Nothing could compare to the evenings she’d shared with Xavier. Her stomach turned. She’d never realized how deeply it would hurt to love a man who didn’t want her.
Isaac slowed as they reached Ravenwood’s private box. The usher swept the thick velvet curtains aside and motioned them in to take their seats.
“Hurry,” whispered Grace, clapping her gloved hands in excitement. She didn’t tear her eyes from the stage. “The orchestra is about to begin.”
Jane flashed a weak smile at Lord Carlisle and Grace’s mother, then took one of the empty seats. Her limbs were heavy with disappointment. Of course Xavier hadn’t come. She’d known it was improbable. She hadn’t even really wanted to see him.
So why was her throat dry and her shoulders heavy?
She crossed her arms over her twisting stomach and forced herself to stare at the parting curtain.
The orchestra began just as her brother Isaac slid into place beside her.
Life went on, she told herself. She wasn’t alone. She had her stalwart brother. Her best friend. A shared opera box on loan from a duke. Her lot might not be what she wished, but it wasn’t horrid. Just a fortnight ago, she’d believed her life would be perfect, if only she had the memory of a night of passion to keep her warm.
Well, now she did. And her heart was cold as ice.
She stared dully off the balcony as Cymon and Urganda took the stage. She should at least feign interest in the play. There were worse fates than an evening spent with friends and family. She glanced at her brother. She was grateful to have him beside her. It wasn’t his fault she was awash in misery. Isaac loved her. Trusted her. He believed he knew what kind of person she was.
He was wrong, of course. She averted her gaze. Did his false belief in her goodness and purity change who she was? She hated to deceive Isaac above all others, but blurting the truth about her duplicity and fallen state would not benefit either of them. Although, even if Isaac were disappointed in her… he’d love her anyway.
Heat pricked her eyes. Nothing was better or worse than unconditional love.
She froze. How had Xavier felt when he’d confessed his secret? Worse than before? His rejection had stung so badly, she’d been thinking more of herself than of him. She’d responded with logic, not love. Dismissing the depths of his guilt. Deriding him for not standing up for himself, for what they’d shared, for her. Was she right to discount him for his failure to fight to keep her?
Or should she have tried a little harder to stand up for him?
Her heart clenched. She knew she loved him. She’d also failed to mention it. Before Xavier could be expected to turn his life upside down, he needed to know she would be there by his side. That she understood who he had been, and accepted him for who he was now.
The power of unconditional love came from the knowledge that one possessed it.
Yet she’d left him without so much as a backward glance.
She rubbed her arms. A rustling went through the audience. She let out a deep breath and tried to focus on the play.
The first act appeared to be over. The actors had quit the stage, and the orchestra had taken their seats. She frowned. No wonder the audience was confused. It had to be time for intermission, but the curtains had not been closed. Something unexpected was happening.
The theatre manager walked onstage and motioned one of the violinists up from the orchestra pit.
Scattered applause rose above the murmurs. Perhaps they were being treated to a solo by a rising star. Jane leaned forward eagerly as the violinist began to draw his bow across the strings. The melody was low and hauntingly romantic. A hush fell as every guest became transfixed by the sound.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the theatre manager called out to the crowd. “Tonight we have an unexpected public announcement from one of our most infamous heroes—Captain Xavier Grey!”
Jane’s heart stopped. She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move. It was as if the world had ceased turning, and had trapped her right along with it.
There, before her eyes, Xavier strode onstage. Not in his fine red regimentals, but in devastatingly rakish attire, spoiled only by a blinding proliferation of over-bright embroidered butterflies and prancing squirrels along the hems.
She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.
He was the most impossible man she’d ever met. And the most dashing. His black hair was freshly trimmed, and he held himself like a captain. Tall, confident, and heroic.
“Miss Jane Downing,” he called out, gazing straight up at their box.
She couldn’t breathe. Two thousand shocked faces turned toward her in unison. Flickering light from the overhead candelabra reflected in the lenses of hundreds of opera glasses.
Her heart thundered. This couldn’t be happening. Her friends and brother stared at her in equal surprise.
“Miss Downing,” Xavier repeated, his voice carrying in the vast silence. “I see you. I understand you. I feel your presence even when I don’t have you before me. You haunt my dreams, and you haunt my days. My life is nothing without you in it.”
She gripped the edges of her chair to keep from sliding out of it.
“You’ve stolen my heart. And my ability for rational thought. Without you, I am nothing. But with you, I become so much more than I could ever be on my own. You make me a better man.”
The audience was so still, they must’ve been able to hear the hammering of her heart. She couldn’t move.
“I love you, Jane. Now and forever. This is me, proclaiming my love from the rooftops.” He flashed a wobbly grin as the melody from the violin soared softly in the background. “I want you in my arms and by my side for the rest of eternity. Come dance with me if you feel the same.”
Her ears roared. Blindly, she pushed up from her seat and raced down the stairs, up onstage, and into his arms.
“I love you, too,” she blurted into his chest.
The entire orchestra joined the violinist in song.
Xavier lifted her chin with his knuckle and pressed a scandalous kiss to her lips before sweeping her into a waltz.
Cheers rang out through the audience. The theatre came alive as two thousand people got to their feet at once. Shouts and whistles and raucous applause filled the air.
“Marry me,” he murmured. “Let’s spend the rest of our lives making our future together. You and me. Forever.”
Her heart was thundering too loudly to let her draw breath. “Xavier…”
“I see you, Jane. I have you in my arms. I will never let you go.” He pulled her close, his blue eyes intense. “Please let me awaken to you every morning and spend every moment thereafter giving you more reasons to stay.”
“I have all my reasons.” She couldn’t stop smiling as he twirled her across the stage. “I love you, you daft man. I accept your offer to wake in your arms every morning. I’m yours.”
A grin split his face and he claimed her mouth with a kiss. When they finally broke apart, breathless, he took her hand and lifted their arms in the air.
He turned toward the crowd. “City of London, meet my future bride—the incomparable Miss Jane Downing!”
The audience went wild. Their whoops and cheers shook the glass of the chandeliers. The entire theatre seemed to sparkle with magic.
Xavier swung her into his arms and lowered his lips to her ear. “One question. How determined are you to see the end of this play?”
“Not one whit,” she whispered back. “If you really want to know the end, I’ll recite it to you in original Greek.”
“I would like that.” He strode toward the exit, cuddling her to his chest. “I also have a few other ideas that might meet with your approval.”
She laid her cheek against the sound of his heart. “Does one of them involve a bed?”
He kissed the top of her head. “All of them do.”
“I knew I made the right choice.” She held on tight.
“I love you, Jane.” When he gazed do
wn into her eyes, her heart melted. “No matter where the future is headed, I’ll never let go.”
Neither would she. They belonged together.
Their future was already perfect.
Epilogue
Jane held fast to her husband’s arm as they inched down the corridor of his cottage. “May I remove the blindfold, please?”
“Not yet.” Warm lips pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Wait until I unlock the door.”
She couldn’t stifle the quirk of her lips. Within days of their wedding, Xavier had forbidden her from entering his library. At first she had thought he’d meant to hide his erotic novels from her, even though they were now married.
Nothing could be further from the truth. He’d retrieved more than a dozen from who-knows-where and lined them up on her dressing table, bracketed by two small ivory statues: one a cherubic angel, the other a naughtily winking imp.
If the arrival of two carriages fairly bowing under the weight of her crates of books hadn’t given her a hint of what he was up to, the influx of lumber and the midnight hammering would have given it away.
He was not only welcoming her into his home, into his life. He was sharing it. Making his library—Xavier’s private space—just as much hers as it was his. Making his home theirs.
Love flowed through her. Her heart warmed. There was no sense hiding the silly grin she seemed always to be wearing these past weeks. She was hopelessly, happily in love and she wanted him to know it.
She heard a snick as Xavier slid his key into the lock and swung open the library door.
He sunk his hands into her hair and seared her with a heated kiss. “Any last comments, my bluestocking siren, before I show you the surprise?”
Unable to keep her own secret any longer, she tugged his fingers from her hair and slid his hands to her belly. “Only that I’ll have a surprise for you before the end of the year.”
He hauled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. “I know.”
“You knew?” She reached up to snatch off the blindfold… and stared in wonder at what had once been the library.
The shelves lining the walls were filled with children’s books and wooden toys. The chaise longue was still before the fire—the better to read to an infant, she supposed—but the interior bookshelves had been replaced with big fluffy carpets and a large, handmade cradle with warm quilts and rocking legs for singing lullabies.
Her heart flipped. She stared up at Xavier, openmouthed.
He cleared his throat. “If you’re wondering where our books are, I’m afraid most are still in the shed. I’ll add bookshelves to our bedchamber next, and then we can—”
Laughing, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. “There’s no hurry, my love. Once the baby arrives, I’ll be far too busy to do much reading for a little while.”
“And before the baby arrives”—He swung her up into his arms and turned back toward the bedchamber—“you might also be too busy to do much reading for a little while.”
“Mmm. Promise?” she whispered into his neck and squealed when they tumbled onto the mattress.
She welcomed him into her arms. This was just the beginning.
Their home would be overflowing with cradles in no time.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
As always, I could not have written this book without the invaluable support of my critique partners. Huge thanks go out to Emma Locke, Janice Goodfellow, and Erica Monroe for their advice and encouragement, and Anne Victory for her invaluable Oops Detection.
My thanks also go to Ailish Doherty, Amy Hargate Alvis, Barbara McCarthy, Carol Kumanchik, Daliana Ferrero, Debbie McCreary, Demetra Toula Iliopoulos, Dianna Richards, Janice Rodriguez, Jenn Marner, Jenn Ryan, Kathie Spitz, Lesia Chambliss, Lisa Schmidt-Ringsby, Margie Walzel Aronowitz, Monique Daoust, Roscoe Kendall, Sheri Gerwe, Vi Brandon, and Yvonne Daniels for their support and for sharing their ideas.
I also want to thank my incredible street team (the Light-Skirts Brigade rocks!!) and all the readers in the Dukes of War facebook group. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen.
Thank you so much!
Other Books by Erica Ridley
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Did you know there are more
books in this series?
This romance is part of
the Dukes of War
regency-set historical series.
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In order, the Dukes of War books are:
The Viscount’s Christmas Temptation
The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower
The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress
The Major’s Faux Fiancée
The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride
The Pirate’s Tempting Stowaway
The Duke’s Accidental Wife
About Erica Ridley
Erica Ridley learned to read when she was three, which was about the same time she decided to be an author when she grew up.
Now, she's a USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of historical romance novels. Her latest series, The Dukes of War, features roguish peers and dashing war heroes who return from battle only to be thrust into the splendor and madness of Regency England.
When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found riding camels in Africa, zip-lining through rainforests in Central America, or getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.
For more information, please visit http://www.EricaRidley.com.
ROMANCING LADY STONE
by Delilah Marvelle
Lesson One
Despite what polite society thinks, a true gentleman is made, not born.
-The School of Gallantry
Moscow, Russia
Late evening, March 29th 1830
A bone-penetrating glacial breeze whistled in through countless shattered windows, sending snow whirling across a cavernous lobby of a hotel that hadn’t seen the bustle of people since Catherine the Great. Cracked marble floors heavily stained by weather and years of neglect, stretched out into an echoing darkness.
Maybe he was at the wrong address.
Konstantin Alexie Levin paused from his slow stride beside a mold-blackened wall and lowered his chin. A glowing lantern swayed from a rust-crusted hook indicating that someone was, in fact, waiting for him. As instructed.
Stripping off his well-worn leather glove, he dabbed a finger against the glass of the lantern. It was still cold to the touch, hinting it had been lit barely moments before his arrival. Pulling his glove back on, Konstantin scanned the darkness beyond the dim light. Except for the rustle of dead leaves scraping the floor and the distant roar of the wind lashing snow against the bones of the building, everything else in the blurring darkness was eerily quiet.
Digging into the inner pocket of his heavy winter coat, he dragged out his father’s watch and flipped open the silver lid. The click of resisting metal from the latch reverberated as he leaned toward the lantern to see the hour.
Midnight. How serendipitous.
He snapped the lid shut. Grazing a gloved finger across the fading English words etched into the tarnished casing, Konstantin let out a breath that frosted the air and shoved the watch back into his pock
et.
Incredibly good things were known to happen to a Levin at midnight. He referred to it as the Glorious Midnight Bane. It had commenced back in 1792, when his father, an upper class gentleman with debts brought on by heavy gambling, had met a beautiful British spinster at the festival of Maslenitsa whilst church bells gonged at midnight. Her name was Miss Penelope Bane.
His father, Mr. Roman Stanislav Levin, had hired an expensive tutor so he could master the British language and then romanced Miss Bane beyond his financial means until the two fell madly in love. In honor of their engagement, his father presented her with an amethyst ring he could not afford and she presented him with a silver pocket watch she could not afford. ‘Eternally Yours at Midnight’ was etched on the back of the silver casing in English. Shortly after their betrothal, Miss Penelope Bane tragically died in a horrific carriage accident and was barely identified by the amethyst ring on her finger.
His father, the ultimate romantic, had never recovered and abandoned the last of his respectable name by becoming part of a powerful criminal organization to avoid going to debtor’s prison. He became a different man. But even long after his father married Konstantin’s mother, whilst becoming one of the most feared criminals in Saint Petersburg and Moscow, he still carried that watch and could often be found sitting with it in silence, opening and closing its silver casing as if communicating with Miss Bane.
Though most would call it superstitious rubbish unworthy of a blink, the repeated connection between the hour and the watch was uncanny. The man only ever conducted business at midnight in honor of Miss Bane, and as a result, had survived everything, each and every time, no matter how outrageous the incident. His father had once travelled with a group of men to an armory where a paid official allowed them to take whatever they needed. It was a quarter to midnight when halfway through their ‘shopping’ of ammunition, the armory had mysteriously caught fire and blew several walls out of the building. His father was the only one to survive and walked away without a single burn or scratch. The watch was in his pocket.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 141