Fancy that. Charlotte at a loss for words.
He shook his head as he went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I hate to remind you of this, but you already had a reputation when I met you. I am not some sort of martyr to the Cause of Charlotte.”
“Then why?” she asked. It sounded like a genuine question, as though she really had no clue as to the answer.
David took a deep breath. “Because I love you.”
She glanced away, as though she didn’t believe him. Again.
“Charlotte, look at me.”
She met his gaze again, all sorts of emotion brimming in her earth-brown eyes: confusion, sadness, and worry, but also hope and … love?
“I have never felt this way with any other woman before. I said you undo me, and that is true. You undo me emotionally, and physically, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together, answering your questions, laughing with you, encouraging you to dress as outrageously as you please. I want to be with you, Charlotte, and I don’t care how useless I am to anyone—as long as I am useful to you.”
“But what about India?”
“India.” He drew a length of fabric from his pocket and held it up to her as he knelt in front of her. “This is a sample of fabric from a sari, the type of gown ladies wear in India. I thought you might like to have it.”
She took it from him, her eyes widening as she looked at the array of colors and patterns on the cloth.
“I know that I might not be able to return to precisely what I was doing before, but I realized when I was thinking about it that I hadn’t even asked what you wanted to do for the future. I didn’t consult you when I announced our betrothal, I didn’t ask you to marry me properly, and I didn’t ask your opinion about the possibility of returning to India with me.” He took her hand. “I am supposed to be clever with words, and have some skill in persuading people to do what I wish, but with you”—he shook his head again—“I just lose myself.”
“Because I … I undo you?”
He nodded. “Would you mind if I stood up? My knees are aching, and my neck is getting a crick in it from trying to look at you.”
She smiled and bit her lip, as though trying to contain her laughter. “Of course not.” She helped him stand up and didn’t protest when he took her into his arms.
It had only been a day, but he’d already missed her so much. He drew her tight into him and kissed the top of her head. “Let me try better this time. For once.” He cleared his throat. “Charlotte, Lady Charlotte, I love you. I love you so much it frightens me. I want to be with you, no matter where we end up, no matter what we end up doing. More than useful, you make me feel valued for more than what I can do for people. More than what I look like. You challenge me to be a better man, and I want to be challenged by you every day. So, will you marry me?”
He felt her tremble in his arms, and his breath caught. She still might say no. He knew she liked him, but she hadn’t ever mentioned feeling anything more.
And then, just when he was about to blurt something out that would be more like his usual gauche-mat self, she nodded against his chest. “Yes, David. I love you, too. I love you so much, I didn’t want to be the one who ruined your life.”
He chuckled, and pulled her closer. “You will not, I promise.”
Then she pulled away, just enough so she could tilt her head up. Not, this time, with a question to ask, but because she wanted to kiss him.
His answer was to press his mouth against hers.
Epilogue
Charlotte leaned her head back against the chair, loving how the hot sun seemed to permeate her skin all the way down to her bones.
At first, her uncle hadn’t believed her when she’d told him she wanted, truly wanted, to go to India. He’d called a family meeting, even summoning her brother, Christian, from whichever library he’d been in, and dragging her father away from his card games to come share his opinion.
It did not sit well with him at all that the other males in her family were all for Charlotte having an adventure. Then he’d been livid at David for having the audacity to actually fall in love with Charlotte, but eventually he’d listened to both of them—well, primarily David, as he was far better at persuasion than she was—and had agreed to let David return to work, to India, where he could be useful. David wasn’t doing precisely the same thing as before, but it was equally as engaging and didn’t leave him too exhausted at the end of the night to work for her. She smirked as she thought about it.
Sarah had come also, which made Gotam happy. Sarah had met his family already, and it was only a matter of time before they were married, as well. They just had to persuade his grandmother, who was naturally suspicious of the foreigner.
“A letter for you.” David dropped it on the small table next to her, then sat down in the chair opposite. The patio—really an extension of the main house—was where she spent most of her time when David was working. Her previously pale skin had turned darker in the sun, and David seemed to like how she looked, especially when he got to count all of her freckles.
Counting freckles was their new euphemism. On the boat, they had said they needed to rig the mainsail; when they first arrived in India, they frequently found themselves having to retire to adjust Charlotte’s sari.
She got tired of saying the words “making love,” since she seemed to be saying it a tremendous amount.
Charlotte picked the letter up, and smiled when she recognized Anne’s handwriting. She slit it open with the end of her teaspoon and shook out the pages.
Her smile broadened as she read. “Listen to this: Anne’s brother, Charles, somehow accidentally compromised Lady Radnor, so now they’ve had to get married.”
“They deserve each other,” David commented dryly.
“And Anne writes that she and Mr. Smeldley have discovered they really do share an interest in art, only Anne then adds that I shouldn’t read anything into it, since she and the gentleman are just exploring the subject together.”
“In other words, she has questions?” David shook his head. “We know where that ends up.”
“Hush, you. She also writes that Mr. Goddard found someone to marry him, so she won’t have to endure his attentions any longer. Goodness, I didn’t know he had fastened on her!”
“Good thing you didn’t know, or you would have insisted we return to England to stop it.”
“You’re right. That’s probably why she didn’t tell me about it.” And Emma had asked Anne to continue helping write the column, which sounded like great fun. But she didn’t want David to start thinking about what kind of trouble that could lead to.
Anne had said yes, but only if Charlotte helped when she returned to London for her brother’s wedding. But she wouldn’t tell David anything about that. If she ran into trouble, she’d just ask Christian. Because if she could write a column on fashion, so could he.
“Does she say if she is coming to visit?”
“She writes that she—let’s see, she says she is asking her mother about it every day, but that since Charles did not get his heiress, her mother is putting more pressure on her to marry someone wealthy.” Charlotte put the letter down in her lap. “Poor Anne. Her mother won’t stop until she gets her daughter married.”
David got up from his chair and walked the short distance to her. He leaned down and cradled her face in his hands. “Marriage isn’t such an awful thing, if you marry the right person.”
“And ask the right questions,” Charlotte added.
“Speaking of which, I do believe you have another freckle. Possibly two. Shall we go count them?” he asked with a wicked grin on his face.
Charlotte felt the stirrings of desire course through her. “That is one question that will never be satisfied.” She got up out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him.
His hands rested at her waist, and his fingers crept up to just under where her sari wrapped around her bosom. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”<
br />
“Have I answered?”
He laughed, and swung her up into his arms, carrying her into the house, into the bedroom, and into his love.
MEGAN FRAMPTON majored in English literature at Barnard College, with a double minor in political science and religion. She worked in the music industry for fifteen years, editing and writing music reviews for a music-industry trade magazine, eventually becoming the editor in chief, and is the community manager for the romance-novel website HeroesandHeartbreakers.com. She likes tall men, gin, the color black, and cocktail rings, not necessarily in that order. Frampton married one of her former interns and lives with him and her son in Brooklyn, New York. Visit her at meganframpton.com, @meganf, or at Facebook.com/meganframptonbooks.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
The holidays are approaching and I’ve so many things to do, don’t you? So why is it all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with a good book? I’ll tell you why, there are so many amazing Loveswept stories on sale this month that all you’ll want to do is read too!! For starters, LOVING THE EARL (11/11) by Sharon Cullen features our hero’s sister from THE NOTORIOUS LADY ANNE (2/11), and OMG ladies, this book is for you! Sharon writes with wit and steam a combination that keeps me reading all night long. Double your historical delight with Samantha Kane’s finale in The Saint’s Devils, DEVIL IN MY ARMS (11/26) – its Hil’s story and what a match he’s made. Then, Loveswept debut, Serena Bell releases, YOURS TO KEEP (11/11), a captivating story of a woman living on the edge—and the man who’s destined to love her (sigh).
And there’s more!
Ruthie Knox releases a series of short stories, Roman Holiday. Over the next weeks look for each installment: CHAINED (11/12) - book one launches the series; followed by, HITCHED (11/19); then, BLINDSIDED (11/26), plus books four and five are right around the corner, ten books in all!!
And, you can’t miss these classics:
Fran Baker’s, THE WIDOW AND THE WILDCATTER, the captivating story of a woman haunted by the ghosts of the past, and a daredevil who promises a future filled with love; Sandra Chastain’s, REBEL IN SILK, about an unconventional beauty who refuses to back down from a challenge—or a handsome loner with a taste for trouble; and Sandra’s classics continue with, TOO HOT TO HANDLE, and, THE SILVER BULLET AFFAIR. Look for favorite Loveswept author Iris Johansen and her re-release of, STAR-SPANGLED BRIDE. Readers have continued to adore Ruth Owen’s Loveswepts including, SORCERER, a sexy tale of an emotionally guarded computer whiz and the princess who makes virtual reality come to vivid life. And, to wrap up the month Jean Stone’s, BIRTHDAY GIRL, and Connie Brockway’s, AS YOU DESIRE, will keep you toasty on those cold winter nights.
Holiday lovers won’t want to skip these contemporary reissues, ROOM AT THE INN by Ruthie Knox, and Molly O’Keefe’s, ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, guaranteed to put you in the holiday spirit.
New this winter is, HEATING UP THE HOLIDAY’S, a fabulous anthology that takes you through the seasons: New York Times bestselling author, Lisa Renee Jones, leads the lineup with, PLAY WITH ME, a Thanksgiving romance; SNOWFALL, by Mary Ann Rivers, will warm you up for Christmas; and knock off your New Years with, MIDIGHT AFFAIR, by Serena Bell – love could not be any more special!
Be swept away with Loveswept, ’tis the season!
Happy Holidays –
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Megan Frampton’s
Baring It All
Chapter 1
“Would you like some lemonade?”
No, I’d rather that you kissed me. “Lemonade would be lovely, thank you.”
Violet watched him stride off in pursuit of her beverage, and she heaved a sigh she hoped wouldn’t shake the chandeliers hanging overhead. She and Christian had been betrothed for a month now, and besides ensuring he danced with her at least twice when they were at the same social events, nothing was different than before he’d proposed.
Even at the moment he’d proposed, he’d had a distant look in his eye. A distant look that in any other man would have meant he was thinking about someone else, but Violet knew he wasn’t. Unless the someone else was some dead philosopher, and she hardly thought Christian would rather marry, much less kiss, one of them.
She’d have thought they would at least have kissed on the occasion of their betrothal. But despite standing at what she presumed was in the correct attitude, all he’d done was mutter, “Well, that’s settled, then,” and strode off to somewhere. Somewhere she—not to mention her lips—was not.
Did he just not want to kiss anyone? No, since his sister—her best friend—had shared some of Christian’s exploits with the female gender over the years, she knew he had an interest in women. He just seemed not to have realized yet that she was a woman.
Despite having proposed.
Why did she have to fall in love with someone so clueless? Someone who didn’t realize that when one asked a female to marry him, that implied some sort of … activity on one’s part?
Clueless Christian.
That had to be it. Their families had known each other for so long, and Christian wasn’t used to seeing Violet as anything more than the girl who was always with his sister. Whom he took for granted as much as he did his sister. That Violet had developed an abiding passion for Christian at the age of ten was something she had been determined just to live with. Until he asked her to marry him.
And all of her hopes had been realized. All of her hopes, that is, except that he would kiss her. Which was when she figured out almost nothing had changed between them after all, despite his having asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. Other than that, nothing.
His family had prodded him into it. Probably by promising they would leave him alone once his marital future was settled.
She could almost hear the conversation: his father pronouncing at the breakfast table, “Son, you have to be married sometime, and it might as well be someone you know. Lady Violet is an excellent choice.”
To which Christian probably mumbled through his toast, “Fine, excellent. Can you pass me that notebook? I think I’ve discovered a shortcut for Pythagoras’s tetractys. Oh, and I’ll take care of that other thing next week.” That “other thing” being asking Violet to marry him.
She was going to have to do something about the situation. She just had no clue what that something was; she did know, however, that she would not marry Christian, no matter how much she loved him, if she hadn’t at least been assured he knew who she was, and how her relative femininity would work with his masculinity.
“Here you are,” Christian said, handing her a glass of lemonade. Already he was squinting off into the distance, as though calculating the circumference of the room, the number of people, and how many more could reasonably fit, allowing for trays of lobster patties.
As always, her breath caught when she looked at him. He was tall, remarkably tall, so tall that when they did kiss, they would probably have to be lying down—a thought that made Violet’s heart flutter—with thick brown hair she longed to run her fingers through. His body was lean, and though he’d gone through a gawky period as he was growing into his limbs, he now possessed an unconscious feline grace. He was an excellent dancer, which was surprising given how little he’d cared to practice when he was learning. Violet knew that firsthand, since she was often at the Jepstows’ house when he’d had his lessons, and she’d been called upon to be his partner.
He’d spent more time explaining Plato’s theory of forms than he had on the steps.
His intelligence was just one of the reasons she loved him—she never had to worry that they would run out of things to talk about—but it was also proving to be an impediment to the whole romantic aspect of marriage that she longed for.
If only there was some way to show him just who she was.
; What Not to Bare
Dear ladies, please know that your columnist has your best interests at heart. It is with great discretion, therefore, that we discuss the sensitive topic of undergarments. Some ladies, it seems, do not pay as strict attention to what to wear under their gowns as they do to their gowns themselves.
A crucial error, my ladies.
A lady’s gown dictates what should be worn underneath, and will look to best advantage when bolstered with the proper wear. Choose what looks best, even if it can’t be seen. If you are unsure, ask a trusted advisor—a sister, a mother, perhaps even a husband—for their opinion.
If it is the latter, however, be aware that perhaps you will not end up going out for the evening after all, but staying in.
Read on for an excerpt from Megan Frampton’s
Hero of My Heart
Chapter 1
Alnwick, 1814
“She’s a virgin, gentlemen. And she’ll be sold to the highest bidder.”
Alasdair raised his head from the worn wooden table, struggling to open his eyelids. He lifted his hand from where it had been dangling by his side and pried his left lid open, propping his head up on his right hand. The words had registered only vaguely, but they were enough to pull him from his miasma.
The man who’d spoken was standing on the largest of the tables in the pub, his loud, checked waistcoat and overoiled hair proclaiming his gentlemanly aspirations. The man bowed, spreading his hands wide and smiling.
“Allow me to introduce myself; my name, fine sirs, is William Mackenzie, and I am in the fortuitous position of offering something very rare, very special to you this evening.” His overdone accent almost disguised his Scottish burr. “If you’ve got the blunt,” Mackenzie added, clearing his throat. The clamor in the pub did not abate. “Gentlemen! If I may have your attention,” the man repeated in an even louder voice.
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