Claire…I love you…love you…love you.
Claire knew she must be dead and on her way to heaven. Either that or she was having a really amazing dream. She’d just heard Edward say he loved her. Smiling, she drifted, savouring the words she’d yearned to hear for such a very long time.
Yes, she thought, I must indeed be dead.
Then the coach hit a rut and she cried out against the agonizing stab of pain that went through her left shoulder, just above her breast. Surely no one could hurt this much in heaven.
Which means I must still be alive. That or I’m in hell?
“You’re not in hell,” Edward said in a gruff voice. “You just hurt like you are. Hang on and we’ll be home soon.”
“Home?” she whispered, rousing enough to realize she was lying cradled in Edward’s arms.
“Clybourne House. I’ve sent a man ahead, and the doctor will be waiting to meet us when we arrive. I didn’t want to stay in the country and risk putting you in the hands of some inferior quack.”
She bit her lower lip against the pain. “I was shot. You and Philipa Stockton were fighting over the gun.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice heavy with anguish.
“And she’s not your mistress.”
“No. I told you before, you’re the only woman I want.” His lips brushed across her forehead, then over her cheek with a gentle touch that was almost reverent. “The only woman I’ll ever want.”
How lovely, she thought, fighting the dizzying haze of pain. Leaning closer, she pressed her face against his chest, finding his skin warm and bare, his scent deliciously reassuring. “Why aren’t you wearing your shirt?”
“You needed it more. I used it as a field dressing to help stanch the bleeding. Hush now and rest. We’ll talk later.”
Later? Yes, later sounded good.
But first there was something she had to know, something urgent, something vital. “Did you mean it?” she whispered.
“Mean what?” he asked, stroking a caressing hand over her hair, her cheek.
“I heard you say you loved me. Do you? Do you love me, Edward?”
She gazed into his beautiful midnight blue eyes. As she did, the world began to spin, and before she could hear his answer, everything went black.
Claire came slowly awake. The bedroom was swathed in shadows, the curtains drawn against the brilliant summer sun trying to steal in around them.
Long, indistinct hours had passed since the coach ride home, her memories fraught with flashes of unremitting pain, blood and fear. Yet through the ordeal, Edward had been with her, never wavering as he did everything he could to help her fight the agony, to keep her safe as she fought for her life.
She remembered the steady grip of his hand, the comforting salvation of his voice as the doctor pried the bullet from her shoulder, the tender warmth of his kiss on her cool, trembling lips when it was finally over. Edward had wiped the tears from her face with a damp cloth and told her to sleep.
She had, though for how long, she had no idea.
A heavy ache roused her again now. Glancing down, she discovered a thick white bandage wrapped across her shoulder and another tied across her chest to bind her left arm to her side. Not that she had any interest in moving her arm or shoulder, since she knew it would hurt like the very devil.
Sighing, she turned her head on the pillow, and there was Edward. He was seated in a chair beside the bed, sound asleep as he lay slumped over so his head rested near her hip on the mattress. Even in repose, he held her hand, his fingers linked with her own. She squeezed them, tears of gladness moistening her eyes to find him so near.
“Claire?” He sat straight up, blinking against his disorientation.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, no, I’m glad you did,” he said, his words a bit slurred as he worked to shake off his exhaustion.
And clearly he was exhausted, his eyes ringed with dark circles, hair dishevelled, his cheeks covered in a heavy swath of black bristles that gave him a rather swashbuckling appearance.
“You look terrible,” she said.
He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. “But you look better. Your colour’s back and your lips aren’t white anymore. You gave us all quite a scare.”
“Have you been here all morning?”
“And all night. An entire day has passed.”
“A day?” she repeated, shocked. “And you’ve been here all that time?”
He gave a solemn nod. “I couldn’t leave you. I won’t. Not until I know you’re safe.” Standing, he leaned over and laid his hand across her brow. “The doctor said you might have a slight fever, but you don’t seem too warm.”
“I’m going to be all right.” And she knew that she was. The worst was over, physically at least. “Are you really a spy?”
One brow arched high. “Those of us in the service prefer ‘intelligence agent,’ but yes, I do an occasional favour for the War Office.”
“Given all your recent business meetings, it seems more than occasional. So that’s where you’ve been? Doing work for the government?”
“We’ve had a leak for the past couple years that I’ve been tracking down. As of the other night, I’ve succeeded in eliminating it.”
“Lady Stockton.”
“Yes, Lady Stockton and another man with whom I don’t believe you’re acquainted.”
Claire lay for a long moment, considering all she now knew and all she still did not. “Why didn’t you tell me? How could you let me think the things I did?”
With great care, he lowered himself onto the bed next to her, taking her hand again. “I was sworn to secrecy and wasn’t at liberty to reveal my activities, even if it would have been a great deal easier to do so. And how, may I ask, was I to know what you were thinking? By God, Claire, I still can’t believe you rifled my desk drawers, found my location and came after me. You could have died.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No, thank God,” he said, closing his eyes on a heartfelt prayer. When he opened them again, his gaze shone with an expression that made her breath catch on a heady rush.
“I should have read you better and realized what you might try,” he said. “I should have done the same with Philipa Stockton too. If only I’d been more careful. If only I’d realized the extremes to which she might go.” He pressed her free palm to his cheek. “Don’t ever put yourself in danger like that again.”
“It was never my intention to do so. But I had to know where you’d gone and what you were doing. I had to know why you’d lied. I saw you ride out that evening when you told me you’d been downstairs in the library, reading. You weren’t.”
He had the grace to wince. “I’m sorry, Claire. I couldn’t—”
“Tell me. Yes, I know. However, in future, if you insist on doing more favours for the government, I want to know that’s where you are. You don’t have to give me all the details, but enough so I won’t worry. Frankly, I don’t care if Prinny himself swears you to secrecy, I want your word that you’ll never lie to me again.”
“You have it, Claire. On my honour.”
Relief poured through her, knowing that Edward’s honour was his bond.
“So you’re staying then?” he asked. “As I recall, you mentioned something about going home to your mother.”
“I was upset—”
“Not that I would let you leave, mind, because I wouldn’t,” he continued, “but I want to make sure these things are straightened out between us.” Lowering her hand to his thigh, he stroked the sensitive skin along the inside of her wrist.
A curious lethargy stole over her.
“And you’re right about secrets,” he said. “I don’t want any between us ever again. Only the truth.”
“Only truth,” she pledged.
He met her gaze with an open earnestness that made her throat swell. “You asked me a question back in the coach,” he said. “Do you remember?�
��
She gave a shaky nod, her heart suddenly pounding in swift, hard beats.
“Good, because the answer is yes.” Leaning closer, he smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. “Yes, I love you, so very dearly. When I thought I might lose you, I realized exactly how much. You’re my life and my heart, Claire Byron, and I cannot do without you. I don’t think I could bear it if you were ever to go away.”
“Oh, Edward, I love you so much. I never thought, I couldn’t let my dream that you…that you would…” A tear slid over her cheek.
He brushed it away. “Love you too? Well, I do. I’m only sorry I didn’t tell you sooner and that I was too stubborn to admit the truth, even to myself. Remember when I said that we seemed fated for each other?”
Gazing at his features, handsome even in his weariness, she nodded.
“On the day your father laid you in my arms when we were children, you became mine. I should have known then what a prize he’d given me. You’re my love, and I shall cherish you all the rest of my days.”
Bending, he pressed his mouth to hers, slowly, softly and with such sweet tenderness that she didn’t know how to contain her joy. Letting her eyelids slide closed, she gave herself over to the rapture, kissing him back with a gentle fervour, a devotion and adoration so wide it knew no bounds.
“You know, Lady Stockton was right,” he murmured against her lips.
“A-About what?”
“Me. I am utterly besotted with you and I don’t mind who sees.”
Laughing, she reached to pull him back down, but a sharp pain jabbed her shoulder. “Ow,” she cried.
“Claire.” His face turned white. “Have I hurt you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, just trying to do too much, too soon.”
“I should never have kissed you.”
“Of course you should. And you will, again. Just don’t let me move my arms when you do it.” She grimaced. “Ow, that really hurts.”
“The doctor left some laudanum. I’ll get you a draught.”
“No,” she said, stopping him before he could leave the bed. “I don’t want any.”
He frowned. “But you’re in pain. You need to take something.”
“I’ll muddle through without it. I think it’s for the best.”
“Why? Surely you don’t want to hurt?”
“No, but I don’t want to harm the baby either.”
He stared, his dark brows knitted in confusion. “Baby? But—”
“I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you, but you’ve been away so often at your meetings that it just never seemed right.”
His jaw went slack. “But you can’t be…”
She raised an amused brow.
“Well, of course you can, but you shouldn’t be. It’s too soon.”
“Apparently not. Or at least I don’t think so, since I’m late now for a second month in a row. I believe you must have managed the deed almost immediately, maybe even that very first night.”
“Good Lord.”
“Are you happy?” she asked, giving him a suddenly uncertain look.
Then he smiled and her worries fell away.
“Of course I’m happy!” He grinned. “How can I not be happy that you’re with child. It’s only that I thought I’d have you all to myself for a while more.”
Careful not to jar her shoulder, she reached up with her good hand and stroked his cheek. “There’ll be plenty of time together. We have our whole lives ahead of us, after all.”
Gently, he kissed her again. “Our whole, very long lives. I can’t wait to spend each one of those days with you.”
“Nor I. I love you.”
“I love you more.” Suddenly a yawn caught him, renewed exhaustion spreading across his face again.
“You’re tired,” she said. “You should get some rest.”
“You should as well. Close your eyes, I’ll be here.”
“Where?”
“In the chair.”
“Don’t be silly. Come, lie down with me.”
“But I might jostle you.”
She shook her head, secure that she’d find no safer rest than held inside his arms. “Sleep with me, love. I need you.”
And with that, he stretched out at her side, wrapping her in a gentle, caring embrace.
Smiling with contentment, she forgot her pain, happy in the one place she would always most long to be. Threading her fingers through his, she watched him sleep. Slowly, she dozed off too, knowing he would be with her when she awakened—today, tomorrow and forever.
About the Author
TRACY ANNE WARREN grew up in a small central Ohio town. After working for a number of years in finance, she quit her day job to pursue her first love—writing romance novels. Warren lives in Maryland with a trio of exuberant young Siamese rescue cats and windows full of gorgeous orchids and African violets. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, watching movies, and dreaming up the characters for her next book. Visit her website at www.tracyannewarren.com.
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Books By Tracy Anne Warren
AT THE DUKE’S PLEASURE
SEDUCED BY HIS TOUCH
TEMPTED BY HIS KISS
Coming Soon
WICKED DELIGHTS OF A BRIDAL BED
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AT THE DUKE’S PLEASURE. Copyright © 2010 by Tracy Anne Warren. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © December 2009 ISBN: 978-0-06-196817-4
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