by Heather Boyd
Constance laughed so hard she almost cried. “He left you—the man aiming for the title of most debauched —to guard me.”
“I don’t touch married women, Pixie. He knows you are perfectly safe. Actually, you have always been safe with me. I never touch virgins, either.”
Constance scoffed at his ridiculous statement, and then took a deep breath of night air, desperate to regain control before she lost her nerve and ran away.
Absolute silence reigned when the candlelight hit her. Constance knew exactly how she looked. Madame du Clair had clapped her hands with glee when she had requested this gown. This dress had originally been for Jack’s pleasure alone, but they had both decided the red silk needed a larger audience. She set her hand on the crust of ruby and diamonds at her throat, anxious that they still be there, then brushed a loose curl over her shoulder.
Jack stood alone, one hand held out toward her. She let all the love she felt for him shine through her smile and when she reached him, she slid her hand into his palm.
Very slowly, smile brightening his eyes, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the gold band adorning her third finger. Another costly gift from her generous husband.
A confused mutter swept the room then rose to a deafening roar. When they were sure everyone in the room was au current, they turned to look directly at Miss Maria Scaling. Her mother and father stood in shock behind her.
Jack led Constance to her. “Have you met my wife, Miss Scaling?”
Jack’s voice purred loudly, anger rippling beneath in his tone.
The excited chatter of the ton died as they craned to hear every word.
“Your wife? No, that’s not possible.”
Jack scowled and drew Constance tight to his side. “Polly didn’t have time to tell you about the wedding. She and her family are on their way to one of my other estates, and no amount of bully tactics will ever induce them to confide details of my family again.”
Miss Scaling glanced about her nervously. “The girl is lying. Why would I do such a thing?”
“Why would you have so little control over your mount that it could endanger someone? Why did Pixie fall into a pond, or come to be covered in that noxious scent you wear?”
An angry mutter began in the crowd and all eyes bored into Miss Scaling.
“Pixie? I didn’t touch anyone called Pixie.”
“Come near my wife again and expect to lose a great deal,” Jack growled, and Miss Scaling did faint in truth.
Unsurprisingly, Lord Wade caught her.
Jack turned. “Now where were we?” He wrapped his arms around Constance and squeezed. “I remember this dress. Is it the most daring you ordered?”
“No,” Constance laughed, draping her arms around his neck and stretching up to whisper. “The white one is transparent even without damping with water.”
“That does it.” Jack hoisted Constance over his shoulder and slapped a hand on her derrière, but ignored her shriek of protest. “We’re going home.”
Constance struggled to see past her fallen hair as she choked on gasps of mirth. She had to use one hand on Jack’s backside to hold herself up, and giggled helplessly at the shocked expressions left in their wake. She gave up trying to see and slapped her other hand on his other cheek. Jack’s grunt set her off again, and she giggled until he stopped her with his kisses.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading Chills. I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving a review—either positive or negative. Reviews help others find a book that’s right for them.
Chills is book 1 in The Distinguished Rogues Series. If you’d like to read the books in order, they are as follows:
Chills
Broken
Charity
An Accidental Affair
Find out what’s next, or sign up for my mailing list to hear about new releases at http://heather-boyd.com.
About the Author
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission.
For more information visit
www.heather-boyd.com
Also by Heather Boyd
The Wild Randalls Series:
Engaging the Enemy
Forsaking the Prize
Guarding the Spoils
Hunting the Hero
Miss Mayhem Series:
Miss Watson’s First Scandal
Miss George’s Second Chance
The Hunt Club Chronicles:
Almost an Equal
Barely a Master
Hardly a Stranger
Novella/Short stories:
One Wicked Night
Wicked Mourning
In the Widow’s Bed
Love Me Tender
Love Me True
The Almack’s Alternative
