by Emma Wildes
a revelation.
Earlier, he hadn’t ever intended to declare to Robert how he felt about him, brother to brother. It
just came out. This time, Colton intended to tell Brianna he loved her, but he hadn’t counted on
the hoarse tone of his voice or the poignancy of the moment.
And that babe that grew inside her—he couldn’t begin to express the depth of how it moved him
that they were going to share a child.
There were tears in his wife’s eyes and he was at fault again, but at least this time it wasn’t
because he’d hurt her. The tremulous smile on her lips filled him with relief. She stood and came
across the room and courtesy dictated that he should rise also, but he just sat there and waited,
locked in place by the expression on her lovely face.
She took his brandy glass from his limp fingers and set it aside on the mantel. Then she settled on
his lap and touched his cheek very lightly with one hand. “We are very blessed, aren’t we?”
Emotion held him mute as he looked into her eyes.
“I’d really already forgiven you, you know. As infuriatingly dense as you can be at times, I
cannot stay angry with you.”
Her soft mouth was a temptingly short distance away. “I won’t argue with the accusation or your
generosity,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“I suppose I am not blameless.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw and brushed along his lips.
“Though my intentions were good, perhaps I shouldn’t have bought Lady Rothburg’s book. It
was an improper thing to do.”
“Very,” he agreed, but added, “But I think the woman is positively brilliant. I can’t say I agree
with every observation she makes about men, but on the whole, she seems to have it right. Very
insightful.”
His wife’s hand stilled and her eyes widened. “You read it?”
“Indeed. Every word. After all, you left it there on my desk.”
“What a very unstuffy thing to do, Colton.” Brianna’s lashes lowered a teasing fraction.
He fought a wince at the reminder of her scathing observation when she’d confronted him in his
study. “I shall contrive to be more open-minded in the future.”
Brianna leaned forward and licked his lower lip. It was just a slow, delicate slide of the very tip
of her tongue, but it sent a jolt through his entire body. She murmured, “Tell me, what part of her
advice did you like the best? As a woman, I am curious.”
“You are definitely a woman,” he muttered, grasping her hips and adjusting her position on his
lap. His growing erection strained the front of his breeches uncomfortably. “What was the
question again?”
“The.” She kissed him. “Best.” Kissed him again. “Part.”
“You,” he answered. “No matter what we do, the best part is you, Brianna.”
“Are you saying I may tie you to the bed again someday if I wish?” Her smile was playful and
provocative.
He gave a small groan as her soft bottom moved against his aching groin. That pleasurable
interlude he could recall in all too vivid detail. “I am, at all times, your servant, madam.”
“That sounds promising. So I may keep the book?”
“I’ll have it enshrined in a glass case.” He pulled the pins from her hair and nibbled on her
earlobe.
A breathless laugh brushed his cheek. “I am sure Lady R would be flattered, but you needn’t go
that far. However, there is one favor I would like to ask.”
He’d moved his mouth to the side of her graceful neck, and made an incoherent sound of assent.
“From now on I’d like it if we could share a bed.”
“We are about to, believe me,” he vowed, his arousal not in question.
“No. Well, yes, but that isn’t what I mean. I want to lie not just with you, but next to you. My
room or yours, it doesn’t matter, but when we make love and you leave me, I feel . . .”
She’d tensed in his arms. Colton drew back enough so he could see her face. If there was one
thing he’d learned from the past few days, it was that one of his biggest failings was in following
through with the task of trying to understand how other people felt.
This mattered to his wife and she was his world, so it mattered to him.
“Go on, please,” he said quietly.
“Apart from you. Not just physically.” Brianna’s lips quivered, just barely, but enough. “Perhaps
it sounds ridiculous to you because you are so practical at all times, but I want to wake to hear
you breathe in the dark, to feel your warmth next to me, to share more than just our passion.”
He understood what it meant to feel apart. To be distanced from others by his rank, by his
responsibility—but mostly by the inner walls he’d constructed to protect himself from emotional
attachment and commitment.
He followed the curve of one of her perfect brows with a forefinger and smiled. “I would be
delighted to have you sleep next to me each night. There, you see? Done. What else can I give
you? Ask and it is yours.”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of what else a woman could want except to be with the man
she loves and his child growing inside her.”
She was a duchess married to one of the wealthiest men in England, with all of society at her feet,
possessed incredible beauty and a life of privilege, but she wanted only the simplest of gifts. One
of the things he loved about her—and had sensed about her from the beginning—was she had
never looked at her existence, or their marriage, in a calculating way. Had he been a shepherd,
she would still have loved him in equal measure.
She could ask for anything and know he had the means to provide it.
Instead, she wanted to sleep next to him.
How had he found such a treasure?
He didn’t deserve her, probably, but he could try. Colton stood, lifting her in his arms. “Shall we
stay in tonight? We can dine en suite and just enjoy each other’s company.”
Brianna’s smile was all languorous seduction. “It sounds marvelous. You do remember Lady
Rothburg had a whole chapter about how women can become more amorous when they are
breeding? I think she might be right.”
Dear Lord, he hoped so. He’d seen that heavy light in his wife’s eyes before, and his body was
more than primed and ready just from holding her. “The woman is a scholar of the highest order,”
he muttered as he carried his wife into his bedroom, shouldering the door open and heading
toward the huge bed. “A brilliant expert who has generously shared her knowledge with the
world. A paragon.”
His wife gasped with sudden laughter. “Did you just call a courtesan—a scarlet woman—a
paragon? You, the Duke of Rolthven, who wouldn’t commit a breach in etiquette for anything?”
Colton deposited her on the bed and leaned over, looking into Brianna’s eyes. “Indeed, I did.”
Then he began to undress her, punctuated by long hot kisses and whispered, wicked words.
And her uninhibited response proved his point.
Lady Rothburg was an exceptionally wise woman.
Epilogue
Damien Northfield leaned back in his chair, his legs comfortably crossed at the ankle, a bottle of
whiskey just within reach. His departure to Spain had been delayed on various administrative
levels, which was frustrating, but other matters had turned out in a satisfactory manner.
&nbs
p; His younger brother had married. And married well. Rebecca was even scheduled to have some
of her music debut in a public recital soon. Robert had never been one to stick to convention, and
flaunting his wife’s extraordinary talent was typical of his audacity.
Colton, also, was more content, more open than he had been since Damien could remember.
Impending fatherhood sat well with his older brother, and Brianna fairly glowed with happiness
even as she increased. She looked more beautiful than ever, which was really saying something.
He smiled lazily at his two brothers, not bothering to hide his amusement. “So they both read it?”
“And God alone knows to whom else my errant wife might loan the book.” Colton lifted a brow.
“I have stopped even trying to control what she does.”
“What you mean,” Robert said in open amusement, “is you indulge her in every way.”
“Perhaps.” Colton looked both unrepentant and relaxed.
Relaxed.
Colton.
That was something.
“I’m rather an admirer of the book,” Robert said and took a sip from his glass. “Damien, when
you marry, you might want to see if Brianna won’t lend it out to your bride. I promise you no
regrets if you give it to your beloved. Let’s just say there are certain things a gentleman won’t
address with his wife that Lady Rothburg has no trouble discussing in detail.”
If his younger brother’s sinful grin was any indication, it was true.
“I’m headed back to Spain tomorrow.” Damien pointed out. “So I doubt romance of any kind is
in my future, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
“One never knows.” Colton commented. “Had anyone said it was in mine, I would have protested
vehemently.”
How true. How could anyone have guessed his upright older brother would marry such a lovely
but impulsive young lady and manage to become a different man than the upright,
unapproachable Duke of Rolthven?
On the same note, how could anyone imagine Robbie would marry a respectable young woman
and be persuaded to play his cello in public, no less?
His secrets were far more volatile and private.
Damien picked up his glass and raised it. “Shall we toast her then? Here’s to the wise but
nefarious Lady Rothburg.”
Epilogue to Lady Rothburg’s Advice
In closing, my dearest reader, I wish to say I hope you have found my advice valuable, even if in
only a small way. There is, naturally, no perfect formula for romantic love, as the subjects
involved are human beings and therefore fallible, but if I were limited to only one piece of advice
instead of an entire book, I believe I would remind both men and women that a successful
partnership, sexually and emotionally, takes effort on the part of both parties. What happens in
bed—or if you read chapter eight, in various other wickedly inventive places—is important, yes,
for sexual desire is what draws us to each other in the first place. But as pleasurable as that may
be, the most important part of any romance is the bond you grow as you share a life.
Finding the right partner is essential, and keeping him a joyous task.
Best regards,
Lady Rothburg, written in her retirement after
her marriage, this 19th day of April, 1802
Read on for a preview of Emma Wildes’s
next enthralling historical romance
My Lord Scandal
First in the Jaded Gentlemen Series
Coming from Signet Eclipse in September 2010
The ally below was filthy and smelled rank, and if he fell off the ledge, Lord Alexander St. James
was fairly certain he would land on a good-sized rat. Since squashing scurrying rodents was not
on his list of favorite pastimes, he tightened his grip and gauged the distance to the next roof. It
looked to be roughly about the distance between London and Edinburgh, but in reality was
probably only a few feet.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” a voice hissed out of the darkness. “Hop on over. After
all, this was your idea.”
“I do not hop,” he shot back, unwilling to confess that heights bothered him. They had, ever since
that fateful night when he’d leapt between the towering wall of the citadel at Badajoz with the
Forlorn Hope. He still remembered the pounding rain, the ladders swarming with men, and that
great black drop below. . . .
“I know perfectly well this was my idea,” he muttered.
“Then I’m sure, unless you have an inclination for a personal tour of Newgate Prison—which, by
the by, I do not—you’ll agree we need to proceed because it gets closer to dawn by the minute.”
Newgate Prison. Since Alex didn’t like confined spaces either, that notion held very little appeal.
The story his grandmother had told him just a few days ago made him wish his imagination was a
little less vivid. Incarceration in a squalid cell was the last thing he wanted, but for the ones you
love, he thought philosophically as he eyed the gap—and he had to admit he adored his
grandmother—risks had to be taken.
That thought proved enough inspiration for him to leap the distance, landing with a dull thud and
thankfully keeping his balance on the sooty shingles. His companion beckoned with a wave of his
hand and, in a crouched position, began to make a slow pilgrimage toward the next house.
The moon was a wafer obscured by clouds, which was good for stealth, but not quite so
wonderful for visibility. Two more alleys and harrowing jumps and they were there, easing down
onto a balcony that looked over a small walled garden.
Michael Hepburn, Marquess of Longhaven, dropped down first, light on his feet, balanced like a
dancer, which made Alex wonder not for the first time just what his friend did for the War Office.
He landed next to him, and said, “What did your operative tell you about the layout of the town
house?”
Michael peered through the glass of the French doors into the darkened room. “I could be at our
club at this very moment, enjoying a stiff brandy.”
“Stop grumbling,” Alex muttered. “You live for this kind of intrigue. Lucky for us, the lock is
simple. I’ll have this open in no time.”
True to his word, a moment later one of the doors creaked open, the sound loud to Alex’s ears.
He led the way, slipping into the darkened bedroom, taking in the shrouded forms of a large
canopied bed and armoire with a quick glance. Something white was laid out on the bed, and on
closer inspection he saw it was a nightdress edged with delicate lace, and that the coverlet was
already turned back. The virginal gown made him feel very much an interloper—which, bloody
hell, he was. But all in a good cause, he told himself firmly.
Michael spoke succinctly. “This is Lord Hathaway’s daughter’s bedroom. We’ll need to search
his study and his suite across the hall. Since His Lordship’s rooms face the street, and his study is
downstairs, this is a much more discreet method of entry. It is likely enough they’ll be gone for
several more hours, giving us time to search for your precious item. At this hour, the servants
should all be abed.”
“I’ll take the study. It’s more likely to be there.”
“Alex, you do realize you are going to have to finally tell me just what we are looking for if I am
going to ransack His Lordship’
s bedroom on your behalf.”
“I hope you plan on being more subtle than that.”
“He’ll never know I was there,” Michael said with convincing conviction. “But what the devil am
I looking for?”
“A key. Ornate, made of silver so it’ll be tarnished to black, I suspect. About so long.” Alex
spread his hand open, indicating the tip of his smallest finger to his thumb. “It’ll be in a small
case, also silver.”
“A key to what dare I ask, since I am risking my neck to find it?”
Alex paused, reluctant to reveal more. But Michael had a point, and moreover, could keep a
secret better than anyone of Alex’s acquaintance. “A tomb,” he admitted, quietly.
Michael’s hazel eyes gleamed with interest even in the dim light, but he responded with unerring
logic. “A locked tomb? Very few people wish to break into graves, but I concede it happens.
Why is this crypt so attractive?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Things with you usually are.”
“I’m not at liberty to explain to anyone my reasons for being here, even you. Therefore, my
request for your assistance. In the past you have proven to not only think fast on your feet if need
be and stay cool under fire, you also have the unique ability to keep your mouth firmly shut,
which is a very valuable trait in a friend. In short, I trust you.”
Michael gave a noncommittal grunt. “All right, fine.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m not going to steal anything,” Alex informed him in a whisper, as
he cracked the bedroom door open and peered down the hall. “What I want doesn’t belong to
Lord Hathaway if he has it. Where’s his study?”
“Second hallway past the bottom of the stairs. Third door on the right.”
The house smelled vaguely of beeswax and smoke from the fires that kept the place warm in the
late-spring weather. Alex crept—there was no other word for it—down the hall, sending a silent
prayer upward to enlist heavenly aid for their little adventure to be both successful and
undetected. Though he wasn’t sure, with his somewhat dissolute past—or Michael’s, for that
matter—if he was at all in a position to ask for benevolence.
Luckily, the hallway was deserted, but also damned dark. Michael clearly knew the exact location
