She averted her gaze, fighting tears.
She could go on as with her own plans for her life…find a way to practice medicine. There was so much good she could do with her life.
He took her gently by the hand.
For the longest time Merrick couldn’t speak, so full was his heart, so thick was his throat with emotion.
As he looked at her lying within the tub, so vulnerable, he knew he wanted to take care of her for the rest of his life. This is what he’d been born for. In truth, he’d never been satisfied with the power of his position. It had never made him smile, nor had it filled his heart as Chloe did.
And suddenly everything became clear.
He didn’t want to rule a nation; he wanted Ian to have it.
He knew, with a certainty he hadn’t ever experienced before this moment, that he didn’t want to be king. For twenty-eight years, he’d had everything his heart had desired and nothing had ever pleased him.
In the few weeks he’d been here, he’d learned more about himself through Chloe’s eyes and through the hearts of the men his brother called friends. These men weren’t kings or dukes or earls or barons, but he knew this for certain…they would, indeed, kill to protect those they loved, and he needn’t pay them a fortune to do it. They looked after their own and they loved Chloe as a sister. As soon as they’d been told what had happened, every single man had gone after his gun and his horse. He hadn’t had to ask them to join him.
Merrick had never had friends before now.
He’d rarely smiled.
Never loved.
Until now.
“Do you think…” His voice broke. “That you could be happy to be a simple farmer’s wife?”
Chloe’s eyes burned. Was he trying to marry her off to some unfortunate man? God, she shook her head, not comprehending. Surely he didn’t mean that he would give up everything just to be with her?
“I want you to be my wife,” he said with sincerity and conviction. “I want wee little ones like Rusty Broun’s who’ll climb upon my back and beg for rides. I want to be smothered in kisses by sweet-faced daughters. I want to teach my sons to hunt.” He made it sound like heaven on earth, but she knew he couldn’t possibly want that—not when he could have any woman he desired and any life he chose.
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. “How could I ask you to give up so much just to be with me?”
Merrick’s eyes, as she peered into them, moistened with tears, mirroring her own. “Chloe…when I thought I’d lost you tonight, I realized…my life is nothing without you. I’m not Ian,” he said. “Forgive me. But I am the same man who has loved you from the instant he saw you.”
Chloe was terrified to believe in him—terrified to hope—terrified to lose him. “But you were born to be a king,” she argued.
He shook his head. “No, Chloe. I was born to be your husband. It would be my life’s joy to care for you until the day I die—hopefully in your arms.”
Chloe’s eyes overflowed with tears. “You mean it truly?” she asked, overcome with joy.
He nodded without hesitation. “I will build you a hospital here where you can treat everyone for free. We can stay in Glen Abbey and raise our children together—let Ian take my place, if he will. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s his crown to do with as he pleases. He is the crusader…not me.”
Chloe’s throat convulsed. Her lips trembled. Her heart felt as though it would burst. She shook her head, wanting to believe in happily-ever-afters, but afraid to. “You would loathe me someday for making you give up so much.”
Merrick, too, shook his head adamantly. “No, my love. I was imprisoned by my life before. Now I am free.”
“Then, yes,” Chloe said, nodding happily. “Yes!”
Merrick reached out and took her into his arms, not caring that she would wet his clothing. “Then marry me tomorrow,” he demanded, spinning her about, and Chloe laughed.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him joyfully. And then she felt suddenly wicked with him holding her naked to his chest. She smiled at him.
Merrick grinned, recognizing that look in her eyes. They fell down upon the bed together.
Chloe untied his cravat, her gaze never leaving his. Smiling, she impishly tossed it to the floor.
Merrick shivered at her look, at the slow, deliberate way she removed his clothing. “I have corrupted you, I fear,” he said, but he grinned and his body hardened with her every touch.
Chloe nodded, her eyes shining with tears.
Lying gloriously naked before him, her skin pink from the warm water, her lips wet from his kisses and her hair flowing down her back, she looked like a temptress…a siren…
When he was naked, as well, she rose from the bed and lured him into the tub. They stood facing each other a moment and then she pushed him down into the water and sat upon his lap in the most scandalous fashion.
Her body fit over his like a velvety glove.
Christ, she was made just for him, her body tight and warm and soft.
“I will give you all the children you desire,” she whispered sweetly.
“And I will love you until I die,” he promised, his voice hoarse with desire.
And he meant it.
With every fiber of his being.
Chloe began to undulate over him, needing to feel their union once more.
It was a wicked dance they performed, writhing in the tub together. She rode him until he could bear it no longer and then he stood, holding her close so that they wouldn’t separate.
Merrick walked with her to the bed, lying her down gently.
Chloe moaned softly, moving beneath him as he covered her completely. Pushing himself deep inside her, he increased the tempo, burying himself deeper and deeper with every thrust, until it seemed they truly were one.
When at last they came together, the two of them collapsed wearily in each other’s arms and fell asleep until the morning light.
Epilogue
Two months later…
Merrick sat at his desk within the little cottage, penning the final draft of his letter to Ian. It was long and involved, with explanations that were better left for a face-to-face discussion. He blew a sigh and wadded up the paper, tossing it in the bin with the rest.
“Dammit all!” he said, frustrated by his lack of verbosity.
“What is it, darling?” Chloe asked, coming up behind him to massage his shoulders.
They had wed a month ago in a lovely ceremony that was attended by the entire town. Isabel, Aggie’s little sister, had carried posies, smiling as she’d tossed them at every pew along the aisle. Aggie had both sewn and carried Chloe’s train.
For her part, Fiona sat, all the while weeping, in the front pew, with Constable Tolly patting her hand.
Rusty, along with his wife and three daughters, all prettily dressed in their new outfits from Mr. Duncan’s newly restocked general store, sat behind Fiona. Donald Lowson, his wife and two-month-old daughter sat in the back row—lest she begin to wail again. Merrick hadn’t minded. He wanted a few of his own someday.
“I do not know what to say,” he confessed. Ian had yet to learn the truth and Merrick couldn’t find the words to explain all that had transpired, all that he felt. He wanted to know his brother—but more than that, he wanted to somehow make amends for all the years Ian must have felt like a beggar in his own home.
Chloe rubbed gently at his neck, calming him. His lovely wife had a way of making everything clear. “Are you still certain you wish to give it all up?”
Merrick pulled out a clean parchment. “Absolutely!” he said, without question. He stared at the paper a moment and then realized he needn’t say much at all—at least until they were face-to-face. Until then, Ryo would explain the rest. All Merrick needed to do was to give up the ring. He penned the following.
My dearest brother, wear it in good health.
And with the letter done, he removed the ring from his finger, wrapped it in
a kerchief and waited for Rusty to arrive. He trusted Rusty to deliver it safely to its destination.
“There. It’s done,” he said, and sighed in relief. “No more worries.”
They were in somewhat cramped quarters until the new house was complete. Every last man in Glen Abbey had come together to rebuild the manor. Merrick, along with the rest of the men, had rolled up his sleeves to help reconstruct his mother’s home. He labored with his hands every day, building calluses along with his home, but he came to bed every night feeling blissfully tired and complete—satisfied in a way he’d never been before now.
There was very little that had survived the fire. A few baubles here and there. Most everything else was gone—save for the aviary, the stables and his mother’s rose garden.
He turned in his chair to face his wife, reveling in the beauty of her smile. “Do you realize we’re alone until Mother returns?” Fiona had ventured out for a picnic and a walk with Constable Tolly. He raised a brow meaningfully.
Chloe giggled.
She tapped him gently on the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you wish to try again for that daughter you so desire?” She sighed, as though it were the greatest burden, but it was betrayed by her impish grin.
Merrick shrugged. “Or son. It matters not to me.”
She bent to kiss him, wrapping her arms about his neck so sweetly that it made him shudder with desire. His loins tautened at once. She never failed to do this to him, rouse him to incredible heights of passion.
“What do you say we retire to the bedroom?” he suggested.
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” she teased him, whispering in his ear, “Anything you say, Your Majesty.”
Merrick groaned in the back of his throat as he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. “You will always be my king.”
“And you will always be my queen.”
Surely, as much as they had coupled in the last month, she should be increasing by now…but oh, well…Merrick was having the time of his life trying.
“About that daughter,” he said as he lay her down upon the bed, grinning mischievously.
“Son,” she returned with a smile and lifted her chin.
“Whichever,” he said. And then, “I love you, my flower.”
“I love you, too,” Chloe whispered back.
And they made love, whispering sweet words to each other and promising to adore each other for the rest of their days.
Text Copyright © 2003 by Tanya Anne Crosby.
Preview: The Impostor Prince
Continue with Ian’s story as he tries to fill Merrick’s shoes in The Impostor Prince.
A deception of royal proportions thrusts Ian MacEwen into the very center of the ton's marriage mart, forcing him to choose a bride who would be queen. He wants only to uncover answers denied him all his life. Instead he finds Claire Wentworth, a fearless woman with grass-green eyes who needed his protection—and his love—whether she admits it or not!
Danger stalks Claire Wentworth at every turn and she needs a champion, but what she gets is a regal mystery. The man all London hails as "Prince" instead strikes her as a rogue adventurer—who could rouse her slumbering heart to wide-awake desire.
Coming Soon for Tanya Anne Crosby
A Brand-new Series
The Border Brides
Coming June 26, 2018. The King's Favorite is a new, never-before published book-the first of a new series by New York Times Bestselling author, Tanya Anne Crosby.
The eldest of five daughters born to King Henry's mistress, Elspeth fears she and her sisters will be used as pawns in the wars to come. Bartering a deal with their greedy mother, King Stephen plans to remove them from the Blak Montayne Priory that has sheltered them since their father's death. Elspeth escapes, only to find herself indebted to, of all men, a Scotsman, whose loyalties are in question...
Left to face the wrath of a new sovereign, Malcom MacKinnon must swear fealty to Stephen of Blois to keep the demesne he won by slaying his own grandsire. But if he does so, he will pit himself against Scotland, and his own sire. Yet even as he realizes there is no turning back, his beautiful charge may offer him more than he anticipated. Will giving in to passion bring nations to war?
Book 1 of The Border Brides: It has been five years since King Stephen took the English throne. The realm is fraught with tensions. Loyalties are uncertain. Only the strong will keep their lands, and behind every strong man is a stronger woman.
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Impostor Series
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About Tanya
Tanya Anne Crosby is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-five novels. She has been featured in magazines, such as People, Romantic Times and Publisher's Weekly, and her books have been translated into eight languages. Her first novel was published in 1992 by Avon Books, where Tanya was hailed as "one of Avon's fastest rising stars." Her fourth book was chosen to launch the company's Avon Romantic Treasure imprint. Known for stories charged with emotion and humor and filled with flawed characters Tanya is an award-winning author, journalist, and editor, and her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. She and her writer husband split their time between Charleston, SC, where she was raised, and northern Michigan, where the couple make their home.
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My Enchanting Hoyden
By Julie Johnstone
Prologue
The Year of Our Lord 1820
New York, United States of America
Miss Jemma Adair could count the number of things she regretted on one hand. Of course, if she counted the things she knew she ought to regret but simply did not, she’d likely have to use two hands, but before today, she’d managed to stick to just the one. Yet now, as she leaned against the counter—upon which sat the containers she was supposed to be filling with her mother’s freshly baked lemon tarts—her stomach roiled, filling her with unease. Giving her innocence to Will three nights prior may have been the thing to make her list of regrets overflow from one hand to two.
She stared at the large wooden door that led from the street into their family bakery and imagined Will breezing through the threshold with his rich-chocolate hair and coffee-colored eyes, as he’d done for the seven years he’d worked here. He’d taken a better job several years ago so he could afford to attend law school, but from his very first day at the bakery, he had always stopped at the counter, set down his delivery sack—empty after transporting orders—and popped a tart into his mouth as he winked and complimented first her sister, Anne, and then her.
Any boy kind enough to pay Anne such positive notice—she’d been born with a lame leg and was usually teased rather mercilessly—was a boy worthy of Jemma’s admiration. At the age of eleven, she’d given that admiration to him without pause. Then, at the age of twelve, when he’d knocked out Stephen Smith’s tooth after he’d criticized Anne, Jemma had given her heart to him, as well.
She poked a finger into one of the lemon tarts and sucked off the bitter jam as she wished for the jingle of the bell to announce Will. Even though he’d not worked here in a while, he’d not failed to come by every day before the bakery opened. Her stomach clenched. Except he had not come by in the last three days, not since—
The bell clanged, causing her to jerk and bump one of the tart-filled trays with her elbow. She grabbed it when it began to slide and set it to rights as her heart raced ahead in hope, even as her mind registered the fact that the door hadn’t moved t
he smallest iota. Understanding and disappointment filled her as she turned and glared, first at the bell above the door that led from the kitchen into the main bakery, and then again at her mother when she glided through the doorway.
Her brown hair had escaped her loose bun and a smear of flour covered her right cheek. She huffed as she balanced a tray filled with a combination of berry and lemon tarts. Jemma’s stomach growled, and she scrambled toward the door to help her mother with the heavy-laden tray. When she reached her mother, Anne struggled through the same doorway holding a tray fairly bursting with trifles. She tripped with a gasp, and the tray dipped sharply to the left. Jemma lunged forward and caught the tray just as two chocolate trifles slid to the ground and plopped onto her only pair of decent slippers. She frowned down at the dark lump on her pale shoes, the mess very fitting for her mood.
Without a word, she took the tray from her sister, who was grimacing and tilting to the right, favoring her good leg. “Did you hurt yourself?” Jemma asked.
Anne shook her head, her lovely blond curls swinging as she did. Jemma eyed those curls, wondering, as she often did, how they could be twins when they looked absolutely nothing alike. Jemma had flaming-red hair with too-tight curls and eyes neither green nor blue but oddly both. Anne, however, was a classic beauty with lovely blond hair and clear blue eyes.
Their mother slammed her tray on the counter, making Jemma jump. “Honestly, Jemma. You’ve been moping around the bakery for three solid days, not even doing your job. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your sister covering for you. But it stops now. Anne cannot carry these heavy trays, and you know it as well as I do.”
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 80