by Jane Lark
Divine did not ask to take his leave of Meredith. Rupert knew for certain, then, what he’d guessed less than an hour before; her father did not love her. His own parents had warred with one another, but at least his mother cared about him to some degree.
Rupert found Meredith in her chamber. She was alone, sitting with her legs curled beneath her on the window seat. “Meredith?”
Her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes full of sadness, as she stood. “Do you hate me, once more? I did not know their deal was false. My father wrote to me this morning and asked me to come. It’s a catastrophe, isn’t it? Everyone will hate me more, and I will be an even greater embarrassment to you. I promise I didn’t do what I did to gain your fortune, I’m sure it’s what you think, but it’s not true, Rupert...”
No, he did not hate her. “Meredith.” He opened his arms, and she came into them, embracing him. “I believe you,” he reassured, stroking her hair. “I will not judge you by your father, darling. I love you and this cannot change how I feel, Meredith.”
She pulled back, looking up at his face.
“I love you,” he repeated, answering the question he saw in her eyes. He did, the feeling ran from his heart into his blood, but it was even deeper, it was in his bones, she’d become a part of who he was.
“I love you, too.” Her eyes glowed, and he knew she did.
“I’m very glad you had the sense to force me into this, Meredith.” He kissed her. He was happy, and Rowena would be happy too.
Meredith kissed him back, her arms slipping about his neck.
~
When Meredith attended Lady Micham’s ball that evening, she was so happy she felt as though her heart would burst with joy.
They arrived fashionably late, and just in time for a waltz, and as Lord Kendrick led Rowena away, Rupert asked Meredith to dance. She looked into his hazel eyes, which shone as deep and as thick as honey, and saw love. He loved her! He’d said he loved her!
As they danced he held her gaze the whole time, while a slight smile curved his lips and creased the skin at the corners of his beautiful eyes. There was no arrogance or anger within him anymore. It was as though he’d been a closed bud that had now bloomed into life.
“I love you,” she whispered up at him as he turned her.
His smile broke wider, parting his lips. “I love you, too, Meredith. And thank heaven that you captured me...”
She laughed. She was going to make him happy for the rest of his life. She vowed it to herself and to him. She would always love him.
Illicit Love
MARLOW INTRIGUES – BOOK 1
BY JANE LARK
2nd Edition available from 3rd October 2013
Trapped under the reign of a cruel keeper, Ellen Harding longs to be free. Under his oppression, her soul and conscience have died while her body lives on, fulfilling his dissolute desires. She is empty – a vessel – deaf to the voice of morality and blind to shame.
When her eyes are drawn to a beautiful man for no other reason than his looks, she imagines what it would be like to escape her chains for a night by giving her body to him.
But Edward Marlow is kind and gentle when he touches her, and her subconscious whispers this man could be her salvation. Yet how can he help her when she has secrets which prevent her freedom?
Edward is restless, lonely, and a little angry with his lot in life — it is his only excuse for being drawn to another man’s mistress. The woman’s dark hair and pale eyes are striking, and he cannot take his gaze off her while she watches him over the top of a fan with an illicit intent in her eyes.
Once he’s known her, he cannot forget her, and once he’s seen the evidence of her supposed benefactor’s brutality, he wants to help her. But how can he when she will not run any more than she will speak of her past?
When a desperate Ellen finally relents and shocks Edward from his sleep, he doesn’t hesitate, he helps her flee. He just doesn’t know he’s running headlong into the secrets of her past.
Can love redeem a life of sin?
Illicit Love
MARLOW INTRIGUES – BOOK 1
BY JANE LARK
An excerpt
Perfectly positioned to view one of the ton’s fairest sons, Ellen’s eyes were drawn from Lord Gainsborough’s playing cards to the man seated across the table—Lord Edward Marlow, the second born son of the tenth Earl of Barrington. He was newly in town and therefore a novelty, an enigma. Every mistress and courtesan in the room had been watching him all evening and she was no exception.
Lord Edward’s long, manicured fingers moved, poising above his cards. Ellen openly stared, the low light in the room and its stale hazy air, thick with tobacco smoke, hiding her scrutiny from the watching crowd.
His hair was dark brown and gentle curls tumbled from his crown, licking his forehead and the high collar of his black, tailed evening coat, Brutus style. In the candlelight, thrown by the chandelier above, his hair glistened with a variety of rich, roasted coffee bean shades.
His head lifted and she indulged her eyes with his severe yet perfect, profile. He exuded authority. The man was sleek strength and sophistication. The muscle of his jaw tight, his lips rose as if to smile, but hesitated as though some thought stopped him, and she saw doubt or indecision pass across his expression. Then his eyelids lifted and his dark, intense gaze clashed with hers, a deep blue, more like slate-gray.
Embarrassed and a little flustered, Ellen’s appraisal fell to his hands.
His fingers teased out a card and threw it to the table while she felt his gaze burn into her.
Desire stirring, she pictured the pleasure those fingers could give a woman and the air in the room was suddenly hot and thick, despite the cool winter night outside.
Ellen lifted her open fan and fluttered it gently to cool her skin as her gaze drifted back to his face. He was watching her still. One dark eyebrow rose and his broad lips smiled. Her gaze hovering on his, she mirrored his smile, her heart pounding as though she was already coupling with him. She imagined his mouth on hers and a hot blush touched her skin. The sweeps of her fan increasing, her imagination drifted on towards indecency—impossibility—picturing tangled limbs and warm flesh.
Light caught the jet-black pools in his eyes, as though he saw the pictures she was forming in her thoughts and his captivating smile twisted with implied agreement. It turned his features from handsome to utterly devastating.
A hot flush spread like a caress down her throat to her breasts and lower, racing across her skin.
“I shall raise you a hundred, Marlow. Will you match me?” Lord Gainsborough’s brusque challenge sliced through the silent communication she shared with Lord Edward.
His gaze tore away, his blank expression cutting her, apparently dismissing their flirtation. Instead it focused on Lord Gainsborough.
Ellen stood behind Lord Gainsborough and slightly to his side, in her protector’s shadow, oppressed. Oppression was Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure and Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure was her life. Her gaze fell to the seam at the center of the back of his black evening coat. The pressure of his bloated body strained it. Excess was another of his passions.
Revulsion stirred. She despised the man—her protector. Yet preference was irrelevant. She was tied to him, trapped by him. He had blackmailed her into obedience five years ago and now here she stood, her soul and conscience dead while her body lived on, fulfilling his dissolute desires. She was empty, a vessel, deaf to the voice of morality and blind to shame.
Laughter hovered behind her closed lips, ringing in her thoughts, a sound of silent madness.
Lord Gainsborough liked flaunting his pretty vessel—his precious trophy. Sometimes he let others touch, taunting them with what they couldn’t have. Wickedly she wondered how he would react if she let someone of Lord Edward’s ilk touch her. He’d be furious.
Hiding her self-deprecating smile behind her fan, Ellen glanced over its top at the gorgeous man across the table. Was
it very wrong for her sinful body to want a man like that? How would it feel? How would it feel to be free from her so-called protector for an hour or two and play his games with a man of her choice? Choice was a holy grail; a cup fallen woman longed to drink from. And she’d love defying Lord Gainsborough.
As though pulled by an invisible cord winding between them, Lord Edward’s gaze lifted to her while he contemplated Lord Gainsborough’s call. His eyes widened, darkening, perhaps reading hers, and what appeared to be amusement twitched his lips before he looked back at his cards.
Ellen snapped shut her fan and lowered it to her waist, turning her attention to the game. Only Lord Gainsborough and the younger Lord Edward were left in play. The others sitting about the table simply watched, and behind them stood a crowd three deep. The dense ring of silent observers, were men in the formal black evening dress Brummell had made popular, with the occasional female, mistress or courtesan, draped from their arms. They were men enjoying the hedonistic lifestyle of the sleazy gentlemen’s club, or gaming-hell as it was more commonly known. Gaming-hells, like this one, provided the thrill these men craved from high stakes games, with women and wine to ease the rush.
For Gainsborough, she knew this place fuelled something else—his desire to be envied. He brought her here to show her off. Lord Gainsborough wore her as women wore their jewels. She was an adornment—his precious, beautiful, trophy. He’d not even dislike Lord Edward’s attention—he’d relish it. Yet if Gainsborough knew she was enticing Lord Edward, she would pay a price.
“I will meet your hundred, Gainsborough, and raise you ten.”
“Are you sure you have it, boy?” Lord Gainsborough’s tone rang with condescension, ridiculing Lord Edward. It fell flat. Lord Edward was younger, but he was in his prime. She would place him at his peak, mid-twenties at the least.
Receiving no answer, shifting in his seat, her protector pulled at the cuffs of his evening coat, while the eyes of their crowd turned to Lord Edward.
“Now your brother is back, Marlow, surely you have lost your portion. Should I request security for your funds?”
That barb seemed to hit a mark. Suddenly leaning back in his chair, Lord Edward’s eyes narrowed, his nonchalant air shattering as anger flashed in their blue-black depths. For all his beauty and youth he lacked nothing in masculine strength. Ellen sensed ruthlessness in the look he threw back at Lord Gainsborough.
“Play the game, Gainsborough. I’ve no desire for conversation.”
“But you are able to honour your debts? I need not wait for you to tug your brother’s purse strings for payment?”
Ellen watched Lord Edward’s grip tighten on his cards while his other hand reached for his glass. A slowly indrawn breath and he appeared back in control.
Everyone had heard the talk. He’d been running his brother’s estates since the age of eighteen, while his brother, the eleventh Earl, wasted both time and money abroad. Now his brother was back. Potentially to bleed dry the estates which were prospering under Lord Edward’s careful hand.
Lord Edward had arrived in London a week ago, angry and bitter, from the reports of the gossipmongers in the ton, and his behaviour this evening certainly concurred with the tale. His mask of serenity had slipped, revealing the man beneath the façade. He appeared out of sorts with the world, playing hard and deep, drinking heavily—and this from a man known for his dislike of vice.
His gaze lifted, meeting hers, anger and mockery in the look, as once more he caught her contemplating him. The determination in his eyes seemed to challenge her to speak. To what, agree with Gainsborough? Does he think I would condemn him? I am in no place to cast judgement.
Again his gaze ripped away from hers. “I have enough of my own blunt, Gainsborough,” he said, looking at his cards. “I have no need to beg from my brother.”
The nuance in his voice made her feel as though the words were said for her.
“I’m glad to hear it. Then I will raise you another two hundred, guineas.”
Lord Edward’s narrowed eyes lifted suddenly to look at her protector.
He didn’t have it, she was certain of that. He could not afford the stakes but would stupidly bury himself in debt because of some bizarre falling out with his brother, or stubborn male pride.
Unwilling to play audience to his downfall, she lowered her gaze and saw Lord Gainsborough’s cards had changed. The ten had become an ace, and the eight exchanged with a king. Disgust twisted Ellen’s stomach. Gainsborough would win by deceit and Lord Edward would be neatly leashed with the debt a whip in Lord Gainsborough’s hand. Her protector had no decent, honest bones in his body. He manipulated people. That was Gainsborough’s art; he used, broke and discarded people like puppets. She prayed daily he would cut her strings and cast her off—set her free—even though she had nowhere else to go. But he never seemed to tire of the power she gave him. Yet she need not watch him secure another victim in his sadistic sway.
Her heart pumping hard, looking up, she found Lord Edward’s eyes on her again. An odd feeling assailed her, a sense that he saw into her thoughts. His assessment was no longer admiring, nor mocking or angry, instead his gaze intently studied hers, searching for something.
She darted her gaze down and up, trying to direct his attention to Lord Gainsborough’s cards with her eyes while simultaneously flicking open her fan and then fluttering it beneath her chin to distract attention from their silent communication.
Lord Edward’s brow furrowed. She could see he didn’t understand.
Widening her eyes, she once again looked to Lord Gainsborough’s cards, then snapped her fan shut and tapped the tip against the long sleeve of her satin glove.
Smiling, or rather smirking, Lord Edward looked down at his cards.
Ellen glanced about their audience but she saw no one watching her.
“I will meet your stake, Gainsborough, and double it to see your hand. Show me your cards.”
Passionate Love
MARLOW INTRIGUES – BOOK 2
BY JANE LARK
Available Autumn 2013
When Lord Robert Marlow, the eleventh Earl of Barrington, stepped forward, Jane’s heart stopped. The last time she’d seen him they had both been young, innocent and naïve.
She’d considered this meeting a thousand times since their last and she’d pictured herself as someone he would admire. Yet now she felt everything the opposite. The gulf he’d left in her life ripped wider.
Robert’s eyes tracked Her Grace, Jane Gray. The only woman who had the power to disturb his equilibrium had just appeared from nowhere and was now walking away from him, again. Jane’s beauty had always outshone every other woman in his head and now he’d seen the reality once more he doubted any woman could ever ease the need he had for her.
He’d heard Sutton had died, and known Jane was free, but he’d had no intention of seeking her out. He’d always thought he desired revenge, not her. Yet today, he was like a dog, chasing after her bloody bones. But, yes, he would like to see her face in the morning when he was the one to say it has been nice, but goodbye.
The Earl of Barrington played a game; he took women only for one night, and they all desired to break his nomadic ways, yet no one could refuse such a handsome, skilled man — except Jane. How could she trust him?
Robert felt Jane’s fingers trembling. She was nervous and agitated. She’s vulnerable. He was frustrated and a little riled. He was not playing games. She was the one who kept flying from hot to cold. There was something wrong she would not admit to him, and nor would she admit she liked him. She did. She was a liar.
When will the wounds of love be healed?
rayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share