She shook her head. He smiled, bringing his lips to hers once more, kissing her gently. “I love you, August,” he said once he broke away a few moments later, his fingertips still wrapped around her chin. “I know it took me a while to say so, but I’m not so stubborn that I can’t admit it now. It’s as clear as day that I do, even if it scares me.”
August grinned, tears now pricking her eyes as well. “You love me? Truly?”
Brooks nodded. “Truly. And do you still love me?”
She pulled him onto the same step as her, then wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. Leaning her head against his firm chest, she closed her eyes. As she listened for his heartbeat, she realized this man now belonged to her—body and soul. August sighed deeply.
“Still? I am afraid I will always love you, Samuel Brooks, even if you hurt me. Is that all right?”
He kissed the top of her head. “It’s more than all right, but I will never hurt you—not purposefully, anyway.” She chuckled against his chest. “I promise.”
* * *
Later that night, while they laid in bed, Brooks turned to August. He sighed, and she looked at him, furrowing her brow with concern. “What is it?” she asked.
“I have not told you what happened to my sister Lucy yet.”
August’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “You do not have to tell me tonight. Tell me when you are ready.”
But Brooks had to tell her. If they were to be husband and wife, there could be no secrets between them. So he explained everything. August listened carefully and took him into her arms when he finished. “It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, shaking her head. “Or Swinton’s. You should forgive him—and yourself.”
Brooks grunted. “Why should you care if I forgive Swinton?”
“He was your friend, wasn’t he? We all need a friend, Brooks.”
He didn’t answer. As they laid close together, Brooks took his palm and ran it over her bare stomach. He worried about what would happen if August fell pregnant. She ran her fingers through his hair, slightly laughing as she did. He looked at her, confused.
“You are already worrying about me, aren’t you?” she asked. Brooks wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that she read his mind or that she was teasing him. He glared at her.
“It’s a husband’s right to worry about his wife.”
She arched her brow. “Is that so? Well, I do not like to worry—not too much, anyway. I do not know what the future holds, and I do not think fretting over it will do us much good.”
He swung his leg over her hip and pulled himself on top of her. “Is that so?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her neck. She nodded, closing her eyes and smiling as he trailed a line of kisses down her chest. “Do you know how I like to prevent myself from worrying?”
“How?” August asked. He found one rosy nipple, and she gasped as he circled the point with his tongue before latching onto it with his soft lips. He gently sucked as his hand drifted downward, deftly pleasuring her with his fingers.
He positioned himself just above her, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “I like to fuck you,” he whispered, sliding himself inside her welcoming body. She moaned as he filled her, her intimate muscles squeezing his length with each thrust. He groaned, eventually pulling out of her wet heat.
“What are you doing?” she asked. But Brooks didn’t answer, standing up beside the bed, pulling August by the hips toward him. She yelped, and Brooks chuckled to himself, positioning her so that she was facing away from him, her pretty bottom on full display. He kneaded her soft, round flesh, bringing his cock to her slick entrance and mounting her once more.
August arched her back and threw back her head, and he reached around to her front, taking her breasts into his hands and twisting her nipples until they were two erect points. Her breathing became erratic, and he knew she was close to finishing. He reached between her thighs, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. She whimpered his name as her intimate muscles rapidly clenched and unclenched his cock. He buried his face against her soft hair and neck as she came. “I love you, August. I love you so much.”
He followed her with a climax of his own not long after. When they climbed back into bed together, they were slick with sweat. August giggled to herself. “You were right,” she said, turning to him and smiling. “I don’t think I am worrying about a single thing right now.”
“And I’ll make sure you never do,” he said, kissing the corner of her upturned mouth before they drifted off to sleep together.
Epilogue
Brooks and Swinton did eventually reconcile, and when Christmas came, Brooks and August piled into a post chaise headed for Hart House in Surrey. Mrs. Brooks joined them, much to August’s chagrin. Now that she was three months pregnant, her mother-in-law constantly fretted over her, always asking if she was comfortable or needed anything.
“I wish she wouldn’t worry about me so much,” August told Brooks privately while stopping for a change of horses at a posting inn. “I am not as fragile as she thinks.”
Her husband’s mouth twitched, and she glared at him, knowing he was about to make an inappropriate joke. “Perhaps she does not know our technique for worrying less. Do you think I should tell her?”
August playfully hit him on the chest. “You are incorrigible,” she said. But then she thoughtfully tilted her head to the side. “However, maybe you have a point. Shall we play matchmaker for your mother next season?”
Brooks arched his brow. “I like the way you think, Mrs. Brooks. Let’s find my mother a wealthy man, one that will take her far away from Dover Street.”
August giggled.
“I heard that.”
August jumped at the sound of the female voice. She smiled at her mother-in-law over her husband’s shoulder. “We were only teasing, Mama.”
Mrs. Brooks shook her head in reproach, turning back toward the carriage. August and Brooks exchanged mischievous looks, then joined her, continuing their journey to Hart House. Swinton was there to greet them when they arrived, as were Lady Ramsbury and Rosamund, who remained in the dowager duchess’s care.
The last August had heard, Lady Bolton had been living with family friends. As for Charles, he never extended an invitation to Rosamund to go to Linfield Hall for Christmas. Truthfully, no one heard much of Charles over the past few months. He seemed content to hole himself away at Linfield with only his shadow for company.
Lady Sarah, Mr. Talbot, and their dog Jasper arrived not long after them, and as they sat around the dinner table that evening, August ran her palm over her swelling belly. She smiled, looking around at the room and happily realizing her babe would have a family from the very beginning.
August and Brooks stayed in the same room as their honeymoon, except when he woke early the next day, he gently shook his wife awake this time. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking as her vision came into focus. “What is it?” she asked.
“Will you come on a walk with me? I want to show you something.”
August looked out the window, finding it was still almost dark behind the curtains. She turned back toward her husband. “Now?”
Her husband nodded. August climbed out of bed and changed into a warm walking dress and pelisse. She followed Brooks out into the hall, taking the narrow stairs to the service entrance at the back of the house together. They walked through the garden, where the freezing temperatures had already killed most of that year’s flowers. August shivered, and Brooks pulled her close, guiding her through the gate that led to the meadow behind the house. The sun began to peek over the horizon.
“Once the sun rises, it’ll be warmer,” Brooks reassured her. She nodded, and they went to the end of the meadow, where the road into the nearest village was. They followed it, and August could just make out a stone church in the distance, surrounded by a copse of oak trees. The churchyard was closed
off by a low stone wall.
August was surprised when Brooks walked toward the gate of the churchyard. He opened it, going inside. She quietly followed him down a line of gravestones until he stopped at one in particular.
LUCY SWINTON
WIFE,
DAUGHTER,
AND SISTER.
1792 – 1815
“The last time I was here was our honeymoon,” Brooks told her. She reached for his hand, standing beside him and quietly looking at his sister’s grave with him. “I woke early the first morning and walked to see her.” Brooks looked at her, appearing remorseful. “I should have taken you with me.”
August glanced upwards, smiling at him. “Do not fret, darling. You took me this time. That’s all that matters.” She ran her hand over her stomach, leaning her head against her husband’s shoulder. “Lucy would be a pretty name for a baby girl, wouldn’t it?”
Brooks nodded. They stood there in silence, the three of them and Lucy, while the rest of the world slept. “I wish I could have met her,” she murmured against his coat sleeve. He turned and looked at her, hooking his finger underneath her chin and tilting her head to face him.
“How do you do it?” he asked, his blue eyes wildly searching hers. August knitted her brows together, confused.
“How do I do what?”
“Make me love you more every single day.”
August laughed slightly. “Although you call me stubborn all the time, I do consider myself rather easy to love.”
“Is that so?” he asked, bending his head so that his lips softly grazed hers. August pulled away, smiling.
“Not in front of your sister,” she teased.
Brooks loudly laughed, and August nervously looked back at the church, afraid the vicar might hear them. “Then let me take you back to bed. I believe we still have an hour or two before breakfast.”
August cast a sidelong glance toward Lucy’s headstone. “I should like to speak to your sister alone first.” Her husband arched his brow. “Could you go stand over there?” She pointed toward the gate of the churchyard. Brooks half smiled at her, thinking she was joking, but August narrowed her eyes. “I am serious.”
Brooks sighed. “If you insist.”
She watched Brooks walk toward the gate of the churchyard, then turned back to the headstone. She felt a little silly, but there were certain things she wanted to say aloud. “I’m sorry I read your diary,” she said softly. “I only wanted…”
August pursed her lips, unsure of what she was even trying to do. She looked at Brooks, who smiled at her from across the yard, before turning back to face Lucy’s headstone. “I read what you wrote. You always said that you worried about him, even when you were ill. I wanted to make sure you knew he’s better now, and I will always look out for him. I promise.”
She turned away, walking toward Brooks at the entrance of the churchyard. She brushed away an errant tear forming in her eye. “Is everything all right?” he asked, reaching for her hand. She happily took it.
“Everything is perfect.”
And so it was.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank everyone who helped this process along, especially Melinda and Crystal, as well as Leni Kauffman, who illustrated and designed Lady August’s fabulous cover. I would also like to thank my partner, Chris, as well as my family, friends, and my newfound fans from around the world, whose kind messages motivated me when I wanted to give up. Listening to Taylor Swift and Carly Rae Jepsen on repeat helped as well, though I doubt they’ll ever read this. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I named August after the best song off Folklore.
As it turns out, writing your second book is far more difficult than writing your first book, but I’m so glad Lady August is finally out in the world, ready for readers to enjoy it. Brooks and August are two of the most special characters I’ve ever written about, as they both contain little pieces of me and my life experience. I hope you love them as much as I do.
About the Author
Becky Michaels is a historical romance author and self-proclaimed Anglophile. After graduating from Boston University with a degree in English, she reluctantly decided to get a day job but never stopped writing—or dreaming. THE LAND STEWARD’S DAUGHTER, a Regency romance set in 1815 England, is her debut novel. Despite the cold winters and high rent, she still lives in the Boston area with her boyfriend and cat.
Also by Becky Michaels
The Land Steward’s Daughter
Lady August Page 27