ask you again. This time from my heart.
‘Will you marry me?’
Felicity threw her head back and her laugh rang out across the meadow. ‘I will, I would, every time!’
She tumbled to her knees, took his face between her palms, and kissed him.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from ENSLAVED BY THE VIKING by Harper St. George.
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Chapter One
Northumbria—AD 865
Eirik had never taken a captive before, but the idea that she could be his was nearly overpowering. He closed his eyes in an attempt to fight back the dark thought, but when he opened them and she still hadn’t seen their boats, his heartbeat quickened. The longing sent his blood thrumming through his body so that it roared in his ears and blocked out almost everything else except his awareness of her.
For two years he’d been the leader of this fleet of longships. Even before that, he’d travelled under his father’s command to far-reaching ends of the world. He’d become adept at reading signs, at picking up on cues that would go unnoticed by most, at trusting his instincts. It was why his men trusted him so explicitly. And now his instincts were telling him to take her.
She should have noticed them by now—after all, he could see her through the fog, so she should be able to see them. But she twirled in the dark mist as if she hadn’t a care in her world. Perhaps the gods had left her there just for him. He blinked and banished the thought, his warrior’s instinct taking over. There were no signal fires along the beach. Either the guards were asleep or there were no guards. Someone should be out walking with the girl, but she danced alone, a gift to be plucked from the desolate shores and taken home.
Eirik looked up and down the beach, searching for signs of an ambush, some shape that would emerge from the gloom and reveal itself to be an army of Saxons. Perhaps the girl had been planted as an enticement. Or perhaps something more sinister was at play. He’d heard tales of sirens who lured men to their deaths. They usually inhabited mythical islands that the sea swallowed up again, but it was possible the Northumbrian coast offered its own sirens. But the beach was empty and a quick look at the men rowing assured him that no one else had been enthralled by her as he had. Perhaps she was his own personal siren.
Her lithe form swayed as she twirled, luxuriating in abandon and unrestraint. The spell she wove pulled at him, promising freedom from the bonds of duty and the shadows of his past that had always held him in such rigid control. He wanted to join her and was struck by the absurdity of the thought. She was just a girl, like any other he’d seen in his travels, but he could name the exact moment she’d picked his shape out of the dense fog. Her gaze ignited small flares of awareness, and when it met his, he was struck by a strange shock of recognition. He’d never seen her before, never been this far north on these shores, but the feeling that she was his was there all the same.
The fleet’s approach had been planned to coincide with the veil of the approaching dawn and his men were carefully trained in the art of stealth. It would be easy to take her. The terrible anticipation clenched tight in his gut. But he pushed it away and reminded himself that their journey up the coast was a scouting mission. There would be no captives.
Finally understanding the danger coming towards her, she turned to run. Blood rushed through him, powered by the need to stop her before she warned everyone. His booted feet splashed in the water and his men followed, dropping their oars and disembarking to pull the ship onto the shore.
* * *
It had stormed the previous night, but that didn’t stop Merewyn from her morning ritual of walking on the beach. If her older brother’s repeated threats on the matter hadn’t deterred her, a little rain wasn’t going to stand in her way. She lived for her mornings away from the manor, when she could be alone with the sunrise. It was probably silly, but in those brief moments she felt like anything was possible. That with the new day, the drudgery of her life could become something more than caring for her brother’s children and being relegated to performing the household tasks of a servant.
She loved the children dearly, but they weren’t hers. Blythe made sure that she remembered who had borne them, who was really in charge of the household. And she was right. As his wife, she should be in charge, but Merewyn couldn’t help feeling slighted. On the beach, though, all of that fell away. She was free. She was happy. Her life was her own.
She smiled as she twirled in the mist, letting the moisture collect like tiny diamonds shining in the dark strands of her hair. Despite the cold, she put her arms up high and held the fur wrap aloft to catch the breeze. The salty wind made her think of freedom. She adored it.
But in the next moment, she saw the ship cutting through the surf, saw the wooden dragon’s head set atop the prow and knew that freedom would never be hers again. The beast was so close she could have counted each of his pointed teeth where they protruded from the curve of his grotesque smile, promising death and suffering. She could have if she hadn’t already noticed the other ships accompanying the first one, each drawing her attention as they emerged from the shroud of mist. The boats spread out wide before her, creating the illusion of dark wings, like a giant beast taking flight in search of its prey.
The beach was a long, flat stretch of sand that gave way to gentle, rolling grassland. Her figure standing at the sea’s edge was surely as conspicuous as was that of the Northman standing in that first ship. The others blended into one mass of muscled humanity bending and rowing, but he stood tall with one foot resting on the gunwale as he stared directly at her. She had been spotted. He
was coming for her.
Alfred had been right. He’d warned her all along to keep close to the manor while he was gone, that the Northmen were growing bolder, but she’d disregarded him as an overly protective older brother. But he’d been right, and now nothing could save her from them. Every story she’d ever heard of the horrible things they did to their captives sped through her mind in an instant. The terror was enough to paralyse her.
But she forcefully pushed her fear away and made herself move. At first in slow, wobbling steps backwards and then, after a half turn, in wider, faster strides that took her towards the grass. She had trouble tearing her gaze from that giant on the first boat. He moved, arms uncrossing from his chest, lord of all he set his eyes upon as he readied to jump from the boat.
The horrible certainty that he would catch her made her sprint faster towards the manor. It stood on a gentle slope about a half mile inland. It was too far away to reach before the boats touched the beach, but maybe she had a chance to warn everyone of the invaders. They wouldn’t see the monsters coming without her warning. Even knowing where the fortress stood, she could hardly make out a light through the heavy fog.
Her legs pumped, toes digging deep into the sandy shore as she struggled to run, her blood prickling and settling heavy in her calves. She already had a painful stitch in her side, but Merewyn forced herself to keep going. She imagined she heard the wind striking the leather of a Northman’s cloak. It spurred her to move faster and sooner than she had imagined possible she was running through the open gates of her home.
‘Close the gates! The Northmen have come!’ She barely managed to get the words out before she collapsed in a heap, struggling to catch her breath while her lungs constricted painfully in her chest.
Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet as the gates swung closed.
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