“I love you, Thomas. I have loved you almost since we met, I think. It's not a matter of worth. What matters is how we feel about each other. At least, that is how I feel about you.”
She couldn't help the tone of vulnerability in her voice, something that crept in despite her bold declaration. Then, as Thomas swept her into his arm, holding her close and giving her a deep kiss that she could feel from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, she realized she did not need to be brave at all, not with this man.
“I love you. God, I love you. Say the word, and I will carry you away as soon as you are well enough. If Parrington won't bless the union, then we'll go somewhere else, see the sights you've always wanted to see. Only marry me, Blythe, and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy and helping you to create the world you want to see.”
“Yes, yes, of course, I will marry you. I love you, Thomas, and I cannot believe how good that feels to say.”
Somehow, he ended up stretched on the bed next to her, on top of the covers while she was beneath them. He lay next to her, her head pillowed over his arm, their foreheads touching.
“I do not think you need to worry about Tristan. He apologized for his part in the last few weeks. He said he trusts me to make the choices that I need to make.”
“I see. And what do you need, angel?”
She smiled, because she had known the answer to that for quite some time now. “You. I only need you, Thomas.”
* * *
><><><><><><><><><><><><
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
.
EPILOGUE
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
One Year Later
The Dolphin cut through the azure waters of the Mediterranean Sea like a knife, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Blythe could still remember her first few nights on board the gorgeous clipper ship, green and ill. Now she walked the shining decks with a sailor's rolling stride, and her favorite perch was on the railing, just behind the figurehead.
“You know it frightens the living daylights out of me when you sit there. What can I give you to come down?”
Blythe glanced back at Thomas with a wide smile. She was tempted to stand up on the rail as she had learned to do just to see the look on his face, but she thought she might save the revelation of that little trick for later. “Well, what have you got?”
Thomas was leaner and browner than he had been when he was spending every night in the gambling hells of London. He had taken to sailing even faster than she had. Though the Dolphin was one of the fastest cargo ships in the growing fleet he was assembling with his father's blessing, it had really been a gift for both of them, their home away from home as they explored the Mediterranean waters and the Near East.
Now he crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching her with a bright twinkle in his eye.
“Would you get down if I offered you a dozen kisses?”
“I am not interested. You would give those to me anyway, wouldn't you?”
“I suppose I would. Let's see. When we were last in port at Mersin, we picked up some mail. I have a letter from Honey and another one from Robert.”
“You do? What do they say?”
“That Honey is well, and that Georgiana is keeping her busy as ever, and that I was wrong, that tailor journeyman who came courting her was honest after all. He just proposed marriage to her.”
“Ha, you were wrong, and remember, I was right! I knew he was a good man just from the way she described him. And Robert?”
“Of all things, he's going to meet his chess-playing partner.”
Blythe blinked. “The old woman who lives in Westchester?”
“Yes. Something about tiring of London. Reading between the lines, he's slept with another married woman and now is looking for less trouble in the country.”
“That sounds like Robert. But you have lost your bargaining chip. Now I know what is in the letter.”
“Absolutely shocking how bad I am at reading a room and negotiating. How in the world will I convince my darling reckless wife to come down?”
Blythe considered, and then grinned at him over her shoulder. “You've not tried saying please yet.”
“I have not?”
“No. You went right to bribing me as if I were some kind of potentate or dictator.”
“Ah, well. Please, will you get down off your perch and stop giving me visions of you tumbling to your death in the ocean below?”
“I suppose so. Since you asked so nicely.”
Thomas only waited for her to swing her legs back over the deck before he grabbed her up in his arms and pulled her close. As he kissed her, she noted with pleasure that he smelled of salt and the juniper water that all of the sailing men shaved with, of the coarse fiber of the ropes and the smoke of the cook fire. Some might say that he had smelled better wearing the colognes that were sold everywhere in London, but she wouldn't be one of them. Then his kiss deepened, and she leaned into it, giving in to his passion in a way that only hinted at what occurred during the nights they spent together.
Before she was quite done, he pulled back from her, grinning and reaching forward to run a gentle thumb over her lower lip. “Quite red. No need for paint at all.”
“Never even tried to wear it. I suppose I could come to you whenever I wanted a little bit of color on my lips.”
“That's certainly a service that will be a delight to provide. I wanted to let you know that I've spoken with the captain. He says we shall make landfall in Antalya in just two days, three at the outside.”
Blythe blinked. “That's far earlier than we thought.”
“Is that a problem? The hospital in Antalya will be happy to get the medicine from Toulouse no matter when we bring it.”
There was an outbreak of a certain childhood sickness in the Turkish city and aid had come from Toulouse. England might still be at war with France, but neither she nor Thomas had found it particularly unpatriotic to transport aid from one city to another that was ailing.
In some ways, her life with Thomas was not far off from what she had imagined it would be when she was a young girl. She had dreamed of adventure, and she’d certainly found it. The only difference was that she did not have to do it alone.
Over the past year, she had seen more of the world than she’d ever imagined, and from what Thomas had hinted at, in the next few years to come, they might see more of it yet. She craved the stone pyramids of South America, the great honeycomb buildings of Africa, and the wonder of the Yellow River in Asia. A part of her, she soon realized, would never be altogether content with staying at home. However, all of her needed Thomas, and she reached for his hand, looking out over the sea.
Thomas picked up on her quiet mood immediately. He stepped closer, turning her so she had to face him. “What is it, angel?”
“I was thinking. Perhaps after Antalya, it is time to return home to London. At least for a while.”
Thomas looked at her with curiosity. “Are you tired of travel?”
“Yes. No. Not really. But between some of the things that Georgiana has written to me and one rather terse and unsettling letter from Tristan, I have a feeling the two of them might need some help sooner or later.”
“Your cousin doesn't need help from anyone. What in the world has Georgiana been writing to you that she hasn't been writing to me?”
“There are some things a woman would rather not tell her brother, I suppose.”
“Fair enough. So, you want to see our families?”
“No, not just that. It is only that... well. When our child is born, I want the first land that he or she sees to be home.”
She took Thomas’ hand and guided it to her belly, which was just now beginning to rise softly.
Thomas’ eyes widened, and he held her with a new reverence bordering on awe. “You're sure?”
“I think I am. We can consult with a midwife in Antalya, but I a
m mostly sure. You are not disappointed by returning home?”
“Angel, you could not have told me anything that would please me more.”
Blythe smiled sweetly, sniffling back unexplained tears. “Not even, 'I will stop sitting by the figurehead?'”
“Ha, I know better than to ask for the impossible, and I know what happens when you are denied the adventure you crave. The world will keep while we return to England. After all, being with you is all the adventure and thrill that I have ever needed.”
* * *
While you are waiting for the next book …
><><><><><><><><><><><><
Turn the page for a special novella which is not available elsewhere.
It is a spin-off on one of the character in this Book 1.
It is serve as a special treat just for you …
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
It is the story of
Robert Gordon, Earl of Dellfield
><><><><><><><><><><><><
NOVELLA SPECIAL
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
.
PROLOGUE
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
London,
1795
Robert Gordon, Earl of Dellfield, woke from a sweet dream into a very unpleasant reality. He sat up in a bed that still bore the traces of his lover's perfume, startled out of a dead sleep by a pounding at the door. The woman who slept by his side—blonde, curvaceous and sweet as honey—leaped out of bed in a display of prowess that he watched with interest, grabbing up a flimsy negligee as she went.
She gave him a look. “You should go. Right now.”
“Are you serious? You told me that he was going to be in Spain all month.”
“Apparently, I was wrong. You need to go. I can explain most things away, but I cannot explain what you are doing in my bedroom at two in the morning.”
Robert shook his head, mock-saddened. “And here I thought you were so clever.”
The woman risked a look over her shoulder, and then she leaned across the bed to give him a long kiss. Robert relished the kiss, but then he heaved himself out of bed, dressing with the speed of someone who had been in far too many similar situations in the past.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course, I will. As long as you get going.”
Robert stifled his laughter, shrugging on his jacket and stomping into his Hessians before looking around.
“Well, it's far too theatrical to be borne, but I suppose the window it is.”
He opened the window, breathing in the summer air for a moment before stepping out on the ledge. There was a handy rose trellis that looked sturdy enough for his needs, and he glanced back at the woman who watched him from the room, already impatient for him to be gone. What was her name anyway? Lissa? Margot?
“It was a memorable night. Will I see you again?”
She gave him a look that was at once regretful and impatient. “No. You will not. Now get going.”
Almost before he'd gotten a proper grip on the trellis, the window snapped closed behind him with a final sound, and with a shrug, Robert started his three-story climb down to the ground. Once he was safely on terra firma, he glanced up at the window, now lit up. He saw two figures embracing, doubtless a loyal wife welcoming her husband home, and he grinned, throwing a wry salute up to the woman inside. He'd always liked a woman who knew what she wanted and then got it.
At his own place, however, the ashes of Robert's adventure cooled to something he wasn't sure he liked, leaving him restless and pacing in his fine townhouse on Park Lane. The blonde had given him a wonderful time, and he liked to think he had given her the same, but now that it was over, he felt himself growing restless again, morose and tired of the hubbub of London at the end of the Season.
London was the greatest and finest city in the world, of that, Robert had no doubt, but its charms were beginning to pale for him. In his study, he flipped through the mail that had gathered there. Some were things related to his accounts, which he set aside. Others were hopeful invitations from a wide variety of Society matrons looking to make a match between the eligible earl and their daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. Those he pushed directly into the ashcan next to the hearth.
One final letter made him smile. It was in the same kind of pale blue envelope that he had been receiving for almost six years, and he knew he would recognize the slanting old-fashioned writing when he opened it.
Greetings, my lord earl, and I hope all is well with you!
I believe I have you finally. If you would be so kind as to move my queen to king's rook 5, you will discover that I have you in checkmate.
It has been a fine game, my friend, and I have my revenge for my last defeat...
Robert walked over to the fine mahogany and ivory chessboard that had been set up ever since he took residence at Park Lane, moving the white queen as the letter indicated. He sat for several long minutes, but finally, he had to concede that the letter writer, one Miss L. Welton, was entirely correct.
Robert chuckled to himself. “You crafty old witch.”
He had been playing chess with the woman he privately called the Chess Witch of Westchester for years, and though he occasionally made a grand showing, she beat him more often than not. Their early games, started before his father died, had been nearly humiliating routs, and the only reason he had kept on at all was because the old woman was so very encouraging in her letters.
Robert paused for a moment, balancing not the letter but the envelope in his hand. The address was carefully printed in the upper corner, and it was nearly time to rusticate in the country anyway. Perhaps they could play a few games in person, and perhaps there were pretty girls in Westchester.
He came abruptly to his decision. He was done with London for a while. He would go shopping for some gifts, and then have the house closed up. He grinned at how delighted his chess partner would be at having some excitement to liven up her twilight days and started making his arrangements.
* * *
1
><><><><><><><><><><><><
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
.
CHAPTER
ONE
><><><><><><><><><><><><
.
Baling House, Westchester
“Lacey, my dear, if you will not go out to meet Lord Exter, I will have every book removed from your room and given away.”
Lacey Welton frowned at her mother in dismay. From her mountain of pillows, Lady Welton only stared at her with an implacable determination.
“Mother, you cannot be serious!”
“Oh, but I am, my girl. I have had enough of your nonsense. You will go put on a proper frock, and you will be as charming as you can with Lord Exter. I am growing old and sick, and I will not allow my title to revert to the Crown. I will see you married.”
Constance Welton's eyes were like chips of flint, and finally, the way she knew she always would, Lacey lowered her gaze.
“Yes, Mother.”
In her own room, the curvaceous blonde was far more spirited. As she allowed the maid to do up the buttons of her new pale green silk gown, she swore at her father for dying, at her mother for being so very pig-headed about her title, at Lord Exter just for being there, and at herself for putting up with it.
Her murmurings only lasted as long as it took to meet Davis Windley, Lord Exter, in the drawing room. She offered him a weak smile and her hand, which he took with a kind of ardent interest that made her feel strange.
“My dear Miss Lacey. Every day, you grow more beautiful.”
Lacey waved inanely at his words. “Oh. Um. Thank you. I was told, that is, you said you were interested in a walk? Mrs. Naylor here said she would chaperon us, if you don't mind.”
“Not at all! Come, let us partake of the countryside.”
Mrs. Naylor was her mother's companion, a prim and proper iron p
oker of a woman who never gave anything away at all. She walked decorously beside Lacey, but unfortunately, she could not take Davis’ arm for her.
The three of them walked out along the north garden path, down among the willow trees that dipped over the creek that crossed the property. It was a gorgeous summer day, and Lacey was just beginning to relax when Mrs. Naylor made a show of patting her embroidered muslin bag.
“Oh, my goodness, Lord Exter, Miss Lacey. I have forgotten my embroidery. I meant to bring it. I shall fetch it now.”
“Mrs. Naylor!” Lacey started after her chaperon, who was already walking with brisk steps back to the house. Before she could go very far, however, Davis’ grip on her arm tightened.
“Oh, there's nothing to be worried about, is there? She will return soon enough. It occurs to me that the best thing we can do is to sit and wait for her, don't you think?”
Lacey did not think that at all, but she smiled a puny little smile at him and followed.
She knew in her heart that her mother was right. The title of Countess of Baling was one that her mother had inherited, rather than being granted through marriage. It was as much a part of Constance Welton as her iron-gray hair and her sparkling dark eyes. It could, however, only be passed on to a male heir or a married female heir, as per the terms of her entail, and Constance had only grown more worried about the lineage with every passing month.
Which was why Lacey was allowing herself to be settled on a mossy bank protected by the overhanging fronds of the willow tree. She supposed it was meant to be a rather idyllic spot, but there was something off-putting to it about her.
The Marquess' Angel_Hart and Arrow_A Regency Romance Book Page 22