A Marriage Deal with the Viscount--A Victorian Marriage of Convenience Story

by Bronwyn Scott

  She knitted her brow. ‘I don’t know, it’s just that...’

  He silenced her with another kiss, this one more insistent. ‘It’s what people do when they love one another. They believe. They trust even when the way isn’t always clear.’

  She did reach for him then with her good arm and pulled him close as best her strength allowed. ‘If that’s what love is, then I love you, too.’

  ‘Yes, I think you do.’ Conall smiled. ‘You gave up the one thing that meant the most to you for me and I never want you to do that again.’

  She made a protesting pout. ‘That’s what people who love each other do.’

  Conall grinned. ‘Welcome to happy ever after.’

  Epilogue

  Conall looked up from the last of the shearing and wiped a hand across his sweaty brow, enjoying the sight of his wife sitting on a hay bale feeding a bottle to the newest baby alpaca. Sofia’s arm was healed, but she still had to be careful not to overexert herself. Despite the doctor’s cautions, she insisted on being part of all the work. Conall allowed it, as long as he was the one who could keep an eye on her.

  He came to kneel beside her, stroking the sweet fuzzy baby. ‘I’ve decided to call our first run of wool the “Sofia”. It will be the softest, silkiest, most durable of wools, able to withstand great pressure, flexible enough to adapt to a wide variety of circumstances.’ He was flirting with her, loving the blush that crept over her cheeks. His desire started to simmer. He’d been hungry for her since breakfast. ‘When people ask me how the wool got its name, I’ll tell them it was named for...’ He paused.

  ‘Don’t you dare say it, Conall Everard,’ she warned playfully at his naughty nuance.

  ‘A woman I once knew,’ Conall concluded. ‘What did you think I was going to say?’

  ‘Well, one never knows.’ Sofia laughed. He might have kissed her and more, if hooves hadn’t interrupted. A rider approached and Conall hoped that he didn’t bring bad news. Sofia’s eyes mirrored his concern. ‘I hope it’s not Helena, it’s too soon for the baby,’ she worried.

  ‘A letter, milord!’ the rider called out, dismounting from the sweating horse. ‘It’s from Piedmont.’ The messenger handed it to Conall. ‘I thought you’d want to know right away, milord.’ Conall dug in his pocket for some coins. The messenger gave a smart salute and remounted, wheeling off to make other deliveries.

  Conall passed the letter to Sofia. ‘You should be the one to open it.’ She did so with nervous fingers. He waited patiently while she scanned the contents, a smile breaking out on her face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The King apologises for Giancarlo.’ Her hand fluttered to indicate all that was in the past. ‘As reparation for anything I might have suffered, he would like to bequeath the wealth of his estates to me as a wedding gift.’ She named an exorbitant sum. ‘Do you know what this means?’

  ‘You tell me.’ Conall smiled. He knew what she’d say. She would be right and wrong.

  ‘We can buy another mill. We can expand the alpacas by purchasing another herd. We can build the school.’ Her mind was racing with possibilities. Conall put a hand on her arm, laughing. He’d guessed right about his generous wife. She’d had a fortune for mere moments and already she was planning on how others could share in it.

  ‘It means all of that, Sofia, but it also means the past is done, for good this time.’ He drew her to him and kissed her soundly, his desire too insistent to be ignored. He wanted his wife. ‘Come with me, there’s something I want to show you in the meadow.’

  They walked out to the pastures, hand in hand, in no hurry. ‘Are we going to see the other babies?’ Sofia asked. Three of the females had been pregnant, an extra blessing for the herd. Now, three new alpaca babies graced the fields.

  ‘They’re growing fast.’ Conall made a clicking sound and the babies trotted over, eager for treats.

  ‘You spoil them,’ Sofia scolded with a laugh.

  ‘I think they’re the cutest things I’ve ever seen,’ Conall freely admitted.

  ‘Hmm.’ Sofia gave him a knowing look and drew his hand low on her abdomen. ‘I wonder, then, what you’ll think about your son or daughter when they arrive?’

  It took a moment for Conall to process the words. ‘Are you sure?’ The full magnitude of it caught him hard. He couldn’t speak.

  ‘It’s early, but I am sure. Are you happy?’ Sofia asked, her eyes worried.

  ‘Happy? I am ecstatic.’ He cleared his throat against the rising emotion. ‘The last year has been full of death and loss and tragedy at every turn, but it is ending with life. You don’t know how much it means.’ How did he make her understand? She was not the only one putting away the past, putting away fears.

  She moved into him, her eyes dark with invitation. ‘Then show me, Conall.’ Sometimes, bodies were better than words.

  ‘Right here?’ he asked, only partially shocked.

  ‘Right here. I have it on good authority there’s nothing quite like making love out of doors on a sunny summer day in England.’

  Conall’s eyes darkened. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  She knelt before him, her hands on his thighs. ‘Something I’ve been saving for a special occasion.’

  Her hands moved to the waistband of his trousers, her tongue running slowly along her bottom lip, a promise of other pleasures to come. Conall’s body went hard in anticipation. Dear heavens, to have her hands, her mouth on him would be the stuff of fantasy.

  Her eyes teased him with their blue flames. She undid his trousers, sliding them past his hips, freeing him to her hands. She cupped the weight of him, stroked the length of him, tested the hardness of him, learning him anew with every intimate osculation and all the while his desire grew until his mouth was dry and his hands dug into the depths of her hair for an anchor.

  Lord have mercy, she was a temptress with those hands that touched him, those eyes that held him. She knew exactly the effect she was having on him. He would come right here in the field. But there was no mercy. With a final, lingering gaze on his face, she put her mouth on him. It was the most wicked, the most wonderful thing a woman had ever done for him, an act of true intimacy.

  She sucked hard on his head, her tongue licking the little pearl of moisture at his tip, and Conall groaned, a carnal primal sound somewhere between animal and man. Her hand reached between his legs for his sac, squeezing with delicate aggression until he gasped, his body gathering for release. He tightened his hand in her hair in warning. She sucked hard one last time and rocked back on her heels, taking him in her hand, her eyes locking on him with the wicked whisper, ‘I want to watch you come, Conall. I want to watch you fall apart in your pleasure.’ And he did, far past the point of being able to do otherwise.

  It might have been the most intimate moment of physical pleasure he’d ever shared. He wanted to remember her the way she was right now: eyes glowing, her skin translucent in the sunlight, her face tinged rose from her efforts, the fabric of her gown straining against her breasts, proof that she was aroused, too, having found pleasure in the pleasuring. It was a rare lover who delighted in the giving as well as the receiving, perhaps even rarer for her, having come so far in her own sensual journey where pleasure was no longer one person’s to control, but something to be shared, given and received.

  He leaned forward, tipping her head up to meet his, taking her mouth in a slow kiss as he knelt beside her, his hands at her skirts as he laid her down in the long summer grass. He would show her what she was worth to him one more time, he would honour her with his touch, worship her with his body just as he’d promised before God and witnesses. Most of all, he would show her what was possible when two people put their faith in each other.

  * * *

  Whilst you’re waiting

  for the next instalment of

  the Allied at the Altar miniseries,

  why not check
out Bronwyn Scott’s

  Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries

  Compromised by the Prince’s Touch

  Innocent in the Prince’s Bed

  Awakened by the Prince’s Passion

  Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge by Lara Temple.

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  The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge

  by Lara Temple

  Chapter One

  Blood was thudding in Olivia’s ears, loud in the echoing hollowness of St Margaret’s. She had purposely chosen an hour when there were likely to be few people in the church, but she hadn’t expected it to be empty. Or dark.

  She should have realised they wouldn’t waste many candles on a near-empty church on a rainy winter afternoon. The few tallow candles smoked sulkily in their sconces and occasionally shivered in the draught that seemed to come from all directions at once.

  Surely if she cried out someone would hear, wouldn’t they? Hans Town might not be a fashionable part of London, but it was respectable. Or perhaps it was best to just tuck tail and run...

  Too late.

  The strike of boots on the flagstones matched the rhythm in her ears and a man emerged from the darkness at the far end of the nave, his greatcoat rising about him like sweeping wings. She was not surprised they called him Sinful Sinclair. She presumed it was merely a play on his family name and less than pristine reputation, but, as he moved towards her in a swift, gliding motion and she noted his pitch-black hair and uncompromising features, she understood the name better.

  ‘Lord Sinclair, thank you for coming,’ she said as he stopped before her, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

  ‘Don’t thank me, this isn’t a social call. You sent this quaint little note?’

  ‘I did. Lord Sinclair—’

  ‘What do you want and why the devil did you have to choose such an inconvenient location?’

  ‘It is convenient for me. Lord Sinclair, I—’

  ‘I didn’t see another carriage in the lane outside. How did you arrive?’

  She blinked. She had not even begun and already she was losing control of the situation.

  ‘What on earth does it matter? Lord Sinclair, I—’

  ‘It matters because I prefer to know what I am up against when I come to meet a silly little miss in an empty church in the middle of nowhere. If this is some kind of plan to entrap me I should warn you, you have very much mistaken your prey...’

  Olivia’s confusion disappeared and she couldn’t hold back a laugh.

  ‘You believe I brought you here to entrap you? Goodness, you are vain.’

  His eyes narrowed and she felt a new flicker of alarm. Perhaps laughing at him was not advisable under the circumstances.

  ‘Lord Sinclair...’ she began again and hesitated. The clear list of points she wished to make faded under the oppressive force of his black eyes. She took another deep breath. ‘Lord Sinclair—’

  ‘I know my name,’ he said impatiently. ‘Only too well. Stop wearing it thin and get to the blasted point.’

  ‘I have some information about your father.’

  The draught swirled his coat out in a wide arc about him and cut through the thin fabric of her own cloak and she shivered. He didn’t reply immediately, but the impatience was gone, replaced by a rather sardonic smile.

  ‘So do I and very little of it is good. What of it?’

  ‘I have evidence that raises some questions about the circumstances of his death. It is possible that he was wronged.’

  The only sound was the faint whistling of the wind through cracks in the high windows. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her and waited.

  ‘Raise your veil.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I prefer to see people’s faces when they are lying to me.’

  Olivia considered her options. She didn’t know if involving this man was one of her more intelligent ideas, but he had come and she would have to see this through. She rolled back the thick lace veil attached to her bonnet and his dark eyes scanned her face without any change in their expression of amused contempt.

  ‘A little miss, but not silly, I think. Now let us begin anew. Why did you summon me here?’

  ‘I told you, I have some information about the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.’

  ‘I see. And what do you want in exchange for this so-called information?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘Not a very clever bargaining approach. You should have come with a clearer idea of what you think your lies are worth. Or what you think I am worth.’

  ‘But that is precisely what I am trying to determine.’

  He laughed, a low warm sound that did nothing to soothe her skittering nerves.

  ‘You want a list of my assets? You are by far the most inept blackmailer I have come across, sweetheart, and I have met a few.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your financial worth,’ she replied coldly. She knew he would be difficult, but she had not counted on him being annoying as well. She wasn’t at all certain she wanted to deal with this man.

  ‘I can think of only one other level on which I might be of any worth. But it’s a bit cold here for that, however tempting the bait. I have a carriage waiting outside, though, if you like.’

  ‘No, I would not like!’ she said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Really, if only he would be quiet for a moment and let her think. She knew he was a care-for-nobody, but she had expected a little more interest in her story. Did he really not care at all? If he did not, there was no point in continuing. Except that she very much needed help. Mercer, her man of business, was a treasure, but he was only good when told precisely what to do and she no longer knew which way to direct him.

  ‘Are you certain? You have a certain charm and I wouldn’t mind seeing just how far—’

  ‘Oh, would you please be quiet so I may think! I had no idea you would be so provoking!’

  At least that wiped the mocking humour from his face. She waited for his anger, wishing she had held her tongue, but he merely took her elbow, turning her towards the exit.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘No! Let me go!’

  Her confusion turned to panic and she tugged her arm out of his grasp. He raised his hands and took a step back.

 
‘Calm down. I won’t hurt you, but it’s as cold as a witch’s... It is freezing in here and I don’t feel inclined to stand around in this draughty church discussing my family for any busybody to hear while you make up your mind about extorting me. If you wish to speak with me, you may do so in the carriage. If not, goodnight.’

  His words were calm, but his brisk stride as he headed towards the exit was a blatant dismissal. Olivia stared at his retreating figure with such a wave of hatred she could hardly believe it originated from her. The temptation to throw back her head and howl at the eaves was so powerful she could almost hear her own voice echoing back at her.

  Instead she filled her lungs with cold air, lowered her veil and stalked after Lord Sinclair.

  She reached the road and for one panicked moment thought she was too late, but then she saw the dark-panelled carriage on the narrow lane leading past the church. The buildings hung low, blocking out what remained of the late afternoon gloom and she could hardly see his face under the brim of his hat, but felt him watching her as she approached. Without a word he opened the carriage door.

  She must be mad to be contemplating stepping into a carriage with one of the Sinful Sinclairs. Mad, desperate or a fool. Well, she was desperate. And though she might be an utter fool, something about the way he mocked her at least relieved concern for her person. But still...

  ‘Lord Sinclair, perhaps we could...’

  He sighed and stepped into the carriage himself.

  She hadn’t meant to grab the door as he closed it. She felt the resistance of his hold on the handle, then it eased but remained taut, counting out his patience. When he let go she stifled her qualms and grabbed her skirts to take the high step into the carriage. Once inside she pressed herself as far back into a corner as she could. He tossed a rug towards her.

  ‘I wish you would stop acting like a hissing cat being forced into a pond. Put that around you before you freeze; that cloak is about as useful in this weather as a handkerchief. Now, you have ten minutes to tell your tale and be gone.’