by Lara Temple
Her hand rose towards her abdomen and he was shocked by the possessive heat that swept through him at the thought of her holding his child, a little girl with her eyes. A boy. She would be an amazing mother. Oh, God, if only she wasn’t trying to destroy him. Because if he hurt her, it would. He wouldn’t be able to find his way back from that. Ever. That would be the end.
* * *
Her whole body had tightened at the mention of a child, gathering herself to shield that hypothetical being. He looked so tortured and guilty that Nell’s resolution faltered. He was offering her so much already; so much more than she had dreamed possible just a few hours ago. She had come here because the thought of not having him in her life, in whatever guise, had been unbearable. But she could see that her actions had pushed him into a corner—he was not really a rake worthy of the name. If she refused to marry him, their association would end—he had only succumbed to temptation on the assumption that they would marry. But if she agreed, on his terms...
She flexed her hands. She didn’t know how to fix this, but at the very least she owed him some honesty.
‘Perhaps I never should have put you in this position, Gabriel. I should have realised you would find it hard to accept me as a mistress, but I wasn’t strong enough to just let you walk away. I know you don’t love me as I love you, but that is all the more reason for me to insist not to be put into a neat little drawer and kept separate like everything else in your life. If you do choose to marry me one day, it will have to be on the understanding that I will not respect those boundaries.’
Her voice began to shake and she tried to rally herself.
‘If you will only let me be there with you...’
She gave up and reached for the stocking that had wrapped around the bedpost. He hadn’t moved and when he spoke his voice was unlike him, cold and derisive.
‘I thought I told you it was unwise to confuse sexual pleasure with love. Until a few days ago you thought yourself in love with Welbeck, or have you forgotten?’
She deserved that, but she wouldn’t back down.
‘You were right that I didn’t understand what it meant then.’
‘Oh, and now you think you do?’ he mocked.
‘Yes.’
His mouth closed tightly, but she waited, watching as he grabbed a cravat from the back of a chair and began winding it around his neck.
‘Is that all it takes with you? A few days and some fun in bed? At that rate you’ll find someone else to fantasise about in a week.’
She was surprised how little his contemptuous comment hurt. It was so unlike him that it rang utterly false and contrarily it fed the determination that had brought her to London. He was mangling his already crumpled cravat and he looked so defiant, so determined to keep her at arm’s length, so...young.
‘I love you, Gabriel.’
‘You should be a stickler for accuracy, schoolmistress—“I lust for you” is the proper term. What the devil is so amusing?’
She couldn’t prevent her smile from widening at his outrage.
‘I was just remembering that I called you a dandy a week ago. Your poor cravat.’
He dropped his hands from the abused linen.
‘Nell...!’
‘I love you, Gabriel. If I do agree to marry you, you will have to accept that I intend to share your bed, your nights and your nightmares. I’m not scared of you. You may think keeping apart from people makes you safer, but it doesn’t; it just makes you scared.’
‘Nell...’
‘You should be grateful that my conditions don’t include a demand that you love me in return, but I will stand firm on the others.’
He covered his face with his hands.
‘But that is the only demand I can comply with. What the devil do you think this is all about? I love you. I had no idea this was even possible until I was in the middle of it; it felt like it was killing me to leave you there. Can’t you see that is precisely why I can’t let you too close? If I ever hurt you...it would destroy me, Nell. I’m not strong enough to survive hurting you.’
She stood up slowly. She wanted to believe him so very badly.
‘I am not so easily broken, Gabriel. I am asking you to trust me.’
‘You’re asking too much.’
She nodded. Perhaps she was asking too much, too soon. For now perhaps his admission was enough. She, of all people, should know how powerful fear was and that rushing her fences wasn’t wise.
She went to him and gently pulled down his hands, clasping them in hers. It was amazing how expressive his face could be when he wasn’t on guard. She smiled at him. He was so beautiful and he was hers. She was sure of it now. How clever of her to be brave and come to him.
‘Very well. For now we will go ahead with the marriage. We can discuss terms later.’
He looked down at her, his mouth tight. His hands rose to clasp her face, tense, pressing.
‘You have no intention of conceding an inch, do you?’
‘How can I? I love you and you are asking me to let you suffer alone. I could never promise that.’
He dropped his hands.
‘You’re not really in love with me. Nothing that will survive the reality of what I am and how little I have to offer.’
‘Now who is being insulting? I know you think I am weak, but I don’t think I am, not when it really matters; I’m much stronger than you think. I will go to Bascombe tomorrow and...’
He pulled her against him, pressing her face into his shoulder, his own voice unsteady above her.
‘I don’t want you to go.’
She pushed away, reaching up to brush back his tumbled hair.
‘I’m just going to Bascombe, not the Antipodes. Or you could try to convince me to stay. I would like that.’
He wavered, his eyes turning into tawny fire, but she could see the fear was there in the way his gaze flicked to the bed behind her.
‘If you do fall asleep and make a nuisance of yourself I’ll push you out of bed,’ she offered, tracing a line from his cheekbone down the groove by his mouth to his jaw. It was going to be very tiresome, making it clear to all those women he wasn’t available any longer. It was almost a pity he was so very handsome. ‘Perhaps we should put a mattress on the floor so you don’t hurt yourself when I shove you off.’
‘This isn’t amusing, Nell.’ She didn’t know if he sounded more annoyed or desperate.
‘I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ she replied, tracing the line of his lower lip now. ‘If you can’t bear living with me, then you won’t. But we both know this is more than a fear of falling asleep with me.’
He dragged her against him again, his mouth pressing into her hair.
‘This is torture. I don’t know what to do.’
She managed to turn her head enough to kiss the side of his neck. She loved the velvet-smooth skin under his ear, the cooler softness of his earlobe. She loved the way his breathing caught as she tasted him there.
‘That’s a good sign,’ she murmured. ‘Until now you’ve known precisely what to do and you’ve been completely wrong. If I had been foolish enough to listen to you, I wouldn’t have come here. Why don’t you try listening to me for a change?’
His arms didn’t release their near stranglehold on her, but a reluctant laugh shook through him. ‘You don’t pull your punches, do you, schoolmistress? What makes you think you know better?’
She put enough distance between them to take his face in her hands again.
‘I don’t. But the thought of not being with you is worse than any alternative. I would rather brave a thousand terrors than lose you. Can’t we try? Even if we fail? I am quite certain you don’t want to hurt me...’
‘I would rather kill myself than hurt you!’
/>
‘Well, I would rather pursue a third option instead. I’m beginning to see that having horses with such melodramatic names as Valiant and Courage might not be purely coincidental.’
As she had hoped he laughed, brushing his mouth over her ear, slipping over its curves until she started to quiver under him.
‘I think I’ve had enough insults from you for a lifetime, love. How the devil do you always make them sound so reasonable?’
‘I’m clever like that,’ she murmured, turning her head to give him better access to the sweep of her throat.
‘My clever, brave love...’ He kissed the hollow beneath her ear, drawing her skin gently into his mouth, and a shudder ran through her, arcing her body against him, her legs parting invitingly, and he slid his leg between them. ‘We’d better lock the door before Biggs comes demanding I deliver Mrs Jones, widow, safely back to the Red Lion for the night.’
‘Does that mean I can stay?’
‘It means I can’t let you go, heaven help us. But one more insult and I’ll...’
‘You’ll what?’
‘Once I regain my sanity I’ll think of something.’
‘I look forward to it. Meanwhile, kiss me, please...’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
you won’t want to miss these other
great reads from Lara Temple
THE DUKE’S UNEXPECTED BRIDE
THE RELUCTANT VISCOUNT
LORD CRAYLE’S SECRET WORLD
And look out for Lord Stanton and
Lord Ravenscar’s stories, coming soon in the
WILD LORDS AND INNOCENT LADIES series!
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE WALLFLOWER’S MISTLETOE WEDDING by Amanda McCabe.
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.
You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.
Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!
Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*
*New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.
Click here to register
Or visit us online to register at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
The Wallflower’s Mistletoe Wedding
by Amanda McCabe
Prologue
Barton Park—summer 1820
‘Oh, Rose! Doesn’t the music just make you want to twirl and twirl and twirl?’
Rose Parker sat back on her heels and laughed as she watched her sister, Lily, spin in an exuberant circle, her new white lace and tulle skirts like a great cloud. The music from the party floated up to their chamber and it was indeed very twirly. ‘You won’t twirl for long if I don’t finish that hem. It will come unravelled and you will trip and fall flat on your face—right in front of Mr Hewlitt.’
Lily came to an abrupt stop, stumbling on her satin slippers. ‘Oh, no, Rose!’ she cried, her pretty, heart-shaped face full of stark fear. ‘I could never do such a thing. How he would despise me!’
Rose laughed again. She couldn’t help it; her sister’s adorable ways were always too funny. ‘Lily, my dearest, Mr Hewlitt would never in a thousand years despise you for anything. In fact, stumbling and falling into his arms would probably only make him worship you more as his delicate angel.’
A tiny smile broke through Lily’s pout. ‘I—well, perhaps so. He is so terribly sweet.’
‘And terribly sweet on you. Mama says he will surely ask you something very important indeed tonight,’ Rose said. She did have to tease Lily just a bit, as she always had, even when her sister was a tiny, golden-curled cherub prone to blushing and shrieking when provoked. But she was serious, too. Mr Hewlitt had been stammering his way up to just such a moment for weeks and this ball at their cousins’ home at Barton Park to celebrate midsummer seemed the perfect opportunity. It was true that he was a curate with only a middling income, yet everyone could see how good he was at his calling, so caring and energetic. Surely a bishopric waited for him one day!
And he adored Lily, as she did him. Together the two of them were as adorable as a box of new puppies.
Rose was happy for her sister, yet wistful, too. With just herself and their mother, their cottage would be much too quiet. Too lonely.
Rose sighed. She would have to procure a kitten, or mayhap a songbird. Wasn’t that what useful spinsters did? Collect pets, especially cats, and knit them little sweaters and such? It sounded rather diverting.
‘Come, dearest Lily, let me finish the hem,’ she said. ‘Or the dancing will be over before Mr Hewlitt can find you.’
Lily climbed back on to the low stool, watching in the mirror with a little frown as Rose plied her needle through the delicate beaded tulle. ‘Do you really, truly think he will propose?’
‘Of course he will.’
‘Do—do you think I should accept, then? Right away?’
Rose was surprised at her sister’s suddenly unsure, quiet tone. She glanced up to see that Lily did indeed look worried, something most uncharacteristic. She quickly thought back on Mr Hewlitt’s courtship: his visits to the cottage, his little gifts of bouquets and books of poetry, his walks with Lily, the way they stared at each other as if there was no one else around at all. Had she missed something? ‘Do you have doubts, dearest? Has he done something—ungentlemanly?’ She couldn’t quite imagine that, but then again one never really knew with men. Look how their own father had concealed his debts, his terrible gambling habits, from his wife and daughters until he died and they were cast out of their home.
Surely Mr Hewlitt would never do that. If he dared to hurt Lily in any way, Rose would murder him.
‘Oh, no, not at all! It’s just—’ Lily broke off, biting her lip. ‘Well, what will you and Mama do?’
‘Oh, Lily.’ Rose gave her the most reassuring smile she could manage. Was that not the very same question she had asked herself since Father died? ‘You must not worry about that, dearest. We will be absolutely fine. Indeed, I’m quite looking forward to making your chamber into my very own sitting room. The mind reels at the thought of so much space! I will be just like a duchess with my own suite.’
Lily laughed, as well she would. Their cottage was approximately the size of a thimble, even with Lily’s extra little chamber they had built at the back. ‘And you will visit me very often, won’t you? I won’t be far away.’
‘So often you will be heartily sick of me.’
‘Promise?’
‘Just try to keep me away.’ Rose finished the last stitch in the hem and stood up to give her sister a hug, careful not to muss her ruffles and curls. Lily smelled of violet powder and sweetness, just as she had when she was a child, and Rose had held her dimpled little hands to help her walk. She laughed t
o keep from crying.
‘You really should marry first, as the eldest daughter. That is the natural way,’ Lily said.
Rose laughed again. ‘Find me another Mr Hewlitt, then. Until I have just such a paragon, I would never be able to tolerate wifely duties.’
‘He is out there, Rose, I just know it! The perfect man for you.’ Lily drew back to stare most earnestly into Rose’s eyes. ‘You will find him when you least expect it, just as I did with Mr Hewlitt.’
‘I haven’t time for romance,’ Rose said, tucking away her needle and thread in her workbox. It was quite true. When their father died so suddenly and they had to leave their home for the cottage, they’d had a very small income that would keep them from starving, but there would be no carriage or smart clothes or abundance of servants. Rose herself did much of the work: sweeping, sewing, looking after the chickens, taking care of their frail mother. She didn’t mind very much; she actually quite liked the useful, busy feeling of tea to make and ironing of petticoats to finish. And her chickens were known to be the finest layers in the neighbourhood.
Their mother, however, did mind. Mrs Felicity Parker had grown up as gentry in a fine manor house, cousin to the ancient family of the Bancrofts of Barton Park, and expected more of the same from her marriage, only to be bitterly disappointed. She talked of it to anyone who would listen. All her hopes had long been pinned on the beautiful Lily marrying well. A poor curate had never been in her plans, no matter how kind and handsome he was, no matter how much he adored Lily. And Rose saw too clearly what happened when a woman had to trust in marriage, trust in a man. She wasn’t sure she could do it.
Rose sighed. She very much feared her mother’s plans might turn to herself now and this visit to Barton Park was part of them. As much as she enjoyed seeing the old house and meeting her cousins, she couldn’t let her guard down.
‘Are you quite well, Rose?’ Lily asked, frowning in concern. ‘You look as if you have the headache.’
Rose made herself smile and fluffed up the lace trim of her sister’s sleeve. ‘Not at all. It’s just a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think? We should make our way down to the party. Mr Hewlitt will surely arrive soon.’