"Now, Arabella, we said we would talk about this--"
"No more talking," she whispered, as she moved to divest him of his clothes. "I love you. The rest can sort itself out one day at a time. So long as I have you guarding me, I'll be safe."
"You're the guardian of my heart now, love. It's all yours, given freely and for all time," he vowed, loosening her wrapper to lay his head between her breasts.
"I'll treasure it always, my darling Blake." She stroked her hands down her husband's hard body, thrilling them both as they worshipped each other.
"As I shall treasure you forever, my dearest Arabella."
Arabella woke with the dawn. Despite her husband's bleary-eyed protests, she wrapped each of them in a sheet.
"Trust me, my love."
"I do, always."
"Then come, darling."
They crept hand in hand down the servants' stairs and out the back of the house, onto the great wide expanse of fields, over toward the stream and the small flower-filled meadow she had been thinking was really the perfect place for them to build their new home in the future.
The dawn was just peeping up over the horizon, and though there was a chill in the air and the grass underfoot was soaked with dew, she felt only warmth and life.
Blake sensed it too. For as he looked around in the dim half-light of daybreak he realised he had seen it all before. Seen it, and felt awed.
Seen it the first night he had ever met Arabella, and every night since. And now it was here at last.
They stroked the sheets from one another's bare bodies and knelt on them on the grass as though in supplication.
He could taste dew, smell freshly mown grass, feel the glorious sunshine upon his face, the warmth penetrating his bones, his soul… A new life.
Spring was the season, flowers, bees, pollen, everything fresh and new, like her skin, her hair...
Unbound, flowing over Blake's bare body like a river as it cascaded down her shoulders, covering her voluptuous breasts, which peeped through the raven tresses.
He noted the stark contrast, the pink, white and black. Then Arabella was cradling his head against her, one nipple sliding unerringly into his mouth to nurture him, fill him with longing…
Blake trailed kisses along her bare shoulders, so creamy and soft, her slender throat. He kissed them all, then her rosy lips as his legs moved over hers.
He moved inside the warm circle of her arms, her body.
The rising sun blazed anew in all its glory, blinding him with its brilliance as she shimmered all around him, hot, wet, loving, a taste of heaven on earth as he poured out all his pent-up yearnings into her….
Forever.
AFTERWORD
This novel came about during lunch with some friends one day. We wondered why serial killers seemed to be a particularly modern phenomenon. We concluded that there must have been serial killers in the past, but they had never been classified in such a manner.
For one thing, without efficient country-wide or international communications and co-operating police forces, a killer could easily move from place to place without any pattern being discerned. For another, without forensic investigative techniques, finding a commonality of method, and evidence left behind at the scenes, was very much a matter of luck and guesswork.
We discussed the fact that Jack the Ripper had never been caught, and how his serial killing spree still puzzles the best detective minds in the world to this day.
From there, my original story of an innocent woman made ward to a more worldly and jaded man became a dangerous tale of cat and mouse.
The Rakehells continue to have a rather thrilling life of their own, and as you can guess, the charming but enigmatic Philip Marshall is going to get his own miracle of love. All will then be revealed about his mysterious past in The Mistaken Miss.
There will also be more from Michael Avenel, Alistair Grant, Randall Avenel, Matthew Dane and the Jeromes soon as well.
For now, here's wishing you bliss.
FREE PREVIEW
If you enjoyed this novel, why not try the next sensual romance in the Rakehell series? Here is a free preview:
THE MISTAKEN MISS
Book 7 of The Rakehell Regency Romance Series
The wrong woman!
Philip Marshall's plans to elope with Johanna Otway go awry when her twin sister Jasmine appears on his doorstep trying to prevent her sibling's ruination at the hands of London's most infamous rake.
Far from saving her sister, Jasmine is plunged headlong into disaster, and Philip's bed. For he does not realize the passionate woman he takes into his embrace is definitely not the arctic Johanna until it's too late.
Philip had fully intended to ruin the Otway family through the seduction of their heiress, little realizing that there are twin sisters. Now he finds himself drawn to Jasmine in the most unexpected ways. Who has seduced whom?
As Philip determines that Jasmine is the one woman in the world who can ever make him truly whole, he decides he does not even care about the Otway family fortune. Only by coming to terms with his horrendous hidden past, and gaining Jasmine's trust, can Philip face the future, and win the love of the remarkable woman whom a strange quirk of Fate has bestowed upon him.
Jasmine is a quiet bluestocking who rushes up to London to try to prevent her sister from eloping with the Ton's most notorious rake. But the man she meets is completely different from what she ever expected, and the magic between them produces one unforgettable night of love with far-reaching consequences.
For Jasmine's father Frederick is nothing if not implacable in his hatred of Philip and his family. He would rather see his own daughter dead than Philip happily in love with her, and sets about ruining both their lives with the deft skill of a cat playing with a mouse.
Johanna too is livid at losing her rich, handsome conquest to her quiet little sister, and is determined to seduce Philip away from Jasmine, the better to help her father ruin him.
Jasmine must trust to love, and uncover the truth about her family and the destruction her father has caused. Philip will need all his power and strength to keep Jasmine safe as their enemies close in…
CHAPTER ONE
May 1, 1815
"I'm here to see Mr. Philip Marshall, please."
Jaggers stared, dumbstruck. The butler knew he should ask for a card or further details about the girl's business, but he felt sure his master would want to see a woman of such outstanding loveliness no matter what she said she wanted. Even a notorious rake like his employer did not come across pulchritude such as this every day, plainly dressed though the young blonde was in a dark pelisse and gown which was damp and muddy at the hem.
Despite appearing at less than her best due to the weather, she was more beautiful than many of the women bedecked in the most expensive evening attire and jewels who paraded into the house and toward their own ruin. There was something about the way the girl held herself that proclaimed her proud, spirited, and interestingly, quite possibly more than a match for Philip Marshall.
"Please, Miss, er-"
"Miss Otway," Jasmine supplied. "I'm here to see him about--"
He knew only too well why, and thought with a pang that this tender young girl would be yet another victim…
"I understand, Miss." Jaggers hesitated, torn between letting her in and warning her to flee for her virtue, her very life.
"Is he at home?" she asked, worry evident in her tone. "I really must see him." Oh Lord, let her not be too late….
Jaggers' heart fell. Had he ruined already? Then there really was no justice or virtue left in the world.
Her beseeching expression swayed him at last. "Yes, Miss, he is."
"Please," she said in a softer manner, sensing the servant's indecision. "I really do need to see him most urgently."
He nodded once curtly, as though it pained him, and stepped back to allow her in. "This way, please, Miss."
"Thank you so much for your help."
> She saw the man's lips thin, as if he had tasted something sour. Really, he was acting most oddly for a servant. Most of the time they never looked one in the face, let alone kept staring as though viewing a ghost.
Jaggers told himself it wasn't his place to meddle, and his employer wasn't really a bad man, just an angry one. He wouldn't hurt the girl in any violent sense, and she was old enough to know what she was doing.
Old enough to know better, of course, but it wasn't his place to say. Yet even as he told himself that all would be well and he had no right to interfere, he conducted her to the snug formal parlor in Turkey red which Mr. Marshall reserved for his business associates.
Though he was cognizant of the nature of the girl's appointment with his master, he was not about to conduct her into the lurid parlor at the back of the house, which he and his fellow staff referred to in shocked tones as the Salon of Sin.
This lass was a delicate blossom, about nineteen if he was any judge, and he knew his women. But she seemed older, careworn somehow. His jaded heart went out to the willowy honey-blonde with the most remarkable amethyst eyes and thin, sodden gown. He actually heard himself offering her tea while she waited.
"That's more than I could hope for. You're too kind," Jasmine said breathlessly, winded by the nerve of what she had done. What she was about to do.
She sat before her knocking knees gave way, and removed her dark bonnet with trembling fingers. She smoothed the ribbons and placed it upon the seat, with her reticule beside it. Then she stretched her gloved hands before the fire, trying not to wring them in terror at the thought that she might be too late.
Her stomach churned, and her head swam with the sudden heat of the blaze and the rich smell of spices, citrus and pine. Her mind also boggled at the thought of being in a chamber that proclaimed with its every aspect the masculinity of its owner, from its rich dark colors, to the aroma of tobacco and the finest leather.
She shouldn't have come.
So why had she?
No one would thank her for interfering. Least of all her sister Johanna, whose letter informing Jasmine of her plans had not been a plea for help at all, but one of her usual attempts to vaunt her triumph to her younger twin, the better to put Jasmine firmly in her more humble place.
But Jasmine had been companion to her prudish maiden aunt long enough to know the consequences of folly and licentiousness only too well. She heard lectures upon the subject at least three times daily, though she had scarcely ever even seen a man since she had come out of short skirts.
She'd often thought the flirtatious Johanna would have benefited from these disquistions on the evils of men far more than poor Jasmine.
In fact, Jasmine had always wondered, if vice were so terrible, why so many people fell prey to its temptations...
Jasmine cast her eye around the room once more, unable to help marveling at its beauty. She could see why her headstrong twin would be tempted by Philip Marshall, if the man was anything like this intimate, sensual room.
But still, ruined was ruined.
Please God, Jasmine prayed, please don't let Johanna make the worst mistake of her life. Even if this man Philip Marshall isn't one jot as bad as they say, Father will kill her if she elopes with a rake.
She heard footsteps approaching, and shot up off the sofa, clasping her hands before her for both prayer and protection. But it was only Jaggers returning with the tea tray, which he sat upon the low table beside the hearth.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she lapsed back on the sofa almost numbly, and told herself to stop being such a ninny. Philip Marshall was only a man, for Heaven's sake. His reputation was that of a rake, not a savage. She smoothed down the lap of her drenched gown, and edged closer to the fire to dry it.
Jaggers waited patiently, watching the fleeting emotions cross her expressive face. When he saw she was more composed he gestured at the pot. "Miss, would you like me to--"
"Oh, er, no, thank you, I'll do it," she said, quickly seizing a cup to busy her shaking hands.
"Very good, Miss. I'll just go tell the master he has a visitor," he said, giving the fresh-faced, trembling girl one last look and heading for the stairs with a heavy heart.
ALL TITLES BY AUTHOR:
The Mad Mistress
The Missed Match
The Miss Matched
The Matchless Miss
Scars Upon the Heart
The Scarred Heart
Guardian of the Heart
The Mistaken Miss
The Model Master
The Model Mistress
Innocence
Innocence Afire
Ravished
Experience
The Model Husband
Ruthless
Madness
Beguiled
Beguiled Anew
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 100