“It’s so peaceful here.” There was a wistfulness in Pamela’s voice. “I could stay here forever.”
Kitt slipped his arms around her, turning her toward him and anchoring her against his body.
“You could,” he said, his fingers coming up to stroke her cheek. “You could come here to live if you wished.”
Pamela raised her eyes to him, reminding him why he felt she belonged here. Her eyes blended with this place. The woodland, parkland and meadows were all reflected in the brown and green of her eyes. She was the nymph this place lacked.
“I could?”
“If I get a special license, we could be married by the end of the week.”
Joy such as she had never known blossomed in Pamela’s chest. Her heart soared on eagle’s wings. Warmth raced through her veins, filling her with happiness.
Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!
The words were on the tip of her tongue but remained unspoken as Kitt continued. “You would no longer have to worry about gossip, or your sister and grandparents. No one would ever snub you again. You would have everything you ever wanted.”
She crashed to earth with a jolt. But what about love?
The question went unasked. For she knew the answer. Kitt felt responsible for her. He felt sorry for her. But he did not love her. He would marry her out of a sense of responsibility, and to protect her. He would throw away his entire future on a misguided notion of honor. She could not let him do it.
“No.” She dropped her eyes to his chest as she spoke, blinking furiously to keep back the tears.
Kitt stiffened. “Why not?” She couldn’t tell from the sharpness of his voice whether he was angry or disappointed. When she remained silent, he asked, “Are you worried about what everyone will think?”
“No! Yes! Oh, I don’t know!” She broke away, turning to stare off down the course of the stream. Kitt moved behind her and his hands slid up her arms, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
“You shouldn’t care.” His voice was gentle, his breath stirred the tiny wisps of hair at her temple. “I don’t.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the ton didn’t matter. She wanted to believe his declaration that he didn’t care meant he cared for her enough to brave society’s censure.
But she couldn’t. The ton was a world of its own. If you didn’t play by its rules, regardless of your rank, you were shunned. That was the world Kitt had been born into, the only world he knew. She could not allow him to walk away from it because of her. He would never be happy, and he would eventually come to resent her. It would destroy him.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you make such a sacrifice for me. I’m not worth it.”
She was not prepared for his anger. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he spun her around to face him. “Not worth it?” he thundered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Pamela would have backed away from him had the bridge wall not been behind her, forcing her to stand her ground. Blue fire blazed from his eyes. Inside, she cringed. Drawing on the courage she had used to face her stepfather, she confronted him bravely. “I will not be a charity case. I might consider your proposal if you loved me, but—”
“Love!” he spat with such vehemence she winced. “What in the name of all that’s holy does love have to do with this?”
“Very little to you, obviously.” Her anger rose to match his. “Nevertheless, I refuse to marry without it.”
Kitt’s mouth worked for a moment, as if he would say something more. Then, with a last blast from searing blue eyes, he spun on his heel and stalked away.
An inconvenient proposal.
Annabelle’s Courtship
© 2007 Lucy Monroe
Ian MacKay, Laird of Graenfrae, has no use for love or marriage. However, his stepfather’s will mandates that marriage is what he must have…to an Englishwoman.
A sensible man, Ian develops a list of requirements in a wife: Plain, moderately dowered, older and practical. He thinks he has found the perfect candidate in Lady Annabelle.
Labeled The Ordinary her first season, Annabelle longs for a man who will see her as beautiful and love her as her father loved her mother. When she meets Ian, she thinks she has at last found that man. Until his proposal, in which he has the audacity to list his “requirements”.
She refuses his proposal. He informs her that she will marry him at the end of the season.
The battle of wills is on.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Annabelle’s Courtship:
She must have misunderstood. “Did you just say I would make a perfect wife?” Her voice squeaked on the word wife.
“Aye.”
Air whooshed from her lungs. “Why, please?”
He smiled. “You fit my requirements.”
“Requirements?” She must stop squeaking.
“Your looks are not too grand and you are well past the age for marrying. You do not wear expensive jewels or gowns, which bodes well for future demands on my purse.”
Annabelle’s elation vanished. She stared at him, her cheeks growing hotter with each sentence he uttered. He listed her particulars as if he were buying a horse at Tattersall’s. Although the Marriage Mart was in many ways mercenary, she had never known any gentleman to be quite so blunt about it.
Her eyes smarted and she blinked at the tears, unwilling to make a spectacle of herself. She had finally met a man that stirred passion in her and he looked at her as nothing more than a dowdy spinster conveniently on hand when he decided to find a wife.
Ian gently squeezed her, the troubled concern in his eyes small comfort in the face of his words. “Dinna be distressed. You have all the qualities I’m looking for in a wife.”
“You already said that and it’s not a compliment.”
Thoughts kaleidoscoped in her brain like bits of glass crushed and tossed in the air, left to fall where they may. Just like the rest of the ton, Ian saw only her plain looks. He did not see the heart that beat beneath her breast, the mind that longed to share thoughts and ideas with a kindred spirit.
“I’m not looking for a long engagement. Would you be ready to take up residence in Scotland in a month or so?”
The words stung her bruised heart like a thousand embroidery needles pricking the message that he did not love her, would never love her. He found her so unremarkable that Ian had no doubt of his success. Resolve beat against her bleeding heart. Ian would soon learn that not all things were as they seemed. Not all bluestocking spinsters longed for wedlock, especially those who had read Wollstonecraft.
She straightened, pulling as far away as his restraining arms would allow. “I am not interested in marriage. If I were, it would not be to an arrogant Scotsman who believes my lack of face and fortune make me willing to marry on such short acquaintance.”
“I dinna need a long acquaintance to determine that you are all that I could wish for in a wife. I will make you a proper husband.” He gave her an engaging smile. “We will deal well together.”
So angry she could not speak, she glared at him.
“Surely you can see the benefits of marriage to me,” he cajoled her.
She felt an unladylike urge to box his ears. “On the contrary. I am a modern woman and I do not see the benefits of marriage at all, particularly to you.”
Ian’s grasp on her waist tightened. His eyes darkened. “’Tis no my intention to upset you.”
She felt the tension in his body and it was matched by an unwelcome sensation in her own. She wanted to melt into his embrace. The feeling infuriated her. She struggled to be released from his hold, not caring now if she caused a scene. “Let me go.”
“Nay, the music has not ended.” His reasonable tone enraged her all the more.
She was desperate to break his hold on her before her body betrayed itself. How unfair to experience her first taste of desire with a man who believed her too ordinary to court. “Do
you really think I wish to dance with you after your insult?”
“’Twas no an insult, lass. ’Twas a proposal.”
“My name is not ‘lass’. It is Lady Annabelle, as Ceddy told you these many days past. Are you hard of hearing? Perhaps you need an ear trumpet.”
“Nay, ’tis no an ear trumpet I need, but a wife. You’re neither too beautiful, too rich, nor too young to pass on the proposal I’m giving you.”
She almost choked on her anger. “Must I be subjected to your list of slurs again? You may need a wife, but I do not need a husband.”
Ian danced toward an unoccupied corner and pulled her into it. “Do not be so foolish as to label virtues insults.”
“They are only virtues because you believe that by possessing these traits, or rather lack of traits, a woman would willingly marry you without even rudimentary courtship.” She tried to step around Ian. He blocked her path like a marble column. She glared at him. “That, my lord, is not a list of virtues, but an insulting recipe concocted by you to gain a wife without the customary work or effort.”
At Ian’s look of consternation, she was convinced that she had guessed correctly. “I’m right. You are too indolent to properly court a woman. I can only assume some catastrophe has generated the need for you to take a wife.”
“’Tis no indolence that causes me to avoid the playacting of courtship, but aversion to the games ladies play.”
The genuine emotion she heard in his voice confused her. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body. It did strange things to her insides. Drat. Now was not the time to become a simpering twit. He would not win this argument.
“I may not be a beauty, but I do expect to be courted and I will only marry the man that convinces me I cannot live without him.” Her voice vibrated with emotion she wanted to suppress.
She had to leave before she turned into a watering pot and completely disgraced herself. She could not stand the strain much longer. When she tried to sidestep him again, he placed his hand on her arm. He squeezed gently. Against her will, she found comfort in the gesture.
Her breath started to come in short gasps as the nearness of his body continued to affect her equilibrium. He looked into her eyes as if searching them for the answer to some question.
Finally he sighed. “If it’s courting you want, lass, it’s courting you shall get. I’ll give you until the end of the season to reconcile yourself to the idea of our marriage.”
The man was mad. “Courtship is wooing, not giving me a set time to reconcile myself to your arrogant plans.”
“If it ’tis wooing you need, then wooing you will have. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
She couldn’t believe his denseness. “You may call on me until I’m old and gray, but I will never marry a man I do not love and respect.”
It would have been a wonderful last word had he still not blocked her path. “Please, let me by. The set has ended.” She could not prevent her voice from trembling.
Thankfully, she was promised for the next set. She watched her partner approach with relief. “I must go.”
“We are no finished with our discussion.”
“Please.” She hated that she begged him, but she needed to get away before her devastated emotions slipped her control.
Mr. Green’s voice came as welcome relief. “Lady Annabelle, I believe our set is forming.”
Ian turned and gave the younger gentleman an arrogant glance. “’Tis our dance, I believe.”
Fury overcame Annabelle’s pain. “It most certainly is not.” She wanted to throttle the man.
Ian just stared at Mr. Green who mumbled an excuse and retreated. He had deserted her. The coward.
Yanking her arm from Ian’s, she said, “Regardless, I did not promise this dance to you.” She turned to hurry away.
“’Twas an oversight, I’m sure.”
In her haste to get away from Ian, she bumped into another gentleman. “Pray excuse me. I did not realize you were there.”
The gentleman placed a monocle in his eye and gave her a condescending stare. “It was nothing, I’m sure.”
Annabelle’s skin grew unbearably warm. Twisting her head, she hissed at Ian, “Do you see what you made me do?”
His rich laughter stoked her fury. “Dinna let that popinjay upset you, lass. ’Tis of no account.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
“Release me.”
He sighed. “Would it no be easier to finish our talk?”
“It is finished.”
He shrugged.
“Your arrogance is only exceeded by your stubbornness.” Conceding defeat, but only for the moment, she said, “Fine.”
She would convince him to leave off this ridiculous courtship. “Wouldn’t you do better to search among ladies more amenable to marriage for the sake of marriage than myself?”
Rather than answer her question, he posed one of his own. “Marriage for the sake of marriage? What do you mean, lass?”
She twisted her fan with her free hand. “There are many ladies of the ton whose greatest desire in life is to be wed.”
“Yours isn’t?” The words held a hint of mockery.
“No, it is not.” She spoke forcefully, willing him to believe her.
“Why come to the season if you dinna wish to be married?”
If only he knew. She was tempted to tell him and see how quickly he would go looking elsewhere for a wife. She would not betray her secret in a fit of temper, however.
“I would gladly marry if I knew I would share a union like that of my parents.” The emotion she felt when she thought of her parents’ love spilled over into her words.
“And what was so grand about your parents’ marriage?”
“They loved each other.”
“You canna expect a love match?” Ian sounded horrified.
“Yes, that is exactly what I do expect.” For the first time, Annabelle felt she had succeeded in piercing Ian’s complacent assumption that she would marry him. Giving him a full-blown smile, she nodded her head for emphasis.
“Ye’ll get over that soon enough. Love is no basis for a marriage.” In his agitation, Ian’s burr was more pronounced.
Her smile died on her lips as indignation filled her. “I will not get over it. Marriage for me will have a great deal to do with love or I will not get married at all.”
“Finchley said your head was no filled with romantic drivel.”
Incensed, she frowned at him. “Love is not drivel.”
He put his finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “You will marry me.”
“Never.”
He shrugged and stepped aside. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.” Catching Annabelle’s hand, he bowed over it, never taking his eyes from hers. When he let go, she felt she had been branded by his touch.
She stood dazed for several moments after Ian left. She noticed that he left after speaking to her without dancing with anyone else. Why should he? He had found what he was looking for, an aging spinster to marry.
A love too strong to disguise, a disgrace too deep to ignore.
A Chance to Dream
© 2007 Lynne Connolly
The second book in the Triple Countess series.
Orlando Garland, Lord Blyth, has spent a lifetime restoring the family fortunes but now it’s time for him to think of himself for a change. When he hires a dowdy companion for his invalid sister, it doesn’t take him long to suspect “Charlotte” is more than she appears. Yet the lively young woman proves to be good for his sister. And Orlando can’t ignore the seductive beauty behind the disguise.
Violetta Palagio’s mask has never chafed before—until now. She longs for the freedom to love the handsome Orlando. Yet to reveal herself would be disastrous for them both. She is La Perla Perfetta, the daughter of London’s most successful courtesan. For most of her life, her mother has cleverly kept Violetta’s identity a secret. Will she risk all that, now the threat tha
t kept them in disguise for so long is finally gone?
For the first time in her life, Violetta is in love. Can she find the courage to come out from behind the mask?
And if she does, will Orlando chance everything he has worked so hard to rebuild—for a courtesan’s daughter?
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Chance to Dream:
Violetta curled her arm around Orlando’s neck and pulled him down to kiss her. It was long, leisurely and deepened very slowly. When Violetta opened her mouth under the pressure of his lips he touched her with his tongue, and then slid slowly inside, caressing her lips, then meeting her tongue in a caress she returned eagerly. He leaned across her and slid his hand inside her gown, around her ribs just below her breast. He spread his fingers and touched her breast and she moved into his hand, revelling in the sensation of being cherished and wanted. He accepted her invitation and moved his hand up to cover and caress her. When he rolled the nipple gently between finger and thumb she moaned into his mouth, feeling the tingle from her breast right down to her thighs.
He broke the kiss and gazed at her. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I decided I wouldn’t take advantage of you while you were under my roof. What happened?”
She let him see her reaction to his caresses, her smile softening, arching into his hand. “We happened. I wanted you, too.”
“I need to know that. Otherwise I’d be the most selfish beast in nature.”
She gazed at him. There were no barriers between them, not at that moment. He had lost the haughty, aristocratic disdain he habitually wore when facing the world, and looked at her with warmth and desire. She could almost feel the heat emanating from him, entering her. She could bask in it for a long time. She moved, flexed her body like a cat and he smiled, enjoying her pleasure. “Perhaps I should minister to you all night. Your personal attendant, here only for your pleasure.”
“Don’t tempt me. I might take you up on your offer.”
His steady caresses continued, not increasing in intensity. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. I please myself while I’m pleasing you.”
The Gypsy Legacy: Marquis Page 32