What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  She swallowed deeply as she stared into his eyes. “Tristan, I love you more than anything. What you offer sounds like heaven here on earth, but what if I am barren and cannot give you a child? A gentleman in your position must produce an heir. The few times with Samuel—”

  He put his fingers on her lips. “Do you honestly think I care about that?” Even now her thoughts were only for him. Why had he doubted her all those years ago? “My cousin Harold can have what’s left should that prove to be the case.”

  She placed her hand on his cheek, kissed him tenderly on the mouth. “You are the love of my life. I want to spend my days laughing with you, my nights indulging in far more illicit pleasures.”

  His heart swelled, as did another part of his anatomy. “We could elope.” He never wanted to be without her again. “We could ride in this carriage all the way to Scotland. Pretend the last five years never existed.”

  She gazed longingly into his eyes. “It sounds wonderful. But we cannot abandon Mr. Chandler and Miss Smythe. Had they not agreed to marry, things could have ended so differently for us. And I have a feeling they are going to need our help.”

  She was right, of course.

  He gave a weary sigh. “I doubt five years of daily prayer and a vow of chastity would reform Matthew Chandler.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. “Is that how you spent your five years in the monastery?”

  “I prayed every night.” Begged was perhaps the appropriate word. “I prayed that the Lord would ease my pain and torment.”

  “Well, you can take comfort in the fact that he listened.” She placed her hand on his leg, caressed his thigh with sensual strokes. “Do you recall how excited we were the day we eloped? Do you recall how our excitement led to a rather amorous interlude in the carriage?”

  “I have never forgotten it. Indeed, I have revisited the memory many times over the years.”

  “Well, we may not have the opportunity to elope, but we could certainly take a ride to Kempston. I should like to see the gardens again, to frolic next to the fountain.”

  He rather liked the train of her thoughts. “And on the way, we could find a way to sate our excitement.”

  “I am sure there will be time to find more than one way to accomplish our task.”

  Without needing to hear another word, he shot out of his seat, opened the window and relayed their instructions to the coachman. Closing the window and the blind, he dropped back into the seat next her.

  “Kempston it is then.” He took hold of her chin and kissed her with five years of lust, love, and longing. “Promise me we shall marry upon our return.”

  She pulled down the blind on her window, gathered her gown and sat astride him. “I promise to marry you upon our return. Bloodthirsty hounds and wailing ghosts could not keep us apart. I promise to love you all of my life.”

  Thank you!

  Thank you for reading What You Deserve

  If you’d like to be the first to find out about new releases and catch a peek at preview chapters then why not head over to my website www.adeleclee.com and sign up for my monthly newsletter.

  If you would like to read a chapter from Matthew Chandler’s story, What You Promised, please turn the page.

  Adele x

  What You Promised

  Anything for Love

  Book 4

  Chapter 1

  Matthew Chandler stared at the petite golden-haired lady standing in front of him. Her perfect bow-shaped lips were formed into a delightful pout. Her wide blue eyes gazed up at him as though he was a wise scholar who knew the answers to all life’s weird and wonderful mysteries.

  He had seen desire, seen lust and longing flash in many a woman’s eye. But never in all his years had he seen hope.

  It certainly was a novelty.

  “Do you want to marry Lord Morford?” Matthew gestured to his friend whose persistent shuffling indicated a desperate need to find a solution to their impending problem.

  Miss Smythe glanced at Tristan’s handsome countenance, her gaze passing over him as one would a rather tired, faded bonnet in a shop window.

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I do not want to marry Lord Morford. But what else can I do?”

  Matthew witnessed Tristan’s shoulders sag, heard the sigh that expressed his relief. But something had to be done. In a matter of minutes, the three of them would be found in a secluded corner of the Holbrooks’ garden. The matronly figures heading their way would take immense pleasure in spreading news of the dishevelled maiden hiding behind the shrubbery with a couple of rogues.

  With a raised brow, he considered the torn bodice of Miss Smythe’s gown.

  The frustrated groan left his lips before he had a chance to rein it in. Regardless of the lady's wishes, Tristan would make her an offer of marriage. He would not let an innocent woman, used so cruelly by Tristan’s mother in a plot to manipulate events, suffer the shame of a ruined reputation.

  Matthew’s gaze fell to the soft curve of Miss Smythe’s breasts. “Would you like to marry me?” The words fell from his mouth far more easily than he had expected.

  Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. “What the blazes? We are trying to salvage something of the lady’s reputation, not ruin it completely.”

  Matthew smiled as the lady’s curious gaze drifted over the breadth of his chest. She bit down on her bottom lip, and devil take him, he did see a flash of desire in her eyes.

  How intriguing.

  This timid little creature might prove to be far more entertaining than he’d originally thought.

  “Is … is that an offer, sir?” She batted her long lashes more times than he cared to count.

  From her flirtatious tone, he knew he had captured her interest. Perhaps the evening would not be a complete disaster after all. And from what he knew, the lady had a decent enough dowry to ease his financial burden somewhat.

  “It is,” he replied with an air of confidence.

  Tristan inhaled deeply. “I can’t let you do that.”

  Matthew shrugged. “It is not your decision to make.” Indeed, he had a sudden desire to be rid of his friend, to be left alone with the delightful Miss Smythe and to give the ravenous gossips something utterly scandalous to devour.

  He heard the matrons approaching. Tristan had but a minute if he planned to make his escape through the shrubbery. The guests wandering about at the top of the garden would not suspect a solitary gentleman of any impropriety.

  “You must decide what you want to do, Miss Smythe,” Tristan said with some impatience.

  Miss Smythe pursed her luscious lips, glanced down at her slippers. He could almost hear the cogs turning as she desperately tried to consider her options.

  “Are you able to provide for me, sir?”

  He struggled to suppress an arrogant smirk. The lady would have no complaints. Of that he was certain. “Have no fear. I shall ensure all your needs are met.”

  A pretty pink blush touched Miss Smythe’s cheeks, and she inclined her head. “Then I accept.”

  Tristan muttered a curse.

  A frisson of excitement raced through Matthew’s body.

  How odd.

  The pleasurable sensation soothed his bruised pride. It made him forget that, a mere thirty minutes before, he had played in the most notorious card game of the Season, and lost far more than he had intended.

  “You need to leave, Tristan.” A sudden urgency to taste Miss Smythe’s soft lips took hold. “You need to leave now.” He held Miss Smythe's gaze as he gestured to the topiary archway. “Call on me tomorrow.”

  Tristan crept towards the exit, hesitated every third step or so before finally disappearing into the shadows.

  With no time to waste, Matthew pulled Miss Smythe into his arms. The gasp that left her lips contained a hint of excitement. Her dainty hand came to rest on his chest, her fingers fluttering over his heart.

  It felt strangely reassuring, though he resisted the urge to
inform her that the organ was nothing but a cold, hard lump of stone.

  “When people are gossiping about our tryst, what is it you want them to say about us?” he asked. She shivered as his words breezed across her cheek. Her sensitivity to his touch would bode well for their coupling. “Is this to be a ravishing? Do you wish to be portrayed as a naive woman lured into a trap by a rogue?”

  Miss Smythe swallowed deeply as her gaze lingered on his mouth. “I do not want anyone to think me so foolish.” She shook her head. “No,” she added with some determination. “If I have a choice, I would like people to say it is a lo-love match. I want people to think we were so consumed with passion we simply lost our heads.”

  Convincing others he was in love was far beyond the realms of his capabilities. Love was a word foreign to him. It was a word that made the muscles in his shoulders feel tight, tense. The mere thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, a foul flavour only superseded by the word ‘trust’.

  Passion, on the other hand, came as easy to him as breathing air. If the lady wanted to experience pure carnal lust, he would gladly give it to her.

  “That is what I hoped you would say.” His tone conveyed the lascivious nature of his thoughts. “From the moment we are discovered that is how we will play this game.” A frisson of excitement raced through him. He needed a distraction, something sweet and untainted to cleanse his mind. “You have my word, as a gentleman, that I will ask for your hand. But for now, I am going to kiss you with such ardent vigour and passion that I believe we truly will lose our heads.”

  Miss Smythe pursed her trembling lips. “You … you should know that I have never kissed a gentleman.”

  For some obscure reason, he found her comment pleasing. “Then you must forgive my abrupt approach as I am afraid there is no time for gentle tutoring. Do I have your permission to continue?”

  Good Lord!

  Never in his life had he asked such a question.

  The lady nodded, raised her chin and closed her eyes. She looked serene, angelic, and he feared he was about to taste a little piece of heaven.

  He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lowered his head until their lips touched. The sweet scent of roses filled his nostrils, the smell pure, clean, surprisingly arousing. Her lips were warm, full and soft, but he did not have the time to appreciate them further.

  “The fountain must be through here. I hope it is as magnificent as Lady Morford suggested.”

  His hands followed the shape of her hips, settled on her buttocks and pulled her against the evidence of his arousal. A tiny gasp left her lips, giving him the opportunity to delve deeper, to explore the unfathomable depths of innocence.

  He expected to encounter resistance, for her fear to taint the experience. He was not expecting her tongue to brush seductively against his. He was not expecting her to throw her arms around his neck, to press her breasts against his chest and moan into his mouth.

  God help him.

  All he could think about was lowering her down to the ground and pleasuring her until dawn. Many times, he had felt the forceful grip of desire commanding the most important part of his anatomy. Yet now, an undeniable need coursed through every part of his body.

  Miss Smythe’s inexperienced fingers found their way into his hair, twirling, tickling, and tugging. He broke for breath, his gaze falling to the swell of creamy flesh rising up to greet him. A mumbled curse of appreciation left his lips and he captured her mouth with a level of desperation that shocked him.

  So engrossed was he in plundering the mouth of his maiden, that he failed to respond to the series of high-pitched feminine shrieks and wails.

  “Good heavens!”

  “Oh, cover my eyes. I cannot look, Felicity.”

  “What is the meaning of this, sir?”

  Matthew could hear their comments, but was not quite ready to let his delicate flower go. He held her close, his tongue still engaged in an erotic dance that promised a wealth of pleasure.

  “Put her down this instant.”

  Miss Smythe attempted to pull away. The action left him feeling rather frustrated, ready to turn on the pack of matrons and tell them to go to hell.

  He dragged his mouth from hers, though continued to rain kisses along the line of her jaw.

  “Tell me you love me,” he whispered in her ear. Sensing her hesitation, he added, “This is supposed to be a love match, remember.”

  Miss Smythe tilted her head, granting him easier access to the elegant column of her throat. “Oh, I love you.” The words breezed gently from her lips. “I love you so much it is killing me.”

  Damn, she was good.

  “Promise me you’ll marry me,” he said, calling on his rampant desire to infuse feeling into his words. “Promise me you’ll be mine.”

  “I cannot live without you,” she muttered so sweetly he almost believed it. “I want to spend my life making you happy.”

  Matthew fought the need to capture her mouth again.

  A lady cleared her throat. “Will you let go of her and address us, sir.”

  “I am going to acknowledge them,” he whispered against her throat. “Do not say a word.”

  He looked up at the three horrified faces, their hollow cheeks and pursed lips evidence of their disdain. It took a tremendous amount of effort not to smirk at the ridiculous array of garish gowns. With plumes of feathers, jewels, and strange bows in their hair, they appeared more like the exotic birds in Lady Holbrook’s aviary.

  “Forgive us,” he said holding Miss Smythe against his chest. The need to protect her modesty proved to be the overriding factor. A man professing undying love did not tear at his lady’s garments. “We are to be married and could not contain our excitement.”

  Miss Smythe hid her face against his coat. He placed a hand on the back of her head in a comforting gesture.

  “Where would we all be if we let our emotions run freely,” one of them said, her tone brimming with reproof.

  “Oh, don’t you remember what it was like to be in love?”

  The lady with an overly large ostrich feather jutting out of her coiffure chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I married for money.” She paused for a moment, squinted as she stared at them. “Ah, it is Mr. Chandler, is it not? Are you certain it is marriage you seek?”

  Matthew smiled. “Even the most hardened rogues may be reformed.”

  “And who is to be the lucky lady?”

  He kept a firm grip on Miss Smythe’s head. They would all know in due course, but he would be damned if they would see shame in her eyes.

  “You may read the announcement soon enough,” he said.

  His comment was met with a mocking snigger. “We shall believe it, sir, when we see you standing at the altar in St. George’s.”

  Anger flared. His contempt for their hypocritical opinions could not be repressed.

  “Then you should all hope that the lady does marry me,” he said with a wealth of loathing. “A gentleman suffering from a broken heart can be rather foolish and unpredictable. I know enough about the licentious habits of many gentlemen to see shame brought down on the most respectable families.” He considered the identities of the ladies before him. “I am certain you would not wish me to regale tales of your husband’s exploits, Lady Hadden.”

  Their shocked gasps and sudden frantic hand gestures were evidence he had made his point.

  “Then … then we wish you luck in your endeavour, Mr. Chandler,” Lady Hadden said, ushering the women at her side like a hen gathering her chicks. “And remember, a good marriage requires nothing more than a good man.”

  “I shall bear that in mind the next time I am in the company of your husband.”

  Without another word the matrons turned their backs and sauntered away from the secluded area.

  Matthew waited for a moment. He ran his hand along Miss Smythe’s bare shoulder. “They are gone,” he whispered, pleased to feel her shiver at his touch.

  She gazed up at him wi
th a look of wonder. “You certainly knew how to put them in their place.”

  “The only way to beat the gossips is to play them at their own game.”

  She stepped away, stared at him for the longest time. “What do we do now?”

  With a quick shake of the head, he dismissed all salacious thoughts. “I presume you are here with a relation.” He was aware that her parents were dead.

  She nodded. “I was to attend with my aunt but she has been struck down with a fever. I came with my friend, Miss Hamilton, and my uncle is here, though I believe someone convinced him to play a hand of cards and I have not seen him since.”

  Cards?

  A strange sense of foreboding took hold.

  He scoured his mind in a bid to recall her uncle’s name. “You live with your mother’s sister, I understand.” He made it his business to keep abreast of all the gossip.

  “Yes, they are very good to—” she broke off on a sob. “Oh, they will be so disappointed. How could I have been so foolish?”

  He touched her upper arm. “It is fair to say that once Lady Morford puts her mind to something she does not care who she hurts in the process.”

  Miss Smythe shook her head and gave a weary sigh. “I know I am far from the catch of the Season. I know you offered marriage purely to save Lord Morford. It was a very honourable thing to do.”

  Honourable? Damn! No one had ever associated such a word with his name. “As your betrothed, may I give you some advice?”

  Her eyes brightened. “Certainly.”

  “People can be cruel. They will spread all sorts of vicious rumours about you.” No doubt she would hear some distressing things about him, too. “You must rise above it. Do not intimate that your looks or character are inadequate. Tell yourself that any man would be privileged to call you his wife. Believe that you are a diamond in a pond full of pebbles.”