THE VİSCOUNT'S BLAZİNG LOVE
FİRE AND SMOKE
CHARLOTTE STONE
SHERMANBROOKS PUBLİSHERS
Contents
Copyright
Find Out More
Personal word from Charlotte Stone
Dedication
About The Author
The Viscount's Blazing Love
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Prologue
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1
The Last Ball of the Season
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2
The Surprise Dance Partner
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3
Old Friends
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4
The Other Side of Life
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5
The Forgotten Memory
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6
A Humble Hero
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7
A Pritchford Place Reunion
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8
A Visit Begins
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9
Some Things Stick Forever
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10
A Heart to Heart
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11
I Know It in My Bones
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12
Three Sisters
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13
The Prodigal Son
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14
A Monster’s Last Secret
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15
An Accidental Interrogation
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16
A Secret is Told
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17
Goodbye Kiss
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18
The Aftermath
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19
A Change of Heart
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20
King and Queen of the Fairies
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Epilogue
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Preview of Next Book
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Publishers Notes
COPYRIGHT © 2016 BY
CHARLOTTE STONE
AND
SHERMANBROOKS PUBLISHING HOUSE LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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* * *
PERSONAL WORD
FROM CHARLOTTE STONE
* * *
Dear lovely readers,
The characters of my writings are women who have a strong mind of their own, women who know what they want to pursue in life. It is their tenacity to finding true love that drives them to overcome the challenges which they may face while waiting for the man of their dreams.
Will such tenacity of their believing bring them true love in spite of the societal-standing challenges one will face in an era such as that of Regency.
Read on to find out the answers!
Thank you once again for your strong support in my writing journey!
MUCH LOVE,
* * *
DEDICATION
* * *
“A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”
JANE AUSTEN, PRİDE AND PREJUDİCE
Specially Dedicated to you, my Dear Reader!
It is with a heart of gratitude that I wrote this message of dedication to you.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share with you my writings.
I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!
It is support like yours that keep authors like us going and striving to write even better novels for you!
HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT MY OTHER HISTORICAL ROMANCE BOOK SERIES?
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* * *
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
In a near cynical world which we are currently living in, Charlotte finds comfort in the readings of Regency Romance writings, one of her favourite would be Laura Kinsale’s Flowers from the storm where the female character loves and saves the male lead character who is a stroke victim. It was such writings which inspired her to be an author herself.
In Charlotte’s writings, the characters are able to see beyond the imperfections of each other and to accept and love one another, just the way one is.
Isn’t this true of our inner self? To be able to find someone who is able to see the beauty in us, in spite of all imperfections we might have.
Isn’t this true of what love really should be? Ever accepting, ever loving, ever seeking.
May you find love and acceptance in Charlotte’s writings.
* * *
THE VİSCOUNT'S BLAZİNG LOVE
.
FIRE AND SMOKE
.
* * *
BY
CHARLOTTE STONE
AND
SHERMANBROOKS PUBLISHING HOUSE
* * *
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A s she clutched at the material of his coat, he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her even nearer and nibbling on her bottom lip. She sighed with pleasure as he soothed that same spot with his tongue. The kiss went on and on until she was breathless, until she once again did the unthinkable, taking his lips into her own mouth and nipping at them.
She was horrified at what she had done as soon as it happened. “I am sorry,” she whispered with mortification.
But it apparently only increased his amorous feelings, because he held her more tightly, touching his mouth to the corner of her lips, her cheek, and then her ear where he replied, “Do not be sorry. Anything but that.” His breath was hot against her skin as his mouth moved lower to pay some attention to her throat. She could feel his tongue and lips. One of them trembled. The other moaned. She had no idea which one of them it had been because they were as close as their bodies could allow them to be. She did not care, not if he kept kissing her.
“John,” she groaned with pleasure, her hands clutching his hair.
The sound of her voice saying his name seemed to affect him as he immediately stopped the attention he was paying to her neck. His finger tracing the line of her clavicle paused its caress. He took some deep shuddering breaths against her, his mouth still against her neck.
“Jane,” he whispered as if he was tortured. “We cannot.”...
* * *
PROLOGUE
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1821
Pritchford, Yorkshire
Jane Watson looked up into John Christopherson’s handsome face. Years ago, when his hands had been much smaller, when they’d been children, he had made a daisy chain for her, placing it gently on top of her head with a tenderness he still had as a man. He had proclaimed her Queen of the Fairies, making her giggle. She had never felt as beautiful as she did in the
grove near the forest’s edge with so much innocence.
It still confounded her. How could someone so sweet and kind grow up in the situation that John had? She could not help but love him for that, for the way he had grown strong and true, like a tree around a nail. But she promised herself she loved him only as a friend and nothing more. She told herself that was the only way she could love him.
“I cannot believe you are leaving,” she said quietly, looking at the grass beneath their feet. The air smelled of the beginning of spring, of new life, which seemed so wrong under the circumstances.
“You must see that I do not have a choice, Jane,” John replied patiently, though if she was not mistaken, pain etched every word. The suit he wore was tight around his wrists and a bit short in the ankle. She knew that it was secondhand and that he hated that fact. He wore it only so he could support her today. She wondered where he had gotten it. “This is a great chance for me. I thought… I thought you would be happy.”
Glancing quickly at him, her blue eyes lit with determination. “I am happy,” she insisted, although the twisting in her gut indicated otherwise. She wanted to be happy for him. She just never imagined saying goodbye to John. He had been the anchor throughout her life. “You are right. It is a great chance for you. And you must take it. I just… I just never expected… Oh, never mind.”
He took a step nearer to her. His auburn hair, shades of red and brown and every color in between, shone in the sun, his gray eyes earnest. “You never expected what, Jane?” he asked, begging her to continue her train of thought. His heart beat thickly in his chest. Was it too much to hope that perhaps underneath the deep roots of friendship, she could feel something more?
Why was this so hard? John was her best friend. She never had to censor her words in front of him. She never had to think before she spoke with him. He laughed at her off-kilter humor and never made her feel stupid. But this conversation made it seem as if a chasm had opened between them. She was suddenly aware of why her sister had warned her about remaining friends with John, who was no longer a boy, but becoming a man.
In the end, she shook her head vigorously, the tight pins her sister’s lady’s maid had fixed for her barely moving. She looked down at her dark gray dress. “I cannot speak of it now. Not today. Not when Papa is gone.”
“You must know how sorry I am about your father,” John murmured, taking a step closer to her. His hands, which he had scrubbed clean this morning, reached for Jane’s. His suit might be too small, but he would make himself as acceptable as possible for Jane and her family and for the funeral of the man who had always treated him with respect, no matter how awful John’s father had been to Mr. Watson. It was no secret that John was the son of the town drunk, but he did not have to look like it, not today. “Is there anything you can do?”
Jane’s eyes filled with tears. She thought of Julia, her own sister’s sister-in-law, and her ability to hide her feelings behind a mask. Jane did not have that ability yet, and she certainly did not have it with John, who knew her so well and for so long. She had never hidden her feelings from him. This boy was… the man she had cried in front of, who had gently wiped her tears from her cheek without making her feel awkward.
She bit her lip as she looked up at him. “But you are leaving. And though I know you must go, I…” She took a deep breath and grasped his hand tighter. “Oh, John,” she sighed. “What am I to do once you are gone and I am without Papa, too?”
“Jane,” John whispered. His eyelashes had always fascinated her, almost translucent but so long around his handsome gray eyes. “You and I have never kept secrets from one another.”
“Yes,” she confirmed, though she was perplexed. His thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her palm, almost as if he was unaware he was doing it. It felt intoxicating. “I have never kept anything from you.” But something nagged at her as they spoke, holding hands.
He swallowed, his throat moving over the cravat he wore. It was the first time she had seen him with anything but a shirt against his neck. She found she missed seeing the skin there and then blushed at the thought. “Well, I must admit that I have kept something from you. Not purposefully, but because… I did not want things to change between us. I did not want you to feel obliged. And I did not want either of us to be embarrassed. But now that I am leaving—”
“You will come back though? You must!” she interrupted, taking his hand in both of hers and stepping closer to him. She would be expected at the church soon, and had, in fact, snuck away to see John. But she’d had to. They had already said goodbye, but that had been before her father died and John had insisted on staying for the funeral. He had an incredible chance to work closely with a distant relative. A viscount! A viscount with an import-export business. With John’s head for figures, the figures she had taught him because he had no one else to learn from, she knew he would do well. Then, he could send money back to his brothers and they would not have to worry about his father and the farm falling to pieces.
John closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. “I do not know that I will come back, Jane. You know my father. I do not know what it will be like once he knows that I am sending my wages home to my brothers. He will probably not have me,” John explained.
Jane nodded and tried to swallow her tears. She did understand, but that did not make it easier. “But you will write to me, will you not? And perhaps we can see each other in London? You did say the viscount has business there often?” She was desperate that this would not be the end between them. He had been her friend all her life. She had taught him to read and then snuck him books. He protected her from a neighbor’s rabid dog and taught her how to climb trees.
John looked up at the sky. He removed his hand from Jane’s. “You know… You must know that in London… Our friendship… You and I know nothing untoward has taken place, but there is no way that people would not talk about a friendship between someone like you and someone like me.”
“Someone like me? Who am I?” she cried. “I am no lady.”
“But you will be treated as such,” John replied calmly, then bit his lip. “Your guardians are an earl and a countess. And though I know it is not right to talk about such things, the size of the dowry I am sure Lord Wembley has settled on you will have men flocking to you. In all but name, you will be considered a lady, and one well sought after. There will be no room for a person like me.” He hated to admit it, but it was the truth and they both needed to see the situation for what it was.
Her blue eyes filled with emotion. “So then promise you will write to me.”
For a moment, he stared into her eyes as if they were deep pools he could fall into. He found himself glancing at her lips, which was not appropriate, especially today. “I cannot.” He huffed out a breath and walked over to a tree, bending over slightly as if he had just run a long race.
“You cannot?” she asked indignantly as she walked over to him and touched his shoulder softly.
“I cannot,” he repeated. “I cannot because I would like to more than write to you.”
As he turned, her hand fell from his shoulder. Her eyes clouded with confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Jane,” he murmured. “I do not want anything ruined between the two of us.”
“But if you do not explain it to me, why you will not write to me, when you have explained we will probably never see one another again, then I must know. Because things will be ruined if we cannot even write to one another.” Her lips quivered, and she bit down stubbornly on her bottom lip to stop it.
“I cannot,” he repeated with a great deal of agony. “Because I would like to do more than write to you.”
“John?” she questioned with confusion.
“Jane,” he whispered as he looked down at her. “You are my best friend in all the world. And yet…”
“And yet…?” she murmured.
“And yet I think of you as more than a friend.” Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut. He had
promised he would not do this to her. He especially did not want to do this to her on the day of her father’s funeral. But was he wrong in considering that perhaps she wanted to hear these words from him? He took a step nearer to her, placing his palm against the smooth skin of her cheek. “I want…”
She wet her lips, feeling as if she was under a spell. “You want…”
“To kiss you.” John took a very deep breath as he lowered his forehead to hers. “May I kiss you? It is something I have wanted to do for a very long time.”
She nodded, and he slowly lowered his lips to hers. She had never been kissed before, so she tried to memorize everything from the feeling of his lips on hers, to his palm on her cheek, to his other hand falling to her waist. When she squeezed his shoulder, and tilted her head further because she found she liked the feeling of his mouth on her own, his lips parted against hers. She had to take a deep breath. As she did so, his lips descended again, this time taking her plump lower lip into his mouth.
She moaned.
She did not mean to. She truly did not mean to, but it felt so good. That sound seemed to change the kiss for them both. There was no time for embarrassment as he pulled her closer, and she wrapped both arms around his neck. His mouth was opening against hers and though she had no precedent for what they were doing, she had to be doing something right, because he moaned as well. Before either of them realized it, he had pressed her so her back was against the tree and they were kissing each other as if their very lives depended on it. In the farthest part of her brain, she thought that this must be wrong but how could it be when it was John? Actually, it felt completely right.
“Jane,” John panted against her neck where his lips had found some skin that made her breathe heavily, pressing her body to his, as he nestled her into the tree. She wanted to stay there forever. “We cannot. This is not right.”
Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance) Page 1
