by Meara Platt
Vicar Carstairs cleared his throat. “Thaddius MacLauren, Laird Caithness, Captain…” he began to recite his military honors and a list of titles recently bestowed on him now that he was Hume’s heir. “Do you take…” The ‘aye’ was ready to spring from his lips, but he waited until the vicar had finished reciting Penelope’s name and string of her connections.
“I do,” he said with a nod, taking Penelope’s hand and giving it a light squeeze.
Penelope responded with a solemn “I do” to the vicar’s question similarly posed to her. But he knew by the way her fingers entwined in his, that she was ready to leap out of her skin with excitement. However, she held herself together like a proper lady, obviously trained in the genteel arts and knowing how to use them when necessary.
Never with him, however.
Lord, he couldn’t wait to be alone with the wild Penelope, the beautiful girl who’d clutched the edges of his shirt and allowed herself to soar under the guidance of his touch. Tonight. And ever after. He only had a few more hours to get past before he held her in his arms again.
And he was counting the minutes.
They left the church and rode through Wellesford, taking a turn through the town before heading to Sherbourne Manor where the wedding breakfast would be held. “You look handsome in your uniform,” Loopy said, smiling up at him as they rode in her brother’s open curricle, the better to be seen by those who had turned out for the wedding.
“Ye look lovely in yer gown.” He grinned. “Ye’ll look lovelier without it, but that’ll have to wait, I suppose.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it will have to wait. Besides, you must be hungry by now.”
He shrugged. “I’m always hungry, lass. Verra well, I’ll wait until after we’ve eaten to carry ye away. Not that we’ve far to go. Or that we’ll have much privacy since we’re staying here for the night.” He sighed. “Nor will we have much privacy at Coldstream Castle, but at least there, we’ll have our own private quarters. It’s a big, rambling fortress. Built and rebuilt many times over.”
“I’ll make do. I don’t care where we are so long as we’re together.”
He nodded. “I have a bride gift for ye, lass.”
She tipped her head to smile at him. “Dare I ask what it is?”
“Malcolm and Robbie said I was an idiot. But I had the jeweler fashion it anyway.” He fished into his pocket and withdrew a tiny box. “It’s a charm, to be worn on a bracelet or a necklace.”
She opened the box and stared at the gift, obviously puzzled by what it was. In the next moment, she understood and gasped. “Thad, it’s a raisin scone!”
“The raisins are tiny sapphires. The scone is silver.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “Are ye crying, lass?”
She nodded. “This is the best gift ever.”
He sighed in relief. “Aye, I knew ye’d understand and appreciate my meaning. It isn’t just a charm ye’ll be wearing, it’s my heart. It’s all of me. My every hope. My every dream. My every wish come true.”
“I know, Thad. I appreciate it more than I can say.”
But that night, as the festivities ended and everyone retired to their quarters, she showed him just how much she did appreciate him. He was afraid he might hurt her when they coupled, for he was that eager to fulfill their union. But she was ready for him, her body warm and her arms inviting as they opened to him.
After he’d brought her to passion and claimed his own, he took her into his arms and held her close against his body. “I love ye, lass.”
“How much do you love me?”
“Och, dinna ask such a question.”
Was he supposed to say something romantic, perhaps something poetic? But only one thing came to mind, and he knew she wouldn’t like it. She stared at him, giving him that look, and he knew he had to give her an answer. She’d understood the meaning in the charm he’d given her earlier today. He hoped she would understand his response to her question, for one thing had always stood out for him when reading The Book of Love. The chapters dealt with sensations, the power of the five senses. His sense had always been taste.
A hunger for the love he’d been deprived of as a child.
A hunger for food, because he was a big ox even as a boy and didn’t get that way by being shy around food.
A hunger for Penelope because no one and nothing tasted sweeter than this girl.
Indeed, his was the sense of taste.
No one satisfied it better than Penelope. “How much do I love ye? I love ye more than a sausage patty.”
There, he’d said it.
He braced himself, prepared to be kicked out of bed.
Instead, she snuggled closer. “Thank you, Thad. I’m flattered.”
“Ye are?” Indeed, this angel understood him.
“Yes, my love.” She leaned her body over his and gave him a kiss on the lips.
He loved the way her auburn hair spilled over her bare shoulders and onto his chest. He loved the feel of her soft lips against his mouth. And the softness of her body as she rested it against him. All of her was soft and beautiful. Soft and warm and pink. “How much do ye love me?”
“That’s easy, Thad.” She lay atop him now, her breasts pillowed against his chest. “I love you to the depths of my soul.”
He rolled her under him, shifting their positions in one swift move. “Och, lass. That’s a good answer. Much better than mine.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “Yours was perfect. It was you. Will you make love to me a second time?”
“I’m at yer service, lass. As many times as ye wish.”
Please enjoy an excerpt from How to Turn a Frog into a Prince by Bree Wolf.
Prologue
Boston, Spring 1812 (or a variation thereof)
Nathanial Caswell, younger brother to the Earl of Pembroke by no more than a few minutes, stood in his study, hands linked behind his back and his eyes directed out the window. His gaze moved over the busy street running by the proud townhouse he’d always called home, touching upon familiar sights.
People moved up and down the street, heading to their places of work or to the market. Women walked in small groups, chatting happily as men drew their hats, offering a bow, a smile on their lips. Children raced down the sidewalk, their faces aglow.
Everything looked as it always had.
In truth, nothing had changed, and yet, the world was no longer the same.
Not to Nathanial.
With a deep sigh, Nathanial turned from the window and sat down at his father’s old desk. A part of him wished that his parents were still here as he still longed for their comfort, their advice. Always had he turned to them whenever the world had made him stumble…
…and always had they caught him.
Each and every time.
As parents were wont to do.
Another part of Nathanial, however, felt great shame at the thought of his parents seeing him in such a desolate state, knowing what he had done, what he had not seen coming, what he had been unable to prevent.
In his mind’s eye, Nathanial could still see his father’s ring. It had been a thin gold band with a sparkling emerald in its center, flanked by two smaller diamonds. All his life, Nathanial had seen it upon his mother’s finger, a symbol of their love. Upon her passing, their father had given it to his twin sons for safekeeping to be passed on to the next generation.
Nathanial sighed. If only he hadn’t.
Many years ago, on the day their father had left England behind and traveled to America, his own mother, Nathanial’s and Zachary’s grandmother, had given the ring to him as a farewell gift. Often had their father spoken of his mother, tears in her eyes as she had embraced him for the last time. Often had Nathanial wondered about the grandmother he had never met and now never would. Often had he pictured his father’s aristocratic family an ocean away.
A family who had told him he would fail and come crawling back within the year.
As t
he second son, Nathanial’s father had broken with tradition and sought to make his own way in the world. He had always been fascinated by machines and new inventions, intrigued by how they could serve to facilitate people’s lives. He’d come to Boston and worked hard to build something for himself.
And he had.
Today, Caswell Iron Furnace was a flourishing company with connections up and down the entire east coast. It was his father’s legacy, and Nathanial had always worked hard to make him proud.
If only I hadn’t been such a fool.
Hanging his head, Nathanial let his gaze sweep over the empty parchment in front of him. The thought of sharing his greatest shame with his brother, the new Earl of Pembroke after their uncle had died without an heir, broke his heart and brought with it a sense of deepest mortification. He had failed them.
He had failed them all.
Inhaling a deep breath, Nathanial reached for the quill, gently setting the tip to the soft parchment. His thoughts ran rampant, but he knew he needed to focus. His brother deserved to know. He was the only one who might be able to retrieve their father’s ring.
Dearest Zachary,
In all likelihood, you opened this letter, expecting to read details with regard to my upcoming nuptials. Unfortunately, quite the opposite is the case, and I apologize for placing this burden upon your shoulders. I wish I could share with you good news, but life will not have it so.
Nathanial’s hand tensed on the delicate quill as his thoughts strayed to his former fiancée, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. They had known each other for many years as her father owned another equally successful iron furnace company down the coast. Always had the two families been close, no sense of competition between them, but rather the idea of one day uniting the two companies.
It had seemed like Fate herself had spoken when Nathanial and Abigail had lost their hearts to one another, the future shining more brightly than they had ever thought possible.
Perhaps too brightly.
Gritting his teeth, Nathanial turned his attention back to the words on the page, determined to finish this painful letter today and not prolong the misery it brought him to another.
Words cannot express the sorrow and shame that now live in my chest. I’d thought Abigail a different woman, indeed. I’d thought her heart mine, mine alone. Unfortunately, it seems I was thoroughly mistaken.
As I would make a request of you, dear brother, you deserve to know the fullness of this devastating affair.
A few weeks past, an English lord came to Boston and was paraded around society with the utmost delight. He possessed a charming smile as well as pleasing manners, but as has become clear now also a black soul.
As far as I was able to deduce, he flattered Abigail, complimented her and whispered to her of marriage and taking her back to England to be his lady. I know now that Abigail was not the only woman he said these words to; neither was she the only one who believed them.
This man, who goes by the name of Lord Mortimer, asked for a token of her affection and, to my great shame and utter sadness, Abigail offered him the ring I’d given her.
Father’s ring.
Then she severed all ties with me, certain to be an English lady before the year was out. However, as far as I was able to ascertain, Lord Mortimer left Boston not three months past—without Abigail or any of the other young women he had courted.
Shame is now my constant companion, for the thought of Father’s ring in that man’s possession turns my stomach and chills my blood. Please, Brother, if possible, do what you can to retrieve it. Not for me, for I do not believe I shall attempt to open my heart to another ever again. Nor do I believe I deserve to have Father’s ring returned to me.
But you do.
Retrieve it and offer it to the woman of your choice. I pray it will be a wiser one than my own.
Your brother,
Nathanial
Leaning back in his father’s old chair, Nathanial felt fatigued. His heart was hammering as though he’d spent his day working in the iron furnace, familiarizing himself with each step of the production process as his father had taught him. Still, there was no sense of pride mingling with the physical exhaustion he knew well.
Instead, the by now familiar bitterness lingered upon every thought, especially those that could not help but turn to the woman who’d broken his heart in the worst possible way.
How had this happened?
Always had Abigail seemed like the sun to him, her golden tresses aglow with light and brilliance. Her radiant smile had often threatened to bring him to his knees, and he remembered well the way her eyes had misted when he’d presented her with his father’s ring and asked for her hand. A deep smile had come to her lovely face, and she’d thrown herself into his arms with a joyful sob escaping her lips.
They’d been happy, had they not?
How could he have been so mistaken? How could he have not seen that her heart had not belonged to him? Not truly, at least. Had he merely been a consolation prize? Had her father pressured her into accepting his hand?
After Lord Mortimer had returned to England without making good on any of his promises, Mr. Spencer, Abigail’s father, had paid Nathanial a visit. He’d apologized on his daughter’s behalf and assured him that all had merely been a mistake. He had wanted for their nuptials to go ahead as planned.
Nathanial had refused.
Although his heart still longed for Abigail, he clung almost stubbornly to that small sliver of pride he had left. He had demanded the return of his father’s ring, only to learn how deeply Abigail had betrayed him.
Shocked beyond anything he had ever thought possible, Nathanial had hardened his heart against her, now forced to face the humiliation of admitting his error in judgment to his brother. What would Zach think of him? No doubt, he’d be disappointed, and he had every right to be. Would he ever forgive him?
Nathanial could only hope that Zach would somehow manage to retrieve their father’s ring. If not, Nathanial knew he would never forgive himself. Not that he deserved forgiveness for his failure. But at least he’d learned his lesson.
Never would he dare trust a woman again.
Never.
Little did he know that near Kingston, Jamaica, his future wife was at this very moment on the brink of losing the only family she had left and would soon find her way to London, England…
…and to him.
Get How to Turn a Frog into a Prince by Bree Wolf now in eBook or in paperback!
Also by Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl Of Hearts
If You Wished For Me
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
BOOK OF LOVE SERIES
The Look of Love
The Touch of Love
The Taste of Love
The Song of Love
The Scent of Love
The Kiss of Love
The Chance of Love
The Gift of Love
The Heart of Love
The Hope of Love (novella)
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
Fortune’s Dragon
Earl of Kinross
Pearls of Fire*
(*also in Pirates of Britannia series)
Aislin
Gennalyn
DeWOLFE PACK ANGELS SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
About the Author
Meara Platt is an award winning, USA TODAY bestselling author and an Amazon UK All-Star. Her fav
orite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Learn more about the Dark Gardens and Meara’s lighthearted and humorous Regency romances in her Farthingale series and Book of Love series, or her warmhearted Regency romances in her Braydens series by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com.