“At least on two separate occasions. You’re a naughty man.” But there was a smile in her voice that said she didn’t mind.
“It’s why you love me.”
She rolled over in his arms and kissed him. “One of many reasons why I love you, my darling man.”
Cleo decided she was in desperate need of a rapprochement. After reconciling with Thornton, her gray life had suddenly turned bright again. But there remained a blight—his family. She decided, unpleasant though she may find it, that she wanted to begin her marriage and her child’s life in a home at peace rather than at war. Which meant she needed to seek the lioness in her den.
Two days before the wedding, she at last mustered the courage to meet the dowager in her own rooms. Well, to be specific, meet was not precisely the word. Surprised her was far more apt, because Cleo chose the precise moment that servants were taking the dowager her afternoon tea to slip into her private sitting room along with them.
Thornton’s mother was seated on a sofa like a queen in repose, her gray hair in a tight upsweep, wearing her customary dove-gray gown and lace cap. Her nostrils flared as she caught sight of Cleo, but she said nothing. Cleo dipped into her most formidable curtsy as the servants delivered the tea.
While they prepared the tray, Cleo waited for the dowager to invite her to seat herself. The good lady did not, leaving Cleo to sit on an opposite chair. She waited for the servants to depart before speaking.
“My lady, I hope that you are well.”
The dowager harrumphed. “I am as well as can be expected, given the circumstances.”
Cleo held her tongue at the jibe. “I understand that this all must be transpiring quite abruptly to you—”
“Abrupt, of course it is abrupt!” The dowager’s voice was shrill enough to break glass. “My son was on a golden path before you meddled in his life. Now you have conveniently gotten yourself with child. How nice for you. How…secure.”
She would not allow the woman to spark her fury. She would not. She would remain calm. Cleo took a deep, deep breath before responding. “Your barbs are well-deserved. I acted rashly with your son, as did he with me. However, I would have you know that any indiscretion on our part was the sole product of our love for one another.”
The dowager poured her own tea but did not offer any to Cleo. She sniffed. “Indeed.”
“I love your son,” she said with quiet strength, “and your son loves me. I realize I may not be the ideal match for him. Certainly, he could have found a better mate than myself. But I am honored that he has chosen me as his wife.”
“Has he chosen you, then? I had not realized.”
“You have every right to chastise.” Cleo inclined her head. “Pray do not hold my love for him against your son, or against your grandchild. You may dislike me as you please, but in a few short months, there will be a new de Vere in this family. I would have you be a part of the child’s life.”
“Gracious of you, Lady Scarbrough.” The dowager’s voice remained frigid.
Frustration shot through her. Really, must the woman be so intractable? “I am not striving for grace.” She stood. “I am to be your son’s wife. You are not required to like me. You are not even required to tolerate me. Let it be known, however, that I love your son more than anything in this world. And I love this child we’ve created together. I hope you can respect that, if not me.”
As she turned to leave, the dowager halted her. “Wait.”
Cleo paused and half-turned. “Yes?”
The dowager pressed her lips together. “You are not the wife I would have chosen for Alexander. Nor are you in the least suitable. In truth, I do not like you very much at all. But even I must admit that you exhibit a rare bravado—to your credit—in seeking me out.”
Cleo curtsied again. “Thank you, my lady.” She gritted her teeth on the words, determined to maintain her polite, cool mask.
The dowager muttered something unintelligible beneath her breath.
Cleo raised a brow. “My lady?”
She positively huffed. “I will try.” She hesitated. “I shall try to find you more agreeable. Still, you have so much to learn. For starters, you must cease looking so vulgar and American in dress. I shall take you to my modiste.”
And procure her a set of dresses in varying shades of gray? Cleo nearly shivered in horror at the prospect. With considerable effort, she squelched any objections rising within her.
“Thank you, my lady.” Hiding her smile, Cleo quit the room. It was a small acknowledgment to be sure, but it was something, a small step on the path to becoming a true part of the de Vere family. She owed that much, after all, to Alex and to the babe.
Cleo found Bella in the library, a room where the younger woman frequently spent her days. If she had to guess, Cleo would say it was to hide from the dowager. But she’d not guess it aloud.
Bella was reading a volume of Shakespeare when she entered. In truth, she was sniffling into it. Understanding instantly crept into her mind. Mr. Whitney had left prior to Cleo’s return—he’d been called back to America for some urgent business, Alex said. Cleo had not mistaken the shared glances between Bella and Mr. Whitney, she was sure of it now. More to the point, the volume of Shakespeare was quite upside down in Bella’s hands. But Cleo ought not to mention that aloud either.
“Lady Bella.” She smiled at her sister-to-be. “Have you a moment?”
Bella raised red-rimmed eyes above the volume. “I suppose.”
“Excellent.” Cleo seated herself in a wingback chair. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“No.”
She adjusted her skirts. “Excuse me?”
“I meant to say that you’re not sorry to interrupt me, or you would not have done so.” Bella’s gaze was as direct and frank as her words. “Nevertheless, I am at your mercy.”
“That is not true, my dear. You are free to leave the room if you prefer no company to mine.”
Bella shook her head, making her black curls dance. “I assume you’ve sought me out for a reason?”
Cleo shifted her skirts again. “Indeed I have.” She paused, weighing her options. Although she had meant to propose a tentative friendship, seeing Thornton’s sister distressed led her to believe there was something more important afoot. “Are you well, Bella?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“It is just that your book is upside down and your eyes are quite red and puffy.” She delivered her observation with as much kindness as possible. “Is it Mr. Whitney?”
“No,” Bella denied with far too much haste.
“You need not confide in me, but I do want you to know that should anything ever arise…that is to say, if you are in trouble, I will be here for you.”
“You’re too kind.” Bella stiffened. “Mr. Whitney and I are merely friends, however.”
“Very well. Then I shall keep my thoughts to myself on the matter and turn to my real reason for seeking you out.”
“Do tell.” Even distraught, Bella had the same biting sarcasm as Thornton.
“It is merely that, since I’m to wed your brother and the two of us will see one another regularly, I think we should be friends.”
“Do you love my brother?” Bella demanded.
“Utterly.” Cleo did not dither on her response. “He’s arrogant, stubborn and absolutely too good for me. But I don’t care.”
“I suspect he feels the same for you.” Bella’s tone was grim, but she was no longer glaring at Cleo as if she were about to kick her pet puppy.
“Will you try to give me a chance to prove I’m not the shrew you think me?”
An enigmatic smile kicked up the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps, Lady Scarbrough.”
“Then that is all I can ask of you.” Cleo rose. “Please remember what I said, Bella, for I meant it. If ever you find yourself in trouble, you may depend upon me for assistance.”
“Thank you.” Tears welled up in Bella’s eyes. “I’m fine, I assure
you. Please go now.”
A heaviness lifted off her chest, she left Bella to her upside down Shakespeare and her tears for the lover she’d lost. Young love. Cleo sighed. She knew it well. Strange to think of how it could, on rare occasions, endure. Happy to think of how it could endure. For with Thornton, she had rediscovered the love she’d once had and more. They were both older, wiser, more mature. Still bent on making mistakes, it was true. But it was different for them now. Better. Each day was a blessing.
“There you are, my darling.” A strong arm caught her about the waist and pulled her from behind into a hard, lean body.
“Alex.” She spun in his arms and rose on her tiptoes for a slow, deep kiss. “I think I have charmed your lions, at least enough so that they will not attempt to eat me for their supper.”
Laughing, he kissed the tip of her nose. “If you’ve survived my mother and sister, anything more that comes our way will be naught but flotsam.” He kissed her neck. “I adore the scent of lavender.”
“Mmm.” She was too busy savoring the delicious sensations coursing through her to respond in a coherent manner.
His mouth was hot and demanding, licking a deliberate, wicked path to the hollow of her throat. “Would you care to charm me next, my love?”
With a giggle, she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her for another kiss. “Of course, my darling man. I thought you’d never ask.” Hand in hand, they ducked through the corridor, heading toward his chamber.
Epilogue
London, five months later
Cleo’s brow knotted in concentration as she worked on the sketchbook before her. “Darling, you’re moving.”
“I can’t help it.” Thornton grinned at his wife—he was sure—like an idiot. Wife. That word still felt wonderful on his tongue and bounding about in his mind. She was his and he bloody well liked it. “You’re adorable when you frown, love.”
She huffed a sigh, looking even more adorable. Bridget had done her hair up in the way he loved, high on her head with a few glossy curls coming down to brush her cheeks. The roundness of her stomach could no longer be hidden beneath accommodating gowns, but she had never looked lovelier in the soft, almost Grecian drapes of the Worth gown she wore this morning.
“Alex, how am I to complete this sketch before Bump is born when you refuse to cooperate?”
They had named the baby Bump one evening while lying together in his enormous bed at Marleigh Manor. Cleo, he’d discovered, loved to chat away into the early morning hours and he found he rather looked forward to their rambling late night conversations.
He’d kissed her burgeoning belly. “I can’t wait for him or her to arrive, my love.”
Cleo scrunched up her adorable nose. “We cannot forever call the poor darling ‘him or her’.”
“What do you propose, then?” His hands smoothed a loving trail over her soft skin and the object of their conversation chose that moment to offer protest in the form of a sharp little elbow.
“Bump,” Cleo had said and they’d laughed at the absurdity together. But the name had stuck.
“Apologies to both you and Bump,” he said now, setting aside the papers he’d long since given up on perusing. She’d been his for five precious months and still, going to sleep with her and waking up with her and even sharing something as insignificant as breakfast together…well, it made him nearly maudlin. He was happy. He was in love. He was a husband and a proud papa to be. Life had never been more fulfilling.
“You’re being most difficult.” Cleo pouted. “I shall tell Bump all about it after she is born.”
Thornton rose from his chair, dropped his serviette onto his plate and strode to her side of the table. As a general rule, he preferred to spend as much of his waking and sleeping hours touching his wife as possible. With an ease borne of practice, he scooped her from her chair and sat down, settling her lovely derriere in his lap.
He dropped a kiss on the delicious warmth of her neck. Mmm. Lavender. “And how do you know Bump is to be a girl?”
“I prefer to alternate.” She turned and met his mouth for a kiss. “It gives me a sense of fairness.”
Thornton couldn’t help himself. He cupped her delicate jaw and stole another kiss from her lips. “Your reasoning is beginning to sound a bit like the dowager’s.”
“You’re an evil man.” Cleo raised a hand to caress his cheek. “We have created a reluctant peace between us, your mother and I and your sister as well.”
Thornton had to acknowledge that somehow, seemingly against all reason, Cleo was making remarkable inroads with his termagant of a mother and his stubborn sister. He had to admit that he was pleased. Cleo was proving herself to be a far better partner and wife than he had even anticipated. Oh, they had their minor rows, but they were…blissful. Christ, he never thought he’d use that word to describe anything, but there it was. Maudlin sentiment. Even society had embraced them both, eager to cast Scarbrough as the villain and eager to toast a rare love match. He’d been able to resume his role in Gladstone’s cabinet with nary a hitch.
“I am pleased if you are pleased, darling. And I have learned well that peace is far preferable to war.”
“Indeed.” She kissed him lingeringly again. Her moss eyes glittered into his. “But our peace will not last long, I fear, for if Bump is anything in nature like you or I, he will have quite the personality.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Oh dear.” She touched his face again. “I’ve gotten charcoal all over your face.”
“You’ve always been a bit of a mess, darling.” Grinning, he lowered his mouth to his beloved wife’s. “But I love you anyway.”
“Mmm.” She sank her fingers into his hair. “And I love you, Alexander de Vere.”
He slid his hands down over her body to cup her precious belly. Bump delivered a sound kick to his palm. “As does Bump, it would seem.”
“As does Bump,” she agreed and they proceeded to spend a goodly portion of the morning making creative use of the breakfast table.
“You’re a wicked man,” Cleo told him breathlessly some time later.
And Thornton, honored Lord of Parliament, leading light of the Liberal Party, trusted confidante to the Prime Minister, loving husband to Cleopatra Harrington de Vere and proud father of one precocious Bump, had to concur.
Rebel Love
Heart’s Temptation Book Two
By
Scarlett Scott
A determined woman
Lady Bella de Vere’s matchmaking mother has vowed to win her a duke and nothing less. But Bella secretly yearns for her brother’s enigmatic American friend, Mr. Jesse Whitney, even if he’s determined to treat her as nothing more than a younger sister.
A man with a past
A Confederate veteran adrift since the Civil War’s end, Jesse’s been through the fires of hell and back. He knows he should stay far away from his best friend’s beautiful sister, but she sees past his façade to the wounded soldier within, and he’s sorely tempted to take what should never be his.
A love like no other
Their kisses are scorching, their passion undeniable. But Jesse’s bitter past refuses to relinquish its hold on him in more ways than one. Is he strong enough to fight the most important battle of all and win Bella’s love forever?
Dedication
For Sandy, with infinite gratitude for Chaucer, poems, endless rounds of dinner, and so much more.
Author Note
Much of Rebel Love occurs within the same timeframe as A Mad Passion since the two stories are told concurrently to each other. As Thornton and Cleo were rekindling their old passion at Lady Cosgrove’s country house party, Bella and Jesse were secretly falling in love.
Chapter One
England, 1880
Maman wanted to marry her off. There was no kind way of phrasing it, no hope for it. The dowager had tired of Bella’s failure to wed. Her maxims were legion, ringing in Bella’s mind l
ike an endless bell pull in the servants’ hall.
No lord will wed a bookish miss. Never wear spectacles. Powder is vulgar. Nothing complements an innocent lady’s complexion better than white. Don’t slouch.
Alas, her mother’s tireless crusade had thus far proven fruitless through several seasons. Bella had no wish to make polite conversation with boring fops in search of fortunes. They were deadly dull, the lot of them. But the plain truth remained in her mind with an attic rat’s gnawing persistence. No man, she feared, could ever compete with the incomparable Mr. Jesse Whitney. From the moment she’d first laid eyes upon his golden good looks and heard his butter-smooth Virginia drawl four years before, she’d been hopelessly, impossibly infatuated.
“Bella, do pay attention.”
The dowager’s scolding voice shook her from her reveries, bringing her back to the present with a snap. She turned from the countryside slipping past her carriage window and looked to her mother. “Pray forgive me. My mind is often wont to wander when I’m trapped in carriages.”
“A wandering mind is simply unacceptable. A proper young lady’s mind should always be empty.”
Bella tried hard not to smile at the dowager’s pronouncement. “Indeed, Maman. I shall endeavor to always have an empty mind from this moment forward.”
Her mother pinned her with a glare. “So much cheek. Where did you learn such ill manners? I’m afraid I have failed altogether as a mother.”
“Never, Maman dearest.” She attempted a smile she could not quite feel. “You have been a boon, truly.”
“You would call your own mother a baboon? Dear Lord, how am I to find a husband for an uncouth girl such as this?” Her mother addressed the ceiling of the carriage as if she were having a direct audience with the Lord Himself.
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