The English Aristocrat's Bride

by Sandra Field

  “The jury’s out on that one. How did you know where to find me?”

  “Your mother told me.” With a flick of satisfaction she saw she had surprised him. “If I can get past your mother, you should be congratulating me.”

  “Just how did you meet her?”

  “She was at the airport, waiting for me. She gave me the third degree. I like your father’s socks.”

  “Stick to the point, Karyn.”

  “You’re not making this very easy!”

  “Give me one good reason why I should. I’ve just had the worst two weeks of my whole life. When Celine fouled me up, that was kidstuff compared to you. So I don’t feel particularly friendly toward you, and if you try to compare me to Steve one more time, we’re through—have you got that?”

  Her visions of a romantic late-night tryst in ruins at her feet, Karyn let her own temper rise to meet his. “You’re not the least bit like Steve.”

  “Then why did you send me away?” he snarled.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Because I hadn’t figured that out yet.”

  “So you sent me packing along with the necklace I’d given you—you wouldn’t even keep that.”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried, then modulated her tone. “I really am sorry, Rafe. I did the best I could at the time—and it wasn’t good enough. I see that now. But hindsight’s always twenty-twenty and I came here to make amends. Well, that’s sort of why I came.”

  “I laid my cards on the table at Heathrow,” Rafe said in a harsh voice. “I love you, I want to marry you—that’s what I said. Causing you to bolt like a frightened pony. Good move, Rafe. I might be a dab hand at building a business empire but when it comes to one five-foot-seven blue-eyed blonde, I’m—”

  “Oh, stop!” she yelped. “You know what I really want to ask? Do you still love me? Do you still want to marry me? But I’m not going to. I’m going to say my piece first. I love you, Rafe Holden. I want to marry you. That’s why I’m here, and if I could get past your redoubtable mother, you ought to be down on your knees kissing my feet.”

  “I’m damned if I’m getting down on my knees—I did that at Heathrow. What changed your mind? Why all of a sudden aren’t I the reincarnation of Steve?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  Panic-stricken, because her declaration of love might as well have been spoken to the four corners of the room, Karyn began by describing how Fiona had turned up on her doorstep last Saturday morning in a rage. “You should have seen her—maybe she’s been taking lessons from your mother. Anyway, I promised I’d come here as soon as I could, and…well, see you. I guess that’s what I promised.”

  “You’re seeing me. Right now.”

  “Did I ruin everything by sending you away?” Karyn croaked. “Oh, please, tell me I didn’t…”

  “You answer me first. Am I dreaming this whole scene? This whole evening? Any minute am I going to wake up in a bed that feels like a desert because you’re not in it?”

  “I’m real.” She reached out and touched him, snatching her hand back before he could react.

  “So you are. You love me,” he said, advancing one step toward her, “and you want to marry me. You did say that?”

  His eyes were gleaming with something other than anger; the first tiny quiver of hope rippled through her body. “Yes,” she said primly, “and it’s not even a leap year.”

  “I accept.”

  “Huh?”

  “I accept your proposal of marriage,” he repeated, “and I’ll make damn sure our grandchildren know it was you who asked me and not the other way around.”

  “You asked first.”

  “Don’t remind me. When are we going to get married? It had better be soon.”

  “Whoa,” she said, “you’re leaving something out. Something basic. If you don’t love me any more, the proposal’s off.”

  “Oh, I love you,” Rafe said softly, taking one more step. He was now so close she could feel the heat of his body and see the tiny flames deep in his eyes. “Do you think I’d change that quickly? That’s the whole point, Karyn. I’m in this for life. Forever. For better and for worse, and since Heathrow I’ve had more than enough of the worse, thank you very much.”

  A smile lighting her eyes, she said severely, “You’re playing very hard to get.”

  “You’re darn right I am. Although if you got past my mother, maybe, just maybe, I should forgive you.”

  She laughed, a delightful cascade of sound. “You’re darn right you should.”

  Still without touching her, his voice deepening, Rafe said, “I love you, Karyn. Love you more deeply than I knew it was possible to love. I want you to be my wife, to be the mother of our children, to live with me day by day, to sleep in my bed.” The little flames kindled to points of fire. “To make love with me again and again, because I’ll never have enough of you.”

  Her face radiant, Karyn whispered, “That’s what I want, too. More than I can say.” Then, very naturally, she moved into the circle of his arms, linked her hands behind his head and kissed him.

  It was a kiss that seemed to last forever, an avowal of love, an ache of desire, a pledge of belonging. When Karyn finally raised her head, her cheeks were bright pink. She said the first thing that came into her mind. “Rafe, I’m so sorry I sent you away.”

  “You’re forgiven,” he said and kissed her again.

  Through the windows that opened onto the balcony, Karyn heard the faraway growl of thunder. “We’re in for a storm.”

  Rafe laughed, his white teeth gleaming. “We are the storm, sweetheart.” When he ran his eyes down her body, it felt as intimate as a caress. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “oh, yes.”

  “When you look at me like that—” He pulled her hard into his body, smothering her face and throat with hot, urgent kisses. “I want you, I need you, I love you.”

  Karyn rested her palm on Rafe’s cheek, smiling into his eyes. “I love you, too,” she said. “Oh, Rafe, I love you so much.”

  “That’s all you have to do—keep telling me that for the rest of my days.”

  “That’s easy,” Karyn said contentedly, reaching up to unhook his tie. He swung her off her feet, carrying her through the sitting room into the bedroom with its panorama of city lights. Laying her on her back, he covered her with his big body.

  She was home. In Rafe’s bed, in his heart. Where she belonged.

  A month later, on a Friday evening, Karyn was maid of honor and Rafe best man at Fiona and John’s wedding in the thick-walled Norman church in Droverton. On Saturday afternoon, Karyn was standing at the end of the same aisle, her hand tucked into John’s sleeve as the organ pealed the wedding march. Her gown was an elegant flow of white crepe, her bouquet exquisite lilies from Joan’s conservatory at Castle Holden. The diamond pendant Rafe had given her in Greece hung on its delicate gold chain around her neck.

  Fiona, wearing apple-green crepe, turned to smile at her. “Your turn,” she said. “May you be as happy as I am, Karyn.”

  “It’s because of you that I’m standing here.”

  “It’s because of Rafe.”

  Karyn could see him at the far end of the aisle, his black hair uncharacteristically tidy, his morning suit molded to his broad shoulders. Joy spilled over in her heart. She leaned forward and kissed her sister on the cheek. Then she smiled at John, whom she already liked enormously. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Be happy, Karyn,” he said.

  “I will be. I am.”

  She paced slowly up the aisle, the stained glass throwing a mosaic of brilliant colors on the guests. Clarissa and Douglas, valiantly smiling; Rafe’s mother, severely elegant in bottle-green silk; Reginald enlivening his formal clothes with an orange bowtie.

  Her new family.

  Also among the guests were Liz, Pierre and their children, whom Rafe had brought here to surprise her: a gift that had, predictably, made her weep.


  Then Rafe himself turned to find her, his dark blue eyes meeting hers with such an immensity of tenderness that her heart overflowed. She took her place at his side. In a few moments Rafe would be her husband and she his wife.

  She’d freed herself from the past. Freed herself to a lifelong commitment with Rafe and, she hoped, to bearing his children. She could ask for nothing more.

  Resting her hand on Rafe’s, she smiled up at him, and as the music swelled around her, the future began.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6368-4

  THE ENGLISH ARISTOCRAT’S BRIDE

  First North American Publication 2005.

  Copyright © 2005 by Sandra Field.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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