Then she wavered, gazing into his blue eyes. Was she giving up emotional warmth for the physical heat of the desert? But she wanted to feel as if she were involved in something important, something she could be proud of and which would allow her to use her mind.
Could she give up love for pride? Was it only pride that made her want to know things, to understand the world around her?
No. It was a hunger she was helpless to control, a hunger almost as intense as this new emotion crushing her in its embrace: love….
While she dithered, Nathaniel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thick envelope of papers. “What if we were to spend our honeymoon in Cairo? A month? I will have to give up Grouse season this fall, of course, but if you can bear to spend a single month in Egypt, I can give up shooting holes in the skies over Scotland.”
Her lungs pressed against her heart so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. “A month? What about your responsibilities?” She realized then, that all he offered was a month: one short trip to Cairo. “Just for our honeymoon? That is all?”
He laughed. “Once a year, if you wish. Perhaps more, though I cannot avoid my duties in Parliament.”
She was so overwhelmed, she could not reply. Her pulse pounded in her ears, deafening her and leaving her shaking her head.
“And if that is not enough to suit you, have you considered the excavations here in Britain?” He continued as if pushed onward by desperation. “We have extensive Roman sites, including several on my own property, which you would be free to manage as you see fit.” He grabbed her shoulders. “And moths! Don’t forget your interest in moths. Have you managed to find the Garden Tiger yet? Or the Buttoned Snout?”
She smiled. He had remembered their names, after all.
“And,” he said. “Have you considered butterflies, birds, and any one of a number of species you have yet to observe?”
Laughing, she pressed her fingers over his mouth to silence him. “I see there is much I have overlooked.” Pride be damned. But her voice gave out, and she swallowed, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. “And you have no objection to my management of excavations at your estate?”
“I am sorry, but only the Duchess of Peckham will be given license to muck about on my property.”
“Muck about? Muck about?”
He grinned and cupped her chin. “My property is very sensitive. Of course I must be extremely cautious in allowing anyone to muck about with it.”
“Ah, but was not it the Roman ruins we were discussing?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyes at him. It took an almost Herculean effort to keep from laughing with sheer joy.
“I have no objections to those being excavated by anyone properly licensed.” He pulled another paper from his envelope. “And as you see, I have one particularly proper license right here: a particularly special and most proper license.”
“You came prepared, I see. I suppose this means no one will be able to call you Dodger any longer, either.”
“Yes, I am through dodging women, or at least one woman. So, you will marry me?”
“Do you…at least love me a little? Seriously?”
He kissed her so fervently that she was quite dizzy when he let her go.
“Of course, you silly goose,” he said. “Have I not already made it quite plain? I adore you and intend to marry you. So do you agree?”
“I suppose I must now that you have tantalized me with visions of Roman ruins.”
“I knew those old ruins would be useful one day.” He replied, claiming her mouth once more.
Epilogue
False characters.—Regarding false characters… The offence is punishable by fine or imprisonment. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
Nathaniel dismissed his man of business after signing the paperwork to grant the deed for a tavern called, oddly enough, the Spotted Badger, to Red Smythe and his new wife, Rose. Charlotte had insisted, and it seemed little enough to do to make her happy, although her motives remained a mystery.
After a few more grueling hours of business, Nathaniel managed to escape into the clear air of early spring. He sauntered in no particular direction and soon found himself near his club where he caught sight of someone in whom he had a special interest.
“Westover,” Nathaniel hailed Lord Westover as he approached White’s.
Westover turned with a smile. “Your Grace, I understand congratulations are in order, although I seem to be several months too late.”
Nathaniel followed Westover inside, pausing to glance around for a conveniently empty room. As it was relatively early there was a small card room on their left unoccupied.
“The Duchess and I returned from Cairo two weeks ago. I will let Her Grace know you send your regards. If you’ve a moment, Westover?” He gestured toward the empty room.
“Certainly, Your Grace.” They stepped into the card room and took seats at the table.
One of the waiters, alerted by the doorman that His Grace had arrived, hastened in with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes.
Nathaniel glanced up as the waiter hastened to explain, “Compliments of the management, Your Grace, and congratulations.”
Nathaniel smiled and waited until they were alone again. He took a sip of the champagne and watched a string of bubbles froth along one groove in the glass. “Westover, I am relieved to find you doing well,” he said. “After transferring Miss Haywood to my uncle.”
Westover’s grin faltered. “Well, yes, but it turned out for the best, didn’t it?” He winked.
Nathaniel suppressed the urge to pop him in the mouth. “I suppose you must have been aware that her inheritance was considerably less than my uncle was given to understand.”
Pale as the champagne, Westover unwisely took a large swallow of the beverage. He choked and sneezed for several minutes before blowing his nose on a large handkerchief. “Sorry, Your Grace. Bubbles, you know.”
“Back to Her Grace’s inheritance, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, well surely, you must be aware…. A great many difficulties managing—well, with the bulk of the estate situated in the Carolinas….” He continued to sputter until Nathaniel held up a hand browned by the hot Egyptian sun.
“I fully understand the difficulties entailed by trying to manage foreign properties. Her Grace was fortunate my uncle had trusted associates in the Carolinas to salvage what we could.”
“Yes, yes. Very fortunate.” Westover hooked his fingers into his neckcloth and rotated his head as if he was strangling. “I regret I was unaware of the situation.” His skin turned a sickly gray under a sheen of sweat. “Of course, I realize—that is—since Her Grace did not in fact have her fortune intact, I will, of course reimburse Mr. Archer to cover the value of the pot. I am an honest fellow….” his voice trailed off.
“I am sure my uncle will appreciate the delicacy of your position. However I am more interested in another aspect of that particular game.” Nathaniel refilled his glass and Westover’s.
Westover barely waited for Nathaniel to upright the bottle before he drained his glass. “You will have to allow me some time to collect the funds, Your Grace. I never meant to—that is—”
“Don’t excite yourself.” Nathaniel smiled but noted that instead of reassuring Westover, it only seemed to make him more nervous. He was profusely sweating now as he poured himself the last of the champagne and downed it. “While my uncle might appreciate the additional funds, I raised this issue mostly to satisfy my idle curiosity. All I want is information.”
“Certainly! Anything, Your Grace.”
“My uncle—well, how shall I put this? My uncle’s hand was unusually lucky, was it not?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He is a very astute card player.”
“But not that astute, at least not in that particular game. Would you agree?”
“I am…I am not sure I entirely understand. Surely you are not implying your uncle manipulated the cards?” A drop of sweat rolled over Westover’s brow and hi
s mopped it hurriedly with his handkerchief. “Waiter!” He called with a hoarse voice. “Brandy!”
Nathaniel waited until the liquor was delivered along with two fresh snifters before he shook his head. “No. My uncle was entirely innocent.” He paused. “Was he not?”
“I am sure if Your Grace says so, then of course….”
“Which brings us back to that exceptional hand he had.” He eyed the man across the table from him. “Do take a taste of this brandy, Westover. Are you sure you are feeling quite the thing?”
“Yes, yes. Well. Very well.”
Nathaniel lounged back in his chair, stretching his long legs out. “So, in your considered opinion, how did my uncle manage to find four aces in his hand?”
“I am sure I cannot imagine.”
“No? Really? Perhaps it will help your memory if I inform you that I, myself, held an ace. The ace of diamonds.”
“You? You had an ace? In your hand?”
After a look at Westover’s mottled, red face, Nathaniel sat up abruptly. “Good God, man! You are not going to faint are you?”
“No!” Westover replied in a fading voice. He ripped his neckcloth away and gasped. “Bloody hot in here.”
When Westover recovered, Nathaniel asked again, “Well?”
“Your Grace is most perspicacious,” he said at last. He stared down at the table, holding his brandy snifter between two shaking hands. “I, um, I may have manipulated the cards.” He glanced up, his watery hazel eyes pleading. “I did not try to win.”
“No. You tried to lose my wife, most likely to foist off the looming financial difficulties onto my uncle.”
“Will they—will they revoke my membership in White’s?”
“I doubt it, unless you wish to make this more widely known.”
“No, Your Grace!”
“My uncle and my wife would not appreciate it, if word of your…manipulation of the cards ever came out. Just as you would not appreciate it if an audit of the Haywood fortune during the period of your guardianship were ever to be performed.”
“Of course, Your Grace. No one need ever know!”
“Then I expect you will continue to be welcomed at White’s as long as you keep your word.”
“Certainly!”
“And you will provide suitable remuneration to my uncle, amounting to the pot as it stood when you wagered your American, correct?”
“Of course! Certainly, Your Grace!”
Nathaniel stood, satisfied and anxious to return home. He hoped Charlotte would be recovered by the time he arrived. She had been miserably sick, and a doctor was with her when Nathaniel departed for his walk.
Draining the snifter of brandy, he was startled to see his own hand was none too steady. He focused on Westover.
His wife had been treated shamefully by her previous guardians. He could never make up for the slights, but by God, he could ensure she received a few apologies. He eyed Westover, gauging how close to apoplexy the man really was. Not so close that he couldn’t address one final grievance.
He idly twirled his empty glass. “And Westover, you and your wife will send your best wishes to my duchess and express your regret that her visit with you was terminated so abruptly. And I expect we will receive numerous invitations from you and your wife to attend social functions. We may not, of course, attend.” He shrugged. “That decision will be made by my wife. However, I expect we will receive a good many invitations from you for many years to come.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Certainly.” A drop of sweat coursed down Westover’s nose.
“Good. It is not much, but it might do.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Of course. Anything to make your beautiful duchess happy.” Several more beads of sweat rolled down Westover’s pink face.
“Your Grace?” Charlotte’s voice came from the doorway.
Nathaniel turned. “Charlotte! Good God, how did you—”
“Get into White’s?” she asked, completing his question. Resting her hands on the curve of her belly she smiled enigmatically and added, “I merely told them they would either allow me to enter so I might speak with you, or suffer the consequences of upsetting a woman heavy with the child destined to be the next Duke of Peckham.”
Nathaniel smothered a laugh while his wife focused on Lord Westover for a moment. Finally, Nathaniel joined her, offering his arm.
“Perhaps we should go.” He glanced at the frantic staff standing red-faced and grimacing in the doorway.
When she gazed up at him, a hint of sadness shone in her clear eyes. “I always wondered how I became Mr. Archer’s ward—I did not think I was related to a duke, even distantly.”
“You heard?” Nathaniel asked, appalled that his wife had overheard his conversation. More than anything he wished to spare her any new pain.
“Yes.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I am not upset. In fact, I believe I was the lucky one.” Her face softened, suffused with warmth and love, one hand still resting on her belly.
“No—luck was with my uncle, as usual. He would be the first one to tell you that, and we merely profited from his extraordinary fortune.” His pulse quickened as it always did when he caught her glance. His heart thudded, unbearably proud of her and anxious for her happiness and the health of their unborn child.
To his deep, abiding joy, he had found all the adventures he could desire in their Egyptian travels. And he hoped his wife had finally found a true home, and the warmth she craved as well.
“Yes, I have no wish to cause a fresh scandal at this particular time,” she agreed.
“Then if you are ready to go home, my love?” He smiled down at her.
“Oh, yes, home—where it is nice and warm.” She twined her arm through his. “I cannot imagine anything better.”
THE END
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Other Titles by Amy Corwin
The Archer Family Regency Romance Series
The Archer Family series are traditional Regency romances spiced with a mystery.
While these books do not need to be read in order, the list below presents them in the series order.
The Necklace
The Unwanted Heiress
A Lady in Hiding
The Earl’s Masquerade
A Stolen Rose
Second Sons Inquiry Agency Regency Mystery Series
The Second Sons Inquiry Agency series are traditional historical mysteries set in the Regency period in England. The books all feature the Second Sons Inquiry Agency.
While these books do not need to be read in order, the list below presents them in a series order.
The Vital Principle
A Rose Before Dying
The Dead Man’s View
The Illusion of Desire
Honeymoon with Death
A Second Chance Paranormal Romances
The Second Chance Paranormal Romances are paranormal tales spiced with mystery, danger and an “Urban Fantasy” feel. They do not have to be read in any particular order as each book stands alone.
My Vampire Bodyguard
A Fall of Silver
Mysteries
A new series of contemporary, cozy mysteries is underway, set in fictitious towns near the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
Whacked!
Deadly Inheritance
A Word About the Author
Award-winning author Amy Corwin is a compulsive reader and writer. She joined the Romance Writers of America at its inception and plunged into writing despite the time-wasting annoyances of a career as an enterprise systems administrator in the computer industry. In 2007, her first book was published. Her stories include paranormal romances, Regencies and mysteries, although truthfully, most of her books include a bit of murder since she discovered that killing off at least one character is a highly effective way to make the remaining ones toe the plot line. Amy and her wildlife biologist husband, a chocolate lab, a Parson Russell terrier, and a psychotic
cat enjoy the temperate climate on thirty acres near the coast of North Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s pottering around her rose garden where nearly 100 Old Garden roses flourish.
Join her and discover that every good romance has a touch of mystery.
Connect with Me Online -
Website: http://www.amycorwin.com
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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.
The Unwanted Heiress
Publishing history
Originally published as I Bid One American
COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Amy Corwin
Revised version 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Secrets of a Viscount
Rose Gordon
SECRETS OF A VISCOUNT
Copyright © 2013 C. Rose Gordon
Cover image copyright Lily Smith
All rights reserved.
Amazon Edition
Parchment & Plume, LLC
www.parchmentandplume.com
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events and locales are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or locale did exist, it is purely by coincidence it appears in this book.
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If you obtained this copy illegally, please respect the author and her time enough to purchase a copy.
Chapter One
June 1812
Gateshead, England
A sharp, scraping sound rent the chilly night’s air, jolting Isabelle Knight awake from her dreamless sleep.
Love Regency Style Page 172