Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. “In fairness, I wasn’t t-truly before you,” she managed through the swell of emotion stuck in her throat. “We were both avoiding one another and—”
Gregory cupped her by the nape and claimed her lips. Her toes curled deliciously in the soles of her boots as his lips touched off a firestorm of desire. She leaned into his embrace, mourning when he pulled back. “Marry me, please,” he added, sinking to a knee. “Not because of any scandal, but because I love you.”
Oh, God. Carol pressed trembling fingertips to her mouth. “I…I…” Since she’d been a girl, she’d feared that she would one day find herself like her mother; a Societal lady, married to a man whose heart and fidelity would never belong to her. As a woman who’d suffered through four Seasons, she’d accepted that love was an elusive gift not for every lord or lady.
He faltered, his gaze doing a frantic search over her face.
Carol drew in a steadying breath. “I expect, given your kiss…”
“Our kiss,” he swiftly interjected.
Yes, she’d quite returned that embrace. “That my mother and brother will insist on nothing less than marriage.”
Gregory shook his head. “I don’t give a jot what your family wants.”
She chewed at her lower lip. “Your mother—”
“Or my mother.” Who Carol had been unforgivably cheeky with. That would warrant an apology. “Or Lady Minerva,” Gregory continued. “Or the King and Queen of England.” He gathered her gloved hands and raised them to his mouth one at a time for a lingering kiss. “I care what you want. I love you,” he said and the world briefly ceased to spin as she was left suspended. “And I—”
Dropping to her knees, Carol claimed his mouth. “I love you,” she whispered when she drew away.
He grinned and another errant winter wind tumbled one of his black tresses over his eye, giving him a boyish look. “Is that a yes, then, love?”
Love. After fearing she’d not know that beautiful emotion like her friend, Theo, Gregory had claimed her heart and given his in return. She opened her mouth.
“That is a yes,” the viscountess called out, her voice carrying in the winter quiet.
Gregory lifted his hand in greeting to her mother. As they came to their feet, Carol released an exaggerated sigh. “Alas, as much as it pains me to admit as much…my mother is right.”
He grinned; that cocksure expression doing wicked things to her heart’s rhythm. “It took four years for us each to realize as much.” Gregory dropped his brow to hers. “Then, it is the Christmas season, a time for new beginnings.”
She returned his smile. “And a very scandalous Christmas it is.” With his laughter echoing around them, she stepped into his arms.
The End
Other Titles by Christi Caldwell
Sinful Brides
The Rogue’s Wager
The Theodosia Sword
Only for His Lady
Heart of a Duke
In Need of a Duke
For Love of the Duke
More Than a Duke
The Love of a Rogue
Loved by a Duke
To Love a Lord
The Heart of a Scoundrel
To Wed His Christmas Lady
To Trust a Rogue
The Lure of a Rake
To Woo a Widow
To Redeem a Rake
Lords of Honor
Seduced by a Lady’s Heart
Captivated by a Lady’s Charm
Rescued by a Lady’s Love
Tempted by a Lady’s Smile
Scandalous Seasons
Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous
Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love
A Marquess for Christmas
Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love
Danby
A Season of Hope
Winning a Lady’s Heart
Brethren of the Lords
My Lady of Deception
Nonfiction
Uninterrupted Joy
Coming February 14th 2017
by Christi Caldwell
“The Scoundrel’s Honor” Book 2 in the Sinful Brides series.
London, 1822
Thanks to her older siblings, Lady Penelope Tidemore is no stranger to scandal. In order for her to make a good match, her secret longings for intrigue and romance must be quelled. Yet it is through terrible mischance that Penelope is caught in a compromising position—however innocent—with the darkly enigmatic viscount Ryker Black.
Mr. Black is no gentleman. Raised from the streets and proprietor of the most notorious gaming hell in London, Black lives in a world filled with debauchery and danger. Taking a Society wife from the very ton he despises is not part of his plan, even if the innocent Penelope turns his blood hot with desire.
But Penelope isn’t afraid of Mr. Black, and she soon discovers that his reputation as a scoundrel may be designed to hide a surprising vulnerability. As this unlikely husband and wife grow closer, they learn that what started as chance could end up sealing their fates.
Biography
Christi Caldwell is the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!
When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her eight-year-old son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!
Visit www.christicaldwellauthor.com to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at Christi Caldwell Author, and Twitter @ChristiCaldwell
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A Kiss
From A Rogue
A Must Love Rogues
Novella
By
Eva Devon
As always, this book is for my sons who have taught me the deepest meaning of love and for my husband who has been my greatest support.
Chapter 1
Lady Marabelle Danvers, the only surviving child of the Earl of Gray, loved Christmas. She loved it with every fiber of her being, every part of her soul. What wasn’t there to love, after all? Every year, she spent the days in December eagerly preparing for the twelve days of revelry which would begin Christmas Eve.
Every year, that was, until this one. For this year was strange, indeed. The month of December had been spent not in simply preparing for Christmas but also preparing for her wedding to a man she had never met.
Frankly, one year ago, it had never occurred to her that instead of tossing snowballs and giving instruction on the placement of the mistletoe, she would be planning her wedding breakfast to the new Earl of Gray.
But then again, one year ago both her brother and her father had been among the living.
This long, painful year had been a year of darkness. The deaths of her dearest loved ones had added to her conclusion that this particular winter seemed darker than any she’d ever known.
It was unfortunate, for she had always been what she considered to be a merry creature. Winter was a season she quite enjoyed; Christmas being the culmination of it. But on this particular morning, with Christmas Eve but a few days away, as her maid secured the diamond starburst in her curled hair, she glanced at her pale reflection. She wondered if she’d ever feel truly merry again.
The soft knock at her door sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
She’d hoped to meet her fut
ure husband before the day, but it hadn’t been possible.
Sebastian Rutherford, Earl of Gray, had only just returned from Egypt, having traveled directly from the coast to his new estate. This morning, as she understood, he was making the last leg of his journey from York.
A part of her had prayed he wouldn’t arrive at all. After all, she’d been running the estate quite sufficiently on her own. Still, it had been a hollow prayer for the one thing that had gotten her through the last excruciating months was the knowledge that she would be carrying on her father’s direct line and last wishes with this practical marriage.
It had been a great relief to learn that Lord Sebastian had been amenable to the matrimonial arrangement. After all, there was nothing to induce him to it but goodwill and, hopefully, good sense.
Despite her personal fortune and, dare she say, pleasing appearance, she had had some doubts that he would agree. After all, Lord Sebastian was a bachelor of the first order.
A soldier, a gambler, a rogue. . . He’d traveled the world and seemed to have no need to come home to England until the ultimate duty had called. . . An inheritance that never should have been his.
But instead of allowing herself to sulk as she supposed it would have been all too easy to do, Marabelle called on the pithy spirit of her family and finally stood. She braced her hands on the delicate, ivory-painted, gold-edged dressing table before giving herself a fortifying look in the mirror. She then took the nosegay of winter greenery and allowed her maid to drape her in a fur-lined, crimson cloak.
As she strode down the hallway, her voluminous, pale green skirts, embroidered with gold leaves which fell from just under her bosom, swished about her. Each measured step was resolute and determined. For after all, she was about to become a countess and mistress of the estate she’d spent her entire life on.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t met her husband. No. All that mattered was that she was going to save everything her father had worked for. As the lady of the house and her soon to be husband’s guide, she could achieve such a thing.
God only knew what might happen to Northly without her there to anchor Lord Sebastian.
That thought was what she clung to as she headed down the sprawling, mahogany stairs. She moved through the glass-domed foyer then exited the manor into the brisk winter air.
Snow fell like gentle feathers, landing on her lashes and cloak, turning the landscape into a sugar-frosted confection. A smile teased her lips despite the nerves playing havoc with her insides. She adored snow.
So, she would choose to believe it was a sign of goodwill from the world about her on such an important day.
The footman, his cherry red livery as cheerful as a cardinal’s feathers, escorted her into the warmed interior of her coach.
She sat back on the ivory brocade and looked out the window. Tucking her toes next to the small brazier burning coal, she drew in a deep breath and willed herself to be calm.
The coachman snapped the whip. The team of four pulled them along the slippery lane, passing frost-covered hedges.
Soon, the world would be white with snow and she could hardly wait. For though she was full of trepidation, she wouldn’t allow herself to be brought down, not when the first true snow of the year was beginning to fall.
Indeed, she reminded herself, it had to be a sign of luck. Yes. Luck. It couldn’t be coincidence. For Lady Marabelle didn’t believe in coincidences.
They finally pulled up before the small, yet beautiful medieval church which had been on the Earl of Gray’s land since before the War of the Roses. She drew in a fortifying breath.
The small church had endured wars and reformation. It had seen change after change and persevered.
And like the little house of worship, Marabelle was made of stern stuff. It mattered not that she’d never laid eyes upon the man she was about to call husband or that his reputation as a rake and rogue had preceded him.
No, she was going to make the best of it, as anyone worth their salt did, and that was certain. So, she gathered her cloak and skirts and stepped down into the snow.
A low cough met her arrival and she spun.
Wilkins, her father’s man of business, stood shuffling from one booted foot to the other. His dark blue cloak fluffed like a pigeon bathing in the dust.
She forced a smile. “I’m ready to go in.”
It was to be a very intimate wedding with only two witnesses in attendance (the breakfast was to be the grander affair). She was shocked when Wilkins shook his tricorn-covered head.
“No, my lady,” he choked, his cheeks red with the cold.
“No?” she queried.
Wilkins shifted his weight from side to side. “He’s. . . He’s. . .”
She cocked her head to the side and prompted, “He who? Lord Sebastian?”
Wilkins nodded, his brown eyes all but bulging. “He isn’t here, my lady.”
“Not here?” she echoed, not quite believing her ears.
“No, my lady.”
She turned slowly to look at the narrow, grooved road which led off towards the coast, determined to spot Lord Sebastian.
There was no sight of anyone. All she could see were the moorland and the road stretching out to the snow-covered distance.
Well, this was a dratted nuisance.
Should they wait? She couldn’t stand out in the cold forever. Her toes were already quite cold in her wedding slippers. Should she go home? What would she tell the guests? That she’d been jilted?
Should they eat the great wedding feast without the groom?
It had never occurred to her that he wouldn’t be here. She found herself uncertain of what to do next. A state quite unfamiliar to her.
Just as she was about to suggest they go inside the small church and, at the least, get in out of the cold wind and falling snow, the thunderous sound of horse hooves echoed across the wild moor.
She turned toward the noise.
There, in the distance, she spotted the rider. Her breath caught in her throat.
My God, it was something straight out of a novel.
While his white stallion nearly blended into the falling snowflakes, the rider was a dark shadow upon the beast. His cloak was flying out behind him like black angels’ wings.
A strange thrill coursed through her at that powerful figure, racing toward the church.
It was him. It had to be.
Her future husband.
And he was tearing across the rugged terrain as though the devil’s dog were upon his heels.
*
Lord Sebastian Rutherford, the twelfth Earl of Gray, hated weddings. He hated England. He hated ladies. But most of all, Lord Sebastian Rutherford hated Christmas.
And at present, he was about to be wedded to a lady just a few days before the offending holiday in the north of his motherland. He wasn’t certain how his life could grow any more gruesome.
His horse had thrown a shoe outside of York. That very fact had seemed a strong sign that he should turn, head back to the harbor, find a ship and make haste for parts unknown.
Years of adventure and keeping himself as far from the island of his unhappy youth did not lead him to return. Yet, the title of earl was not something he could either refuse or ignore.
Even more powerful was the passionate plea by his distant cousin’s will that Sebastian marry the daughter, Lady Marabelle. Since, as the earl, he’d have to marry and have a little earling, the appeal of a ready-made wife had been impossible to ignore. There was also the fact that his one meeting with the previous earl had been the only event of his childhood in which someone had demonstrated kindness. So, he couldn’t really say no. Not with any good conscience. Thus, he’d agreed out of duty and practicality.
To marry, he’d had to do that one abhorrent thing that he had avoided for almost a decade.
Return.
He’d been so certain that, after he’d sold his commission from the King’s Army, he’d never need to set his feet upon
England’s damp soil again.
Still, life was full of surprises.
As soon as he could wed, bed, and get his wife with an heir, he’d be gone again.
The world held far too much scope to spend it on a tiny patch of land filled with tiny minded people. Family life was not for him.
Still, it had not been his intention to be late.
So, he spurred his freshly-shod stallion over the icy moor.
He’d had but the barest of directions to the appointed church. At last, he turned down a road lined with a stone fence and urged his horse on.
They raced at breakneck speed. Finally, he spotted the holy building in the distance.
There was a small group of people outside.
No doubt, Lady Marabelle was in the church, cursing his name.
At the sound of the hard-hitting hooves of his ride, the group turned.
He pulled lightly on the reins and his horse reared onto its hind quarters. The animal’s breath was blowing white from its nostrils.
To Sebastian’s amazement, a lady swathed in the folds of a rich crimson cloak looked up at him. She blinked and said, “Terribly glad you could make it, my lord.”
A laugh burst from his lips. He couldn’t stop himself.
“Lady Marabelle?” he queried, barely able to believe that his future wife might have an admirable sense of humor.
“Yes,” she admitted with a surprisingly relieved smile on her lips. “Now, do come down from your horse. We are keeping the poor vicar waiting.”
“Whatever my lady commands,” he said dryly. He then swung down from his saddle and planted his boots onto the unforgiving soil.
“An admirable beginning,” she said lightly.
’Twas the Night Before Scandal Page 9