by Lauren Smith
Sybil’s shoulders trembled, her hands rising to rest on Gideon’s at her shoulders. “Are you saying…?”
“He has agreed to our marriage, Sybil,” Gideon murmured in her ear.
She turned to face Gideon, her hands landing on her hips as she stared up at him. “How long have you known?”
“We discussed it outside as we made certain the men departed.” Gideon smiled, and her irritation fled as warmth filled her. “The contracts will be drawn up in the morning, and we are to sign them by midday.”
Sybil could barely believe what she was hearing. She and Gideon were to wed—with her brother’s blessing.
“Good thing you’ve seen reason, Lichfield,” Charles grumbled. “If I know anything about Gideon, it is that he will go to the ends of the Earth for those he loves.”
“And I do love you, Sybil.” Gideon’s stare held hers, and he leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I am, here and now, making it my life’s mission to prove to you, each and every day, that I love you.”
“I never doubted your love,” she confessed.
Sybil could not look away from Gideon. Every secret, every concern, every doubt had been exposed. There was nothing and no one who could stand in the way of their happiness.
“I think it best we depart,” Charles’ voice sank through Sybil’s supremely happy musings.
“Not quite yet,” Silas answered. “Galway, I trust I can expect you to arrive at the appointed time tomorrow?”
“Nothing will keep me from finishing what I started,” Gideon said, his stare never leaving hers. “Above my honor and my duty, it is my heart that is forever pledged to you, Lady Sybil.”
“I love you, Gideon.”
Sybil vaguely heard a door closing behind them as her brother and Charles left; however, when Gideon’s lips pressed to hers once more, she was helpless to think of anything but the man she loved.
Sybil could admit that she loved a scandal, and no scandal would capture society’s attention more than the betrothal of Lady Sybil Anson to Viscount Galway.
Epilogue
It was a romantic, magical, and dreamlike soiree. All that was missing was cherubs or, mayhap, winged fairy creatures. I am certain even I would have fallen in love with the gallant Lord Galway had I seen him dressed in his wedding finery before his heart was given to Lady Sybil—now, Viscountess Galway. I can confirm that the only scandalous occurrence was Mr. Sladeton Anson leaping from the second-story window in nothing but his undone trousers. But that, my kind readers, is a story for another day…
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~ LADY X, 28 October 1816
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SYBIL TOOK A deep breath and smoothed her hands down the front of her freshly pressed white muslin nightshift as she stared at the closed bedchamber door.
Her new bedchamber door.
The room she and Gideon would share as a newly wedded couple.
In this space, adorned in deep, midnight blues and soft, creamy whites, they would make love for the first time. They would laugh with unfettered abandon, and discuss current events from politics to fashion and war. They would argue over topics as mundane as what to eat for their evening meal and debate important subjects such as what they would name their future children. Rupert, Melvin, and Gertrude were not names she was willing to entertain for their forthcoming offspring, no matter that they were established names in the Galway viscountcy.
All of those matters dealing with her new marital status were things that Sybil looked forward to experiencing—with Gideon by her side.
There was no doubt in her mind that, if they remained steadfast in their love and stayed committed to one another, they would see each other through both the good times and the bad.
And, at that precise moment, Sybil was preparing for one such good time.
She and Gideon had been wed that morning, followed by a feast with a surplus of food and drink, and a ball held in their honor. There was dancing, more refreshments, merriment, and good cheer all around.
A shiver coursed through her when footfalls sounded in the hall outside her—their—bedchamber door.
Gideon had arrived.
Her husband was directly outside the room.
Sybil smiled, pushing the last remnants of apprehension away as the latch sprang and the door slowly opened without a sound.
“Viscountess Galway.” His voice was a heady whisper that sent tendrils of need coiling in her stomach. He was still outfitted in his wedding day finery, complete with polished boots and precisely combed hair. His gray eyes sparkled in the dim lighting from the dozen candles positioned about the room. “I have waited long to address you as such.”
“Viscountess Galway.” Sybil allowed her formal title to roll off her tongue and hang in the air separating them. “And you, Gideon, are my husband.”
Their eyes clashed from across the mere feet separating them.
It no longer felt as if they were separated by an unruly sea. No, even now, the feet were more like inches. In her mind, Sybil knew Gideon’s touch, his caress, and the warmth of his lips against hers. For so many months, she’d had no other option but to remember the way things had been—to hold them close during the long nights alone—after he disappeared, fearing she’d never set eyes on him again.
As of that morning, they were man and wife, joined in matrimony before all of London, witnessed by every person she held dear.
Nothing short of death would ever separate them—that was the promise Gideon had pledged to her.
Sybil was happy—loved, cherished, and lavished with affection.
When Gideon held his arms wide, Sybil didn’t hesitate. She threw herself into his embrace.
“I love you, my dearest husband,” she muttered, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.
“I love you, too.” Gideon pulled back, his intense stare searching her face. “Are you crying?”
“They are tears of utter joy, happiness, and love.” Sybil moved back into his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest as she listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart, completely in tune with her own.
Author’s Notes
Thank you for reading The Lady Loves a Scandal!
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If you enjoyed The Lady Loves a Scandal, be sure to write a brief review at any retailer.
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I’d love to hear from you!
You can contact me at:
[email protected]
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Or write me at:
P.O. Box 1017
Patterson, CA 95363
www.ChristinaMcKnight.com
Check out my website for giveaways, book reviews, and information on my upcoming projects.
Books By Christina McKnight
The Undaunted Debutantes Series
The Disappearance of Lady Edith
The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna
The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia
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Lady Archer’s Creed Series
Theodora
Georgina
Adeline
Josephine
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Craven House Series
The Thief Steals Her Earl
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis
The Madame Catches Her Duke
The Gambler Wagers Her Baron
* * *
A Lady Forsaken Series
Shunned No More
Forgotten No More
Scorned Ever More
Christmas Ever More
Hidden No More
* * *
Standalone Titles
The Siege of Lady Aloria, a de Wolfe Pack Novella
A Kiss at Christmastide
For the Love of a Widow
Earl of St. Seville
The Lady Loves a Scandal
Bound by the Christmastide Moon
Bedded Under the Christmastide Moon
About the Author
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Christina
McKnight writes emotional and intricate Regency Romance with strong women and maverick heroes.
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Her books combine romance and mystery, exploring themes of redemption and forgiveness. When she’s not writing, Christina enjoys trying new coffeehouses, visiting wine bars, traveling the world, and watching television.
Stolen Kiss
Janis Susan May
Chapter 1
Adam Ferrour was furious, and not just because this was the fourth day of an unwanted and exceedingly tiresome trip. It wasn’t because of his father’s elaborate coach, which was both brand new and extremely luxurious, and went easily over the rutted road. Even though they had been on the road several hours from the inn at Little Stipping it seemed only minutes to Adam.
Today was the day his life would change forever.
I guess it is true that when you’re dreading something it comes faster, he thought in anger underscored with a glum acceptance.
It just wasn’t fair. He was one of the wealthiest – well, he was going to be when he inherited his father’s estate – young men in England, generally acclaimed as handsome, well-liked among the Ton. Nature had favored him well; his face was handsome and strong. His hair was a soft brown, much like the sere leaves of autumn, while his eyes were a haunting shade of hazel. Frequent riding, fencing and an occasional pugilistic match at Gentleman Jackson’s kept his body taut and muscular. He moved in high circles of male society and attracted the attention of many lovely ladies of not-so-high circles. His life was just about perfect, and now he was being forced to obey his father like an ill-bred little schoolboy. It was completely galling.
“Stand and deliver!”
John Coachman yanked the carriage to a halt with a roughness that had the horses been Adam’s personal cattle instead of hard-mouthed job horses would have rated him a sharp reproof.
Outside it was a perfect afternoon, with the light just beginning to soften as it does before sunset. Adam barely noticed the beautiful scene, as his attention was focused on the large, old-fashioned pistol aimed straight at him. The villain had approached from the back of the carriage, rendering any aid John Coachman might have offered worthless if not impossible.
“I’ll have yer money, if ye please, sir,” the miscreant said with a fine imitation of good manners.
He can’t be more than just a lad, Adam thought, gauging his chances on overpowering him. In the saddle the highwayman appeared to be middling tall, but slim. He held the pistol with a familiarity that bespoke competence, and his one-handed handling of his horse – a large and temperamentally behaved beast – was masterly. His voice, however, though strong hovered uncertainly between the high tones of youth and the deeper notes of maturity.
Adam was indeed brave, having served with courage during the War until his father had used his not inconsiderable influence – and fortune – to have him sent home. “An only son’s place is taking care of the family business,” old Sir Emmanuel had said with a remarkable lack of repentance; “I didn’t spend my life building a fortune so everything could go to that idiot nephew of mine once ye got yerself killed!” Adam was indeed brave, but most definitely not foolish. The miscreant might be slight and youthful, but he also had a gun, one he obviously knew how to use. Adam was respectful of guns, especially when one was pointed at him.
Moving slowly, he slid the small gold ring bearing the face of Athena from his finger and pulled the few pounds he carried from his pocket. Neither were worth very much, but it galled him to lose anything to a barely-fledged highwayman. Fortunately his real money and the few pieces of good jewelry he had brought with him were concealed in a cunningly disguised hidey-hole in the carriage itself.
Reaching out slowly and gingerly, he dropped the ring and money into the robber’s outstretched hand, hoping that the young man had good enough control over both his dancing horse and his very lethal weapon, which was uncomfortably close to Adam’s face. He tried to see the miscreant’s face, but the black slouch hat was pulled so low over his eyes and his scarf pulled so high over his nose Adam didn’t understand how the creature could see.
The young robber looked at the bounty in his hand and snorted. “Ye travel poorly for someone who rides in such a grand coach, sir.”
“Grand coaches do not make grand gentlemen,” Adam equivocated. “And if you have no need of my poor belongings, I would gladly have them all back.”
With a sardonic laugh, the young man wheeled the horse about and vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.
“Master Adam,” John Coachman babbled, unconsciously reverting to the nursery terminology he had used when placing the boy on his first pony, “I didn’t see… I didn’t know… This is England!”
“It’s all right, John. He didn’t get much. And I’ll tell the Earl exactly what I think of his part of the country,” Adam said, his tone promising no easy time for his lordship.
The journey to Clereston Castle had taken four days, four days Adam most heartily resented spending caged however luxuriously in this new and prodigiously expensive coach. He could have made it in no more than two days if he had ridden, but his father had forbidden it.
“I paid a mort o’brass for that fancy coach,” the old man had roared, “and by God ye’ll use it! What would the Earl think about a man asking for his daughter’s hand arriving by horseback? No son o’mine will be doing such a rubbishy thing, I tell ye. Ye are a gentleman, and ye’ll arrive like a gentleman.”
And that had been that. When Sir Emmanuel Ferrour dictated something, everyone obeyed, because he was not only wealthy, but strong and determined. It was due to his strength of both mind and body – and some would say to his utter ruthlessness – that had seen him rise from son of a stablemaster to one of the wealthiest men in all of England. He thought the day he was created a knight for his services to the king was the apogee of his life, only to discover it was not. Yes, being able to hear Sir before his name was a thrill, but it didn’t guarantee his entry into the highest echelons of the Ton, which is what he wanted, both for himself and his son. Oh, the gentlemen were happy enough to entertain him – when they wanted his money or his influence – and he had even been able to arrange for his son to attend the finest schools in the land, but neither Sir Emmanuel nor his son were ever invited to any function where the wives and daughters of those men were in attendance.
It had taken a while, but finally Sir Emmanuel had found the solution to his problems - an Earl on the edge of bankruptcy and the inevitable attaint which would follow, an Earl who had a marriageable daughter of the right age. As no one in the Ton would ever refuse to entertain the daughter of an Earl, they would perforce have to accept her husband. Sir Emmanuel had solved his problem. It made no difference that his son was appalled and refused; it was what Sir Emmanuel Ferrour wanted, and he always got what he wanted, one way or another.
The old bastard, Adam thought with most unfilial venom. Thinks he can order everyone around to suit himself.
And hasn’t he? said another, more cynical part of his mind. The threat of losing his support and your inheritance made you cave like a child.
What made it worse was that it was all true. Adam stared out the window as the carriage lumped over the rough road. John Coachman was going faster than before, doubtless hoping to avoid the highwayman’s possibly coming back for more.
I used to be a proud man, Adam thought glumly. I was a man, not a puppet to my father. I fought with distinction and was even mentioned in the reports by Major General Pack. Until my father decided I should come home and did what he had to in order to make it happen.
Adam sighed. And he had come running at his father’s insistence. He wasn’t quite sure how Sir Emmanuel had arranged his expulsion from the army, but he would have wagered that a large sum of money had changed hands.
I have my majority; I could have gone back, he thought with a rush of sadness. After all, with Napoleon now safely imprisoned on Saint Helena and the army much reduced, Major General Pack had
just been given the new order of Knight Commander of the Most Honorable Order of the Bath, giving him considerable influence at Court. He could certainly have helped Adam return to military life. Who knows what I could have earned on my own? Instead I came back and haven’t done anything but play since.
Return? As what? A foot soldier? that uncomfortable part of his mind asked. Your father would never pay for another commission for you, and you have no money of your own, it continued to sneer, and Adam had to admit it was right.
Now he was expected to wed the daughter of this unknown Earl his father had somehow found. Sir Emmanuel had told him unequivocally he expected them to be betrothed when Adam returned to London, and wed before much longer. “That way,” the old man had chortled, “you’ll be safely wed before the Season begins and then let’s see them not send invitations to the son-in-law of an Earl!” Then he had begun to laugh so hard Adam had almost feared him falling into a fit.
Of course, it was not Sir Emmanuel who had to live with the girl, who was probably an ape-leader or a horror. Daughters of Earls were seldom left on the shelf if they were even reasonably acceptable.
But that’s the way the game is played, Adam thought, remembering the tales told by his cronies in London, no matter how unfair it seemed. You loved where you wanted, but you married where family directed. The two seldom coincided.