by Lauren Royal
The thought of lords and ladies as family made her head spin. Or maybe it was his hands slowly rolling her stockings down and off, his fingers tracing delicate paths on her legs. He ran a fingertip along the bottom of one bare foot. It made her toes curl and her breath catch.
Supporting himself on his forearms, he moved over her with a gentle smile. "I promise I won't do anything you don't like."
He smelled divinely male, and he felt warm, and because she believed him, his weight on her was more comforting than frightening. "Anything?"
"Anything. For now, I'll just kiss you." He cradled her cheek with a hand and skimmed his thumb over her lips. "You like kissing, aye?"
"Aye," she breathed. "I mean, yes. Kiss me. Please."
When his mouth claimed hers, she let herself slide into the gentle caress. She trusted him, and he'd said he wouldn't do anything she didn't like.
She definitely liked his kisses.
She still wondered that a man's mouth could be so soft. And when it turned harder, more demanding, she liked that, too. He tasted spicy and sweet, like the wine that had flowed freely at the ball. He nibbled her lips and traced them with his tongue before delving inside to make her mouth burn with fire. When at last he lifted his head, she found herself gasping for air.
Like he'd predicted, her breath was coming heavy.
His lips trailed down to press a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck. "Do you like this, my love?"
"Oh, yes." It was a wonder that a kiss, not even on the mouth, could feel so good. It made her all shivery. Her breathing wasn't getting any calmer.
Between their bodies, his fingers moved to detach the golden stomacher. Beneath it her breasts were laced tightly into the gown's bodice, and he went to work on the bow at the top, then tugged at the laces, and all the while his mouth continued the sensual assault on her sensitive throat.
At last he managed to pull the lacing free. He raised himself and spread the bodice wide, then traced a path with his lips to explore the mounds of her breasts through her flimsy chemise.
"So lovely," he murmured, and his words felt warm through the thin fabric. Clarice's heart skittered, then raced faster, so fast she wondered if he could hear it over the ragged sound of her uncontrolled breathing. He hooked a finger in the chemise's lacy neckline and dragged the material down, fastening his mouth on one rosy peak.
Hot. It felt hot and wet and wickedly wonderful. "Do you like this?" he whispered, his breath ruffling over her sensitized flesh.
In answer, she threaded her hands in his hair and pulled him even closer. Never had she dreamed her breasts would swell and crave a man's touch, a man's lips. Breasts were made to nourish babies, so she hadn't found any use for hers. Until now. Swirling his tongue across her tingling skin, he made his way to her other nipple, suckling it until it puckered in response.
It made her ache deep inside. Like he'd said it would.
When he drew off the gown and chemise, she liked it. When his fingers traced feathery trails all over her body, she liked that, too. When he removed his own clothes, she was surprised to find she liked that very much.
Her hands explored his heated skin, the unfamiliar contours of his muscles, the smooth planes of his back. She'd never voluntarily touched a man before, and touching him gave rise to new feelings, until her body trembled, but not with fear. With need, then, as he'd said it would. She felt like she wanted, yes, needed more from him.
Lud, it was just like he'd said it would be.
"I'm ready," she whispered, then drew a sharp breath, shocked that the words had escaped her lips. Surely she couldn't have meant them, couldn't really want him inside her. She knew what that felt like—it hurt. It would ruin all these new and wondrous sensations.
He stilled and rolled to her side. Lifting her hand from where it clenched his shoulder, he brushed his lips over the knuckles. Dark, unfathomable, magnetic, his gaze held hers. "Nay, you're not ready. But you will be, love."
Relief and disappointment mingled, along with anticipation. Her eyes slid closed when he slipped a hand between her legs and urged them apart. His fingers danced on the delicate flesh of her inner thighs, tantalizing, teasing, and her skin tingled almost unbearably.
"Do you like this?" he asked, and she could only nod her response. "Only what you like, Clarice. I promise."
When his hand brushed higher, she nearly leapt off the bed.
"Hush," he murmured in a soothing tone, taking her mouth in a deep kiss. When she relaxed, he raised his head. "A test, love, to see if you like it. Will you trust me?"
She bit her lip and nodded. Slowly he cupped her with a hand. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded again.
And his hand moved.
Lud, what sweet torture. Teasingly seductive, his fingers felt exquisite. "I like it," she whispered.
With an ease she never would have imagined, he slipped a finger inside, and a gasp escaped her lips. Half shock, half incredible pleasure.
Will had never touched her with his hands, only with his fists.
Aroused nearly beyond bearing, Cam struggled to hold himself in check. Sweet Lord, she was tight. And frightened out of her wits, he was sure. Once more he was gripped with a fierce urge to murder her late husband. But she gave off other signals as well, signals that made his heart swell with hope and tenderness.
She felt like heaven in his embrace. Her body exuded a heady, musky scent of arousal that drove his own desire to a fever pitch. When he moved his hand, she responded with a blissful sigh that touched a tender place in his soul. Her hips began to shift, her sighs coming between broken breaths as he continued to caress her, driving them both to the brink.
"I'm ready," she breathed in a velvet-edged whisper.
"Aye, you're ready." He moved over her, settling himself into the cradle of her thighs. Poised to enter her, he gritted his teeth and paused. "Are you sure, my love?"
Her answer was a simple "Yes," her voice laced with wonder. Her hands came around his back and hugged tight. And he slid home, finding sweet glory in the feel of her taking him into herself. He held there, savoring her heat, until, with a tiny whimper that set his heart to singing, she arched under him.
This, Clarice thought, was the real fairytale come true. They moved together in perfect harmony, a slow, thrilling cadence that made passion radiate from deep within her.
Making love.
It was the perfect—the only—way to describe it.
Then faster they moved, until she couldn't think at all. Until, in a brilliant burst of fiery sensation, she catapulted out of her old world and into a new one, a world brimming with love and shining promise.
Across the room, the last candle sputtered and died. Pressed against him in the darkness, as close as two people could be, she could feel Cameron's heart beat in a rhythm to match her own. She reached for his face and took it between her hands. His cheeks were slightly rough beneath her fingers, just enough to remind her that, incredible though it seemed, she shared her bed with a living, breathing man.
And it was glorious.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you for who you are, and who you've magically made me to be."
"It isn't magic, my love. Or if it is," he mused, his words warm against her lips, making her ache anew for his kiss, "it's a magic we can only find together." Reading her mind, he fit his mouth to hers in a way that made the heat pool in her middle.
A long, melting time later, he lifted his head. "Together," he repeated.
"Together," she whispered back. Never had she imagined that word would apply to her and a man. But from this moment forward, it did.
For a year and a day and forevermore.
BONUS MATERIAL
Author's Note
About the Author
Contest
Books by Lauren Royal
Excerpt from AMBER
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Dear Reader,
Most of the homes in my books are inspired by real places you can visit. Cain
ewood Castle is loosely modeled on Arundel Castle in West Sussex. It has been home to the Dukes of Norfolk and their family, the Fitzalan Howards, since 1243, save for a short period during the Civil War. Although the family still resides there, portions of their magnificent home are open to visitors and more than worth a detour, should you ever find yourself in the area.
To see pictures and learn more about Arundel Castle, please visit my website at www.LaurenRoyal.com, where you can also enter a contest, sign up for my newsletter, and find a recipe for the Stewed Venison that Clarice made for Cameron. If you try the recipe, I hope you'll e-mail me at [email protected] and tell me what you think, because I love to hear from readers!
If you missed Colin and Amy's story, you can find it in Amethyst. Jason and Cait's story is in Emerald. Kendra gets her own story in Amber, the conclusion of my Jewel Trilogy. An how about Ford, you ask? He finds his love in Violet, the first book in my Flower Trilogy, which will arrive wherever ebooks are sold in 2012.
I hope you enjoyed Forevermore—thank you for reading!
Till next time,
LAUREN ROYAL decided to become a writer in the third grade, after winning a "Why My Mother is the Greatest" essay contest, but she spent four years as the CEO of her own jewelry store chain before writing her first book. Since then, Lauren's books have won awards including the Golden Quill and Booklist's Top 10 Romance of the Year.
Lauren lives in southern California with her husband, three children, and one constantly shedding cat. She still thinks her mother is the greatest.
Lauren loves to hear from readers. You can e-mail her at [email protected] or via the "Keep in Touch" section on her website at www.LaurenRoyal.com.
ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN
the pearl necklace that Cameron gives Clarice in this book!*
To enter, visit the contest page on Lauren's website at http://www.LaurenRoyal.com and answer a question to be entered in the monthly drawing.
No purchase necessary. See complete rules on the site.
*Please note: Depending on when you enter, the prize may be another piece of jewelry featured in one of Lauren's books.
ALSO BY LAUREN ROYAL
The Jewel Trilogy
Amethyst
Emerald
Amber
Forevermore (a Jewel Trilogy novella)
The Flower Trilogy
Violet
Lily
Rose
The Sweet Temptations Trilogy
Lost in Temptation
Tempting Juliana
The Art of Temptation
Excerpt from AMBER
Book Three of the Jewel Trilogy by Lauren Royal
Sussex, England
June 1668
Kendra Chase adored her brothers, except when she wanted to kill them.
"Jason is right," Ford told her as they rattled down the road in a shabby public coach. "You're twenty-three years old, and it's high time you take a husband."
Kendra slanted a glance at the plainly dressed stranger sharing the coach with them. "Not the Duke of Lechmere," she said with an exasperated glare at her twin. "I won't be 'your graced' for the rest of my life."
Kendra's oldest brother, Jason, tried unsuccessfully to stretch his long legs. "And what, pray tell," he drawled in an annoyed tone, "would be wrong with that?" Crammed onto the bench seat between Kendra and his wife, Caithren, he sighed. "I only wish to see you live a life of comfort. Would you prefer to travel this way all the time?"
As if to drive home her brother's point, the springless vehicle lurched in and out of a rut, rattling Kendra's teeth. She gritted them. Though Jason was careful with money, he was, after all, the Marquess of Cainwood, and they did own a rather luxurious carriage. But one of its wheels had broken on their way out of London, and they'd been forced to take public transport—or else risk missing an urgent appointment back home at Cainewood Castle.
An appointment to introduce Kendra to the latest "suitable" man her brothers planned to foist upon her.
"My comfort isn't the issue here—"
"This is your last chance to make your own choice," Jason interrupted her, gathering the cards from the hand of piquet they'd just played. "If you won't marry Lechmere, you'll have to select one of the other men who have offered for you. Or I will do the selecting."
"The other men." Kendra tossed her head of dark red curls, not believing her brother's ultimatum for a moment. The wretched day had put him in a bad mood, but he was generally the most reasonable man she knew. "Old but well-off, or widowed and settled with children, or young but just plain boring. Stable, wealthy men in the good graces of King Charles, every last one of them."
Her brother's green eyes flashed. "Yes, perfectly acceptable, every last one of them."
"As it should be," Ford put in.
Mournfully shaking her head, Kendra sent Caithren an imploring glance. "They'll never understand."
Cait's eyes filled with sympathy and a bit of shared exasperation. She laid a hand on her husband's arm. "I've told you before, Kendra wishes to marry for love, not—"
"Stand and deliver!" a deep voice interrupted from outside.
With an unnerving suddenness, the coach ground to a halt. Stopped in mid-sentence, Cait's mouth gaped, and Kendra's stomach clenched in fear.
Ford leaned forward and pushed open the door. A man on horseback—a highwayman!—poked his head inside.
The most compelling head Kendra had ever seen.
"You?" Jason and Ford said together.
They knew this man?
Since Kendra hadn't heard that either of her brothers had been hurt—or even robbed, come to think of it—most of her fear dissipated, and her heart lifted with excitement instead.
Nothing like this had ever happened to her!
Looking slightly disconcerted, the highwayman dismounted. "Aye, it's me," he said slowly. Beneath the mask that concealed the upper half of his face, a grin emerged. An engaging slash of perfect white.
Well, not precisely perfect. One of his front teeth had a small chip, but she found that tiny imperfection endearing. And he was dashing, not to mention forbidden. If any of her hopeful suitors had been like this man, she'd have married him in a trice.
She wanted to say something to make him notice her. But for the first time in her memory, her mouth refused to work.
His gaze swept the coach's dim interior as though she weren't even there. "You," he said succinctly, motioning to the whey-faced businessman seated beside Ford. "Get out."
"There be five of us in here, three of them men, likely with pistols," the man said stiffly. From his haircut, plain clothes, and the short, boxy jacket beneath his cloak, Kendra knew he was a Puritan. "Perhaps thee had better think again."
"Oh, it's violence you threaten, aye?" The highwayman's voice was deep and a little husky, with, curiously, the barest hint of an accent. "Perhaps you had better think again. My friends," he drawled, gesturing toward the hill behind him, "would make certain you cease to exist within the minute. Get out. Now."
Kendra looked out the door and up. Sure enough, there were a dozen or so men at the top of the hill, their guns trained on the coach.
The Puritan must have recognized the threat, for he reluctantly climbed down. Kendra shifted within the coach, the better to see out.
The victim was a good foot shorter than the robber, who looked impossibly tall and elegant in a jet-black velvet surcoat. Close-faced and resigned, the Puritan emptied his pockets and handed over his money, then turned to reenter the coach.
The highwayman reached to grab the victim's sleeve. "Not so fast."
Visibly shaken, the smaller man stilled but said nothing.
The highwayman shook him a little. "Surely a…man of business, such as yourself, will be carrying more gold on his person than this. Where is it? Sewn into your cloak? Hidden in your luggage?"
Though Kendra could see the rise and fall of his agitated breathing, the Puritan turned back boldly. "Surely thee
has no need of gold," he spat out, tugging his sleeve from the bigger man's grasp while eyeing his groomed appearance and expensive, tailored suit. "A…gentleman such as thyself."
The highwayman's eyes were amber, edged in a deeper hue—bronze, Kendra decided—that now spread in toward the center as his expression hardened. "Your luggage and your cloak, then—seeing as you won't cooperate."
He swung his pistol in the coachman's direction. The driver scrambled down and fumbled with the ropes securing the passengers' belongings. A shove sent the Puritan's trunk to the rutted road with a decisive thunk.
"Your cloak." The highwayman held out his free hand, almost as though he were bored, while his victim struggled out of his plain mantle.
"What about them?" he sputtered, handing it over. His gaze swung toward the Chases.
The highwayman glanced inside and flashed Kendra's brothers a conspiratorial smile before answering. "They're friends. Good day."
"Good day? Good day?" The poor man was as red as a squalling newborn, and Kendra almost felt sorry for him—until she reminded herself that it was his ilk who had killed her parents during the Civil War.
Her brothers indeed carried pistols—and swords and knives and God knew what else—and had the man not been a Puritan, she was sure one or both of them would have jumped to his defense. But because of men like this one, Jason had been left to raise his orphaned siblings, all of them forced to spend the Commonwealth years in poverty and exile.
She turned to watch the amber man remount and make his way down the road and up the hill toward his cohorts. He'd been superb. Magnificent.
Romantic, she thought on a sigh.
Amber. His clean-shaven, suntanned complexion. His eyes, a deep gold the color of the finest liquor. The black plume on his cavalier's hat fluttered as he rode, and beneath it he wore a long, crimped brown periwig that rather reminded her of her twin Ford's hair. But she was certain the highwayman's real hair wasn't brown. Though many men had shaven heads under their periwigs, he wouldn't. His own hair would be cut short, but not off, certainly—she shuddered at the thought—and it would be golden. Amber.