“No,” his voice came out rough and craggy.
“Surely, then, there is something I can do to you?”
The idea of her small hands on his member made him swell with need and his jaw clenched in his attempt to maintain control. “Adrianna.”
But she was already sliding her hands down his back, around the waist of his trousers as she worked the stays.
Frantic need overrode his good sense and he stood up, pulling at the complicated stays until he got them undone and shoved the garment down to his knees. Her eyes went wide as she stared and then, lord help him, she licked her lips. He nearly came undone. Briefly, he marveled at how much better this experience was than all the others that had come before it but then she reached out and took his staff in her soft delicate fingers, grasping around him.
He groaned out his pleasure. “Adrianna…please.”
She looked up at him. “Tell me what to do.”
Words choked in his throat. It didn’t matter what she did. But then, she scrambled up on her knees and leaned down, that mane of blonde hair brushing his hips and legs as she placed a soft kiss on his tip. He wound his hands into her hair and his head fell back. “Yes.”
In response, she kissed him there again and again. “Open your mouth,” he said, the visual nearly as satisfying as the feel.
And when those soft lips opened and sucked him in, he came undone, growling out his finish. The next time would be long and slow but this time, he’d needed her in a way he couldn’t express.
Pulling her up his body, he gave her a full kiss, wrapping her naked body in his embrace. “I’ll never let you go, sweetheart. I’m yours forever.”
She wound her hands about his neck, sighing into his mouth. “That’s good. I’d prefer not to have my father force you to our wedding with a shotgun.”
He chuckled against her lips as he pulled back the covers and carefully tucked them both into her bed. “I love you,” he whispered as he held her close.
“I love you, too,” she said snuggling into his neck. A soft meow called from the dressing room door. “Mittens?”
He lifted his head. How fitting. Then, drawing in a deep breath, Luke got up and crossed the room opening the door. Sure enough, Mittens and all three of her kittens were on the other side.
Mittens raced across the room and jumped up onto the bed with Adrianna, meowing for her kittens to follow. Without a word, Luke scooped them up and carried them to the bed.
“Aren’t they precious?” Adrianna patted the bed, all three babies scurrying toward her hand.
“We’re adopting the kittens, aren’t we?” he asked as he settled back under the covers.
“Just one.” She grinned, lifting Socks up to him. “I think she claimed you even before I did.”
He chuckled as the little black-and-white ball settled into his neck. “Do you think I’ll turn into your father? Prone to intense optimism, quoting sonnets at every turn?”
She raised up, wrinkling her nose. “I hope not.” Then she giggled. “Though I suppose there are worse men than my father.”
Luke leaned over and kissed her lips, kittens purring between them. “Far worse.”
He settled back into the bed, stroking Adrianna’s hair with one hand as he pet Socks with the other. This was where he belonged and where he intended to stay forever.
Epilogue
Two months later…
The sun shone brightly in the summer sky even as the dew still burned off the grass. The early morning air held just a touch of coolness even as it promised to be a beautifully hot day. Luke stood in a large clearing where the grass had been cut short. Tomorrow, they’d break ground on their new home.
He’d bought the Haversham property the day after he’d proposed and then, with help from much of the village, erected a small cottage to house him and Adrianna while they built their home. He loved this place nearly as much as he loved the woman he was about to marry.
Technically, he could move Adrianna into his ancestral home. Miranda, upon hearing he was marrying another, had left. She had a baron who’d been courting her and, realizing an earl was no longer in the cards, she’d accepted his offer. He sighed, the truth somehow so clear since he’d met Adrianna. Miranda had only wanted status all along. She’d never cared for any of them, not even his brother.
Which made his bride-to-be all the more lovely. Her heart was even prettier than that angelic face of hers.
Dashlane came up the hill, followed by Craven and Rathmore. “Are you ready?” Dashlane called, giving him a wide grin. “Never thought I’d see the day a woman snared you.”
Luke shook his head. “I’ve told you multiple times that she didn’t snare me. If anything, I caught her.”
Craven slapped Dashlane on the back. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Caught well and good, you are.”
Dashlane snorted. “Today isn’t about me. We can go through the details of my story another time.” Then he gave Craven a light punch. “Besides. You’re just as bad as I am.”
“Speaking of bad,” Rathmore pointed down the hill. “Here comes my cousin, Hartwell.”
Luke had now known Hartwell for nearly two months and he sincerely liked the man. Calm, steady, Luke had asked him for advice on more than one occasion. “Damn fine cottage builder, your cousin. Where did a marquess learn such skill?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Rathmore answered. “But I hear a wagon rumbling over the bridge. Do you think it’s our ladies?”
Sure enough, Mr. Moorish’s large carriage came into view, followed by a second vehicle. Mr. Moorish stepped out first, grinning from ear to ear as he helped Ophelia from the carriage first. Rathmore started for his wife, and all the other men followed, helping escort the ladies up the hill.
Luke stayed where he was, though he was itching to hold Adrianna in his arms. The vicar climbed the hill toward him, waving. “Are you ready, my lord?”
Ready? He’d been ready for weeks. On more than one occasion he’d considered sweeping Adrianna away to Gretna Green. But in the end, this was perfect. Her family, his friends that had become his family, and the site of their future home.
Mr. Moorish placed Adrianna’s hand in his arm as they waited for everyone else to come up the hill before they started. She wore a soft white gown of gauzy chiffon that fluttered in the breeze. He swallowed as he watched a few strands of her hair dance on the wind. She was perfect in this place, perfect for him. They finally started up the hill, and unable to hold still another moment, he took the last three steps, meeting them before the top. She gave him a wide smile. “Impatient?”
“Excessively,” he answered, taking her hand into his own. Then he looked at her father. “Thank you.”
Mr. Moorish patted his other arm. “Take good care of my daughter.”
“I will,” he answered. “Always.”
Tucking her into his side, they stood in front of the vicar as their wedding vows washed over him. Luke was finally home.
Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron
Chapter One
Miss Bianca Moorish stood in the town square of her sleepy village located on the eastern coast of London and assessed the large oak tree that rose up from the center of the square. “If I were a cat, that is most certainly where I would hide.”
Her sister, Juliet, tsked next to her. “Mittens did not bring three kittens up into that tree.”
Bianca turned her head from side to side assessing the branches. “We’ve looked everywhere else. The butcher…” She lifted her fingers and began counting the places they’d checked in the last hour. “The baker. Papa’s office. The docks. The cottage.” Behind her, she heard the two men helping her look. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Lord Dashlane rolling his eyes. He was the sort of classically handsome fellow that made most girls giddy with excitement. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, fair-haired with blue eyes and a ready smile.
Juliet spun about, tapping Dashlane’s arm. “Why don’t we check the dairy farm on the o
utskirts of the village? Surely Mittens brought her kittens there for a delicious treat.”
Dashlane frowned. “We’ve been searching for the better part of an hour. I don’t think—"
“Nonsense.” Juliet waved, flashing him a smile. “We’ll find her. I’m certain of it.”
Bianca pressed her lips together, certain that Juliet had concocted this entire scenario to get the handsome Lord Dashlane alone. Which was all well and good except for one little problem. Actually, he was a rather large problem.
Her gaze flitted to the other lord who’d travelled to their village with Lord Dashlane. Apparently, the three of them had been headed to a party when a storm had washed out the bridge. Tall, dark, and menacing with a heavy brow and a constant frown, Lord Craven frightened her a bit. He rarely spoke, instead answering with a sound that closely resembled a growl. His arms were perpetually crossed, making the thick muscles of his neck bulge out.
“Juliet,” she said. “We can all search the dairy farm together. Surely—”
But Juliet had already grabbed Dashlane’s elbow. “We’ll be right back. Check the tree. It’s a grand idea.” She flashed Bianca an angelic grin, her auburn hair glinting in the sun. “You’ll be fine, B. Don’t be a scared little mouse.”
Bianca coughed, unable to believe that Juliet had just called her that in front of two men they hardly knew. “I am not a scared mouse,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Lord Craven made that noise in response. “Mmmm,” he growled out from deep in his throat.
How did he even make such a noise? Her gaze flicked to him again as her stomach did a flop. She’d guess he wasn’t afraid of anything. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek as she pressed her hands into the folds of her skirt.
She likely was scared of most things. For example, she was frightened to ask him to help her search the tree. He’d just growl at her again and so she turned without a word and started for it alone.
She didn’t have to look back to know that he’d followed. She could feel his hulking presence behind her like one feels a predator, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Though, it wasn’t precisely fear that filled her belly. She looked back again, watching his muscles flex. Her breath caught.
Reaching the tree, she circled around the base, ducking branches and staring up into the newly forming foliage. “Mittens?” she called, then made a kissing noise.
Lord Craven had stopped several feet from the tree, staring at her as she moved. Her insides twisted again and her heart sped up. The man’s gaze was disconcerting. Why must he stare? And why did one side of his upper lip curl as though he’d smelled something foul?
She attempted to ignore him as she finished a full circle. “Mittens?” In response she heard a faint, but distinct meow. She gasped, poking her head between two low branches. “Mittens?”
“Bloody hell.”
Bianca heard a deep voice rumble behind her. Surely that was Lord Craven, she’d just never heard him utter actual words. She turned back to look at him, peeking through the branches of the tree. “I can assure you that Mittens is just an ordinary cat. She isn’t sent from the hell fires at all and there is nothing bloody about her.” What had made her just say that? Color stained her cheeks as she assessed his reaction. She made a habit of speaking before she’d really thought the words through, something over which she received endless teasing. From her family, of course. But as of late, it had spread further, with many of the boys in the village taking up the mantle.
He straightened to stand taller, his muscles growing more defined as he tensed. She reached for the branches as though they’d anchor her from his disapproval. He didn’t say a word, however. His brow just dropped lower over his eyes. Briefly, she wondered what color they were. He always had them narrowed into slits so it was difficult to tell.
But he didn’t berate her, verbally anyhow, and instead, just continued to watch. With a shrug, she turned her attention back to the tree and tried to pretend the cat was the only one currently plaguing her state of well-being. “Mittens,” she called. “Come down, sweetheart.”
“No cat has ever come when called. They are like women in that regard,” he said as he moved closer.
She tightened her grip on the branches. Was that an insult? She didn’t look at him. His face wouldn’t provide answers anyhow. “You find it objectionable that women and cats wish to be in charge of their own destinies?”
He stopped again, making that dreadful noise. “No. I didn’t say that. I simply meant you’re wasting your breath calling her. She won’t come.”
Bianca frowned. He was right in that regard. Mittens likely wouldn’t come and if the kittens had followed her into the tree, they wouldn’t be able to come down and she, being a good mother, wouldn’t leave them. “Fiddlesticks,” she mumbled and then let out a sigh. There was only one thing to do.
“Fiddlesticks?” He ducked under the branches to join her at the trunk of the tree. Only one large branch separated them and she shifted away, still looking up into the canopy. Looking up at him made her so…jumpy. Goodness, she felt a bit like a cat right now. She couldn’t see the cat, only heard the meows.
Thank goodness she could pretend to look for Mittens rather than face the disdain she could hear dripping from his voice. “You don’t like the word fiddlesticks?” she asked, testing the strength of the lowest branch.
“It’s a silly word,” he replied. “From a…” He paused, but she winced.
“From a silly girl?” She filled in, her chest aching. She’d often been called exactly that. If only she could be confident and sharp like her sister Adrianna or refined like Ophelia.
He said nothing in response and she sighed as she looked up into the tree. She couldn’t do a darn thing about a man who thought her foolish. But she could do something about Mittens. And so, lifting her skirt, she grabbed onto a tree branch and started to climb.
Chris’s head snapped back. What the bloody hell was she doing? He didn’t curse out loud, however. Because he’d already used profanity in her presence once and she’d promptly made fun of him.
Why did he care about what one silly girl thought? Well, that had been her phrase, actually. He’d been thinking something more like beautiful or delightful. Regardless, he was Lord Christian Craven, a baron, who would someday inherit his father’s title of viscount. Why did he remain silent because one little country miss disapproved?
To be fair, he was often quiet. But in the case of Miss Bianca Moorish, he’d avoided speaking for several other reasons as well. To begin, she was uncommonly beautiful. The sort of pretty that made every muscle in his body clench. And she had this innocence. Like her smile lit heaven instead of the small village square of Seabridge Gate.
She had light blue eyes that sparkled in the sun and dark hair curling just enough to dance in the breeze. Her face had a lovely heart shape and her lips were full and sweet as though they’d been kissed by summer strawberries. Just looking at her made him ache.
Women like that didn’t fancy men like him. They preferred Dane Dashwood with his striking blue eyes and his windswept hair.
He grimaced as she placed a foot on one of the lower branches. First because he caught a generous glimpse of a slender ankle and shapely calf but mostly because he couldn’t believe she was actually going to climb. “Miss Moorish,” he bit out, ducking under the branch that separated them.
Bianca waved, not looking at him. She’d hardly looked at him the entire morning they’d been searching for that damnable cat. Which was infuriating considering he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.
He watched her slender hand wrap around a branch. “Y-you’ll dirty your glove.” Damn. Had he stuttered? He hadn’t done that in at least a decade. His fingers clenched around the branch as he snapped his jaw closed. Had she noticed?
She stopped, dropping her foot again. “You’re right.”
She pulled the gloves from her hands, first deftly undoing the row of tiny but
tons. It was like watching the intricate inner workings of a clock the way her fingers undid those little pearls with such ease. Then, she pulled the cloths off, exposing her long, tapered, creamy fingers. He gulped. They were as beautiful as the rest of her.
“Don’t tell my family I did this,” she said, dropping the gloves until they fell into his waiting hand. When had he stuck the damn thing out to catch them? Not that she noticed. She still looked up into the branches again.
He drew in a steadying breath, not daring to answer. As a child, he’d stuttered constantly. Of course, his father beat him every time he did, which only seemed to make the stutter worse. So he’d just stopped talking. Eventually, he’d mastered the damn impediment but not before he’d learned the art of silence. And how to glare. What he’d never quite learned was how to make small talk.
She looked over at him, as though expecting an answer and then looked away again with a small frown.
He clenched a fist and tried again. “Why shouldn’t I tell your family? They don’t approve of tree climbing?” His words came out slowly, which made him sound like an imbecile, but at least he hadn’t stuttered. And why did this woman make him nervous enough to do so? Yes, she was beautiful, but he’d met beautiful women before. And certainly she didn’t approve of him, but so few ladies of quality did, he wasn’t certain why she’d unsettled him so.
“We did grow up in the country. Most of my sisters are quite adept at climbing cliffs, trees, hillsides, and even the occasional trellis.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not particularly good at those pursuits so they often tell me I shouldn’t do them.”
He frowned, looking up into the tree. He should climb up to get the cat instead of her. But he rehearsed the words in his head before saying them and by the time he tried to utter them, she’d already started up the branches. He caught sight of her ankle again as she hoisted herself and moved hand over hand into the canopy of the tree. She gathered her skirts, exposing her stockings and those lovely little ankles.
Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Page 19