“I’m divorced!”
With her heart about to burst from her chest, she let out a war whoop and jumped into his arms. He hugged her tightly, his arms like steel bands as he lifted her off her feet. And then they were kissing with a raw, passionate exuberance and a kind of unfettered joy, oblivious to the eyes of the other passengers around them.
Long before she was ready to stop kissing him, he set her back down. With her head still swimming from an excess of excitement and juiced-up hormones, she saw him take a pair of steps backward.
Then to her astonishment, he dropped onto one knee, an open velvet-covered ring box in his hand. “Gabriella Felicity Grayson, I love you. Will you be my wife?”
All around her, people watched, but the only person she could see was Maddox. The man she loved, and would always love.
“Yes.” She smiled, a tear running down her cheek. “Of course yes!”
He slid the large, beautiful square-cut diamond, which had to be three carats at least, onto her ring finger. Then she was in his arms again, his mouth moving with a blissful sizzle over hers while cheers and claps erupted around them.
The sound of their flight being called broke them apart.
Brie blushed and laughed as they boarded, their fellow passengers continuing to wish them well, a few cracking naughty jokes.
The first-class stewardess brought them glasses of sparkling champagne after they settled into their seats, a wide smile on her face. “Many happy wishes on your engagement. Compliments of the captain and the flight crew.”
They thanked her, waiting as she moved away to kiss again.
“Vegas, huh?” Brie met his eyes, which were gleaming with unvarnished adoration. She was sure her own were twinkling with equal amounts of love, brilliant as her new diamond ring.
“So who would you rather have officiate? Regular minister, Elvis impersonator, or should we just drive through the Little White Chapel?”
“You mean you want to get married tonight?”
“Of course. I told you I was going to make you my wife the minute I legally could. Why else do you think we’re flying to Vegas?”
“But the family—no one will be there. Not to mention my mother, who will have ten shades of purple cow over us not having a proper wedding.”
“Do you want a proper wedding?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No, not really. But I don’t want to disappoint them. Everyone’s been through so much lately.”
“Don’t worry. I already told your mother that I planned to whisk you off to the altar.”
“Maddox!”
“She was sad for a minute, then told me to tell you to have the best elopement ever. We’ll have a more traditional ceremony in front of our families once we get back. She’s already been on the phone to my mother.”
“Good Lord, did everyone know but me?”
“Pretty much.” He grinned, pressed his lips to hers again. “So, what’s your pick? Minister, Elvis, or Chapel?”
The engines rumbled beneath them, their seat belts fastened securely as the plane began to taxi.
Brie reached out and stroked her hand over his cheek. “The King, obviously. After all, you’re my hunk-a hunk-a burnin’ love.”
Maddox laughed and crushed his mouth to hers, claiming her again, heart and soul.
* * *
Hours later, he and Brie lay tangled together in the sheets, their naked bodies warm and slightly damp with perspiration.
He filled his lungs and worked to slow his rapid breathing. Brie seemed to be having the same difficulty, panting from their most recent bout of wild lovemaking. Taking her left hand, he threaded her fingers through his, enjoying the way the low lamplight glinted off both of their wedding rings.
Rolling her toward him, he settled her on top of his chest, their bare legs tangling, her breasts pressing against him in the most delicious way. He ran a palm over her spine, leaning up to claim her mouth in a series of slow, sultry kisses.
“Happy?” he asked.
She smiled, her lips curving in a way that never failed to enthrall him. “Ecstatic,” she said.
She slid her tongue along his lower lip. “And you? No regrets? It’s not everybody who gets divorced and remarried on the same day.”
“Not the same day. It was after midnight before the King pronounced us”—he lowered his voice, put on his best Elvis impression—“husband a-a-a-nd wife.” He kissed her again. “No regrets. I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I knew I loved you.”
“Oh?” She ran a finger along his chest, tangling the tip in the short curls there. “And when was that?”
“The first time or the second time?”
Her eyes turned even bluer. “There’s more than one?”
“Definitely.”
“Well, then, what are they?”
“The second time I knew I loved you was last Fourth of July on the beach. I tried to tell myself later that I didn’t feel that way, but from that moment on, deep down, I knew I was a goner.”
“And the first time?” she said, her voice so soft it sent shivers through him.
He stroked his palm over her back and hips. She arched beneath his touch like a contented cat. “The first time was when we were kids. The minute I looked at you, the very first time we met, my tongue rolled right back toward my throat and I all but swallowed it, you were so pretty.”
She leaned up, elbows braced against him. “But you were so awful to me. So rude. You hardly said two words.”
“Tongue rolled up—couldn’t swallow, remember?”
“Boys. Jeez.” She shook her head, marveling.
Taking her hips in his hands, he rearranged her so he could slide back inside her, his erection having gotten a sudden second wind. “Girls,” he said. “Good thing girls and boys fit together so well when they grow up.”
She quivered around him, inside and out, her eyelids lowering to half-staff. “Yes, a very good thing indeed.”
Cradling her face between his hands, he kissed her. “I loved you then, Brie-Brie. I love you now. You’re mine forever.”
“Forever,” she vowed. “As your attorney, I would never allow you to accept anything less.”
Then they sealed their promises in the most pleasurable of ways.
Read on for an excerpt from Tracy Anne Warren’s next novel,
HAPPILY BEDDED BLISS
Coming soon from Signet Select
September 1818
Gloucestershire, England
Lady Esme Byron hiked her sky blue muslin skirts up past her stocking-clad calves and climbed onto the wooden stile that divided Braebourne land from that of their nearest neighbor to the east, Mr. Cray.
Cray, a widower near her eldest brother, Edward’s, age of forty, was rarely in residence and never complained about her trespassing on his land, so she was free to use it as if it were quite her own. Not that Braebourne didn’t provide plenty of beautiful acreage to explore—it did, especially considering that her brother owned nearly half the county and more besides. But Cray possessed a lovely natural freshwater lake that sat a perfect walking distance from her family’s house. The lake attracted a rich variety of wildlife, so there was always something fascinating to sketch. Plus, no one ever bothered her there; it was quite her favorite secret place.
She jumped down onto the other side of the stile, taking far more care for the satchel of drawing supplies slung over her shoulder than she did for her fine leather half boots. She wobbled slightly as she sank ankle-deep into the mud. She stared at her boots for a few seconds, knowing her maid would give her a scold for sure. But she was always able to talk dear Grumbly around, so she wasn’t worried.
Grabbing hold of the fence, she unstuck herself one boot at a time. She scraped the worst of the mess off into the nearby grass;
then, with a swirl of her skirts, she continued on to her destination.
She sighed blissfully and turned her face up to the sun.
How good it was to be home again after weeks in the city.
How wonderful to be out in the open again, free to roam wherever she liked, whenever she liked.
A tiny, guilty frown wrinkled her brow, since technically she was supposed to be back at the estate helping entertain the houseguests visiting Braebourne. But all seven of her siblings and their families were in residence, even Leo and his new bride, Thalia, who had just returned with celebratory fanfare from their honeymoon tour of Italy. With so many Byrons available to make merry, she would hardly be missed.
Besides, her family was used to her penchant for disappearing by herself for hours at a time as she roamed the nearby woods and hills and fields. She would be back in time for dinner; that would have to be enough.
An exuberant bark sounded behind her and she glanced around in time to watch her dog, Burr, leap the stile and race toward her. She bent down and gave his shaggy head a scratch. “So, you’re back, are you? Done chasing rabbits?”
He waved his golden flag of a tail in a wide arc, his pink tongue lolling out in a happy grin, clearly unapologetic for having deserted her a couple of minutes earlier to hunt game in the bushes.
“Well, come along,” she told him before starting off toward a stand of trees in the distance.
Burr trotted enthusiastically at her side.
Several minutes later, she reached the copse of trees that led to the lake. She was just about to step out of their protective shelter when she heard a splash.
She stopped and motioned Burr to do the same.
Someone, she realized, was swimming in the lake. Was it Mr. Cray? Was he back in residence?
A man emerged from the water—a man who most definitely was not Mr. Cray.
And who was most definitely naked.
Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of his long, powerfully graceful form, his skin glistening with wet in the sunlight.
A quiet sigh of wonder slid from between her parted lips, her senses awash with the same kind of reverent awe she felt whenever she beheld something of pure, unadorned beauty.
Not that his face was the handsomest she had ever glimpsed—his features were far too strong and angular for ordinary attractiveness. Yet there was something majestic about him, his tall body exquisitely proportioned, even the unmentionable male part of him that hung impressively between his muscled thighs.
Clearly unaware that he was being observed, he casually slicked the water from his hair with his fingers, then walked deeper into the surrounding area of short grass that was kept periodically trimmed by the groundskeepers.
She shivered, her heart pounding wildly as she watched him settle onto the soft green canopy of grass and stretch out on his back. With a hand, she motioned again to Burr to remain quiet. She did the same, knowing if she moved now, the beautiful stranger would surely hear her.
One minute melted into two, then three.
Quite unexpectedly, she heard the soft yet unmistakable sound of a snore.
Is he asleep?
She smiled, realizing that’s exactly what he was.
She knew she ought to leave; this was the perfect chance. But then he shifted, his face turning toward her, one hand resting at his waist, his knee bent at an elegant angle.
And she couldn’t leave.
Not now.
Not when she was in the presence of such artistic majesty—as if the universe itself had given her a gift. How could she refuse the opportunity? She simply had to draw him.
Without giving the impulse so much as another moment’s consideration, she sank quietly onto a nearby rock that provided her with an excellent view of her subject. Burr settled down next to her and laid his chin on his paws as she extracted her pencil and sketchbook from her bag and set to work.
* * *
Gabriel Landsdowne came abruptly awake, the late afternoon sun strong in his eyes. He blinked and sat up, giving his head a slight shake to clear out the last of the drowsy cobwebs.
He’d fallen asleep without even realizing it. Apparently, he was more tired than he’d thought. Then again, that’s why he’d come here to Cray’s, so he could spend a little time alone, doing nothing more strenuous than taking a leisurely swim and lazing away the day. He could have done the same at his own estate, of course, but the place always put him in a foul mood.
Too many bad memories.
Too many unwanted responsibilities to ignore.
His usual crowd would laugh to see him doing something as prosaic as taking a solitary afternoon nap. On the other hand, he was out of doors naked, so they would most certainly approve of that.
Smirking, he stood up, brushing an errant blade of grass from his bare butt. He was about to cross to the stand of bushes where he’d left his clothes when he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He turned and stared into the foliage.
“Who is it? Is someone there?” he demanded.
The only answer was silence.
He looked again, but nothing moved; no one spoke.
Maybe it had been the wind?
Or an animal foraging in the woods?
Suddenly a dog burst from the concealment of the trees, its shaggy wheaten coat gleaming warmly in the sun. The animal stopped and looked at him, eyes bright and inquiring but not unfriendly. He seemed well fed but was of no particular breed, a medium-sized mix of some sort. Part hound and part something else.
“Who might you be, fellow?” Gabriel asked.
The dog wagged his tail and barked twice, then spun around and disappeared into the trees once more.
Just then, Gabriel thought he spied a flash of blue in the woods.
A bird?
The dog must have sensed it too and had gone off to chase whatever it was.
Shrugging in dismissal, Gabriel turned and went to retrieve his clothes.
* * *
“It’s high time you were home, my lady,” Grumbly scolded as Esme hurried into her bedroom a couple of minutes after the dressing gong rang. “I was on the verge of sending one of the footmen out after you. Och, and look at those boots. What new mischief have you been about this afternoon? Tromping in the mud.”
“Oh, don’t carry on, Grumbly,” Esme said, using the maid’s old nickname given to her when Esme was still in apron strings. “I went for a walk, then stopped at the stables afterward to check on Andromeda. Her wing is still healing and she needs food and exercise twice a day.”
Andromeda was a hawk Esme had found in the woods last month, shot with an arrow. She’d nursed her through the worst and hoped the bird might be able to fly again with enough time and care.
Mrs. Grumblethorpe tsked and turned Esme around, her fingers moving quickly to unfasten the buttons on Esme’s dress. “You and your animals. Always worrying over some poor, misbegotten creature. Rabbits and birds, hedgehogs and box turtles. You’re forever dragging something back, to say nothing of all the cats and dogs and horses.”
Three of Esme’s cats—all strays she’d rescued—lay snoozing in various locations around her room, including a big orange male, Tobias, who was curled up on a cozy spot in the middle of her bed. Her maid didn’t approve, but she’d given up that battle long ago.
Burr, who had trailed in with Esme when she’d returned, lay stretched out in front of the unlit fireplace hearth. He snored gently, clearly tired after their recent adventures.
Esme thought again of the splendid naked man at the lake and the drawings of him that were now inside her sketchbook.
A flush rose on her skin.
She thought too of how he’d almost caught her as she’d been leaving. Good thing he’d assumed the noise she’d inadvertently made was Burr.
Good old Burr.
Who was the stranger? she wondered not for the first time. Certainly no one who lived in the neighborhood. She would have remembered a man like him. Peculiar, though, that he seemed oddly familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere before. She’d thought and thought and just couldn’t place him.
Oh, well, it would come to her—or not. She wouldn’t concern herself. After all, it wasn’t as if she were likely to see him again, let alone be introduced.
She didn’t have time to ruminate further as Grumbly removed her dress and half boots and sent her over to the washbasin to tidy herself for dinner.
In far less time than one might have imagined, Esme stood clean, elegantly coiffed and attired in an evening gown of demure white silk—presentable for company once again.
She’d hoped with the Season over, she might be able to put all the entertaining behind her for the year. But then Claire had decided to host one of her autumn country parties, inviting the usual gathering of friends and family, in addition to a few new acquaintances from London.
Esme sighed inwardly, wishing she could spend a quiet evening with just the family, then retire early with a good book.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders, fixed a smile on her lips, and headed downstairs.
* * *
“Might I procure a beverage for you, Lady Esme?”
Esme glanced up from where she sat on the end of the long drawing room sofa and looked into the eager gray eyes of Lord Eversley.
Only minutes before, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies after dinner, strolling in on a wave of companionable talk, the faint lingering aromas of cigar smoke and port wine drifting in as well.
Esme had been listening with only partial attention to the other women’s discussion of fashion when the men entered and Lord Eversley approached to make her a very elegant bow.
He’d been seated next to her at dinner, his conversation both pleasant and interesting. He was attractive, personable, well-mannered, and intelligent—in short, everything any sane young woman could want in a husband. Plus, he was heir to an earldom and a fortune that was impressive even by her family’s standards.
Mad About the Man Page 26
