Adrienne Basso

by The Ultimate Lover

  Then one day he appeared. She was relaxing in Belinda’s pretty garden, heard a noise, looked up from the embroidery she was stitching, and found him standing before her. Dressed in a blue coat that exactly matched the color of his eyes, tan breeches molding his muscular thighs, black Hessian boots polished to a mirror shine. Looking every inch the devilish rogue she knew him to be. Her heart turned over.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  He cocked his head and smiled boldly. “You gave me your direction that afternoon in the garden before you left the house party. Do you not remember?”

  “It must have slipped my mind.” The breath that escaped her was nearly a sigh. Though she was ridiculously glad to see him, she wished he had not come. Seeing his handsome face, his endearing smile, brought back the memories of the reckless passion they had shared and reminded her too sharply of the things that could never be. “Your visit is rather a surprise.”

  “A pleasant one, I hope?”

  Amelia bit her lip to hide her nervous giggle. “Is there a lady in all of England who does not find it a pleasant experience to be in the company of the Viscount of Longley?”

  “Only those with bloodthirsty husbands object,” he decided.

  This time she did allow her laugh to escape. “How is Mrs. Fairweather managing these days?”

  “I have no idea.” He sat beside her on the garden bench. “Nor do I care.”

  His words pleased her. She always felt he deserved better than the crumbs Mrs. Fairweather was willing to throw his way.

  “Why have you come here, my lord?”

  “Must a gentleman always have an ulterior motive for visiting a beautiful lady?”

  “If the gentleman is you, then the answer to that question is yes.”

  He laughed low in his throat. The sensual sound caused a shiver of chills to race up Amelia’s spine. She lifted her head and it seemed to her that their eyes remained fixed upon each other for a long time.

  “Perhaps I have come today because I wanted to see you,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I have been unable to sleep, unable to concentrate, unable to function as the carefree, fun-loving rogue that I am. Perhaps I find myself too frustrated and restless to attend to even the simplest matters. Perhaps the thought of spending my days and nights, without you has filled me with a gloom and despair that I can no longer tolerate.”

  She could not answer him. Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. “You were so angry when you left. And I knew in my heart I could not blame you. I had duped and humiliated you and felt only a twinge of remorse for my actions. I deserved your scorn.”

  “No, you did not.” He reached into his breast coat pocket, pulled out a white linen handkerchief, and gently wiped her eyes. “Dearest Amelia, you can be so very naive at times. True you were less than honest with me and that stung my pride. As for our night together, well, my dear, you hardly had to tie me to the bed.”

  “Gareth!”

  “That would have come later. On our second night together.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “But there was no second night. You ran away, Amelia.”

  “I had no other choice,” she whispered.

  “I understand that now. Words cannot express how sorry I am that it took me so long to make that realization. Will you forgive me?”

  She searched his eyes, trying to judge his sincerity. “It would please me greatly if we could part as friends, Gareth.”

  “Friends?” His eyebrow arched. “I had hoped to be far more than your friend, Amelia. I want to be your husband.”

  “My God! You cannot be serious?”

  The viscount compressed his lips. “ ’Tis fortunate that I am a man possessed of a healthy dose of self-confidence, madame. It has taken me weeks to accept the notion of being a husband, yet when I ask the woman I love to share my life and make a new beginning for us both, I am soundly humiliated.”

  Amelia pressed her hand to her heart. “Goodness, this certainly is a day filled with surprises.” She licked her dry lips. “You love me?”

  The viscount grimaced, then nodded his head. “I am miserable without you, pining away for just a glimpse of your lovely face. Remembering all that we shared leaves a peculiar tightness in my chest. Lucien declared it sounded suspiciously like a bad case of indigestion, but wisely recanted that statement when I threatened to punch him in the nose.”

  Amelia’s heart began to pound so hard it made her light-headed. Surely she had misheard, had misunderstood. “I am having difficulty believing this, my lord.”

  “I know precisely what you mean.” The viscount reached out and stroked her cheek. His touch was gentle, loving. “This realization has been quite a shock for me, I can assure you. Yet that does not make it any less truthful. I love you, Amelia.”

  She began to tremble. She stared at him with round, unblinking eyes and tried to formulate some sort of response. “I believe the usual answer to such a declaration is I love you too.”

  “Thank heavens!”

  He gathered her in the circle of his arms and bent down his head.

  “Wait,” Amelia cried, pushing against the unyielding muscles of his chest. “Before you kiss me I must tell you that I cannot marry you.”

  He paused in the act of lowering his head, then tightened his hold on her. “Are you scared?”

  “Terrified,” she whispered.

  He nodded his head in agreement. “So am I, but I believe that is a good sign. It shows we are being practical and realistic. Marriage is no easy road. It is a lifetime commitment, filled with both joys and sorrows. Only those couples who are truly dedicated to making a success of it are happy.”

  She sighed. “There is so much for us to overcome. The scandal that I created, not to mention the difference in our ages will keep the gossiping tongues wagging for years. We are not at all like other couples, Gareth.”

  “No. That will be our salvation. We shall be outrageously unfashionable and demand respect and fidelity from each other. The ton will not know what to make of our union.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “If we married you would be faithful?”

  “Yes, because I know you will only agree if I promise that I will.” He bowed his head sheepishly. “Yet it will not be a hardship, for I have discovered that I want no other woman but you, Amelia.”

  The sincerity in his voice told her he was being truthful. Riddled with indecision, Amelia gazed at him. “You speak as if I have already agreed.”

  “I am hopeful.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Yet I want this to be your choice, made with your free will and your full heart.” He lowered her hand and placed it gently on his knee, shifted his position and withdrew a paper from his coat pocket.

  “This is the deed to the Dower House and fifty surrounding acres on the Monford estate.”

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why would you want to purchase that particular property? And how on earth did you ever get Roger to agree?”

  The viscount grinned triumphantly. “I didn’t. I feared I would be unable to keep my tongue or my fists under control around your obnoxious brother-in-law so I sent my friend, Lucien St. Simon, the Earl of Danbury, to negotiate the sale.

  “Apparently Roger was so badly in need of funds he did not bother to ask many questions. I think he probably believed he was thwarting any future attempts you might have to gain your freedom from him. But if you look closely at the name on the deed you will see that we have defeated Roger soundly.”

  The hand holding the parchment shook slightly. She accepted it, gazed down, gasped, squinted, then pressed the document so close to her face it touched her nose. Yet the name of the new owner remained clear and legible. Amelia Wheatley, Dowager Countess of Monford. “You have bought the house for me? Why?”

  “I suspected you might not leap at the chance to marry me, even though I am considered by many in society to be the catch of the Season.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “I understand your n
eed for independence is strong. My one hope remains that if we do not marry at once I can at least be a frequent overnight guest in your home and in your bed.”

  “Gareth.” Amelia dipped her chin and blushed.

  He ran his fingers gently across her bowed head. “When the weather begins to warm we shall travel. You said once how you long to see the sights of Europe. Let me show them to you. There are still many beautiful places where the Corsican monster has not invaded. I have told you that I prefer we marry, but I won’t insist upon it. I want you to be happy, Amelia.”

  She gripped his knee tightly, still feeling shock. He was giving her everything she had always wanted, had ever dreamed about. Her freedom. And his love. What could be more perfect?

  “I was able to bring my maid with me when I came to stay with Belinda, but there is an elderly servant, a footman named Hugh, employed by Roger whom I wish moved to the Dower House. Can you arrange that for me?”

  “It will be done as quickly as possible. Now give me a real challenge.”

  She shook her head, hardly daring to believe in his confidence, his enthusiasm. “Our future is so uncertain, so unsettled. How will we manage it?”

  His mouth tightened with amusement. “A woman I respect and admire once told me that if I set my mind to it, I could accomplish any task.”

  “She sounds demented.”

  “No, she is very wise and very beautiful. She has captured my heart and holds it firmly in the palm of her hand. I am hers to command.”

  The emotional upheaval in Amelia’s heart began to settle. “I do want to be with you,” she admitted. “Yet I insist we delay any marriage plans until we have been together for at least several months. Perhaps even a year.”

  “Done!” Clasping his hand around her head, Gareth brought Amelia’s mouth to his. He kissed her deeply, his mouth warm and inviting. When it ended, she felt him smile and pull away. “I do however have one condition upon which I will not bend,” he whispered. “If you become pregnant with our child during that time you will marry me immediately. I cannot sanction the idea of my son or daughter growing up without my name, without a real father to love and protect them.”

  “I agree.” She blew out her breath quickly before the image of their child had her crying with longing. “After all, how can I refuse the man who once told me he shot his father with a dueling pistol when he was just a lad?”

  “How indeed?” The viscount’s broad grin was infectious. “ ’Tis a fine, entertaining tale, my lady. I promise I shall tell it to you in great detail on our wedding night.”

  “Gareth! You just said that you would not pressure me to—”

  The viscount growled softly, bent his head down swiftly, and captured her lips firmly before Amelia could sputter any additional protests. Yet it was not necessary. She returned the kiss with equal measure, for they were in truth a well-matched pair.

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Adrienne Basso’s newest historical romance,

  HOW TO BE A SCOTTISH MISTRESS,

  coming as a print and eBook in July 2013!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Northern England, June 1306

  “We’ll have rain by nightfall, I fear,” Lord Henry Libourg, Baron of Arundel, declared solemnly as he slowed his horse’s canter, drawing closer to his wife so as to be heard above the pounding hooves. “’Tis bound to make a mud pit in the middle of the bailey, but the newly sowed crops will benefit.”

  “Rain? Are you daft, my lord?” Lady Fiona matched her mare’s pace to that of her husband’s war stead, then eyed him with healthy skepticism. “There is nary a cloud in the sky to mar the perfection of sunshine.”

  “Rain it will be, my lady,” Henry insisted with authority. “I feel it in my bones.”

  He slapped his gloved hand deliberately against his thigh, then grimaced. Fiona turned her face upward toward the bright sunshine, shaking her head. It was moments such as this when the nearly twenty-five-year age difference between her and her spouse became glaringly apparent. Only an old man spoke of his joints aching when rain or snow approached.

  The unkind thought had no sooner entered her head when Fiona silenced it. Henry was a good husband—dear to her in many ways. She had been sent to his manor as a young girl of twelve, to serve his wife and learn the duties of a proper lady. When that good woman had died in childbirth five years later, Henry had surprised Fiona by asking her to be his wife and mother to his infant son.

  Born to a family of minor nobility that took little stock in the welfare of its female members, Fiona had been relieved when her father agreed to the match. Relieved and grateful, for it allowed her to stay at the first place she had truly considered home.

  She knew others could not understand why she would eagerly wed a man of modest means and position so much older than herself, but as the Baroness of Arundel, Fiona had found a purpose that filled her with confidence and self-worth. Though affectionate, she had come to accept that hers was not, nor would it ever be, a marriage of passion. Yet Fiona loved Henry truly, in a way that stretched far beyond a sense of duty.

  All in all, it was a good life.

  Fiona turned her gaze away from the sunlight twinkling through the leaves and gazed out at the trees surrounding them. Summer had finally arrived, but a thick layer of dead brown leaves carpeted much of the forest floor, mingling with the green of the smaller bushes and ferns.

  “Oh, look Henry, ’tis a cluster of blooming feverfew,” Fiona exclaimed. “Please, may we stop so I can gather some? Two of the kitchen lads have broken out in a fierce rash. They are suffering mightily and treating them with my usual ointments has proven useless. I am certain the addition of feverfew will make all the difference.”

  Filled with excitement, Fiona tugged on her reins with a short, sharp motion. Her horse protested, rearing in response.

  “Careful now, you don’t want to take a tumble on this hard ground,” Henry admonished. With impressive skill, the baron reached out a strong arm to ensure his wife kept her seat.

  Fiona cast him a grateful smile, tightening her thighs around her mount instinctively. She was a competent, though not especially skilled, horsewoman. Fortunately, Henry was near to keep her safe.

  Once her horse was calm, the baron peered over at the soft, white petal flowers she pointed toward, his expression perplexed. “Feverfew? Are you certain? They look like ordinary daisies to me.”

  Fiona smiled. Henry was a man of solid intelligence as well as experience, but medicinal herbs and flowers were completely foreign to him. “With their yellow centers and white petals, I’ll allow there is a strong resemblance, but you must trust me, sir, when I tell you those are not daisies.”

  “I trust you, Fiona. I’m just not certain ’tis wise to delay our return home. We have been gone for most of the afternoon and there are duties that await us both. If I can spare the men, you may return tomorrow to collect your flowers.”

  “They are not merely flowers, Henry, they are medicine. And truly, the need is so great that I fear tomorrow might be too long to wait. The sooner I try a new treatment, the sooner the lads will be healed.”

  Henry made a soft sound of resignation beneath his breath. “God’s bones, Fiona, I think you are the only woman in all of England who would make such a fuss over kitchen lads.”

  Graceful in victory, Fiona smiled sweetly. “You are the one who taught me to care so diligently for our people, good sir. Now come, there looks to be enough to fill my saddle pouch as well as yours.”

  The baron slid off his horse, then caught his wife around the waist when she began to dismount from hers. Their eyes met briefly as he set her gently on the ground. Impulsively, Fiona leaned forward and playfully kissed the tip of Henry’s nose.

  “Impudent baggage,” Henry bristled in mock annoyance. A deep chuckle bubbled through Fiona and she laughed merrily. The sound echoed through the forest, startling a flock of black birds from the branches of a nearby tree.

  “Wait here,”
Henry commanded, handing her the leads of both horses.

  Fiona nodded in understanding, waiting patiently. Even though they rode on their own land, it was wise to be cautious, especially in these uncertain times.

  She watched the baron make slow progress toward the clusters of feverfew, his shrewd gaze darting back and forth. Bored at being stopped on the journey, the horses ambled a few steps and lowered their heads to drink from a large puddle at the edge of the forest. Fiona allowed it, securing their leather leads to a tree trunk. She then turned back to Henry, anxious to begin her harvest.

  At last, he gave the signal and she scampered forward, glad she was dressed in her new pair of leather boots. The ground was moist and springy, her feet sinking nearly to the ankles in some spots.

  “I don’t suppose I can ask you to hurry,” Henry muttered, as she strode past him to reach the first large bunch.

  “I shall try my best,” Fiona replied. “But doing a proper job of harvesting takes time.”

  Though his expression was wry, Fiona heard the twinge of pride in her husband’s voice. She had never shied away from hard work and took a marked interest in all who lived at the manor, be they peasant, servant or knight. And it was no secret she was well loved for her dedication.

  Determined not to take a minute longer than necessary, Fiona sank to her knees, surveying the bounty growing before her. Gathering a large handful of blossoms growing at the base of an oak tree, she skillfully twisted her wrist, breaking the stems near the base of the roots. She made certain not to take every flower, ensuring the plants would survive and produce more feverfew in the coming weeks and months.

  With such a great number of soldiers, servants and others depending on her for care, Fiona knew well the importance of keeping the castle stillroom stocked with precious medical supplies, ever at the ready to treat the ills of those who needed help.

  Moving forward on her knees, Fiona reached around the trunk to harvest another bunch of the precious flowers. As she broke off the stems, an odd sense that something was amiss surrounded her. It was quiet, almost too quiet. She turned her head to check on Henry, who stood several yards behind her.