For this day, her intended had insisted on ordering the most outrageously expensive dress from Madame Delamere. So, she dressed in a concoction of silk, lace and embroidery in a champagne colour that conferred her beauty and sophistication. Cut fairly to idolise her breasts—as he’d demanded—it fell in diaphanous skirts to her satin slippers.
If Harris was the most impressive man she’d ever met, today he surpassed anyone on the planet. In black finery, he towered over her in the church, and she only lamented that his valet had tamed his ebony waves to look presentable. But she’d ‘retouch’ them as soon as decency permitted. Or indecency, to be more precise.
Philippa neared her, interrupting the flow of memories. “Who invited Brunswick here?” she hissed.
She and Lady Mandeville had come for the wedding. Her grandmother had been utterly surprised by the news. Naturally, she’d expected an English lord for her granddaughter. Since it didn’t pan out quite that way, she deemed herself satisfied with a respectable marriage.
As Edwina looked at her sister, an anguished expression covered Philippa’s fine features. “He’s a friend of Harris’s. Why?”
“Indeed,” she answered, eyes wide with dry surprise.
But Philippa’s attention travelled to the duke again, a flush flooding her cheeks. And when Edwina peered at the duke, his attention fell broodingly on her sister.
“One day you’ll have to explain to me this mutual animosity,” Edwina stated.
The younger woman’s head snapped to her sister. “There’s no such a thing,” the denial too emphatic.
“If you say so,” the older sister dropped the subject.
Soon, Harris came to take her away. “I thought this day would never end,” he whispered in her ear as he led her out of the room.
They’d spend a few weeks on an estate he’d bought not far from Edinburgh. Edwina felt excited to visit his corner of the world.
“You didn’t like our wedding?” she whispered back.
“Certainly.” He helped her into the carriage. “But I don’t know what I was thinking to allow Delamere to make this dress.”
“I imagined you’d like it.” He had simply devoured her with his eyes as she entered the church.
“If you call counting the minutes to rip it from you ‘like’, then yes, you could say that.”
They sat next to each other, and the driver closed the door. “Oh, poor darling,” she said without an ounce of pity.
He directed a wolfish look at her. “You, Mrs Darroch, are in for a merciless wedding night.”
“You’ll demand your husbandly rights, will you?” She smiled and looked at him from under her lashes.
“Every single one of them. It’ll be a long, long night.” His arms surrounded her.
“I can hardly wait.” Her hand lined his jaw.
Their eyes merged for lengthy moments. “I love you, little shrew,” he rasped.
“I love you too, you reprobate.” He lowered his head to kiss his bride.
EPILOGUE
A year later
Edwina sat on an armchair as little Claire fed avidly. The three-month-old girl had a tuft of black hair that her mother hoped fervently would be wavy.
“I’m a tad jealous of the privileges granted to the wee lass.” Across from her, Harris made no effort to hide the deep love he had for the two most important people in his life.
A remnant of that tender look for their daughter shone in her eyes as his wife lifted her head to him. “Why is that?”
In this past year, many changes had taken place in their life. For one, Edwina’s business grew, which prompted her husband to buy the warehouse for sale next to his. In there, she established her workshop with girls whose families were ridden with debt. A few started as apprentices, while others already dominated the art of weaving lace. Orders poured in steadily. So now, they were Whitman & Darroch Co. His ships brought the fine material her workshop used and sometimes transported the lace to the continent. But most of it, she sold in England itself where her craft was gaining a high reputation.
“You know,” he answered her with a possessive wave of his hands. “Those delicious swells are mine.”
The slits in her eyes told him their daughter came first. He agreed, of course, but still…
“Don’t you think you have enough of them already?”
“Enough?” He scowled in jest. “Never heard the term.”
“Harris!” she reprimanded her husband.
Little Claire made a sound indicating she had her tummy full. Edwina stood up, followed by her husband. Harris took the infant in his arms, marvelling as always at her perfection. That an ex-libertine like him could make such a pure creature amazed him.
But his wife brought so much joy to his life. Their home was constantly crowded with their friends. Otilia and Edwina had much more in common at the moment, with a family of their own. Lady Mandeville visited often and seemed to be very keen on her great-granddaughter. The Trents, Viscount, Viscountess, their partners, and children became habitués too.
Harris felt his life was complete and replete. How had he not seen the hollowness of it before Edwina? He could say he’d become a truly rich man.
The nanny came to take Claire for a nap.
As soon as she left, Harris sat on the armchair he occupied and pulled Edwina to straddle him, his palms taking possession of her breasts.
“You’re quick to stake a claim, aren’t you?” she said as her hands held his broad shoulders.
“A man has to neutralise the competition,” he said, pulling her neckline down.
Swollen and more sensitive, the swells gorged on his touch. She looked lovingly at him, transforming him into a besotted fool. Much as he wanted, even tried, he wouldn’t be able to resist her, so he didn’t. He may have become domesticated—mostly—but the libertine in him kept active in their bed. Unapologetically, he gobbled one nipple and savoured it with gusto. Her moan indicated it was just the right thing to do. As her fingers dived in his hair, they compelled him farther.
“Hm,” he groaned. “How on earth did you come to love me?” He lifted his eyes to hers.
A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes, a common occurrence in their first year of marriage. “I think it was the hair,” she jested.
He rewarded her with a lopsided smile. “You little shrew,” he said before resuming his task.
“Harris,” she called in a moan.
“Yes, wife.”
“Time to perform your husbandly duties.”
He unfurled from the armchair with her clutched to him. “Directly, Mrs Darroch.” He lay her on their bed and came over her, his gaze merged on hers. “I love you, Edwina.”
And she set to prove to him how much she reciprocated.
Continue reading on to a preview of Her Wicked Duke
PREVIEW OF HER WICKED DUKE
Her caramel eyes met his, and a rush of cold followed by heat washed over her. With single-minded effort, she remembered herself. A pleasant smile, though forced, pulled her lips as she thanked the decades of practise that allowed her a gracious curtsy.
“Your Grace.” Her courteous voice complemented the mask of genteel breeding she’d make sure to stay in place.
When she straightened, though, the forbidden expression in his eyes didn’t invite polite conversation. The look on him was so loathsome, not even the worst enemy of the realm deserved it. But she did, in his viewpoint at least. From the moment he made the connection between her and Lydia, she’d been on the receiving end of his contempt. Undisguised and unrepressed. And the worst was she believed she deserved it, all of it.
“An utterly pleasant surprise,” he said, the metallic edge to his voice left no doubt of his real opinion.
She didn’t think she’d ever forget the low, deep timbre, even from beyond the grave. It had rasped her name in her ear when they were… She tamped down on the flood of memories. It wouldn’t do to give in to
them when their subject stood before her, hands behind his back and scorn on his face.
There was no use in dragging out this conversation. “I apologise for the inconvenience,” she started, unwilling to be the target of his gust of masculinity and disdain. “My driver, lady’s maid and I were caught in the rain on our way to London.” She strived to give him a frosty look. “I’d appreciate it if you could give them shelter. If not me, I can lodge in an inn, if you would give me directions to the nearest one.” Naturally, he must have heard of the broken bridge; it happened on his lands.
Titus stared at the woman who cast him into the deepest pit of self-disgust unable to neutralise the effect she still flogged on him. Her frame stood near the door, her spine straight and full of dignity, all false and skin-deep. Her damp chocolate hair fell from what had once been a bun, and if he closed his eyes, he swore he could feel the glossy tresses through his fingers as he scattered the pins on the grass before kissing her with a passion he didn’t believe lived in him. All the while he’d pressed her against a tree and drank sweetness and fire from those full lips. No, he didn’t need to close his eyes; the image would invade his mind vivid and sinful in the most unexpected moments.
The rain-soaked redingote shaped her narrow shoulders and high breasts. The tiny waist that his hands had moulded was still there ready to be laced by his arms. Behind his back, his hands fisted tight to resist the urge.
“The inn is on the other bank of the river, in the village,” was all he managed to answer, too busy deflecting his wayward reactions to the lying chit.
For an instant, he imagined he saw a hint of disappointment in her caramel eyes. The same that darkened when his lips approached hers. He’d kissed her countless times with no hope of tiring of it.
“On the road towards Wiltshire I saw none, but then the rain was too heavy,” she said. “Perhaps you know of another?”
“It’s my duty to offer a lady hospitality in this weather,” he stated, though he felt none of the gentlemanliness that had been ingrained in him from a tender age. “You will stay here until the roads are decently passable.”
At that, her chin lifted, and a defiant look bore into him. It seemed to grip his guts and touch parts he’d not thought about since he’d become a widower. Long before that, to tell the truth.
“We’ll leave when the rain stops.” Determination sounded in her siren’s voice.
“And how do you intend to cross the river, pray tell?” Her presence would be a test to his patience and to the predictable, ordered life he’d painstakingly carved for himself.
“There must be another road we can use.” She crossed her arms in a gesture of defence, betraying her discomfort.
“Yes, and it will add ten miles to your journey.” Not to mention the precarity of the roads after this rain.
“I don’t want to cause you trouble.” Her crossed arms bunched her breasts and Titus had to make a conscious effort not to lower his gaze to them. She’d always been one of the most beautiful women he had the displeasure of laying eyes on.
“You should have thought of that before you hid your kinship to Lydia.” The accusation flew from him unbidden.
Her face, peppered with raindrops, blanched to a greyish hue. Her torso swayed, and he nearly ran to catch her should she pass out. The next instant, though, her eyes hardened as she attacked him with anger. She showed strength; he’d give her that.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa Torquay comes from a multi-cultural family. She graduated in History and earned a Master’s Degree in British Empire. She has worked as an English and History teacher at high schools. She married a Norwegian and moved to Norway, where she has lived for three years. Writing has been her passion since she was thirteen.
Connect with Lisa Torquay
www.lisatorquay.webs.com
Facebook/Lisa Torquay
Other Books by Lisa Torquay
Build It Higher (Contemporary Romance)
Her Irresistible Guardian (Contemporary Romance)
For the Earl’s Taking (Inevitable Love #1)
The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel (Inevitable Love #2)
The Forbidden Duchess (Rogues from War #1)
Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War #2)
Igniting the Countess (Inevitable Love #3)
Duke of Treason (Rogues from War #3)
The Lass Defied the Laird (Explosive Highlanders #1)
The Lass Defended the Laird (Explosive Highlanders #2)
The Lass Beguiled the Laird (Explosive Highlanders #3)
The Lass Initiated the Laird - Erotic Novella (Explosive Highlanders #3.5)
The Lass Abducted the Laird (Explosive Highlanders #4)
Her Wicked Earl (Imperious Lords 1)
Her Wicked Libertine (Imperious Lords 2)
Coming soon!
Her Wicked Duke (Imperious Lords 3)
Her Wicked LibertineEDIT Page 18
