by Meara Platt
The harried pub owner merely stood by with his arms crossed and a long-suffering look on his face. At least, until he spotted Hugh’s body in the wagon. “What happened here?” he asked, striding forward as the driver pulled the wagon to a stop and hopped down.
“It wasn’t Lord Killian’s fault,” the driver told Mick straight away. “I watched the whole thing. The American tried to assault the lady here, and Lord Killian rushed to her rescue. There was a struggle, and the American fell and smashed his head in on a rock.”
Suzanne pursed her lips over the explanation as Benedict carefully helped her down from the seat. If the man had seen the whole thing happen from the start, why hadn’t he thought to intervene, either on her behalf before Benedict arrived or during the fight?
She let go of her resentment as soon as her feet touched the ground. Not everyone was as cut out to be a savior as Benedict was.
The pub owner moved to inspect Hugh’s body. He nodded and sniffed. “He’s dead, all right. I’ll summon the sheriff and tell him the whole story. I expect he’ll want to ask a few questions, my lord, but I believe Roger’s story, and I’ll believe whatever you tell me about the circumstances.”
“Thank you.” Benedict nodded to the man. Suzanne had the impression the pub owner was as much of an authority as the small village had, and if he was on their side, things would be all right.
“How terrible for you,” Lady Crawford said, waddling forward to throw her arms around Suzanne and to hug her like a sister. “You must have been so frightened.”
“I was,” Suzanne admitted, completely startled by the embrace. She glanced sideways to Benedict, questioning him about what had happened with a look.
“There, there. It’s all over now,” Lady Crawford went on. “Come inside the pub and we’ll have a nice cup of tea to set everything right. Won’t we, Mick?” she grinned at the pub owner.
Mick started to move, but Suzanne broke away from Lady Crawford and held out a hand to stop him. “If it’s all the same to you, Lady Crawford, I believe I want to go home.” She glanced to Benedict. “I…if you would like to stay here to reacquaint yourself with Lady Crawford, I understand.”
The look Benedict gave her both broke Suzanne’s heart and sent her pulse soaring. There was so much love in his eyes, but where she expected it to be directed at Lady Crawford, it was clearly for her.
“I have no need to reacquaint myself with Lady Crawford any more than I already have,” he said stepping slowly toward her. “It seems as though our paths have diverged. Lady Crawford is quite happy with her current situation in life, and so am I.” He reached her and took her hands. “I am extraordinarily happy with my life just as it is.”
It was suddenly difficult for Suzanne to breathe. They were in public, being watched by several people, so the most intimacy Benedict could manage was to squeeze her hands, but that simple gesture felt as though he had thrown his arms around her and drawn her close for a passionate kiss.
“You are happy?” she asked, blinking up at him.
“Immeasurably,” he answered. For a moment, she thought he really would kiss her. Only at the last second did he sway back and say, “I think we should leave the rest of this dreadful business in Mick’s capable hands and take ourselves back to the cottage. We have much to discuss.”
“Agreed,” Suzanne said, bursting into a smile.
“Oh. You will not stay and have tea with me?” Lady Crawford asked.
“We will some other time,” Benedict answered. “I will call on Lord Crawford and arrange something formal for us.”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Lady Crawford said, clapping her hands together.
Anticipation made it difficult for Suzanne to pay attention to the string of activity that followed. Benedict let Mick know where they were staying and paid him a tidy sum to keep Hugh’s body. Lady Crawford fussed over Suzanne a bit more as they made their way to the carriage Suzanne and Benedict had driven into town. Benedict helped her into the seat once he had concluded his business, and before long, they were on their way home.
By the time they reached the cottage, Suzanne’s heart was racing with expectation. But Benedict remained silent as he helped her down and secured the horse. Only once they were inside did he sweep her into his arms and kiss her with all the passion that had been building between them.
“I love you, Suzanne,” he said with enough emotion to bring tears to Suzanne’s eyes. “There. I’ve said it. I am finally able to say it without conflict or hesitation. I love you as I have never loved anyone else. Lucy was a fantasy I concocted in my mind, and I will be forever ashamed of my foolishness where she is concerned.”
Suzanne laughed at his stream of words. “You seem to have adopted her habit of bursting forth in a flood of words.”
He laughed with her. “I cannot help it. I’ve wanted to tell you I love you for months now.”
Suzanne felt as though she were melting from the inside out in the very best of ways. “Then why didn’t you?” she asked, stretching her arms over his shoulders and threating her fingers in his hair.
“Because I was still clinging to an illusion,” he answered. “Because I had fooled myself into thinking the world was a certain way. It is not. You are my world. You are my everything.”
He took her breath away. She could hardly keep her feet on the ground. “I love you too,” she said, giggling as she said it. “You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Truly?” He arched an eyebrow. “Even though I’ve used you scandalously? I cannot believe I would have been willing to take your baby away from you.”
“You never would have,” she said, sending him a mischievous look. “Besides, I had plans to force you to keep me in our baby’s life by making me a nursemaid.”
“That would have been a disaster,” Benedict laughed. “Although I wouldn’t have been the first lord to carry on an affair with a nursemaid. I’m glad I won’t have to,” he rushed on. “Marry me, Suzanne.”
Her mouth dropped open even as her soul felt as if it might take flight.
“Marry me immediately, as soon as it can be arranged,” he went on. “I have already been contemplating telling everyone we were married in the Caribbean months ago and that the records were lost. You were willing to help me with one deception, help me with this one too.”
Suzanne surprised herself with a giggle. “Are you asking me to already have been married to you?”
“Yes,” he said, joining her laughter. “To me, it feels as though we were married that first night we were together. I should have known then that my heart would always be yours, for the rest of my life.”
“Then, yes,” Suzanne said, surging into him. “I am your wife. I was before, and I will be again officially, if you wish it.”
“I do,” he said, closing his mouth over hers with a passionate groan.
She had missed his kisses. It didn’t matter that they were tired and bruised, or that painful memories still rested just under the surface of their happiness. All she knew was that she needed Benedict in ways that went far beyond polite and seemly.
He seemed to sense her need. In spite of his injured shoulder, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. She thanked heaven that the cottage was so small and that he laid her on the bed so quickly. She reached for the buttons of his coat as he attempted to loosen the fastenings of her gown. Their limbs tangled, and neither of them got particularly far before breaking down into laughter.
“Perhaps we should go about this in a more practical way,” he said, a saucy light in his eyes.
“Agreed,” she said, matching his excitement.
They broke apart and each went about removing their own clothes. The whole thing was mad, especially considering the bulk of her belly and all the ways she feared it would come between them. But the urgency building inside of her wouldn’t be denied for any reason.
She was so ready for him by the time she tossed her dress aside an
d wriggled beneath the covers that she gasped when his body slid against hers. Every part of her was hungry for his touch. He surprised her by kissing her for just a moment, his hands caressing her sides, before twisting her in his arms so that she faced away from him.
Everything about the new position felt right, especially the way it allowed him to let his hands rove freely over her breasts. The hot spear of his erection pressed against her backside, making her even more impatient.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered against her ear, then kissed her neck, nibbling gently. It drove her wild, and she arched against him, eager to be one with him. “I will never get tired of your body, no matter what shape it takes.”
She only had enough power of thought to reply with an inviting sigh, reaching back to squeeze his hip. He sensed her urgency, but instead of giving her everything she wanted, he moved his hand down, slipping it over her belly, and brushing his fingers between her thighs. She let out a needy cry as he toyed with her sex, shooting pleasure through her. She’d missed that feeling, missed giving herself to him with wild abandon. She’d missed how it felt to forget her troubles and cares and to simply feel things with him.
He must have missed it as well. “I want you so desperately,” he said, breathless and barely controlled.
He followed that statement by lifting her hips and adjusting her so that he could thrust deep inside of her. The surprise of it, mingled with how long it had been since they were last together and how intense her need was, made her cry out in pleasure. Her cries didn’t stop as he moved within her. His thrusts were careful, but at the same time so good she arched into him, loving every second of their mating.
She came with all the joy of someone embracing a long-lost lover. Her body throbbed with his, milking him until his cries became as pitched as hers. He tensed around her, meeting his climax with a deep sigh that made everything she felt that much better. They were born to be together. They belonged to each other, and nothing could tear them apart.
“I love you,” she panted as the passion slowly began to subside. They lay in each other’s arms, tangled and sweaty, but content with the knowledge that nothing would stand between them ever again.
“And I love you,” he told her. “I always will.”
Epilogue
Benedict paced the hall outside of the room in the big house at Hadnall Heath that he and Suzanne had been sharing ever since their wedding was finalized. Rufus and Caro had hinted that they would have been willing to let him and Suzanne share a room, regardless of their official marital state, but Benedict had insisted on symbolically waiting. It was a good thing he hadn’t waited long, though.
The sound of Suzanne calling out in pain as the midwife attempted to soothe her had Benedict’s nerves standing on edge.
“Nothing is harder than waiting for your wife to deliver,” Rufus told him with a sympathetic smile as Benedict paced past him.
“I can’t stand hearing her in so much pain,” Benedict hissed.
Rufus shrugged. “It’s simply the way of things. Your Suzanne is young and strong. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Benedict eyed him sideways as he made another pass in his pacing. He wasn’t so sure. Women died in childbirth all the time. That was the story he had intended to tell Lucy, if his plan had worked. Now, he worried that all of the deception he had plotted would be his downfall, and that the powers of the universe would curse him to have exactly that sort of thing take Suzanne away from him.
She cried out again, even louder, and the midwife raised her voice.
“I can’t just stand here,” Benedict said, turning and marching to the door.
He burst into the bedroom, ready to fight whoever was keeping Suzanne in such pain. But the moment he saw the scene unfolding in front of him, he stopped dead. Suzanne lay on the bed, Caro sitting at her side, clutching her hand, her nightgown damp and plastered to her body. Her legs were spread with her knees up, and the midwife had just lifted a pink and squalling infant to show her.
“There you go, my lady,” the midwife said in a cheery voice. “That wasn’t so bad. And you have a beautiful baby girl to show for it.”
Suzanne wept without words as the midwife placed the baby on her stomach and set to work doing whatever had to be done in the wake of the birth.
“A girl?” Benedict said, choked with emotion. He started slowly forward.
“Benedict,” Suzanne wept. In spite of all the pain she had been in earlier, her tears were those of pure joy. “Look at her.”
Benedict forgot his hesitation and rushed to the side of the bed as Caro got up and made way for him. He slipped onto the bed by Suzanne’s side, closing his arms around his beautiful, exhausted wife and their daughter. Both were things of absolute beauty. The baby had quieted as she snuggled in her mother’s arms. She was an odd-looking thing—not at all what Benedict thought newborn babies looked like—but she was perfection.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, hugging Suzanne close and kissing her damp forehead. “You’re both beautiful.”
The midwife finished up what she was doing, and Suzanne was able to relax. The midwife also cleaned the baby up a bit before returning her to Suzanne’s arms. Benedict felt as though he were floating in a haze of love once the three of them were settled on the bed again. At least, until Suzanne started laughing.
“What do you find so amusing, my love?” he asked.
She shook her head, glancing from the babe in her arms up to Benedict. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“What wouldn’t have worked?” he asked.
“Your grand plan. Our deception. It wouldn’t have worked as you’d intended. Not with a girl.”
Benedict blinked, then laughed right along with Suzanne. “You’re right. But I don’t care. I will love my daughter, all daughters I might have, with my whole heart. Because this one and all the others to come—and you know there will be plenty to come—”
“There will,” Suzanne agreed.
“—will be ours,” he finished. “Completely and magnificently ours.”
It was the most wonderful thing he had ever looked forward to in his life.
I hope you have enjoyed Suzanne and Benedict’s story! The Substitute Lover is technically part of my When the Wallflowers were Wicked series. If you’d like to read more saucy, scintillating tales of Regency ladies behaving badly, you can get started with The Accidental Mistress, available at most eBook retailers: https://books2read.com/u/31O61D
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About Merry Farmer
Merry Farmer lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Torpedo, her grumpy old man, and Justine, the bouncy new baby. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. Her books have reached the top of Amazon's charts, and have been named finalists for several prestigious awards, including the RONE Award for indie romance.
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WOOED IN WINTER
By Scarlett
Scott
The Marquess of Haven has finally decided to do his duty and settle upon a bride, preferably before the new year begins. What better place to find her than a country house party? There’s just one problem. The beautiful widow who once owned his heart is also in attendance. Surely there’s no harm in indulging in one night of passion with her, just to get her out of his mind. But Haven is about to discover old habits are hard to break, especially when the consequences last forever…
Chapter One
Oxfordshire, 1813
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The Marquess of Haven could tie leaden weights about his ankles and go swimming in the Serpentine for all she cared.
At least, that was what Hannah thought when she saw him again for the first time since he had broken her heart.
The second thing was…
“What in the name of heaven is he doing here?” one of her sisters whispered.
“I was wondering precisely the same thing myself,” Hannah told her. “You must not look at him, Evie.”
“You are looking at him,” Evie pointed out wryly.
Yes, drat it all. She was. And she had to stop. At once.
But before she could, his gaze slammed into hers. They were on opposite ends of the massive Abingdon House ballroom. And still, she felt the shock of his stare as if he had touched her. As if time had never intervened. She inhaled against a sharp surge of memory, anguish, resentment.
Above all, anger.
Yet somehow also, the glimmers of foolish yearning still burned alongside those other flames, like hot coals about to rekindle into flame.
No. She must not think that. Nor must she think of him. Graham. He had not always been Lord Haven. Once, he had been hers. Or so she had so recklessly believed…
