by Claudia Dain
“I still can’t puzzle out why our mothers have been so blissful about the whole thing,” Emeline said, entwined with Kit on their bed, the sheets warm and soft, the morning sunlight casting the room in a golden haze, birdsong surrounding them.
Kit ran his hand up her skin from her hip to her ribs, and back down, and back up, lazily tracing her curves, nuzzling her hair, absorbing her into his very skin, it seemed.
“What could they say?” he said. “Close friends, neighbors, our lives knitted together by a hundred threads. Is your mother going to say to mine that I am not good enough for her daughter? Will my mother say a similar thing to yours? It was an impossible situation for them.”
“How thankful I am for that,” she said, sighing.
She buried her face in his chest, reaching up to run her hands through his long hair, running her fingertips down the planes of his face. His sharply defined aristocratic face.
“You are not sorry you did not marry Raithby?” he said.
She laughed. “Lord Raithby was never mine for the asking.”
“How could you know? You never asked.”
She inched up the length of him, drinking in his scent, the feel of his skin and hair, the rumble of his beautiful voice, and when she was nose to nose with him, when she had his beloved face cupped in her hands, she said, “Why should I want an English lord when a Greek god was mine for the asking?”
Kit kissed her hard, pulling her beneath him, pressing her down into the middle of their bed. “A Greek god, am I?” he said, when he lifted his head, grinning down at her. “Which god, may I ask?”
She pushed him off of her and scooted to the edge of the bed, her hair hanging down her back. Kit had told her just before their wedding that he could not describe her hair, that he did not know the name of its color. After an afternoon lying on a blanket beneath the tree where she had once taken a fall as a child, a fall in which Kit had rescued her, he had proclaimed the color of her hair to be honey in the comb.
Honey in the comb. How she liked that.
He pulled her hair and asked again, “Which god?”
“Is there a Greek god for stupidity? That one,” she said.
He pulled her back into bed by her honey comb hair, kissing her throat, her breasts, her face, her shoulders. At first she laughed. And then she sighed. And then, as always, she moaned.
“Eros,” she said, pulling his face down to hers for a long, slow kiss. “Definitely Eros.”
***
This is a More Courtesan Chronicles novella. See the complete list of Courtesan titles at www.claudiadain.com
To read about Lord Raithby’s story, look for Taming Miss Grey, book two in this series.
Miss Elaine Montford’s romance is told in the novella Chasing Miss Montford.
Much Ado About Dutton is book one in the More Courtesan Chronicles series.
The Red Door Reads ‘Who’s Ben Skrewd?’ Novellas
What do you call eleven books ranging the gamut of romance, from Regency Historical to Contemporary, to Paranormal, Urban Fantasy and beyond, all releasing on April 15, 2014 (tax day!) and each featuring a Red Door and a mysterious figure named Ben Skrewd?
You call it a novella series like no other, all from the fabulous writers at Red Door Reads!
Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness by Deb Marlowe
A Half Moon House Series Novella
Hexed by Andris Bear
A Deadly Sins Novella
Dances with Demons by Lori Handeland
A Phoenix Chronicles Novella
Firebird by Linda Winstead Jones
A Columbyana Novella
In the Stars by Ava Stone
A Regency Encounter Novella
Her Muse, Lord Patrick by Jane Charles
A Muses Novella
Cross Springs In Bloom by Caren Crane
A Cross Springs Novella
The Earl’s Passionate Plot by Susan Gee Heino
Touch of Trouble by Susan Sey
A Blake Brothers Novella
Reagan’s Revenge by Tammy Falkner
A Reed Brothers Novella
Accidentally in Love by Claudia Dain
A More Courtesan Chronicles Novella
You can find them all at http://www.RedDoorReads.com