by Lara Temple
‘I never thought my first declaration of love would elicit such a response, my darling Livvy. I understand it takes some strength of will to contemplate a lifetime in my company, but there are compensations, surely? Do you really not want to hear me tell you how much I love you? Not ever? I shall have to be creative then. Would other languages count under that interdiction?’ She had stopped crying and he took advantage to extract his handkerchief and dry her face as she stared at him as at a Bedlamite hanging upside down from the rafters of St Paul’s.
‘I prefer to make love to you in English, but I can do it in Italian—amore mio—or Spanish, or even Russian and Arabic—habibti. German might be a little stilted, but my Greek is tolerable—agapi mou. And if you consider that cheating, I could write it. I am not as gifted a writer of love letters as you, Livvy mine. In fact, I have never written a love letter, poem or epistle in my life, but I can try. I will start with notes, perhaps, and pin them to our bedroom wall so you cannot ignore them.’
‘Lucas...’
‘Yes, my...sorry. I forgot you did not wish to hear you are at the very core of my world and that I cannot imagine my life without you any longer. What is it you wished to say?’
‘Lucas. Are you saying this...because of my letter? Because I am in love with you?’
‘I know I made a mistake that day. I should not have acted the coward and run simply because I was hurt. But you once told me you trust me, Livvy. Do you?’
‘With my life.’
‘Then trust me with your heart. Look at me. You know I am not lying. You are only scared and that is fine, for now. God knows I am just as terrified, but that is no longer an excuse for either of us.’
She touched his jaw, lightly, just a grazing of two fingers, and he heard the faint rasp of her skin on his stubble and felt it through to the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet. Then she smiled, her beautiful smile—promising both a blaze of heat and aching tenderness. Again the burning blurred his eyes and he pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair, in her scent, in his love for her, in her love for him.
‘God, Livvy. I love you. You shouldn’t trust me, not an inch. I don’t think I can live without you and that terrifies me. I want to be strong for you and keep you safe and make you happy, but how the hell can I if everything I want revolves around you? I don’t know how to find my centre any more.’
‘Oh, Lucas. It’s right here. What fools we both are. I love you so. Three days I was in purgatory, waiting and worrying and wanting. Do help me take off this pelisse.’ She squirmed on his lap as she tried to unbutton the row of tiny buttons and his body woke from its stupor with all the abruptness of a sleeping wolf being hit over the head with a club—snarling and ready for the attack. He groaned and grabbed her hands.
‘We can’t. Chase will be here soon and...’
She sighed and sank against him, tucking her head under his chin and her hand under his coat, pressed to the rapid tattoo of his heart.
‘He already is here. He brought me. I suppose you are right, and I have already broken my word to Elspeth not to come here unchaperoned.’
‘Chase brought you?’
‘I made him promise he would inform me the moment you returned.’
‘You made him.’
‘We negotiated.’
‘I see. And what did my brother receive in this negotiation?’
‘Nothing but the truth. He loves you, too.’
He leaned his head back against the wall and breathed in and out. Really, he was going to have to find a more manly way of dealing with these waves of mawkish joy that struck every time she told him she loved him. She touched her lips to the base of his throat and he could feel the curve of her smile, could feel the words forming against his skin as she spoke.
‘I love you, Lucas. I shall have to remind you of that every day until you believe it. You will probably beg me to stop.’
He bundled her closer, tipping her head back so he could do something with her damaging, delectable mouth.
‘I won’t. I will hold you to that promise, my impossible, relentless, adored love. Every day.’
Epilogue
Venice
Lucas worked his way upwards through the Palazzo Montillio. On the floors below, his cousins were preparing for the night’s entertainment at the casino they managed and which hosted the elite of Venetian and European society, but on the upper floors everything was still and empty.
He reached the large bedroom at the end of the corridor and sighed. Too empty. He continued his climb through the next floor which was part-storeroom and part-attic and then even further to the wooden staircase that led to the roof. The moment he stepped out he saw her leaning against the stone balustrade, looking out over the mouth of the Grand Canal towards San Marco and the Campanile. Beyond, the sky faded to grey and violet with a hint of the darkening lands beyond. He smiled in appreciation at the tumble of curls that picked up the remnants of the setting sun in the west, a gilded goddess overlooking the city of carnal pleasures. She was wrapped in a dressing gown of brocade silk in the colours of sea and sand, the shimmering material pressed against her by the Adriatic breeze, outlining her body as clearly as any of the marble statues in the Uffizi. It was a beautiful sight, but he would much rather see that gown spread out beneath them on the bed below. As much as he would like to strip her here and make love to her with the view of the city spread out around them, February was not the month for such fanciful gestures.
She turned as he stepped on to the roof, her smile as warm as the setting sun in her hair. He smiled back, a reflexive reaction he had no control over. He had no control over the surge of joy, either. Mine, his body said. Thank God, chorused his mind.
She walked into his arms and he gathered her against him, mapping her with his hands and mouth, a little scared by the force of his need. He had only been absent for a couple of days; that could hardly be considered deprivation.
‘I missed you,’ he said into her curls. Then, a little more dignified, ‘I trust Giovanni and Maria took good care of you in my absence?’
‘Excellent care. Maria thinks I’m too thin and has been working to rectify matters. Soon I shall have to buy a new wardrobe. Or spend my days wearing nothing but dressing gowns like now.’
‘Bless Maria, then. I thoroughly approve of that outcome.’
She laughed, leaning back to look at him. ‘I know we are planning to leave for Egypt, but if you’d rather stay here and help your uncle, do just tell me. I am perfectly content to stay here or go wherever you wish.’
‘Excellent. Downstairs to make use of our bed and then to see what Maria’s cooks have concocted.’
‘Lucas, you know what I mean. The last thing I wish is for you to become bored with your life with me. When you wish to return to your duties with your uncle you have only to say. I admit I am looking forward to being of use...’
‘You do realise my plans before I met you were to spend another dismal winter in Russia? The last time I was in St Petersburg the sun only showed its face for one day out of thirty and that was for less than an hour. I know all about boredom, love. I can safely say that I cannot remember the last time I have lived through a period less boring than this that did not involve something best forgotten. I am happy with you.’
The simple truth of those words still astonished him. She hugged her arms around him, rubbing her cheek against his chest.
‘I am glad, but keep in mind my need to be useful. I have something else I wished to say to you, though. While you were gone Maria took me to the attics.’
‘To the attics? My cousin certainly knows how to entertain...’ His laughter faded at her expression. ‘What is it?’
‘She found a small case with some of your mother’s belongings. Some books and two very lovely fans and a pendant I think Samantha would like, but in one of the books she found a letter. From
your father. I recognised the handwriting.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I did not read it, but I did see the date. It is dated the day before the duel.’
She held out her hand and he took it and let her lead him downstairs to their room.
It was a short letter, the handwriting looked a little larger and rounder than he remembered, as if his father had written slowly, etching each word against his will.
My darling Tessa,
I wish you were here. You and Lucas and Chase and Samantha. I need all of you around me—I am not myself without you. I thought it would be easier away from Father and John, but as they have so often said the fault is in me, not them. Clumsy, awkward, I stumble into trouble whether intending to or not.
I certainly never dreamed I would find myself in such straits. I still pray I will wake and discover it was all a dreadful mistake, but I cannot in honour withdraw. You know only too well how that word strikes—coward. I cannot stand down.
Whatever the outcome tomorrow, please forgive me and do not judge me too harshly. With luck I will be with you very soon and perhaps now Father and John are dead we can begin anew, but not at the Hall. Somewhere that is purely ours.
You are and have always been the bright shining star in my life and I am grateful for every moment you have given me.
Your loving, devoted husband,
Howard
He folded the letter and tucked it back into the book. Olivia wrapped her arms around him again and leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
‘Whatever she thought happened there, she could not doubt he loved her.’
‘I don’t think she did,’ he answered, pulling her on to his lap. ‘Thank you, Olivia.’
‘For what? I keep bringing back painful memories. Just when you were happy.’
‘You know better. You do realise that if none of this had happened I never would have met you?’
She leaned back in the circle of his arms, her smile bright with love.
‘I adore how you transform my misdeeds into virtues, Lucas.’
‘I learned that skill from a master, or rather a mistress. Now, I am very glad you found my father’s last letter, but we have more important matters to attend to.’
‘Yes, Giovanni did say the Archduke will be a guest at the casino today and...’
‘I am not the least bit interested in archdukes. I have realised your soul is in peril. I distinctly remember you promised to tell me you love me every day and it has been three whole days since your last profession of adoration. You are in breach of our covenant and so as your knight it falls to me to rescue you.’
‘Not that I wish to question your championing skills, but it is hardly fair to say this is my fault when it was you who was absent.’
‘Don’t split hairs. Wearing nothing but a shift and dressing gown is a good beginning, so I will let you go with only two protestations of your undying love.’ He untied the belt of the robe, sliding his hands up over the gossamer-thin shift underneath. Need, love, lust barrelled through him.
‘Oh, God, I missed you, Livvy. You don’t know how much. I kept telling myself, it is just three days. But it ached like hell. No, not there, here.’ He pressed her hand to his heart. ‘I feel like a damned fool, but I need you to tell me you missed me, that you want me with you.’
She kissed his chest, the harsh striking of his heartbeat magnified by the warmth of her lips, her breath feathering over his skin as she spoke.
‘You are wrong that I am in breach, Lucas. I wrote you two terribly soppy love letters where I was very clear about how much I miss you and need you. Amongst other things.’
‘You did? Where are...?’
‘Later. Actions first, words later... Lucas, my love.’
* * *
Whilst you’re waiting for the next instalment of
The Sinful Sinclairs miniseries,
why not check out Lara Temple’s
Wild Lords and Innocent Ladies miniseries?
Lord Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress
Lord Ravenscar’s Inconvenient Betrothal
Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress
Keep reading for an excerpt from Sent as the Viking’s Bride by Michelle Styles.
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Sent as the Viking’s Bride
by Michelle Styles
Prologue
January AD 877—Colbhasa, modern-day Colonsay
Gunnar Olafson had spent a lifetime dreaming of his own land, but after he learned of his excellent fortune, all he could do was sit in stunned silence. Others would be shouting the news to the rafters, calling for more ale for everyone, but he wanted to savour it and hug it close.
He closed his hand about the tiny carved stone man his mother had given him the last time he’d seen her and recited the vow he’d made on her grave. It had seen him through two shipwrecks, five severe injuries and countless minor skirmishes.
His mind skittered away from the memory of the day he’d made that vow, the day when he knew the soothsayer’s dying words had power to harm those he loved. The curse still clung to his soul, but he wanted to believe that maybe one day, if he made his new lands prosperous, he’d show the gods that he was worthy and those words—all the women he loved would crumble to dust—would cease to have any power.
‘Are you going to tell me why Kolbeinn wanted to speak with you alone? What have you done wrong this Jul? Your oath of loyalty was as loud as any man’s.’ Eylir Rokrson banged his fists together as he settled on the bench next to Gunnar. ‘I won’t have it. We’re still treated poorly because we once followed his ex-wife and then his daughter.’
Gunnar slipped the stone man back into his pouch for safekeeping and regarded his best friend and drinking companion. They had fought long and hard together. He had hugged his good fortune to his chest for long enough. ‘Against all expectation, he has offered me land...on Jura. I had thought he was about to send me to Ireland on another impossible mission. Just to test my loyalty again.’
‘You thrive on such things.’
Gunnar examined the dregs of his Jul ale. ‘He hasn’t been able to kill me yet despite his best efforts. He thinks to put my back to better use and have me till soil even if the island is windswept and nearly uninhabited. We will only truly last long in this land if we put down roots.’
‘Yours is the better fate.’ His friend nodded. ‘Many of our former comrades were put to death.’
‘T
hey betrayed Dagmar.’ Gunnar ignored the clenching of his stomach. ‘In the end I proved my loyalty and that I’d been tricked into giving her that cup of ale.’
‘Which was switched and made you ill.’
Gunnar winced, remembering how he’d inadvertently contributed to his former leader’s abduction. He had rejoiced at her restoration, but his punishment had been to serve her father, Kolbeinn. ‘For the last two seasons, I’ve served Kolbeinn well.’
‘What made him agree to honour the promise of land?’
‘I saved Lord Ketil’s life last season during that storm and, as Kolbeinn’s overlord, he demanded Kolbeinn reward me with land.’ Gunnar regarded the bottom of his goblet. Even now it was hard for him to believe that the man who had come from nothing and who had lost everything had the chance of making his dreams come true. His land. No more fighting in the stinking mud for someone else. No more offering his sword and oath to the highest bidder. He was going to build a hall which all would envy. His success should taste better than it did.
‘Far too modest.’ Eylir clapped him on the shoulder. ‘What next? Acquiring that northern wife you have always talked of? The one with the come-hither smile and plump bosom?’
Gunnar shook his head. ‘First the land tamed, then the marriage. One wild thing at a time.’
‘Send word for her now.’ Eylir made an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘Wanted: one sweet-tempered, buxom blonde who knows northern customs. Someone who doesn’t have inconvenient relatives, but does have accommodating thighs. One who listens, but forgets to open her mouth, except for your tongue.’
