He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck where it met her shoulder. “My sisters and Mrs. Manfred are in London. I wanted you to myself.”
His lips set her afire. Turning into his embrace, she wrapped her arms around him. These warm hugs were even better than kisses. There was nothing to compare with being wrapped in Wesley’s arms. No fireplace was warmer. No blanket more comforting. With her head resting on his chest and his heart beating beneath her ear, it was perfection. “Now that you have me to yourself, what will you do with me, my lord?”
With a chuckle he kissed her forehead. “I plan to ravage you thoroughly, but first I have a wedding gift, my dear sweet Mercy.”
She watched him and the love shining in his beautiful brown eyes. “A gift? But I have everything I could possibly want. There is no need to give me more.”
“I think you should be showered with gifts whenever possible, but we can disagree on this point if you wish.” His grin was full of mischief.
“What are you up to?”
With a step back he touched his chest with both hands. “Me. Up to something? Come now, my love, what could I be up to?”
Mercy searched the room. It wasn’t exceedingly large and the bed took up most of the room. A small table with two chairs sat in a windowed alcove. It would be a lovely place to take her breakfast. She imagined Wesley sleeping in with her, and Jane setting out their meal. Jane had decided to come with Mercy after the wedding. It had been a lovely surprise not to have to find a new maid and have a familiar face in her new life.
Despite the early autumn date on the calendar, the weather was still too warm for a fire in the hearth. Two overstuffed chairs and a thick aubergine rug sat before the fireplace. The walls were cream, papered with the palest stripe.
Everything was lovely, but she saw no gift beyond the perfect life she’d been given. “Is not all of this your gift to me?”
“I can see I shall always be forcing you to act like the countess you are, Mercy. You deserve to be showered with jewels.” He backed away several steps.
“Come back here and shower me with love; that will be more than enough.” Suspicious, she kept her gaze on him.
“Don’t move,” he commanded.
Unable to keep from laughing, she said, “Where would I go?”
Wesley stepped to a door that likely led to a dressing room. He went through and disappeared.
“What are you up to?” She stretched her neck trying to see where he’d gone and what he could be hiding.
“Just stay where you are,” he called from the dark doorway. A moment later, he stepped out, carrying a very fine wooden box. Crossing to the bed, he lay the box atop the mattress. His eyes were full of love and trepidation when he turned. “Don’t you wish to see what it is, Mercy?”
“You told me not to move.” Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Holding his hand out to her, he said. “Come and see.”
Rushing over, she took his hand and studied the rich wood of the carefully carved box. “What is it?”
“Open it.” His voice was breathy and oddly nervous.
Two small leather latches kept the box closed. Mercy slipped the knots through the loops and lifted the lid. Lying on a red velvet cushion inside was the Stradivarius, its rich wood gleaming up at her in perfection. “How? Where did you get this?”
He took her hand and placed it on the neck of the extraordinary instrument. “From the Dowager Countess of Marsden, of course. I bought it for you. Are you pleased?”
“Pleased?” Tears flooded Mercy’s eyes and she caressed the scroll, then the tuning keys. “Why would she sell it to you? She hates me.”
“I can be very convincing.” Wesley dabbed her tears with a soft handkerchief. “Do you want to play it?”
Heart in her throat, she lifted the violin from the cushion and rested it on her shoulder. Picking up the bow where it rested at the side of the box, she pressed her chin to the chin rest. As she ran the bow over the strings, she had to close her eyes. The perfect tone of such a wondrous instrument went right to her soul. She played it gently, reverently, and then she let the music take her to another place.
As she drew the bow over the strings with the last note, it struck her. “This is mine?”
When there was no reply, she opened her eyes. Turning, she found her husband watching from one of the chairs near the hearth.
Handling it like delicate bit of china, she eased the Stradivarius back into the box. As soon as it was safe, she rushed to Wesley and dove into his arms. “Is it really mine?”
He kissed her cheek and squeezed her to him. “You never have to play if for another soul should you not wish to. You never have to play on command ever again, Mercy. No one shall ever hold an instrument just out of your reach again and you will never be bullied into preforming for a crowd. From this day on, you can play a magnificent instrument at your leisure or not at all. If you play for friends, it will be your choice. You are the Countess of Castlewick. I hope you will always remember that.”
The implications were too great to contemplate after the emotion of playing a master’s violin. Mercy had to draw several breaths and let the sound of Wesley’s heartbeat calm her. “It’s a kind of independence. You meant to buy my freedom.”
Wesley cupped her face in his hands and kissed her nose. “You were always free, my beautiful, sweet, talented angel. I only purchased the violin so you would see that freedom made real. You are magnificent and I expect the world to see that as clearly as I do.”
She straddled his lap and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. “I don’t care what anyone else sees.”
Easing forward, he pressed his lips to her and coaxed them open. The kiss went right to her heart and expanded until she couldn’t get enough of him.
Pushing at his coat, she longed to feel his skin against hers.
He tugged on the stays holding her wedding gown in place and soon the laces were loose and she stood quickly to step out of the garment. Mercy pulled the ties at her shoulders and let her chemise fall to the floor.
Standing with her, he took her hand and walked to the bed. He closed the lid on the violin and carried it to the table near the window before returning to her.
Mercy climbed on the mattress and pulled off her stockings. Unable to take her eyes from him, she watched as he divested himself of his cravat and blouse. At the bed, he removed his boots and breeches.
He climbed up and pulled her on top of him.
Every inch of him was hard and chiseled. She ran her hands along his ribs to his arms and shoulders. “You didn’t have to buy me such an extravagant wedding gift. I was remarkably happy just to be your wife.”
“I have a plan.” His mischievous grin was back.
She pressed her pelvis against his shaft and moaned at the pleasure the friction caused and the desire reflected in his eyes. “What plan is that?”
“I want to see you look as you did when you first heard the tone of that violin. I long to watch you transform into the goddess you are when you play. I plan to make you deliriously happy every day of your life. Anything less just won’t do.”
Mercy adored him through watery eyes. “How shall I make you as happy as you’ve made me?”
He brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You are my angel of mercy. You fill my heart to capacity, my love. I cannot be any happier and as long as you are mine, I shall continue to be spoiled with delight.”
“I shall always be yours.”
Tears and love merged as she pressed her lips to his. A life filled with unhindered emotions was his true gift. Mercy silently vowed that she would spend her lifetime trying to match such a perfect present.
Preview
Keep reading for a special excerpt of Faith and Nicholas’s story in MISLEADING A DUKE by A.S. Fenichel.
Chapter 1
The home of Geb Arafa, a mile outside of London
The last person Nicholas Ellsworth expected to find at his good friend Geb Arafa’s dinner party was Lady Faith Landon. Yet there she was, Nicholas’s fiancée, maddeningly pretty and equally aggravating. She fit perfectly with the lush décor and priceless artifacts in Geb’s parlor. “Lady Faith, I had not expected to find you here. In fact, you and your friends’ presence is an astonishment.”
“I hope you are not too put out. It seems Lord and Lady Marsden have become fast friends with Mr. Arafa, and that friendship has extended to the rest of the Wallflowers of West Lane.” Despite his desire to be rid of her, Faith’s soft voice flowed over him like a summer stream and he longed to hear that voice in the dark, in their bed. The way her curves filled out the rose gown set his body aflame and there seemed nothing he could do about it.
He shook away his attraction, reminding himself that this was a sneaky, manipulative woman whom it had been a mistake to attach himself to. The fact that he longed to find out if her honey-brown curls were as wild as they promised, despite her attempts to tame them into submission, shouldn’t matter. Nor should his desire to get lost in her wheat-colored eyes and voluptuous curves. This was a woman made for loving.
Lord, he hated himself. “I wonder that your being here with those friends is not some dire plot in the making.”
He had reason to be suspicious. When he’d first arrived home from France, in the spring, she and her friends had engaged in spying on him and trying to ferret out his past. It was intolerable. He should have called off the engagement, but the thought of ruining her for good society didn’t sit well with Nicholas. Instead he’d offered her the opportunity to set him aside, but she had refused to do so as of yet.
She frowned, and was no less stunning. Her full lips longed to be kissed back into an upturned state. “We are here because Mr. Arafa invited us. He’s your friend. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”
Nick was equally bewildered by Geb’s silence on the matter of Faith and the other members of the Wallflowers of West Lane. He had met them on several occasions during his feeble efforts to get to know Faith. Her instant suspicions that he was hiding something might have led to her friends’ actions, but he still couldn’t let the slight die. Though he did admire the strength of the friendship between Faith and the three women she’d gone to finishing school with. They were as close as any soldiers who fought and died together. Even if they called themselves “wallflowers,” there was nothing diminished about any of the four.
“He is not required to give me his invitation list.” It pushed out more bitterly than intended.
Those cunning eyes narrowed. “I think you would like it exceedingly well if he did.”
That she wasn’t wrong raised the hair on the back of Nick’s neck. He had not been able to keep many friends over the years. His work for the Crown had made that impossible. Now his friendship with Geb Arafa was in jeopardy as well.
He bowed to her. “I do not always get what I want, Lady Faith.”
Head cocked, she raised one brown eyebrow. “Don’t you, Your Grace?”
Geb chose that moment to stroll over. His dark skin set off his bright tawny eyes, and though he dressed in the black suit and white cravat typical of an Englishman, there was no mistaking his Eastern background. “Nicholas, I’m so glad you are here. I thought you might be held up with politics.”
Nicholas accepted his offered hand. “I finished my meetings and came directly.”
Smiling in her charming way, Faith’s golden eyes flashed. “I shall leave you gentlemen to catch up.”
Both Nicholas and Geb bowed and watched her join her friends near the pianoforte.
“She is a delightful woman, Nick. You should reconcile and marry her.” Geb ran his hand through his black hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.
Not willing to let his attraction to Faith rule his decisions, Nicholas forced down the desire seeing his betrothed always ignited in him. “She is sneaky and devious. I shall wait for her to give up and call off.”
“I would have thought such character traits would appeal to you.” Geb lowered his voice. “After all, you are a spy with much the same qualities. You might consider speaking to the lady and finding out the details behind her actions.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what you know, Geb?” It was obvious his friend knew more than he’d disclosed thus far. Nicholas asking for more was futile. If Geb was going to tell him more than he already had, he would have done so months ago when he’d first informed him that Poppy and Rhys, now the Earl and Countess of Marsden, were investigating his character. Being spies meant that Geb and Nick kept their own counsel most of the time. As an information broker, Geb was even more closed mouthed than most spies. He only offered what was necessary to complete a contract or in this case, informing a friend of something less than critical.
“I am not at liberty to divulge that information.” Geb’s white teeth gleamed.
“I didn’t realize you were so keen on keeping a lady’s secrets,” Nicholas teased.
Grabbing his chest, Geb feigned a knife to the heart. “I would never tell tales of a good woman. There have been a few ladies of our acquaintance who were not reputable, and those who are part of our line of work whose secrets I had little scruples about divulging.”
“Indeed.” As much as he wanted to be angry with Geb for befriending Faith and her friends, he couldn’t manage it. The truth was, Geb was quite discerning about who he called friend.
During the time he’d spent with them, he couldn’t help but like them as well. They were the most spirited and brightest women he’d ever known. He recalled a beautiful blonde in Spain who had tried to put a knife between his ribs, and shuddered. At lease he didn’t think these Wallflowers were out for his blood, just his secrets. What he didn’t know was why they were so keen on divining his past. He might be a fool to think them innocent. His trust of a sweet face in the past had nearly gotten him killed.
Geb nudged him out of his thoughts. “Talk to the girl.”
Glancing at where Faith stood drinking a glass of wine and talking to Poppy Draper, Nicholas mused over whether they were plotting their next attempt to invade his privacy. “Perhaps later. First, I would like a glass of your excellent cognac.”
“Avoiding her will not make your situation better,” Geb warned, his rich Egyptian accent rounding the words and lending a sense of foreboding.
“The lady will decide I am not worth the trouble and find herself a less complicated gentleman to attach herself to.”
Nodding, Geb said, “I’m certain that is true. She is too lovely for half the men in London not to be in love with.”
Nicholas wished that thought didn’t form a knot in his gut. He also longed for a day when Faith wouldn’t enter his mind a dozen times. She had gotten under his skin before he’d even met her, and he couldn’t rid himself of her spell. Even knowing it had been her mother and not the lady herself who had written to him when he was in France hadn’t dulled what he knew and liked about Faith Landon.
“One day you shall have to tell me how you came to this, my friend.” Geb signaled for Kosey, his servant.
The extremely tall Egyptian wore a white turban and loose black pants and a similar blouse. He carried a tray with two glasses of dark amber cognac. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir. Will that please you?” Kosey spoke English in an Eastern way, which made the language warmer and less harsh to the ear. It gained looks from some of the other guests, but Nicholas liked the formal, old-fashioned speech.
“Very good,” said Geb.
Nick observed the gaping of the other guests. “Why have you invited these snobs to Aaru, Geb?”
“Flitmore has some items I wish to obtain and Humphry has proved to be a good source of information about certain parliamentary discussions.”
“I trust
you would never use such information against my beloved country.” A knot formed in Nick’s gut.
“No, but I might try to sway other members of your government. I like to know what is happening in my adopted country, Nicholas. That is all. As a foreigner, I have no say. This gives me some needed control.” Geb grinned.
Nick held back a scolding that would do no good.
“Do not look at me so ill. I merely use information to my advantage just as everyone else does. I will share bits with them or buy back pieces of Egyptian art. It will harm no one.”
Kosey moved to the door, where he waited for word from the cook that dinner was ready to be served.
Lord and Lady Flitmore gaped at Kosey. Perhaps it was his height as he towered over everyone in the room. It might have been his odd clothes. Whatever it was, their shocked regard needled at Nicholas.
Faith stepped between him and the couple. “Lady Flitmore, it’s nice to see you again. I heard your daughter Mary would be here tonight, but I’ve not seen her. I hope nothing is wrong. I know how she can get into mischief.”
Lord Flitmore coughed uncomfortably. “Mary had some trouble with her gown and is coming in a later carriage. She will be here any moment.”
As if on cue, a footman announced the arrival of Lady Mary Yates.
A slim woman with red hair and flawless skin sauntered into the room. Pretty in the classical way, her long, thin nose appeared in a perpetual state of being turned up at everyone and everything. Hands folded lightly in front of her, she walked directly to where Faith stood with Mary’s parents. In a voice without modulation, Mary said, “Mother, Father, I’m sorry to be late. I hope no one was waiting on me.”
The lack of any emotion in Mary’s voice made it difficult to tell if she was sincere or just saying what was expected of her. “Thank you for sending the carriage back for me.”
Lord Flitmore pulled his shoulders back and beamed at his daughter. “Dinner has only just been announced, my dear girl. Please say hello to His Grace, the Duke of Breckenridge.”
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