Owen

by Sasha Cottman

  A little way inside the gate, he spotted a large black coach. It was bigger than any of the ones that he and Amy had used previously. Without the welcoming red ribbon, it looked a tad ominous.

  He rapped on the door.

  “Enter,” came the reply.

  He opened the door and had just put his foot on the step ready to climb in, when he was greeted with the sight of a sharp knife. It was pointed directly at him.

  “Get in, close the door, and sit over there,” Amy ordered.

  Owen wasn’t going to argue with a knife-wielding woman. He did as he was told and took a seat on the bench opposite her.

  Amy sat, knife in hand, and considered him. When she moved forward and closed the distance between them, knife still aimed at him, Owen felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back.

  The tip of the knife tilted and pointed at his trousers. Owen bit down on his bottom lip. Every man’s greatest fear was within inches of his cock.

  “Take a good look at this knife, because it will be the one, I use to cut your balls off if you ever think of being unfaithful to me,” she said.

  He nodded. “I belong to you.”

  She barely had time to sheath the knife in a leather pouch and put it under the seat before Owen reached for her.

  “And Amy, you are mine,” he growled.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Amy’s heart threatened to burst out of her chest the instant Owen took hold of her and pulled her onto his lap. His fingers speared into her hair and his mouth clamped down on hers in a fierce kiss which made her head spin.

  She had lost count of the days and hours since they had last been in each other’s arms. All she knew was that from this day forth she would never let him out of her sight.

  “Amy. Christ, I have missed you,” he said.

  She pulled back from his embrace, meeting his gaze with all the longing that had pent up inside over the past weeks. For all that he had put her through she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to kill him or kiss him to death.

  “You are the most impossible man I have ever met. All good sense says I should be a hundred miles away from you and yet here I am, thinking of offering you everything,” she said.

  He gently brushed a kiss on her lips. “I know I am impossible, but that is what you love about me.”

  Amy softly laughed. “Who says I love you?”

  The rogue raised an eyebrow and gave her one of his wicked, bedroom smiles. Amy knew that no matter how many years she spent with Owen; she would never become immune to them.

  “You did. Twice you have told me you loved me. Though on both occasions, you also expressed a degree of regret. I want to hear you say it now but without any remorse,” he said.

  “You first,” she whispered.

  His warm hands settled on both her cheeks and he leaned forward. Their foreheads touched and for a short moment they sat without speaking, their heavy breaths the only sound to break the silence.

  “I love you, Amy. I loved you when you were Diana, and I still loved you when I discovered who you were. It doesn’t matter what name you go by—what matters is that you stole my heart the first time we came here. You have held it ever since,” he said.

  “And you do realize that with loving someone comes a responsibility not to hurt them?” she asked. She had cried what seemed, at times, a life’s worth of tears over this man already. He had better keep her love for him safe from now on.

  He nodded. “Yes. I have learned a great deal about love over the past few weeks. What it is to finally know that you love someone, then the guilt that with comes with causing them great pain. I also know the long dark night that follows after that person walks out of your life because of something incredibly selfish that you did. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

  She brushed away a tear. This tear, however, was one of joy. She would gladly shed more of those. “I love you, Owen Morrison. And I don’t regret that anymore.”

  Their mouths met in a long, slow kiss. Tender lips and tongues worked together as they sealed their pact. When they finally drew apart again, both gasping for air, Owen lifted Amy off his lap and placed her back on the bench.

  He went down on bended knee before her. When Amy lifted her skirts, as she had done on previous occasions with him, Owen placed a hand on her knee and stopped her. He chuckled. “Can you allow me to get through the proposal bit before you start making demands on me to sexually service you?”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised.

  He shuffled about on the floor, finally producing a small blue box from his pocket. She gasped at the sight. He was serious.

  Owen took hold of her hand and held it in his; he cleared his throat and met her gaze. Clear blue eyes looked into her soul. “Lady Amelia Perry. Amy. Diana. Will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?”

  Amy teased Owen by making him wait for a few seconds. She eventually managed a strangled “yes” before bursting into tears and throwing her arms around him.

  When she finally released her stranglehold on him, he slipped a ruby betrothal ring on her finger. “Every Morrison bride is given a ruby ring. Red for the dragon,” he said.

  She looked down at the ring on her finger; the red was dark in the dim light of the coach, but she could imagine how it would glow in the bright light of day. “Speaking of dragons, I want to see yours again.”

  “Now?”

  “Now. In fact, I want to see all your tattoos today. I want to see every inch of you before I let you leave.”

  She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “Why do you think I hired this larger coach? I thought if things went well, we would need the extra bench space,” she said.

  “You are a clever girl,” he replied.

  He kissed her once more, then blazed a trail of soft nips with his teeth down the side of her neck. She shivered at the exquisite sensation. He had promised to show her more than just the simple act of lovemaking, and for the rest of their lives, she intended to make him keep his word.

  “Coat. Jacket. Shirt. I want all of them off now,” she said.

  Owen did as he was told, laughing at Amy when he didn’t remove his cravat.

  “You didn’t say this, nor did you say please,” he teased.

  Amy pulled off her own coat and set to work on her spencer. She was about to start in on the buttons of her gown, when Owen stopped her. “That is my job,” he growled.

  She took hold of the ends of his cravat and pulled him to her. Hungry, greedy mouths met. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she groaned. She could feel her sex melting with hot, urgent need.

  Fingers slipped the fancy knot of his cravat undone and Amy slid the fabric free from Owen’s neck. He was bare from the waist up.

  “Lay back on the bench for me,” Owen instructed.

  This was like the first time they had come together, but her education had been well attended to since that day. She knew something of what was to happen.

  He sat backward on his haunches and looked up at her. “Now, where shall I begin. My mouth on your wet swollen lips? Hmm. Or perhaps a finger or two working deep into you. That could be a good place. You could always give me the ultimate prize that you offered when we first met. I believe I have covered all the conditions.”

  Owen rose over her and pushed her skirts up. “Actually, I think I shall do all three,” he whispered in her ear before he travelled lower down her body. Amy closed her eyes, softly sighing when she felt the lash of Owen’s tongue on her heated sex.

  He didn’t spare her. Holding her open to him, he sucked hard on her clitoris. Amy screwed her eyes shut. “Oh sweet . . .”

  Owen flicked, licked, and tortured her sensitive bud. Amy grabbed a handful of his hair in her hand and held it. This was beyond anything he had ever done to her before.

  They didn’t manage to get to the second stage of Owen’s plan. “Owen, please, I need you inside me. I want to come with you.”

  There was a muffled sound of clothes being
shed and Owen loomed over her.

  “Move along on the seat; I shall need the room,” he said.

  She slid farther up the bench and he rose over her once more. His large, engorged cock pointed at her. Amy instinctively licked her lips, but Owen shook his head.

  “Later, if we have time. You want me, and I am here to finally claim my prize,” he said.

  He lifted her right leg and draped it over his hip. Then, setting his cock to her slick entrance, he slowly pushed forward. Amy flinched and he immediately stopped. Sweat beaded his brow and his jaw was set hard. She could tell it was taking all his self-control not to push.

  “It’s alright; you can keep going,” she said.

  He let out a long, slow breath, then nudged into her a little more. There was a tiny sting, and she felt herself being stretched. He drew back.

  With their gazes locked, he thrust into her once more, fully seating himself inside her. Rising up on his arms, Owen bent his head and kissed her.

  “Good?” he asked.

  She swallowed, and felt her body relax into the sensation of having him inside her. It was better than good. “Yes.”

  She dug her fingers into the sides of his hips, holding him in place. “Take me. Make me yours.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  He pulled out most of the way and then, flexing his hips, thrust deep into her once more. Again, and again he withdrew and came back, riding her in a fierce coupling. Amy lifted her other leg and took Owen deeper. She sobbed. “Owen, harder, faster.”

  His strokes became a frenzy and she crashed through into a blinding orgasm which had her screaming his name. He followed her into completion a moment later, collapsing on top of her and raining down kisses on her face.

  “Amy, oh…”

  Amy looked up into his beautiful blue eyes and smiled. She was finally his Amy, and in that moment, she knew for certain. She had his heart.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Put me down!”

  Owen chuckled wickedly. “You have to be carried over the threshold. It’s how these things are done.”

  “But this isn’t our house,” said Amy.

  He set her gently down on her feet, then in one deft move, he slipped his hand around his wife’s waist and pulled her against him, placing a kiss on her lips. Amy laughed and kissed him back.

  “When we eventually move to Lowe House, we will have to do it all over again. And then again when we go to see my parents in Hertfordshire. In fact, you should just get used to it every time we enter any house.”

  After they were married at the small church on the Morrison estate, witnessed by family and most of the Noble Lords, Owen and Amy had returned to London. With the upcoming royal command tour, it was agreed that they should remain at Windmill Street.

  Any concerns that they may have had over being another pair of newlyweds in the house were soon set aside when Amy presented Owen with a red silk scarf on the morning of their wedding and the address of the coach hire place on Oxford Street. Owen quickly became their best customer.

  The loss of Owen from the ranks of the rakes of London was widely but privately celebrated by many husbands.

  The lessons Owen had learned in losing Amy after she had called off their betrothal had been hard and bitter ones, but the truth of them were burned deep into his soul.

  He had found a woman who challenged much of what he thought love and marriage involved. Amy had taught him that he could still be himself and deserve love. That he could trust and be trusted with her love.

  She had offered to buy the Stradivarius back for him as a wedding gift, but Owen had refused. The proceeds from the sale of the violin had enabled his father to make urgent repairs to the tenant houses on the family estate, and Owen was satisfied that it was money well spent.

  “So, where are the Noble Lords playing tonight? With all the rehearsals for the upcoming tour and the other performances in town, sometimes it feels like you are forever in front of an audience and I do lose track,” said Amy.

  Owen nodded. Being a full-time musician was not the easy life that some may have thought it was. When this summer was over, he was planning to step up and take on more of the load of managing the family estate. His father was right; returning the estate to a sound financial condition was Owen’s responsibility as well as his. Amy’s dowry had cleared much of the old debts, but it would still take careful fiscal management to bring things to a stable level.

  “You are coming tonight?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Amy, along with Reid’s wife, Lavinia, attended all the performances of the Noble Lords. Nothing made Owen’s heart fill more with joy than looking out into the assembly at a concert and seeing his wife sitting in the audience, a soft smile on her face.

  “And then onto supper at Rules? I hear they have a new shipment of the eighteen fifteen Beaujolais just arrived from France. It should be wonderful,” he said.

  Amy raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you tried the fifteen? It is terrible; the balance of the fruit is completely out of line. Now if you want to talk Beaujolais, I know where we can get a couple of bottles of the eleven.”

  She would have kept explaining the merits of the earlier vintage to him, but Owen captured her lips in a searing kiss which effectively ended all discussion of wine. As he took a firm hold of her luscious arse, Amy sighed into his mouth. Her hand brushed across the front of his trousers.

  The immediate effect this had on him made Owen grateful that none of the Follett household staff were hovering near the front door. He released her mouth.

  “Wife. Bed. Now,” he growled.

  She took him by the hand and led him toward the stairs, a saucy grin on her lips. “Of course, husband. I always do what I am told.”

  Owen’s laughter echoed through the empty foyer.

  Epilogue

  It was so late in the night that Amy suspected it was actually near dawn. Outside in the rear garden, the cockerel had already crowed.

  Lavinia had roused her with a soft knock at the door of the bedroom. Beside Amy, Owen slept on, the sleep of a well-sated husband. Amy slipped on her dressing gown and stepped out onto the landing, closing the door behind her.

  “It’s happening again,” said Lavinia.

  “Where is she?” replied Amy.

  “In the ballroom. I have tried to get Eliza to come upstairs to her bed, but she won’t move. She says she is waiting for him.”

  Amy followed Lavinia downstairs to the ballroom. The room was scattered with chairs and instrument cases. Equipment was being stored there in readiness for the Noble Lords tour. Eliza was seated on the floor, her back against a large crate.

  “You didn’t have to come down here. I am fine on my own,” said Eliza.

  Amy and Lavinia both dropped to their knees beside her. In the light from the single candleholder on the floor, it was clear Eliza had been crying.

  “Has he sent word?” asked Lavinia.

  Eliza shook her head. “No. Not a word. It’s been three days, and I have no idea where he is; he could be dead for all we know.”

  A shuffle of feet on the wooden floor heralded the arrival of Owen, Reid, and a half-asleep Kendal.

  Marco was in Manchester, making preliminary preparations for the concert in the northern city; he was also using the visit as an opportunity to follow up on the whereabouts of his former musical group’s manager, who had stolen most of the Italians’ money.

  “Eliza, you need to sleep. You are going to make yourself ill if you keep sitting up and waiting for him,” said Reid.

  She nodded but didn’t make a move. “Sleep. How can I sleep when I don’t know where he is? Until he walks back in the front door, my mind will not shut down long enough for me to rest.”

  Reid put his arms around her and lifted Eliza to her feet. When her legs began to give way and she faltered, he held her close. Owen put a reassuring hand to her back.

  “We will find him,” said Owen. Kendal nodded.
“Tomorrow morning, we will double our efforts and engage more men to continue the search. He cannot have simply vanished from the face of the earth.”

  Over Eliza’s bent head, Reid and Owen shared a worried look. They had searched all the obvious places but to no avail. No one could give them any information as to the whereabouts of the missing Callum.

  Amy and Lavinia got to their feet. Amy couldn’t imagine the fear that was coursing through Eliza’s mind. If anything happened to Owen, she would be beside herself with worry.

  In the morning, she and Lavinia would once more walk the streets looking for Callum. They would search for clues—anything to help keep the search for Callum alive, a search they were all privately beginning to worry would end in tragedy.

  Somewhere, lost in the mean streets of London, was Sir Callum Sharp.

  Reid

  * * *

  Regency Rockstars

  * * *

  1816

  * * *

  The war against Napoleon has been won. For those nobles who fought at the battle of Waterloo, the rewards have come freely from the scandalous women of London high society.

  Reid Follett, Owen Morrison, Callum Sharp and Kendal Grant have had unfettered access to the charms of every lady who takes their fancy. They have had their pick of any woman they wish to bed.

  Until now…

  With the war having been over for a year, the luster of being celebrated war heroes is beginning to fade. When a group of hot, supremely talented Italian musicians arrive in London and begin to tear up the social scene, the English lords suddenly find themselves having to fight to keep the sexual favors of the wild women of the ton.

  But Reid, Owen, Callum and Kendal are determined to defend their territory and decide to take the Italians on at their own game. The Noble Lords quartet is born.