Lustful Memoirs 0f A Bewitching Lady (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Violet Hamers

  “Andrew!”

  He took his fingers away, leaving her confused and wanting. Leaning back, her met her eyes, and his own gaze was dark with lust.

  “I do not think I can wait any longer, sweetheart,” he panted, taking himself in hand. She widened her legs as he lined himself up with her entrance. This was the moment she had been dreaming of and dreading. The moment they would become one, and entwine themselves together forever. With a deep groan, he pushed into her. There was a burn as he stretched her, but he went slow, allowing her time to adjust to his invasion.

  She gasped as he went deeper, clutching his shoulders.

  How can I be so full? How can this feel so wonderful?

  When he was pressed in as far as he could go, he paused and let his forehead rest against hers.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, there is only a little discomfort.”

  He appeared relieved. “That will ease, I promise. I am going to move now. Are you ready, my love?”

  Leaning up, she kissed his chin. “I am.”

  He kept his gaze locked with hers as he moved his hips back, then pushed forward again. She gasped as sweet sensation coursed through her. He pumped in and out of her again and again, his pace even and slow. He kissed her lips, her nose, her eyelids, and her cheeks as he moved. Penelope wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

  She had expected some pain, but mostly pleasure.

  She had expected his lust and the heat it always provoked within her own body.

  She had not expected such tenderness. To feel so treasured.

  This is what it means to make love. Not only a joining of bodies, but of hearts and souls.

  They savored each other as their hips began to move together. Penelope had never felt so full…so connected to another person. Andrew whispered sweet words of praise in her ear, telling her he found her enchanting. Brilliant. Beautiful.

  When her release came, it was not the explosion it had been the last time. Instead, it washed through her like a warm stream, filling every point of her body with exquisite pleasure that had her crying out his name.

  He followed shortly after her, her own name a prayer on his lips.

  Afterward, they held each other in contented silence for long minutes.

  At length, Andrew lifted his head from where it had been resting between her breasts.

  “Have I succeeded in satisfying you, wife?” he asked with a teasing grin.

  Penelope’s responding smile was lazy and relaxed.

  “Indeed, husband, you have satisfied me greatly.”

  He lowered his face to press a kiss to her chest, then rested his cheek against her once more.

  “You have made me the happiest man in the world,” he said in a soft voice. “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have found you.”

  She combed her fingers through his hair. “I love you, Andrew. From this day until my dying day, I will always love you.”

  He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes shining with gratification.

  “I love you too, my darling Penelope. More than I could have thought possible.”

  As she gazed down at him, she marveled at the unexpected turn her life had taken. She had always believed a love like theirs was something she would only ever read and write about. Yet now, laying in the embrace of her beloved husband, she knew what she had found with him was better than any story she could have imagined.

  Those were fiction, and this was real. Those happily ever after’s were only ever the end of the story.

  Her happily ever after was just the beginning.

  Epilogue

  Two Months Later

  “Are you sure you feel well enough to be here, my darling?”

  Penelope rolled her eyes, but smiled at her husband’s concerned expression.

  “Yes, love. I am quite well. You need not worry so.”

  “If you feel faint at all, just tell me, and we will leave immediately. Dorothy will understand.”

  She patted his silk cravat. “I feel fine. We will not abandon our siblings on their wedding day. Now enough of your nagging. The ceremony will begin soon.”

  He did not appear convinced by her assurances that she was in fine health, but he wisely dropped the subject.

  “I will see you after,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her forehead before hurrying off to return to his duties as groomsman.

  Penelope watched him go with a smile. It had been two months since their own wedding day, and she was impossibly happier now than she had been even then. Every day with Andrew proved more fulfilling, more enjoyable, and more adventurous than the one before. Though they still argued sometimes, more than she thought was their fair share, she never worried about them falling out of love.

  They were meant to be, and they both knew it.

  Penelope turned and made her way through the small church back to the room in which the breathless bride waited. Opening the door, she let out a little gasp of delight when her eyes landed on Dorothy.

  The lady was radiant in her wedding gown, and even wore a veil cascading down her back.

  Turning, Dorothy’s eyes went wide. “Is it time?”

  “Almost,” Penelope replied, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Dorothy, sweetheart. You look beautiful.”

  Dorothy smiled, but there was a shadow of sadness around her eyes. Penelope knew without asking what plagued her. The Duchess of Lockeder had yet to come around to her children’s respective unions, and was not present for the ceremony. Not having her mother there for her weighed on Dorothy, but Penelope was hopeful that her and Andrew’s news might win the Duchess over at last.

  “Oh, I wish it would start already,” Dorothy sighed, wringing her hands.

  Her impatience to wed Harry was endearing, and Penelope closed the distance between them so she could take her hand.

  “Harry cannot wait to call you his wife,” she said. “Just a little more time, and you two will be together for the rest of your lives.”

  Dorothy gazed up at her with a dreamy expression.

  “I only hope we are as happy as you and Andrew. I have never seen him so content, and to think he thought never to marry!”

  Penelope chuckled. “He muses about that often himself. He has taken to married life with an impressive ease. Hopefully, he will take to fatherhood just as naturally.”

  Dorothy froze, her eyes growing wide.

  “Penelope? What are you saying? Are you…?”

  Penelope winced. “Oh, my goodness. I did not mean to say anything today. I am so sorry, Dorothy.”

  Her sister-in-law shook her head eagerly as a wide, excited grin spread across her face.

  “Do not apologize! This is wonderful news! When did you know?”

  With a sheepish grin, Penelope answered, “I realized just this week. It is quite early yet, but I am certain I am with child.”

  Dorothy clapped her hands. “I am so happy! Who have you told? Does Harry know?”

  Penelope shook her head. “No, only Andrew and I do…and you, now, of course.”

  “I will not say a word!”

  “I know you will not.” Penelope was in fact certain the lady would keep her secret. She had proven more trustworthy a friend than Penelope had initially given her credit for, and was now her most stalwart companion.

  A knock on the door had both ladies turning to call out, “Come in!”

  The Duke poked his head into the room. His eyes shone as he smiled.

  “Are you ready, sweet girl?”

  “Yes, Papa,” Dorothy nodded. She hurried to her father, and Penelope was close behind to smooth her gown and care for her bouquet. They made their way to the doors of the small church’s sanctuary, and Penelope stood at the top of the aisle, ready to precede the bride.

  Before she began walking, her eyes met Andrew’s where he stood next to Harry before the altar. As it still did whenever she saw him, her heart sped up its rh
ythm. He grinned and winked at her, and she smiled as she began her march down the aisle toward him. She still could not believe how incredibly blessed she was to call him her own.

  Their life together was more wonderful than she could have ever dreamed, and her love for him grew every day.

  When she drew near, he held her gazed and mouthed the words, I love you.

  She mouthed the words back to him and stepped to the side to make way for Dorothy. As Penelope watched the blushing bride approach her awed groom, she thanked whatever forces in the world had brought them all together. This was her family, and though far from perfect, she had never felt such a clear sense of belonging. Dropping her hand to her belly, she glanced toward Andrew, whose eyes were already on her.

  Though her heart was already so full she sometimes thought it might burst, she knew there would always be room for more.

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

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  Preview: Forbidden Desires of a Seductive Duchess

  Prologue

  Ten-year-old Charles Conolly sat, staring into the fire. The flames danced and crackled before his eyes. If he closed them, their dance would penetrate the darkness that dwelt there. Eyes closed, eyes open, it didn’t matter—his father was still dead.

  His feet hung out into space, as they did on every chair. He kicked them a little bit. He was frightened that the constable was there to take his mother from him, too. He’d had nightmares about it, ever since his father had been taken away. He was learning that nightmares were real. Even when he was awake, the horrible reality was still there.

  Behind him, in the other room, his mother and the constable were talking in low voices. He tried to listen, closely.

  “How is your son?” Constable Barnes asked. This was a trap—they pretended to be kind. Then, when a person relaxed…that was when they accused that person of something you hadn’t done.

  “He’s stopped speaking, since…” his mother trailed off. She sighed. “Since the hanging. I shouldn’t have taken him, but I wanted him to see us, right before…”

  Just the mention of it caused Charles to begin to shake. He’d closed his eyes, so he hadn’t seen the awful moment, or what came after. He’d heard someone, screaming. It had taken him a while before he’d realized that it was actually him.

  “I have news, Ma’am,” the constable said. Charles’s small heartbeat quickened in fear. So, he was there to take Charles’s mother. His body tensed. What should he do? What could he do?

  “Yes?” his mother said. Charles listened, even closer. He waited for the constable to deliver the bad news. Then, he would go in, do something to protect her.

  “Another murder has occurred,” the constable began. “We were able to catch the true perpetrator. A man, who looks very much like your husband.”

  “Oh, Oh God,” his mother gasped, bursting into sobs.

  Charles’s stomach dropped. His small hands were tight fists at his sides. They had killed his father. He thought of his father, then—he had the same dark hair and blue eyes as Charles. Theodore Conolly had been a kind, gentle person. Someone who would have never hurt anyone. The constable kept talking.

  “I’m sorry to say that your husband has been cleared of any wrongdoing in the whole affair,” the constable said. “We are…we are so sorry, Madam.”

  A tear trailed down Charles’s cheek as he listened to his mother, crying in the other room. Charles stood up, then stalked angrily into the living room, where Constable Barnes was seated at the worn settee with his mother.

  “You come to tell us this now?” Charles demanded. He might have been ten years old, but he had the full weight of righteous anger on his side. “You come to tell us that you hanged the wrong man?”

  Charles was shaking, and he felt sick to his stomach. The constable looked at him with droopy eyes.

  “I’m so very sorry—” he began.

  “No, you’re not,” Charles snapped, cutting him off. “What are you going to do? Take my mother from me, too?”

  “Charles!” his mother said.

  He turned to his mother. She looked pale, faded, as if the life had been sucked out of her since his father’s arrest. Her cheeks were glistening with tears. “What? What is he going to do?” Charles demanded. “He’s taken Father from us! Because he made a mistake!” He turned toward Constable Barnes, who looked like he’d been slapped. “How are we supposed to live?”

  “We’ve…we’ve raised some money,” Constable Barnes said. “To ensure that you are both taken care of. So that the boy can go to school.”

  “Money? What good is money?” Charles snapped. “I want my father back! You took him from me!”

  He glared at the constable, then turned and stormed out through the back door, letting it slam behind him. Charles stood on the back step, breathing heavily. He didn’t know what to do, or where to go. His mother would worry if he disappeared. Charles wasn’t allowed to go far. He sat down heavily on the back step.

  His father, a good man, had been wrongly accused of murder. No matter how hard they had tried to convince anyone of his innocence, no one had listened. And they hadn’t been able to afford a barrister.

  If only they’d had the money to afford one then. He decided in that moment, that he would become a barrister, himself. Then, he could help people like his father.

  Chapter One

  Seventeen Years Later

  Now that Nemesis had gotten a taste for killing, a plan had begun to form. The list of names, upon whom the murderer wished to get revenge was long. Five gentlemen, all of whom had wronged the murderer over the past few years.

  Since most of the gentlemen on the list were comfortably ensconced at their country estates for the summer, the murderer planned. No one had reported the first gentleman even missing, much less dead.

  The murderer had spent the last few hours of dwindling light, scrawling letters to all of them. Threats, which would soon prove to be more than idle. The murderer wanted them all to be afraid, knowing that they were targeted.

  My Lord,

  You know who I am. You wronged me, severely. You will not see me coming, but you will feel my breath on the back of your neck, cold as January wind.

  By winter’s end, you will be dead.

  Regards,

  It was easy enough to send a letter by post. Then, when winter came, all of the gentlemen would be there, in London—where the murderer would hunt them down, picking them off one by one.

  The murderer wrote the letter’s recipient, Robert Follett. Duke of Tiverwell.

  * * *

  A butler stepped forward, to open the door to the carriage. Charles stepped out, looking around at the grand façade of Tiverwell Manor. It was a large country estate, with a massive, multi-story house of sandstone.

  He was dressed in his best suit—he wanted to make a good impression on the Duke. He straightened his dark blue jacket, then pushed his top hat back a little. Charles had been invited out to the country by the Duke of Tiverwell, in order to arrange his affairs. Since he had never before worked for a gentleman of this caliber, he had agreed immediately.

  The family stood out in front of the house, awaiting his arrival. Charles beamed at them as he stepped forward—Robert Follett, the Duke of Tiverwell cut a rather imposing figure. He was a gentleman of fifty, with salt and pepper hair.

  “Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said, bowing a little. Charles bowed low.

  “Your Grace. Thank you for sending the barouche-landau,” he said. “It was most kind of you.”

  “It was the least that I could do, Mr. Conolly,” the
Duke said, “since you agreed to come all the way out here to help me with my estate planning.” Charles had been referred to the Duke by the Earl of Danbury, another of his clients, who were mostly members of the ton.

  The Duke turned to the lady at his side. “This is my wife, the Duchess of Tiverwell.”

  She curtsied—she was an elegant lady, with her reddish-brown hair pulled back in a low chignon. She was dressed simply, in a cream and blue striped silk dress.

  “Welcome to Tiverwell Manor, Mr. Conolly,” she said.

  “You are most kind, Your Grace,” Charles replied, bowing again.

  “And this is our daughter, Lady Arabella,” the Duke said. The Duchess moved, and then Charles saw her. He had heard much about Lady Arabella of late. She had debuted just the past winter. When it was found out that she rode astride, like a gentleman, and participated in archery and fencing, the whole of London had been talking about it.