By Design

by Madeline Hunter

  He gazed into her eyes while he intensified the pleasure. “You will tell your brother that this is your home now.”

  “I already have, my love. I already have. Mark does not approve, but he will understand someday.”

  He leaned her against the stone. He lifted her knee and entered. All of her, body and soul, moaned with relief. She clutched him and rested her head on his shoulder. The joining made them one form, rising out of the marble like a living statue of the act of love.

  The pleasure pitched too high for words and restraint. Her body cried for more, but the sweetest fulfillment already saturated her soul.

  “I want you to marry me, and add wedding vows to the ones that we made that night. We will stand together in our love before the world.”

  His proposal floated to her on the sharp breaths of his passion. Her eyes misted at the sound of the words she had prayed to hear spoken. She held tighter and they moved harder. “Oh, aye.”

  “You will be my wife, truly and legally, and bear my children.”

  “Aye, love,” she gasped. “Aye.”

  “We will live together forever, and find our happiness in this garden. You will be all that matters to me.” His voice came low and ragged. “All that matters.”

  He kissed her so that at the end they were totally joined. The power shot through her so violently that the stone wobbled at her back.

  She held him to her, feeling his breaths slowly calm on her neck and beneath her arms. Tears streamed down her face, and she did not try to hold them back.

  He kissed her wet cheek. He did not ask why she wept. He did not need to. He was with her in the joy. She could feel that this loving had moved him as much as her.

  He touched his forehead to hers. No part of her lacked a connection to him, and it would be so forever, even without physical touch.

  “I am so grateful that you came back,” he said. “So grateful I was wrong about the future you should have.”

  “I had to come back. If I had not, I would have once more lived one life while dreaming about a past one.”

  She touched his face, to mold a memory of how he appeared in the sweet aftermath of this perfect union. It was not necessary to cling desperately to the emotions swelling her heart. She could look forward to a lifetime of such moments.

  “I had to come back because I belong with you, Rhys. My heart could be happy nowhere else, nor could I ever feel safe away from your strength. I had to come back to our home, darling. You are the husband of my heart, and you are my champion.”

  Look for Madeline Hunter's nationally bestselling

  “Seducer” series …

  THE SEDUCER

  THE SAINT

  THE CHARMER

  All available now

  Read on for previews …

  Also on sale now

  THE SINNER

  And keep an eye out for the

  next exciting installment

  THE ROMANTIC

  Coming from Bantam in November 2004

  THE SEDUCER

  On sale now

  She faced him, with her chestnut hair pouring down her lithe body. Her lips parted in confusion and her soulful eyes widened with shock. With that expression she almost looked as young as she claimed to be.

  “Remove it,” he repeated.

  “You cannot tell my age from … At sixteen I already …”

  “A female does not stop maturing so early. There is a difference between the voice of a girl and that of a woman, and yours has a mature resonance. There is also a difference in their bodies, especially in the hips. The ones that I just saw struck me as too rounded for sixteen. Remove your garments so that I can check if my fleeting impression was correct.”

  Her face flushed a deep red. Sparks of indignation flickered in her dark eyes. He half-expected her to start disrobing and call his bluff.

  Then the fires disappeared and her gaze turned cool.

  She suddenly reminded him of her father. There was no reason why the hell that should bother him, but it always had, and he abruptly lost interest in the game he had initiated with her.

  “I am twenty years old.”

  She did not sound like someone who had just been outflanked. Her tone suggested that she had made some decision.

  A tiny spike of caution stabbed him.

  “Does Madame Leblanc know your true age?”

  “She never asked my age when I came. I was small and unschooled and put with the youngest girls. However, she can count the years.”

  “But she never raised the question of your future with me.”

  “It was not in her interest to do so. You continued paying the fees. I progressed through the curriculum quicker than most. Three years ago I moved to the front of the schoolroom and began teaching what I had been taught.”

  “Very convenient for Madame Leblanc. However, you also never raised the question. In fact, you have lied to me about it before, and just did again.”

  “I have seen girls leave at eighteen. I did not think you would let me stay here if you knew I had come of age. So when you asked, I gave you the same age for several years before getting older again.”

  She had been very clever, Daniel realized. More clever than one expected of a young girl.

  He made the annual trips to this school with dark, soul-churning resentment. They served as sharp announcements of duties delayed and hungers unfed, of time passing and of quests unfulfilled. His responsibility here only reminded him that there would be no peace until he finished what he had started years ago. Even as he talked with her each year in this study, he blocked most of his mind to her.

  She had seen his self-absorption as indifference and taken advantage of it.

  She blushed prettily at her admission of guilt. “I apologize for the deception, but this is the only home I have known. I have friends here, and a family of sorts.”

  Home. Family. A small, wistful smile accompanied those words.

  She had been willing to take a whipping to keep what little she had of both those things.

  He instantly wished that he had not let curiosity follow its course. Looking at her pretty face, he had forgotten whom he dealt with. For a few moments there he had been a man toying with an attractive woman and enjoying her dismay far too much.

  “We will forget this conversation, mam'selle. You can indeed stay. We will say nothing about your true age, and I will continue sending the fees. In time, Madame Leblanc will probably begin compensating you for your duties and you will officially move to the front of the schoolroom.”

  She strolled around the chamber, absently touching the glassed bookcase and the velvet prie-dieu. “It is tempting, I will not deny it. But the book … Madame Oiseau … It cannot be the same now. Sometimes events conspire to force one to do what should be done.” Her ambling brought her back to the desk. “No, it is long past time for me to leave here. I must ask for your help, however. Very little, I promise you. I am a good teacher in the subjects expected of a governess. If you could aid me in securing a position, I would be grateful.”

  “I expect that is possible. I know some families in Paris who—”

  “I would prefer London.”

  She said it quickly and firmly enough that his instincts tightened.

  How much did she remember?

  “I think that I can get better terms in London,” she said. “They will think that I am French. That should count for something.”

  They will think that I am French. Clearly she had remembered the basics.

  “Paris would be easier.”

  “It must be London. If you will not help me, I will manage on my own.”

  He pictured her arriving in London unprotected and unsupervised. She would get into trouble immediately.

  And get him into trouble eventually.

  “I cannot permit that.”

  “What you will permit is not of consequence, m'sieur. I am in this school by your charity, I know that. But I am of an age when I daresay that you
have no further obligation to me, nor I to you. If events have forced courage on me, then I shall be courageous. I must find my life, and I intend to go to London.”

  I must find my life. His caution sharpened to a sword's edge.

  As often happened, that produced a mental alertness that instantly clarified certain things. His mind neatly transformed an unexpected complication into an opportunity. One that might salve the hunger and finish the quest.

  It stood facing him, waiting for his response. Proud. Determined. But not nearly so confident as she posed. Not nearly so brave.

  Sometimes events conspire to force one to do what should be done.

  How true.

  How much did she remember? It would not matter. And if, as he suspected, she hoped to learn all of it, it would be over before she even came close. In the meantime he could keep an eye on her.

  He studied her lithe frame and the body vaguely apparent beneath the sack. He pictured her in a pale gown of the latest fashion. Something both alluring and demure. Her hair up and a single, fine jewel at her neck, with those soulful eyes gazing out of her porcelain, unpainted face. Lovely, but young. Fresh and vulnerable, but not a silly schoolgirl.

  Yes, she would do. Splendidly, in fact.

  “I will speak with Madame Leblanc and explain that you will leave with me today. We will discuss the details of finding you a position when we get to Paris.”

  THE SAINT

  On sale now

  They took a more direct route back. Feeling more secure on the sidesaddle now, Bianca galloped through the park and did not slow when they entered the woods. Rosy sunlight dappled through the branches, creating marvelous blurred blotches while she sped along. The visual effect distracted her and she was unprepared when suddenly, inexplicably, her horse violently reared.

  A different blur now, of trees and ground swirling while she struggled to control the animal. It acted berserk, and twisted on its hind legs. The sidesaddle could not hold her. She landed on her stomach with an impact that dazed her senses.

  More shocking was the weight immediately pressing her back, and the forearms bracing the ground on either side of her head. Vergil was on top of her, covering her back and head with his body. She struggled against him with indignation and opened her mouth to protest.

  A crack split the morning quiet. Vergil pressed firmly between her shoulders and pushed her back down into the dirt.

  “Watch your fire,” he shouted angrily in the direction of the sound. His right hand grasped the ends of reins and both horses whinnied and pranced.

  She suddenly did not care that they must look ridiculous, sprawled together like this. “Who would be shooting?”

  “Poachers, most likely after fowl. Very bold of them to use guns instead of traps. They would only dare it in early morning. We are several miles from the house and they expect the family to still be abed.”

  Another crack rang. This time she heard a little thump as the ball landed in a tree to their left. The horses reared and almost broke loose. Vergil cursed and shouted again.

  He still pressed against her, his weight all along her back. His breath tickled her nape. The cloth of his sleeves flanked her cheeks, brushing them softly.

  She did not feel in danger at all, but secure and protected in the warmest way. The intimate proximity kindled a glowing response in her. She inhaled his scent of soap and leather, and a strange little flutter scurried from her heart to her stomach.

  “Now you see why you should not ride at this hour. It is dangerous,” he said.

  “You were going to ride.”

  “That is different.” The words were spoken near her ear, as if he had moved his head closer. He had her hugging the ground, her chin crushed in the leaves and soil. The warm breeze of his breath caressed her temple, making that flutter beat its wings furiously.

  He rose up but he did not move away completely. He still hovered. Something she could not name poured out of him and into her. It frightened her. The flutter rose and filled her chest.

  She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, right into his eyes. No one in her life had ever looked at her so … specifically. At least not from this close. That gaze seemed to penetrate right into her mind and explore at will.

  She did not feel protected and secure anymore. Rather the opposite. The flutters multiplied and beat a frantic, humming rhythm, taking over her body and limbs. Wings of warning. And excitement.

  His tight expression made him astonishingly handsome. He pushed away from the ground and knelt to offer his hand, to help her to a sitting position. “Did the fall hurt you?”

  She moved her limbs gingerly. “It just knocked the breath out of me. I was not really thrown, but I will be a little sore in the morning.” She scrambled to rise. “As guardians go, you are superior. Not many men would throw their bodies between a musket ball and a woman whom they barely know.”

  “All honorable Englishmen would do so, Miss Kenwood.”

  They walked the horses for a while to get them calm, then rode the last miles back to the house. His silent company unsettled her and that strange excitement still hummed. At the stables, he swung down and walked over to help her dismount. She paused when his arms reached up to guide her.

  He noticed her hesitation. His blue eyes met hers in a most startling manner. She became breathless and incapable of looking away.

  Strong fingers closed around her waist and lifted her down. It seemed to take a long time for him to release her, a stretched moment when he held her mere inches from himself. The subtle pressure of his hands and the closeness of his tall body shook her.

  “Thank you. I enjoyed the ride very much.” She collected her composure and turned away.

  “I am glad that you did, especially since it will be your last one.”

  She whirled around to face him. “Are you saying I can never ride while I am here?”

  “Of course you can, with company and later in the day. However, I will inform the grooms that you are not to be given a horse this early again, nor any time when you plan to go alone.” He acted as imperious and calm as ever, but a tense power surged across the ground at her. “Nor are you to arrange any more morning assignations with your cousin Nigel. You may see him when he calls here, or if Penelope decides to call on him.”

  Assignations? His imagination had explored those ambiguities more thoroughly than she had intended.

  She walked away without correcting him.

  Let him think the worst.

  THE CHARMER

  On sale now

  May 1831

  Adrian crossed the drawing room's threshold and found himself in the middle of an Arab harem.

  Women swathed in colorful pantaloons and veils lounged beside men dressed in flowing robes. A fortune in silk billowed down from the high, frescoed ceiling, forming a massive tent. Two tiger skins stretched over the pastel tapestry rugs, and bejeweled pillows and throws buried settees and chairs. An exotic, heavy scent drifted under those of incense and perfume. Hashish. In the darkest corners some men kissed and fondled their ladies, but no outright orgy had ensued.

  Yet.

  A man on a mission, with no interest in this type of diversion, Adrian walked slowly through the costumed bodies, looking for a female who fit the description of the Duchess of Everdon.

  He noticed a canopied corner that appeared to be the place of honor. He aimed for it, ignoring the women who looked his way and smiled invitingly.

  The canopy draped a small dais holding a chaise longue. A woman rested on it in a man's arms. Her eyes were closed, and the man was plying her with wine. Adrian's card had fallen ignobly to the floor from her lax fingers.

  “I am grateful that you have finally received me, Duchess,” he said, announcing his presence. Actually, she had not agreed to receive him at all. He had threatened and bluffed his way past the butler.

  Her lids slit and she peered down her body at him. She wore a garment that swaddled her from breasts to bare feet, but whi
ch left her neck and arms uncovered, revealing pale, glowing skin. In the low light he could not judge her face well, but her hair was a mass of dark curls tamed by a gold band circling her head.

  She looked very sensual with the red silk wrapping her curves and her armlets and anklets gleaming in the candlelight. The blond, bare-chested man who held her thought so too. Adrian half-expected him to take a bite out of her while he watched.

  The duchess gave Adrian a frank assessment and he returned one of his own. The only living child of the last Duke of Everdon had attained instant importance with her father's unexpected death. For the last two weeks everyone who was anyone in England had been speculating about Sophia Raughley, and wondering what she had been up to during her long absence from England.

  Adrian did not relish reporting the answer to the men who had sent him here. From the looks of things, the new duchess had occupied herself lo these last eight years in Paris with becoming a shameless libertine.

  She twisted out of her lover's hold and stretched to grope for the card, almost falling off the chaise longue. She appeared childishly clumsy suddenly, and a bit helpless, and Adrian experienced a pang of pity. He picked up the card and placed it in her fingers. She squinted, and gestured to her partner to bring a candle close.

  “Mister Adrian Burchard,” she read.

  “At your service, Your Grace. If we could speak privately, please.”

  Gathering her drapery, she rose to her feet. With the breeding of centuries stiffening her posture, she faced him.

  “I think that I know what service you offer, and you have wasted your journey. I am not going back with you.”

  Of course she was. “Again, I ask to speak with you privately.”

  “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I have come the last two days, and now tonight. It is time for you to hear what I have to say. It is time for you to face reality.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. She advanced toward him. For a moment she appeared quite formidable. Then her foot caught in the flowing silk. She tripped and hurtled forward, right into his arms.