A sickening heaviness sank in his gut at the realization of Oliver’s real purpose for their urgent meeting.
“You’re very determined to convince me, Oliver.”
Ollie sighed wearily, a long gusty exhale, before sinking down into a chair again. “You only call me Oliver when you’re cross. Won’t you hear me out?”
Sebastian had a habit of counting. Assigning numbers to the objects and incidents in his life gave him a satisfying sense of order and control. Not quite as much satisfaction as conquering a maddening equation, but enough to make the incidents he couldn’t control—like the small matter of inheriting a title and a home large enough to house a hundred—more bearable.
He wished he’d counted how many times he’d heard those same words—“Won’t you hear me out?”—from Ollie. Whatever the number, it would certainly be high enough to warn him off listening to the man’s mad schemes again.
“All right, Ollie. Have it out then.”
“Do you never consider finding yourself a wife?”
“No.”
“You must.”
“Must I? Why? I have quite enough to occupy me.”
Ollie took on a pensive air and squinted his left eye. “The estate seems to be in good order, and you’ve given up your post at the university. Pippa has her own pursuits.” He glanced again at the high ceiling over their heads. “Won’t you be lonely in these grand, empty rooms, Bash?”
Sentiment? That was how Ollie meant to convince him? Seb had put away sentimentality ten years before, dividing off that part of himself so that he could move forward with the rest of his life. If its power still held any sway, he would have opened the letter in his waistcoat pocket the day it arrived.
“I will manage, Ollie.”
And how would a woman solve anything? In Seb’s experience, women either wreaked havoc on a man’s life, or filled it with noise and color and clever quips, like his mother and sister. Either option would allay loneliness, but he did not suffer from that affliction. Sentimental men were lonely. Not him. Even if he did live in a house with ceilings so tall his voice echoed when he chattered to himself.
He narrowed his eyes at Ollie, and his friend sat up in his chair, squared his shoulders, and tipped his chin to stare at Seb directly.
“She’s the eldest daughter of a marquess, Bash, and much more aware of the rules of etiquette among the wealthy and titled than you are.”
“Then we won’t have much in common.”
Ollie groaned. “She would be a fine partner, a formidable ally in this new life you’ve taken on.”
“No.”
Denial came easily, and he denounced Ollie’s mad implication that the two of them should marry sisters from the same family. But reason, that damnable voice in his head that sounded like his father, contradicted him.
At two and thirty, he’d reached an age for matrimony, and with inherited property and a title came the duty to produce an heir. No one wanted Roxbury and the Wrexford dukedom to pass to another distant cousin. If he had any doubts about his need for a wife, he was surrounded by women who’d happily remind him. His aunt, Lady Stamford, had sent a letter he’d found waiting for him the day he’d arrived at Roxbury, suggesting that marriage was as much his duty as managing the estate. Pippa also dropped hints now and then that having a sister-in-law would be very nice indeed.
Ollie had yet to multiply the bride-taking encouragement, but he was making a fine effort at rectifying the oversight.
“Acquiring a dukedom is a vast undertaking.” Ollie stretched out his arms wide to emphasize the vastness of it all. “Why not have a lovely woman by your side in such an endeavor?”
“I didn’t acquire it, Oliver. It passed to me.” He loathed his habit of stating the obvious.
A lovely woman by his side. The notion brought a pang, equal parts stifled desire and memory-soaked dread. He’d imagined it once, making plans and envisioning the life he’d create with the woman he loved. But that was all sentiment and it had been smashed, its pieces left in the past. Now practicality dictated his choices. He spared emotion only for his family, for Pippa and Ollie.
Ollie watched him like a convicted man awaiting his sentence.
His friend’s practical argument held some appeal. A marquess’s daughter would know how to navigate the social whirl, and Seb liked the notion of not devoting all of his own energy to tackling that challenge. He might even find a moment to spare for mathematics, rather than having to forfeit his life’s work entirely to take on the duties of a dukedom.
And it would give Ollie a chance at happiness. Perhaps this younger daughter of Lord Clayborne’s would be the woman to inspire constancy in Ollie, and Seb might assist his friend to achieve the family and stability he’d lost in childhood.
Seb spoke on an exhaled sigh. “I suppose I do need a wife.” And there he went stating the obvious again.
Oliver turned into a ten-year-old boy before his eyes, as giddy as a pup. If the man had a tail, he’d be wagging it furiously. He jumped up and reached out to clasp Seb on the shoulder.
“Just meet Lady Katherine, Seb. See if you suit. That’s all I ask.” It wasn’t quite all he asked, but Seb had learned the futility of quibbling with a giddy Oliver.
A marquess’s daughter? Lady Katherine sounded like just the sort of woman a duke should seek to marry. Seb could contemplate marriage as a practical matter, but nothing more.
Would he ever feel more?
He hadn’t allowed himself an ounce of interest in a woman in ten years, not in a lush feminine figure, nor in a pair of fine eyes, not even in the heady mix of a woman’s unique scent under the notes of some floral essence.
“I think you’ll enjoy London during the season.” Ollie couldn’t manage sincerity when uttering the declaration. His mouth quivered, and he blinked one eye as if he’d just caught an irritating bit of dust.
Seb doubted he’d enjoy London during the crush of the social season. As a Cambridge man raised in a modest home in the university’s shadow, he’d enjoyed occasional jaunts to London but had always been content to return to his studies. As he opened his mouth to say as much to Ollie, Pippa strode into the room and drew their attention to the doorway.
She’d changed into one of the day dresses their aunt insisted she choose for the upcoming season, though Pippa signaled her disdain for the flouncy yellow creation by swiping down the ruffles that kept popping up on her chest and around her shoulders.
“Luncheon is laid in the morning room. Are you joining us, Oliver?”
Ollie stared wide-eyed at Pippa for a moment and then turned to Seb.
“We’re almost finished here,” Seb assured her. “Ollie and I will join you momentarily.”
She nodded but offered the still speechless Ollie a sharp glance before departing.
After a moment, Ollie found his voice. “I’ve never seen her so . . . ”
“Irritated?”
“Feminine.”
Seb took a turn glaring at Ollie. The man had just been thrilled at the prospect of a match with Lady Harriet. He had no business noticing Pippa’s femininity, especially after failing to do so for over a dozen years.
“She chose a few new dresses.” Seb cleared his throat to draw Ollie’s attention.
“It’s odd,” Ollie said, his face still pinched in confusion. “I’ve known Pippa most of my life and never truly thought of her as a woman.”
His friend’s words put Seb’s mind at ease, but he suspected Pippa wouldn’t find them nearly as heartening.
“Ollie, let’s return to the matter at hand.”
“Yes, of course.” Ollie rubbed his hands together and grinned, the matter of Pippa quickly forgotten. “Will you come to the Clayborne ball and meet Lady Katherine?”
“I will.” Meeting the woman seemed a simple prospect. Practical. Reasonable. A perfectly logical decision in the circumstances.
“If you’re still planning on presenting Pippa this season, by all means bring her along
too,” Ollie added. “Why leave her to ramble this house alone?”
Pippa preferred to spend her days at Cambridge, where she’d been studying mathematics for much of the previous year. Yet Seb felt the pull of his aunt’s assertion. His sister should have a London season, or at least spend some time among London society. He wished to open as many doors for Pippa as he could. Give her choices and options. If his title meant his sister might be more comfortably settled in life, all the better.
“She’s not convinced of the appeal of a London season.” Seb worried neither of them was equipped for it either. Gowns and finely tailored clothing aside, they didn’t possess the aristocratic polish others would expect of a duke and his sister.
Ever undaunted, Ollie grinned. “Then you must convince her.”
Seb lifted his gaze to the ceiling, following the tracery, lines in perfect symmetry, equidistant and equal in length, forming a perfect whole. The geometric beauty of the design melted a bit of the tension in his shoulders. Still, he doubted the propriety of allowing his sister to attend a ball when she’d not yet formally come out. And, most importantly, he feared Pippa was unprepared for the sort of attention she would encounter in London.
Pippa unprepared? She’d fence him into a corner for even entertaining the notion.
“Very well. We’ll both attend, but I make no promises regarding Lady Katherine.”
He’d accept the invitation in order to give Pippa her first glimpse of a proper London ball, meet this marquess’s daughter, and do what he could to assist Ollie’s cause. But marrying Lady Katherine was another matter entirely. He’d only ever intended to marry one woman and that had gone so spectacularly pear-shaped, he wasn’t certain he could bring himself to propose ever again.
Click to buy One Tempting Proposal
About the Author
Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, USA Today bestselling author CHRISTY CARLYLE writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Christy Carlyle
One Tempting Proposal
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Give in to your Impulses . . .
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SERVING TROUBLE
A SECOND SHOT NOVEL
By Sara Jane Stone
IGNITE
THE WILDWOOD SERIES
By Karen Erickson
BLACK LISTED
A BENEDICTION NOVEL
By Shelly Bell
An Excerpt from
SERVING TROUBLE
A Second Shot Novel
by Sara Jane Stone
Five years ago, Josie Fairmore left timber country in search of a bright future. Now she’s back home with a mountain of debt and reeling from a loss that haunts her. Desperate for a job, she turns to the one man she wishes she could avoid. But former Marine Noah Tager has never forgotten their one wild night and the only thing he desires is a second chance with his best friend’s little sister.
She tried the door. Locked, dammit.
Ignoring the warning bells in her head telling her to run to her best friend’s club and offer to serve a topless breakfast, she raised her hand and knocked.
“Hang on a sec,” a deep voice called from the other side. She remembered that sound and could hear the echo of his words from five long years ago, before he’d joined the marines and before she’d gone to college hoping for a brighter future—and found more heartache.
Call, email, or send a letter. Hell, send a carrier pigeon. I don’t care how you get in touch, or where I am. If you need me, I’ll find a way to help.
He’d meant every word. But people changed. They hardened. They took hits and got back up, leaving their heart beaten and wrecked on the ground.
She glanced down as if the bloody pieces of her broken heart would appear at her feet. Nope. Nothing but cement and her boots. She’d left her heart behind in Portland, dead and buried, thank you very much.
The door opened. She looked up and . . .
Oh my . . . Wow . . .
She’d gained five pounds—well, more than that, but she’d lost the rest. She’d cried for weeks, tears running down her cheeks while she slept, and flooding her eyes when she woke. And it had aged her. There were lines on her face that made her look a lot older than twenty-three.
But Noah . . .
He’d gained five pounds of pure muscle. His tight black T-shirt clung to his biceps. Dark green cargo pants hung low on his hips. And his face . . .
On the drive, she’d tried to trick herself into believing he was just a friend she’d slept with one wild night. She’d made a fool of herself, losing her heart to him then.
Never again.
She’d made a promise to her broken, battered heart and she planned to keep it. She would not fall for Noah this time.
But oh, the temptation . . .
His short blond hair still looked as if he’d just run his hands through it. Stubble, the same color as his hair, covered his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave, or just didn’t give a damn. But his familiar blue eyes left her ready to pass out at his feet from lack of oxygen.
He stared at her, wariness radiating from those blue depths. Five years ago, he’d smiled at her and it had touched his eyes. Not now.
“Josie?” His brow knitted as if he’d had to search his memory for her name. His grip tightened on the door. Was he debating whether to slam it in her face and pretend his mind had been playing tricks on him?
“Hi, Noah.” She placed her right boot in the doorway, determined to follow him inside if he tried to shut her out.
“You’re back,” he said as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. But still no hint of the warm, welcoming smile he’d worn with an easy-going grace five years ago.
“I guess you didn’t get the carrier pigeon,” she said, forcing a smile. Please let him remember. “But I need your help.”
Click to buy Serving Trouble now!
An Excerpt from
IGNITE
The Wildwood Series
by Karen Erickson
Weston Gallagher is falling hard—for the wrong woman.
One night of passion has haunted him for years.
Now he’s got a second chance to get the girl of his dreams . . . but there’s just one problem:
She hates him.
A knock sounded at his door, startling him and he climbed off the couch to go answer it, pissed that it was most likely Holden ready to convince him he should go out to the bars. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole, just unlocked the door and swung it open, launching right into a speech for his little brother.
“I already told you I didn’t want to go out tonight,” West said, the rest of the words stalling in his throat when he saw who was standing on his front doorstep.
It was Harper, wearing a black trench coat on a warm June night, her long auburn hair extra wavy and flowing past her shoulders, a secretive little smile curving her very red lips.
“You did?” She blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sexy innocence. “Maybe I should go then?”
She started to turn and he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her progress. “Don’t go.” He sounded eager. Way too eager. Clearing his throat, he started over. “Sorry. I just thought—I thought you were Holden.”
“Oh.” She turned to fully face him once more and his gaze dropped to her feet, which were in the sexiest, shiniest black high heeled shoes he’d ever seen. “So you don’t mind that I stopped by?”
He looked up, their eyes meeting. “
Not at all.” What was she up to? Her eyes were heavily made up, as were her ruby red lips. And her hair was downright wild . . . all he could think of was fisting it in his hands and tugging her head back so he could plant a long, deep kiss on those juicy lips.
“It’s sort of late.” She blatantly scanned his mostly naked body, her glossy lips parted, her pink tongue touching just the corner of her mouth. Her gaze lingered on his chest and arms, cataloging his tattoos. She seemed fascinated with them and he was half tempted to flex his muscles just to see if her eyes grew hungrier . . .
Which they seemed to do, without any encouragement on his part. If she didn’t stop looking at him like that he might get a freaking boner and that probably wouldn’t be good. “Were you in . . . bed?”
The provocative way she just said it made him aware of her close proximity. How her hands tugged on the ends of the belt wrapped tight around her waist. The hollow of her throat was exposed, as was a bit of her chest. She looked practically naked under that coat.
Hmmm.
“No, I wasn’t in bed.” He paused, wondering what the hell she was up to. Whatever it was, he could appreciate the way she was staring at him, and he was damn thankful she’d come by. He figured he’d blown it for good with Harper. “You want to come in?”
“I would love to.” She smiled and he stepped out of her way, the scent of her surrounding him as she walked by. He shut and locked the door and followed her as she moved deeper into the living room. Grabbing the remote from the side table, he turned off the TV, the sudden silence amplifying every move she made.
“So I have a proposition for you,” she said, turning to face him once more. “One I’m hoping you’ll agree to.”
In the hushed quiet of his house, she looked a little less sure, a little more nervous. A lot more like the Harper he knew. He wanted to reach out and reassure her but he also wanted to hear what she had to say first.
“Really?” He rested his hands on his hips, noting the way her gaze dropped to linger on his stomach. He felt downright exposed, what with the way she studied him. Not that he minded. “What is it?”
One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) Page 26
