Time stopped, her pulse chugged slower, and surely her brain had gone on a holiday to the coast. She remembered breathing was very important, but only managed to do it in a stop-and-stutter manner, sucking in a breath, and then forgetting to exhale until it whooshed out in a most unladylike manner.
Lucius dipped his dark head once and then looked up at her with another easy smile as if he was so full of joy, they were easy to spare.
“I did promise to do this properly. Will you marry me, Jessamin?”
Jess opened her mouth, but the only sound she managed was a broken sob. Her heart beat yes, yes, yes in a steady tattoo. It echoed in her mind and she felt it there, just on the tip of her tongue. She nodded her head until she felt pins coming loose. He had to know she wanted this, even if she couldn’t manage to make her stubborn tongue obey.
“Yes.” She heard Alice’s voice behind her. “The word you’re looking for is yes.”
He didn’t glance at Alice but kept his eyes on Jess, pinning her with his gaze, waiting for her words, just hers. For her heart.
“Yes!” It finally came, bubbling up and overflowing, and suddenly she couldn’t stop saying it. “Yes, yes—”
“Our sincerest thanks to Lord Grimsby for your most generous donation of one hundred pounds! Ladies, we’ve reached our goal for today’s fundraiser.”
A cheer went up, then another, and the assembled ladies broke into applause, every pair of female eyes seeking the man who’d made the day a success.
He’d taken Jess in his arms, gathering her close and dipping his head as if to kiss her, but then he pulled back and lifted his fist, unfurling his fingers to reveal a band encrusted with a row of seedling-shaped diamonds and tiny pearls.
“It was my mother’s and all the Dunthorpe countesses before her. Now it’s yours.”
Jess had never owned a piece of jewelry in her life, and never dreamed of a possession that linked her to generations of nobility, but as he lifted the ring to place it on her finger, there were no twinges of doubt, no flash of uncertainty. She would be his countess, his viscountess, whatever title men could bestow. She could bear all the duties and tackle every challenge, as long he was hers and she was his wife.
When he reached for her, Jess went into his arms and fit against him as easily as the first night they’d met. She lifted her face for his kiss and Lucius gathered her so close she could feel every breath as the buttons of his overcoat dragged against her shirtwaist. He lowered his head, mouth hovering over hers a moment, and then pulled back.
Reaching up, he gently removed the wire-rimmed glasses Jess forgot she was wearing and tucked them into his upper coat pocket with care.
“Let’s keep these safe. I’ve grown rather fond of them.”
Lucius kissed her then, in front of every member of the Women’s Union, its donors, and the ladies who’d come to hear Alice and others speak. Someone coughed, one woman sighed, and then a few more clapped and giggled. Jess wasn’t sure if she was behaving very much like a freethinking woman or scandalizing every female in the room. She only knew she loved the man whose mouth moved over hers in a familiar dance of love and desire, and she leaned into him, letting him take her weight, allowing the comfort of his embrace to soothe away the pain of their separation. He reached up to caress a strand of her hair that had fallen loose and then rested his hand on her neck, his warm palm pressing against the frantic beat of her pulse.
“We promised never to part.” Jess whispered the words. She’d broken their promise, but she wouldn’t allow doubt and fear to defeat her again. “We’ll keep that vow.” And all the vows that would come after.
Leaning in, Lucius rested his forehead against hers. “Promise.” And in that word, she knew that he was not just renewing all the promises they’d made by firelight, whispered words and solemn vows. With that word, he was assuring her that their future itself would be filled with promise.
Epilogue
AFTER WHAT THE gossip rags referred to as an o’er-hasty marriage in London, Lucius and Jess returned to Hartwell and began planning repairs that would be undertaken with proceeds from the sale of several acres near the village. Lucius’s father’s rooms were to be tackled first with the dowry money Aunt Augusta had provided for Jessamin.
Augusta extended her stay at Hartwell, and though Jessamin was no longer her lady’s companion, she continued to read to Augusta in the afternoons, and on some days her audience grew by one more. Maxim occasionally confused her with the American his son was supposed to marry, but more often he came to listen to her read to Augusta, though he preferred adventurous tales to the poetry his sister favored.
The Christmas holiday was to mark Lucius and Jess’s first dinner hosted as man and wife. They’d invited a small group of friends, including Mr. Wellesley and Annabel Benson, and Jess convinced Alice McGregor to take the train up from London. All of the loved ones who’d championed their union and were most pleased by their happiness would spend their holiday at Hartwell.
“But Christmas isn’t for days, and I’ve already received far too many wedding presents.”
Lucius smiled, raking Jess with a smoldering gaze. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, make love to her until she only had the breath to whimper his name. But it was time to show her the books. He should have done it months ago.
“Yes, I know. Now come with me.”
One of the dogs followed them. He’d become attached to Jess, so much so that he was content to abandon his twin for hours at a time.
“Castor, careful my husband doesn’t trip over you.”
Lucius had come dangerously close on more than one occasion, as the pug had a terrible habit of melding into the train of Jessamin’s skirt.
“You can tell them apart?”
“Of course.”
He suspected it was a spot of brown fur among the beige or the curl of one of their ears, but he’d yet to discern it.
Noting his studious examination of the dog as Castor stared up at him impatiently, Jessamin grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”
Lucius led her down the hall, past his rooms and the suites staff were preparing for their guests, to a door near the end. The room had been used as a catch-all for broken furniture in need of repair, old estate ledgers, and the family’s outmoded or out-of-season clothing. Now it also included crates full of books Lucius hoped Jessamin would be pleased to see.
“We have plenty of rooms. This is used for storage. Do we need it for the guests?”
She was already unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves as if he was going to ask her to help him clear out the family’s discard room.
He reached for her arm to stop her, and then stroked his fingers along the inside of her wrist, holding back a moment before turning the knob and opening the door.
Doubt niggled at his mind. He’d purchased the books months before and considered giving them to her every time he’d had the agonizing notion of sending her back to London. Would she be angry that he’d kept them from her?
She had his aunt’s uncanny ability to divine his thoughts.
Reaching up, she smoothed the lines furrowed in his brow. “What is it, love?”
“I have something to show you.”
Jess seemed to read the seriousness in his tone and her mouth went tight, concern dimming her eyes.
He didn’t want that. He had to show her.
The moment he opened the door she grinned, though it was impossible to make out anything in the darkened room.
“It smells like a bookshop.” She grasped his arm, squeezing tight and then tugging like an excited child. “Do you have books up here?”
In the short time they’d been married, Jess had already made more use of Hartwell’s library than Lucius or any of his siblings had. Only his mother had loved the estate’s library as Jess did.
“Yes, many books.”
He went to the wall and turned up the gas, lighting up the crowded space.
Jess lifted both hands to he
r mouth, one clasped over the other, and her green eyes went wide above her fingers.
Lucius waited, clenching his fists, balanced on tenterhooks, praying he hadn’t caused her pain.
Then she was in his arms. “Oh, Lucius.”
He buried his face in her neck, soothed by her violet scent, at home in the comfort of her embrace.
When she pulled back, she beamed at him before turning to approach one of the open crates. She reached inside and lifted two volumes, sliding her fingers over them gently, worshipfully, tracing the embossed elements on the cover, stroking the spine.
“Mr. Briggs planned to auction them. I offered for them first.” He shrugged as he spoke, attempting to keep his tone cool and emotionless. At the unpleasant pull of his coat across his shoulders, he realized he’d never shrugged in his life. At least not on purpose.
“But why bring them here?”
Because they were some part of you I could have.
“I don’t understand.” She sounded dazed.
“Neither do I, to be honest.”
Nothing about transporting her books from London to Berkshire made sense. He’d simply given in to an impulse, as he’d done every time he’d touched and kissed her. It didn’t bode well for his reputation as cool, calculated Lord Grim, and he was pleased at the prospect of discarding the moniker once and for all.
“Before the day I met you, I would have sworn that I don’t have an impulsive bone in my body. But you . . . you seem to have found it, and given it free rein.”
“You bought all of my books?” Despite the evidence before her, her voice hadn’t lost its incredulous tone.
“Yes, every single one of them.”
“And you brought them here?” She pointed down to the ground at her feet, but he knew she meant to Berkshire, to Hartwell. Though she clutched a book to her chest, he wondered how long it would take her to feel it, the tangible evidence of his impulsivity, and believe it.
“Yes. As you see. They’re all here.”
He gestured toward the books around them, spilling from crates and stacked in piles. He shook away the discomfort that disorder always inspired in him, attempted to embrace the clutter that made her happy, and focused on the woman who made him happy, staring at him, eyes still wide in wonder.
“But you didn’t know if you’d ever see me again. Did you?”
“No. I knew my aunt was concerned about your situation. I thought she might offer you money or a position, but I never dreamed it would be in her own household. I never dreamed she would bring you here.”
He didn’t like to think of what his future might have been if she hadn’t.
“I’m glad she did.”
There was no mistaking the thrill she took in examining the books. A kind of light had come into her eyes and a glow lit her skin. It was a look he’d only glimpsed when he’d find her in the library. Something about books brought her more fully alive, and he felt like an ogre for having kept them from her an hour, let alone months.
“Perhaps I should have given them to you sooner. But I couldn’t bear the notion of you leaving. I should have given you that choice. I would never wish to trap you here.”
The words were bitter on his tongue. And bitter memories sprang up too, all the misery his father had caused his mother when he’d tried to tether her to him and Hartwell.
The look of awe and delight slipped from her face and she whirled on him, two books clutched in her hands.
“I did leave, but that was to do with my own fears. These books wouldn’t have made me go or stay.”
She approached him, reaching a hand out and tucking it into his waistcoat, pressing it over his heart.
“Do you still think I’m going to leave?” She laid the books aside and bit her lip, looking up at him with enough love and tenderness to reassure any man.
He shook his head. He trusted their bond. Trusted in her love. “No, but I would like it very much if we are never apart again.”
He reached for her, pulling her in close, filling his hands with the curve of her hips as she reached up to grasp his lapels.
“Yes. Me too. Didn’t we make that our vow? I did readily agree to it.”
He kissed her, a soft brush of his mouth on hers. When he pulled back, she turned to trail her gaze over the piles of her books.
He couldn’t resist asking, “Do you ever miss your shop, Jessamin?”
She looked at him, a sly twinkle in her green eyes.
“Can I tell you a very great secret? An awful truth about me.”
Lucius assumed as mock-serious tone.
“Yes, but I think you should have done it before I married you.”
Her low voice went whispery soft, as if she truly was relating a terrible secret.
“I never felt that it was my shop. I never embraced it fully. It was my father’s shop, what he wanted. And I so wanted to please him, especially after Mother died. I know it’s not true, but when I was a girl, I thought I was the only thing he had to make him happy. Me and the shop. He made me promise I would care for it, that I would keep it going. On his deathbed, he asked that of me. I couldn’t say no. I didn’t have a choice.”
She turned her gaze toward the crates of books and deflated on a sigh.
“When Mr. Briggs wouldn’t take my payment, and I knew the shop was closed and it was over . . . I couldn’t admit it to myself, but I felt relief. A lightness, as if a weight had been lifted. And I felt guilty for that relief, but not guilty enough to want to go back and recreate a bookshop that I never truly wanted.”
Tipping her head, a lighter a lilt in her voice, she nodded and said, “I do love books, but I have no desire to be a bookshop owner.”
Lucius drew her body against his, and she returned her attention to him with a grin full of promise.
“But you will be the lady of Hartwell? I believe you have agreed to that.”
Her grin bloomed into a smile, a beautiful, easy expression of joy that lit up the room and sent spirals of warmth through Lucius’s chest.
“Yes.”
He ducked his head, needing to see her eye to eye.
“And you’ll be my wife. I think perhaps you’ve agreed to that too.”
She giggled, a deliciously low, seductive sound that drew an answering rumble from his throat.
“Yes.”
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Christy Carlyle’s next breathtaking Accidental Heirs novel,
ONE TEMPTING PROPOSAL
Becoming engaged? Simple. Resisting temptation? Impossible.
Sebastian Fennick, the newest Duke of Wrexford, prefers the straightforwardness of mathematics to romantic nonsense. When he meets Lady Katherine Adderly at the first ball of the season, he finds her as alluring as she is disagreeable. His title may now require him to marry, but Sebastian can’t think of anyone less fit to be his wife, even if he can’t get her out of his mind.
After five seasons of snubbing suitors and making small talk, Lady Kitty has seen all the ton has to offer . . . and she’s not impressed. But when Kitty’s overbearing father demands she must marry before her beloved younger sister can, she proposes a plan to the handsome duke. Kitty’s schemes always seem to backfire, but she knows this one can’t go wrong. After all, she’s not the least bit tempted by Sebastian, is she?
Available November 2015
About the Author
Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Christy Carlyle
Coming Soon:
One Tempting Proposal
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DESIRE ME MORE
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MAKE ME
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An Excerpt from
RIGHT WRONG GUY
A Brightwater Novel
by Lia Riley
Bad boy wrangler Archer Kane lives fast and loose. Words like responsibility and commitment send him running in the opposite direction. Until a wild Vegas weekend puts him on a collision course with Eden Bankcroft-Kew, a New York heiress running away from her blackmailing fiancé . . . the morning of her wedding.
“Archer?” Eden stared in the motel bathroom mirror, her reflection a study in horror. “Please tell me this is a practical joke.”
“We’re in the middle of Nevada, sweetheart. There’s no Madison Avenue swank in these parts.” Archer didn’t bother to keep amusement from his answering yell through the closed door. “The gas station only sold a few things. Trust me, those clothes were the best of the bunch.”
After he got out of the shower, a very long shower which afforded her far too much time for contemplating him in a cloud of thick steam, running a bar of soap over cut v-lines, he announced that he would find her something suitable to wear. She couldn’t cross state lines wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, and while the wedding dress worked in a pinch, it was still damp. Besides, her stomach lurched at the idea of sliding back into satin and lace.
She’d never be able to don a wedding dress and not think of the Reggie debacle. She couldn’t even entirely blame him, her subconscious had been sending out warning flares for months. She’d once been considered a smart woman, graduated from NYU with a 4.0 in Art History. So how could she have been so dumb?
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