The Seduction of His Wife
Page 30
“Only with you, Emma.” He gathered her hands in his when she made to pull them away.
“And why is that?”
Richard brought her hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her curled fingers. “Because, despite everything we’ve been through and after everything I have witnessed with Waverly, I couldn’t be a happier man.”
“How can you say such a thing in light of such tragedy?” She turned her head away and stared at the lamp on the nightstand.
“The only thing worse than Waverly killing himself would have been losing you, Emma.” He squeezed her hand. “And it was too close for comfort tonight. I might not have been able to live with myself had anything happened…” Richard paused and took a deep inhalation. “I can’t deny I’ve lived a hard life. I’ve seen worse and even been the cause of worse than what Waverly showed us tonight.”
“Do you regret everything you did?” She felt awful for asking such a question, and was surprised when he answered her.
“I do. More than you can know. But I can’t change the past. The only thing I can do is move forward and hope I make better decisions in my future.”
“What does this mean for us?”
Did she dare to hope they could have a life together? A marriage where they depended upon each other?
She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
“How do you feel about spending the rest of your days with me, wife?”
Her head whipped around and she gazed at her husband. There was no teasing in his voice. It was a genuine question.
“Are you still going to pursue my paintings?”
He shook his head. “The duke has offered to track them down. He will be the one pursuing them.”
Clever answer. “No divorce, then?”
“No. No divorce. Just us. In London, at Mansfield Hall, I care not so long as you are with me.”
“Is this a product of Waverly’s death?”
“I never planned to give you up, Emma. I’ve grown to love you deeply these last few weeks. Waverly made my resolve to keep you resolute.”
Tears prickled at her eyes with his admission. “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my days with you, husband.”
He leaned in close and brushed his lips against hers.
“There is one other thing we need to discuss.”
Emma gave him a curious look.
“You forgot to tell me about one of your paintings. The one with you wearing no more than a white strip of silk.”
“Oh.” Emma flushed. He knew the truth, and she cared not how he found out. Going up on her knees, she placed her hands on either side of his face. Lowering her lips close to his, she said, “I do believe we have the rest of our days to uncover each other’s secrets.”
Read on for a sneak peek at the next
breathtaking romance from Tiffany Clare
The Secret Desires
of a Governess
June 2011
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
1848
Northumbria
Elliott Taylor Wright, the Earl of Brendall, stilled when he heard footsteps. A squelching wet sound drew nearer to his study. Definitely not a usual occurrence. He flicked his watch open: ten after nine. No one came up to the castle if they could help it.
Martha, his housekeeper, would be gone from the main house for the evening. She always made sure to put his son down at eight. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be Jacob wandering around, finding some sort of trouble while the hour was still early. If that were the case, the boy would find his bed before long.
Not worried about unwelcome guests, Elliott stood from his wide desk, papers scattered over the surface. He stretched his back, then rubbed his eyes.
He looked toward the door when another faint sound reached his ears. That was not his son; the tread was too heavy for a boy of eight years.
With the unlikelihood that the noise was his son … who could be wandering the castle? There was only a handful of servants, but they rarely spent time in the main house this late in the evening. They had everything they needed at the keep—another building on the castle grounds. They left him well enough alone once the day closed. As he preferred.
It was possible someone was looking for him. And if that were the case, they’d know where to find him.
Except … the noise continued right on past his study.
He walked over to the door, slid it open soundlessly, and peered down the dimly lit hall.
A figure in white turned left at the end of the long corridor. The mud-caked hem of her skirts snapped with the turn of her heel before she disappeared from sight.
Elliott stepped out of his study, shut the heavy door as silently as he had opened it, and followed the evening prowler. Padding quietly down the hall, he wondered when he should make his presence known. He was intrigued by the notion of having a trespasser.
She was a tiny thing, probably a good seven or eight inches shorter than he. Elliott studied her slender figure. Her hair was straggly and soaked right through; the pins had released a long braid to fall down to the middle of her back, and dripped a trail of rainwater down her skirts. He couldn’t make out the color, but he guessed a light brown.
Wetness clung to her like a second skin, making the line of her underthings beneath the worsted muslin visible to the naked eye. Not an ideal material for the unreliable climate in Northumbria. Her shoulders were narrow. Her waist couldn’t be more than what his two hands could wrap around.
Her skirt painted a muddy path along the hardwood floor with every step. The sloshing sound he’d heard earlier was still present. It must be coming from her waterlogged shoes. She carried a dripping shawl over one arm, a valise in her other hand.
She turned down another corridor. Did she not realize she was headed back to the entrance she’d come through?
With no desire to wander the halls of the great house all evening, and curious to know who she was, he called out to her.
“I see few visitors here, madam.”
He set his shoulder against the darkly paneled wall and waited for her to face him.
She froze at his comment and turned with more grace than he thought possible in her sodden, bedraggled state. Raising her dainty chin, she narrowed her eyes, making tiny wrinkles form between her brows. Her features were clearer now that she stood next to a lit lamp on the wall.
She resembled a drowned rat.
“You!” She pointed a castigating finger at him.
He raised a questioning brow. Who did the little witch think she was?
“How is it you’ve found your way here?” he asked.
On closer inspection, she was deceptively nice to look upon. Her complexion was clear, freckles dotted across her nose and the upper portion of her cheeks. Her lips, he imagined, were full. Right now, though, she pinched them tightly together, either in anger or to keep her teeth from chattering since the edge of her lips held a tinge of blue. How long had she been standing out in the rain to come to this state? It occurred to him then that he should offer her the warmth of a fire before he sent her on her way.
“I walked,” she spat like a feral cat.
He pinched his lips tightly together and swallowed his offer. It was then he noticed her eyes were as rich and clear a green as peridot, with the slightest hint of gold, and as fiery as her nature proved to be.
“I had to walk fifteen miles because no one arranged for a carriage. I couldn’t even hire a coach to bring me this far.”
He looked her over once more. Even though it was damaged from the rain, her dress was well-made and of a fine, expensive material. A lady would have traveled with a maid. A ladybird on the other hand …
Elliott crossed his arms over his wide chest at that thought. He watched her gaze flick to the open throat of his shirt, trailing lower to the exposed skin of his forearms where his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Then she met his gaze head-on, weariness making her lids heavy. She had traveled far by the looks of it.
>
“Madam, do you always address your betters in such a fashion?”
“How—how dare you speak to me thus. I’m here on your invitation!”
That gave him pause and he stood away from the wall. He hadn’t invited a woman up to the castle for more years than he cared to count. When he wanted the company of a woman, he rode over to Alnwick, one of the larger townships. But he’d been too busy over the past few months to indulge in a good tumble.
Until she stuttered, “I–I’m the governess.”
The governess?
Elliott forced himself to take a step away from her.
“You’re the governess?” Disbelief and disappointment were evident in his voice.
“Yes … I put an advertisement in the Northern Times last month. I was asked to start immediately.”
And she looked ready to hit him, whether from his briefly untoward behavior or her uncomfortable, bedraggled state was hard to determine.
Well, damn.
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles
by Tiffany Clare
The Surrender of a Lady
The Seduction of His Wife
Praise for Tiffany Clare’s
THE SURRENDER OF A LADY
“Tiffany Clare writes a swoon-worthy romance filled with rich details and vivid characters. Any readers wishing for a bold and sweeping historical romance need look no further—Tiffany Clare is a treasure of an author!”
—Lisa Kleypas,
New York Times bestselling author
“Exotic, bold, and captivating. Tiffany Clare’s rich, sensual prose is delightful indulgence!”
—Alexandra Hawkins, author of
Till Dawn with the Devil
“Dazzling, daring, and different! Exotic and erotic! The Surrender of a Lady will have you turning the pages until you finish, no matter how late it gets. Tiffany Clare is a brilliant new talent in historical romance.”
—Anna Campbell, author of
My Reckless Surrender
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE SEDUCTION OF HIS WIFE
Copyright © 2010 by Tiffany Clare.
Excerpt from The Secret Desires of a Governess copyright © 2010 by Tiffany Clare.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 978-0-312-38183-7
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2011
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 978-1-4299-9235-0
First St. Martin’s Paperbacks eBook Edition: February 2011