by Heather Boyd
“Imogen. Imogen. What’s the matter?”
Peter’s strong hands rolled her over again and pried her hands from her face. He peered at her in the darkness.
He peered at her.
Imogen threw herself into his arms as her panic receded. It was night, not the dark of blindness that greeted her. She quickly scrubbed away her tears. “I thought I was blind again.”
He peeled her from his chest and fumbled at the side table. Light flared and Imogen quickly blinked to adjust her eyes to the brightness. She fell back against the pillows in relief as Walter’s tall body squeezed into her room. “Is there a change?”
“It’s all right Walter. Just a nightmare.”
He moved closer. “You can still see?”
She nodded, tearing up when her brother wiped at his eyes and blew into a handkerchief. “I’ll let everyone downstairs know and then send them home until tomorrow.”
She shifted into a sitting position and clutched the sheet to her chest. “Who is here?”
“Everyone, except Miss Merton. Watson, would you mind staying with Imogen a while? I think I might go for a walk for some air.”
Imogen caught the dark expression on Walter’s face before he stumbled off leaving her alone with Peter. Of course Melanie would not come, they had never been friends, but she felt sorry her brother was upset over it.
She turned to her companion, rather pleased he had remained with her through the afternoon and evening. She studied him carefully. His hair was much the same length as a year ago, his coat and waistcoat very finely made but perhaps not so neat as he could have been. “You stayed.”
He caressed her cheek, and moved closer. “There’s no where else I want to be.”
A bubble of happiness welled inside her. After everything she’d done to set him free he was back at her side, wearing a worried frown. She held out her hand and tugged him onto the bed. “People will talk about us.”
“Let them.” He kissed her lips gently and when he drew back, his eyes were lit with laughter. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve ruined me for anyone else so I’ll never make that exalted match you imagined for me.”
All she had ever wanted was for Peter to be happy. As she stared at him, she thought he’d never appeared more content. She touched his face. “Marry me.”
He grinned. “Must you always be the one to ask? Yes. Of course I’m going to marry you. I’ll not let you push me away again. I love you.”
She frowned at how quickly he said it. From all she’d heard, men never liked to admit such deep feelings. “Why?”
His expression grew serious. “You were always the one.”
Imogen blinked. “You loved me before.”
He nodded. “I did, but there is that rule amongst friends not to dabble with each other’s sisters. Terrible rule. I suppose I could have overcome it easily enough and gained George’s permission, yet I was penniless and I couldn’t drag you into hell with me.”
She gaped. “You might have told me.”
“When we were engaged, I tried to be the perfect gentleman and never let you regret your choice, to prove to you I wasn’t a wastrel and deserved your hand in marriage. But you broke it off before I had a chance to show you how greatly I desire to spend every moment of every day in your company.”
Imogen brushed away her tears. “You were always so good. I could never understand your gambling.”
His smile dimmed. “I stopped going to hells the moment you stood on the beach and told me we should marry. So brave and beautiful. I didn’t think I deserved you then.”
“And now?”
“Well, I’ve already decreed myself a fool to let you get away once and I am determined to take every opportunity to never let you regret your faith in me.” His smile was blinding.
“I do love you.” She looped her arms about his neck. “But what happens if my eyesight fails again?”
“You’ll never be alone in the dark. I promise.”
He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her lips. When he drew back, Imogen was breathless with desire. Warmth crept over her body at the hot look in Peter’s eyes. “Show me what that means.”
His eyes widened in surprise when she removed the pin of his cravat, but he did not move to do her bidding or help.
She grinned that she could shock him to silence. The cravat came undone and she slowly pulled it free of his neck. “Lock the door, Peter, and show me what makes us different. I want to see you. All of you.”
After a long moment, Peter rolled off the bed and secured the door. When he returned, he was already divesting himself of the clothes covering his upper body. Imogen sat forward, fascinated by the brief glimpse of Peter’s skin. When his shirt came off her breath caught. His torso was smoothly muscled with a smattering of hair covering chest and forearms. He was quite breathtaking.
His hands fell to his footwear and finally his trousers sailed across the room. When he was utterly naked, she couldn’t breathe. Her imagination had not come close to understanding the power and appeal of the male form. He stepped close enough to the bed that she could reach out and touch him if she was brave enough. Imogen accepted the offer and reached for him.
Smooth, warm, and compelling. Imogen ran her hands over Peter’s taunt stomach and heaving chest, drinking in what might be her only memory of his body. She hoped it wasn’t, but just in case, she made a thorough examination of every inch within range.
His arms were strong and it explained how he could carry her so effortlessly from the beach. His wide chest narrowed toward his hips and when she lightly skimmed her fingers over his stomach, Peter caught her hands and lifted them away. “My turn.”
His fingers wiggled beneath the hem of her nightgown and lifted the material over her head, leaving her utterly bare. He studied her, running one fingertip over her skin but avoiding the places she suspected would be the most sensitive.
Her nipples hardened to pebbled points when he circled them. Her body trembled. Her mouth grew dry. She swallowed. No wonder he’d stopped her exploring him in the same manner. Such light touches were torture. “Peter,” she whispered.
He grinned and eased her back onto the mattress. When he settled at her side, he was smiling. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Both inside and out.”
Imogen frowned and rolled to face him. “I wrote that.”
“I know. I remembered reading it and it struck me as particularly true.” He smoothed his hand over her hip and drew her upper thigh over his. “That is you, Imogen. The most beautiful, lovely and kind person in the world.”
Imogen blushed. “You’ve hardly seen the best of me.”
He cupped her rear then drew her body across the bed so she pressed against him tightly. “I want it all. Every moment. Every joy and sorrow. I love you so badly I can hardly think straight.”
She touched his face and stared deeply into his eyes, loving the emotions she glimpsed filling them. All for her. He was so confident they belonged together that any reservations fled. If they married and her eyesight failed again, he would not regret the choices he’d made. “Then stop thinking and just love me. Sometimes words can get in the way.”
He kissed her fiercely then, opening her mouth with his and sliding his tongue between her lips. Imogen curled an arm about his head and enjoyed the most remarkable sensations he stirred within her as their bodies touched. Restlessness gripped her. She threaded her fingers into his hair and clung to him so he had no chance to get away. He covered her, bringing their bodies even closer. She gripped him and then because he was so warm and close, she slid her hands over the skin of his back. “You feel...”
It was odd not to know how to describe the moment. Her pulse raced, her body craved to be close to him but she couldn’t describe the wonder properly. He nodded, staring deeply into her eyes as he widened her legs with his knees. His body fit snugly against her, and excited her beyond reason.
He touched her body with one hand while the other prevented his wei
ght from crushing her. His warmth and gentleness soothed her. “So lovely,” he whispered. His fingers drifted lower, over her belly and slid between her legs where she never expected he would want to go. She tensed but the movement only brought a deeper ache. Her legs widened of their own accord as he circled a place that made her cry out.
She clung to Peter. When he moved again, it was to thrust his hips and join with her. She knew what to expect but she still whimpered at the sharp pain that followed.
“Hell,” he muttered and froze in place. “I didn’t mean to rush like that.”
After a moment the pain eased to a dull ache. She met his gaze and saw the confident expression he’d worn replaced by a frown. She slid her hands up and down his back, noting the fine muscles clenching beneath them. “I’m fine.”
He cupped her face with a hand. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry so much. I’m not about to burst into tears.”
He smiled then and after a few moments he moved again, flexing his hips just enough to remind her there was no turning back. Imogen slid her hands to his shoulders and he levered up. His thrusts grew faster, deeper until a fine sheen of sweat coated his skin. There was no pain, in fact, there was another sensation building inside her–a slow burn that consumed her every thought. She wanted more. More of Peter. Imogen hooked her legs around his hips and clung.
The change in position doubled her desire. The ache where Peter joined with her grew until she thought she might explode. She met Peter’s gaze and bit her lips. She was sure she was going somewhere but she had no idea where. Peter shifted and his fingers tangled between her legs again. Imogen squeezed her eyes shut as she stiffened all over, fighting for breath and strangely escape from her own body. Every nerve in her body shuddered. Every sense stretched then shrank in an instant. She sucked in air desperately as her body slowly relaxed.
After a time she grew aware Peter had stopped moving.
She glanced up quickly. At that moment, Peter groaned, eyes snapping shut as he shuddered and thrust within her a few more times. Then he collapsed against her, buried his face in the crook of her neck and laughed softly. Imogen didn’t think there wasn’t anything funny about making love. In fact, it was the most incredible experience she’d ever had. She pushed at his chest until he sat up a bit, still joined with her but able to meet her gaze. “Does something amuse?”
“I used to dream about you.” He shook his head. “But I’ve just discovered, I’ve a bloody poor imagination. I could never have dreamed up tonight’s adventures, my love.”
“Surely you’ve ...” she gestured to their nakedness, “…made love before.”
He withdrew from her and then pulled her into his arms. “Never. I’m not innocent but believe me you are the only woman I’ve ever made love to.”
She snuggled closer. The idea that there was a difference between intimacy with love, and without intrigued her, but so long as she had the former, Peter’s love, she wouldn’t worry about who he’d had relations with before. “That is exactly what a woman wants to hear at such a moment.”
“Oh no, that’s what my lady has to believe. Lady Watson. I’ve always liked the sound of that, you know.”
Imogen rubbed her cheek against his chest, discovered the sensations tickled and then stilled. “I suppose I should confess I like it, too.”
His grip tightened around her body. “Good. I don’t care what happens next, Imogen, as long as you love me and will be my wife. Preferably by the end of the month. I don’t think I can count on your brother making himself scarce like he did this afternoon too often before we are married.”
She would have to find a way to thank Walter for his support, but not tonight. After an eventful day, Imogen was growing very sleepy. She pulled the sheet over her shoulders with Peter’s help. “He’s very kind. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”
Peter pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. “Well, you have mine now too for all the days of my life. Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake again.”
Imogen covered her mouth as she yawned. She snuggled against Peter, her mind at once sleepy and excited for the future. A future she’d never though to have. She’d underestimated Peter in every way possible. Tomorrow, if she could see, she’d pen a new story in secret, one written just for him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Peter whistled tunelessly as he descended the stairs of Walter George’s house. For the first time ever, he felt completely proud of himself. Imogen would be his wife and although he had anticipated their wedding night, he felt utterly justified in being so bad.
There was a chance that Imogen would not see again and he’d not wanted to deprive her of what she’d wanted. That her desires ran in the same direction as his only made the night before so much sweeter.
He stepped into the dinning room and then reared back as a blow connected with his stomach. He gasped for air and struggled to look for his assailant.
Walter George stood before him, a satisfied expression on his face. George glanced at their friends. “Was that sufficient brotherly outrage do you think?”
Merton dragged him upright, ignoring his groan of pain. “He does appear winded and your sister’s honor has been satisfied. That should be more than enough for the tattletales.”
“I believe it will be, too.” Radley’s jaw clenched and then he hurried out.
Peter rubbed the ache in his stomach. “What the hell are you doing? I promised I would marry her.”
George’s smile grew smug. “We never really dispensed with the rule that made sisters off limits for dalliance. How soon can you get a special license?”
Peter drew a sealed letter from his pocket. “I was about to arrange for this to be sent. I happened to meet the archbishop of Canterbury on several occasions this past year. Nice fellow. Said he’d be very happy to see me wed and get settled. I’m sure I can acquire a license very quickly without having to leave Imogen or Brighton.”
“Good.” George yelled for Perkins and his letter was taken away to be franked and posted. “I was just about to eat. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” Peter winced as angry color rose in Walter’s cheeks. Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest choice of words after spending the night in Imogen’s bed. However, it was true. He’d missed several meals yesterday due to his concern for her. He followed Walter and Merton into the dining room, and sat where told.
Merton pulled out a chair to his right. “Can she still see this morning?”
“Yes.” The memory of her sleepy smile and warm expression caused his heart to thump wildly. “She had returned to sleep by the time I left her so it may be a few hours before she’s ready for visitors.”
Merton’s lips twisted into a smirk that he tried to hide. “I’ll let my cousin know. She was most anxious to visit and celebrate the good news of your renewed engagement.”
No one could be happier than himself. “I’m very glad to hear Miss Long will support our happy news. What does your sister say?”
Merton’s lips pressed together tightly and his gaze darted around the room before he met Peter’s. “Best not to say. I’m thinking she should take a trip up to the Lakes district. Mother and Father will be glad to have her home and we have relatives there she hasn’t seen in a good long while.”
Relatives, but no mention of friends. It would not surprise Peter to know the harpy had none. “Will your cousin go as well?”
Miss Long lived in her cousin’s shadow. It would be a shame to have her sent away too. “I think not. Teresa gives me far less trouble than my own sister. She’s of a practical, but sentimental, heart and doesn’t care to gossip about friends.” Valentine shrugged. “Besides, the air here by the sea is better for her health than at the Lakes. It would be cruel to disturb her.”
Peter glanced down at his hands. What a bind to be in. He didn’t envy Valentine that discussion with Melanie. The girl had a tongue of acid and could speak cruelly of others without a second thought. She would not
take kindly to expulsion from Brighton. If Walter hadn’t forgiven her for remarks she’d made at Imogen’s expense then perhaps it would be better if she spent some time away. Disagreements between friends could end friendships if not resolved and it was worse when family became involved. Having already come close to losing Hawke as a friend, he well knew the damage problems would cause.
Once he and Imogen were married for a while, any gossip about impropriety before their marriage would have run its course and become meaningless. He smiled at the bright future unfolding before him. He felt lighter, more sure than he’d been in years. A home, love and companionship, and complete trust. K.D. Brahms could continue to write fascinating stories in the complete privacy of their home, and he would strive to be everything Imogen needed in a husband. If her sight failed again, they would accommodate the change together.
For when a man’s heart was involved, he had no option but to follow where it led when granted a second chance to be with the love of his life.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading Miss George’s Second Chance. I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving a review—either positive or negative. Reviews help other readers find a book that’s right for them.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission.