Tempting Bethany

by Stacy Reid

  Her mother's gaze swung to David. "But…but I thought…oh dear." She'd still possessed foolish hopes for an alliance.

  “My word,” Mrs. Sanderson remarked to no one in particular. “This is the second time I’ve seen eyes so green and piercing.”

  Her mother blanched and shot accusing eyes towards Beth. It did not ruffle her, in fact, she was proud he was Grayson’s father.

  “Joshua Kincaid is Grayson’s father.”

  She knew what it implied, and she did not care. The only thing that mattered was the man staring up at her, with that impossibly beautiful smile of his.

  He walked away from Bartley who was unconscious and made his way up to her, uncaring of their audience. Emmet Shaw observed it all, quiet contemplation in his eyes. David Shaw looked worried, and he had all right to be.

  Joshua reached her and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheeks. “So, you’ll ride beside me?”

  Her heart pounded, and she stepped close to him, ignoring her mother’s gasp. “I will. I love you more than anything.”

  “And you’ll marry me, brown eyes?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He kissed her, wild and hungry, and though Beth blushed fiercely, she was helpless against his tender assault and responded hotly. Joshua pulled from her. “I’ll stay here in Boston with you and Grayson. We could buy a house on the hill, and perhaps I could write a book.”

  Happiness burst in her soul. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you. Didn’t you realize Bartley isn’t dead?”

  She nodded happily. “I did.”

  “That’s because you’ve shown me there can be another way, brown eyes. I’ll let the law take him back to Blue Lagoon for justice.”

  She flung her arms around his neck. “Oh Joshua, I love you. And while I think our home in Boston is a wonderful idea, I want to go home with you.”

  He stilled, hope flaring in his gaze. “Home…to the Triple K?”

  “Yes, and to our cabin.”

  “You sure? The west is still savage.”

  “I know…and I am less afraid of it. I’ve since realized men can be ugly anywhere, but I know I have the courage to stand against them. I won’t stop learning to shoot and to use my knife, even though I pray I won’t be called upon to use them. But if I am, I will never hesitate to defend those I love, Joshua.”

  He kissed her again, and the rough clearing of a throat pulled them apart. Beth stared down at the small gathering. Her mother still seemed dazed, but there was an acceptance in her eyes. David Shaw again looked worried, but Beth ignored him.

  “We’ll have to visit Boston often though,” she murmured, smiling at her mother.

  “We will,” Joshua promised.

  “I think it’s time I introduce you to my mother, and time I tell her what you mean to me, Joshua Kincaid.”

  Then they strolled down the hallway, fingers laced together.

  Six weeks later…

  Boston, Dorchester.

  Bethany strolled into the drawing room of the beautiful home Joshua had bought them in Dorchester. In front of the fire, on the large, soft rug before it, Joshua lay with Grayson.

  “Papa,” her son chortled attempting to walk again before stumbling.

  Joshua caught him, and the sight of father and son had a lump forming in her throat. Though she was happy to travel home to the Triple K, he had been determined to establish them here first. They had married only a few days after he had come for her, and then to her delight they had started house hunting. She had fallen in love with a twenty-room Victorian Mansion that sat on five acres of land. Her shock had been great when her love had bought it for her. She hadn't realized the depth to their wealth.

  Their days had been filled with lovemaking, and Joshua had been the picture of elegance as he'd attended a few formal affairs with Beth at her mother's invitation. He'd still been a sore thumb, his aura of ruthlessness impossible to suppress. And perplexingly Boston's elite was intrigued by the wolf clearly in their midst. Beth found it all delightfully absurd.

  Though Joshua rode daily on the lanes of their home, at times, she saw a hunger in his eyes for the wild beauty of the land he'd left behind. And Beth had found a likewise echo in her soul to travel home. They had decided a few days ago to go west, for Elijah and Sheridan's wedding drew close, and they missed the Triple K. There they would spend most of their time and would visit Boston a few months out of every year. Kathy would stay with Beth's mother when they traveled west, for she enrolled in school and was determined to succeed.

  Beth strolled over, and father and son looked up, identical eyes glowing with pleasure to see her. She lowered herself beside them, first kissing her son, and then her husband.

  “I love you,” she whispered, resting her head on her husband’s chest, smiling in pleasure when he started to read.

  Life had never been more perfect.

  Thank you

  Thank you for grabbing a copy of Tempting Bethany! I hope you enjoyed it and will consider leaving an honest review on Amazon. If you have not read Sheridan and Elijah’s journey to love, you can grab a copy of Taming Elijah.

  A little about Taming Elijah….

  It has been three years since the honorable Sheridan Wentworth left London's polite society for the wild, savage west. She is harassed by unwanted suitors desiring both her body and her fortune. Sheridan turns to Elijah Kincaid for his protection, except he is determined to run from her perceived fragility, instead of toward her willing arms.

  Determined to show him she is the right woman with whom to build a future rich with love and family, she boldly sets out to court and seduces a man as untamed and savage as the land itself.

  In other news…

  I've also started an exciting new Regency series, Rebellious Desires, and I’ve shared the first chapter of The Earl in My Bed below for your reading pleasure.

  Happy reading!

  Stacy

  The Earl in My Bed

  Rebellious Desires series

  A little about The Earl in My Bed…

  For years, Daphne Wentworth, Countess Carrington has loved her powerful, enigmatic husband, despite the fact that they married under less than ideal circumstances. But no more. Finally at her breaking point, Daphne intends to create a scandal so big, her austere husband will have no choice but to divorce her. Except everything goes awry when he surprises her with the last thing she expected.

  Sylvester Wentworth, Earl of Carrington, has returned to London for one reason—to seduce his wife. After a near-death experience, he is in need of an heir and means to make his marriage a real one. To his shock, though, his wicked, beautiful countess wants the exact opposite, and he must now do everything possible to entice his countess to stay forever.

  THE EARL IN MY BED Copyright © 2018 by Stacy Reid. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Chapter 1

  Six years earlier…

  Hampstead, England, 1816

  “Good God!”

  Miss Daphne Elizabeth Collins whipped her head up, searching for the source of that expression of appalled disbelief. The light of the noonday sun valiantly peeking from behind bloated clouds obscured her vision. She kicked against the strong currents of the river while holding onto the wiggling bundle in her arms.

  “Thank heavens! Don’t just stand there, help me,” she gasped out. A light misting rain fell, and thunder rumbled in the darkened sky, a warning that more rain was on the horizon.

  The gentleman who’d stumbled upon her swung from his impressive horse and rushed toward the embankment. He knelt in the mud, uncaring that he was dirtying his breeches, and held out his hands. Releasing the jutting bramble, she slapped her hand into his, trusting that he would not allow the river to take her away. Dear God, let us be safe soon.

  He braced himself and hauled her from the
churning water. He tried to stand, tugging her with him, but they tumbled along the slippery slope. He slammed into the earth with a grunt but was of a mind to protect her by wrapping his arms around her as she fell against him. The feel of his powerfully muscled body beneath hers sent shock and intrigue rushing through her veins.

  She could not have been in the water for more than a few minutes, but she was chilled to her bones. Daphne stirred, and her cold nose brushed against his rigid jawline.

  “I must say, this is not at all proper, is it?” she said into the curve of his neck, conscious of the wonderful heat emanating from him.

  With a muttered and very ungentlemanlike curse, he pushed her off him as if he had touched the plague, and Daphne found herself sprawled indecorously onto mud and grass. Her dress was muddied and ruined, her bonnet sat askew atop her head, there was a rip in her stocking, and one of her boots had somehow been lost. She was horribly aware of her bedraggled appearance. If Papa saw her now, she would have to be the very picture of female respectability and demure modesty before he would allow her to leave her chamber. Somehow, she would need to return to Seaview Manor and slip through the kitchens to avoid her father and governess discovering her terribly disheveled state. She chuckled softly at the challenge of pulling the wool over the eyes of her very observant and priggish governess.

  “There is nothing remotely humorous in this situation,” her rescuer said a trifle peevishly.

  As if to mock his assertions, her four-month-old energetic and badly trained wolfhound, Gulliver, licked the stranger’s face, yipping and wagging his tail.

  “I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole,” he muttered, trying to find purchase on the slippery slope as he stood. “The day cannot worsen.”

  Daphne was saved from the necessity of a reply as her puppy bounded over to her and licked along her chin. No doubt the wretch was grateful she had jumped into the water without thought to save his life.

  “If you will allow me to assist you, miss?”

  She glanced up at one of the most handsome gentlemen she had ever seen, even a messy and irritated one. Vivid green eyes peered down at her with studied seriousness.

  “Miss Daphne Collins,” she said, reaching for the hand he held out.

  Once again, he attempted to pull her up, and they went tumbling down. He cursed. She laughed. It was all remarkably ridiculous.

  A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps if we are very slow and careful.”

  “I agree, Mister…?”

  “Carrington.”

  She smiled, and they carefully found purchase and made their way up the slope toward the horse. The rain fell harder, and a mortifying sneeze rushed from her. An elegantly embroidered handkerchief materialized, and she took it, rather grateful for his courteousness. “Thank you, Mr. Carrington.”

  “Are you here alone?”

  She nodded.

  “How far do you need to go?”

  She swiped several droplets of rain from her face. “Seaview Manor, a few miles from here.” She pointed east, barely able to distinguish her home in the distance. “I was chasing Gulliver when he fell into the water. I was obliged to rescue the scamp,” she said, bending to scoop him into her arms.

  The harsh disapproval of her rescuer’s mouth softened as he peered at her puppy. “Your actions were foolhardy. What if I hadn’t ridden along?”

  A low growl escaped Gulliver, as if he understood this unknown gentleman was scolding her reckless bid to save him.

  “I’ve never been accused of being cowardly, and my little love would have drowned had I not saved him.” Another frightful sneeze escaped her into the wonderfully fragranced handkerchief.

  “Heavier rain is imminent, and we must find shelter. Have you ever ridden astride?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted, casting a quick glance about, though there was one else present to hear her confession of improper behavior.

  He mounted his horse with masculine and graceful ease. He held out his hand to her, and she blinked before reaching up and allowing him to aid her onto the horse, behind him. Her entire body blushed to be so pressed up against him. Gulliver whined and tried to wriggle from her grasp, but she held tightly onto him as the stranger thundered off.

  And not in the direction of her home. Unbearable alarm slithered through her, and releasing his shoulder, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked.

  “Sweet Mercy,” he growled, bringing the horse to a shuddering halt.

  Daphne pointed left. “My home is that way, Mr. Carrington. I will be forced to do you irreparable harm if you do not take me there at once.”

  A strangled sound of disbelief emanated from him, and she winced.

  “It is too far, and we will not make it before the deluge. I am riding to Kellits Hall, which is only a few minutes this way,” he said with exaggerated patience, looking as if he wished to throttle her, before once again urging his horse to a careful speed, the rolling hills of the countryside, carpeted with the greenest of grass and bluebells, a blur.

  “Very well,” she said, trying to swallow her apprehension.

  True to his word, they arrived at Kellits Hall a few short minutes later, and he assisted her down.

  She reflected, not for the first time, on how incredibly handsome he was. His hair was as black as coal, and his eyes the darkest green she had ever beheld, like the very grass upon which they stood. He was dressed in a brown jacket, a blue waistcoat, and light-colored breeches that disappeared into knee-high riding boots. Even his mouth was beautifully shaped. She jolted, mortified at the direction of her thoughts. He seemed terribly close, and the need to create a safe distance became imperative. He had an air of rakish danger about him, and perhaps it was men like him, with dastardly reputations, that her governess had warned her to be wary of.

  She hurried up the steps while he led the horse away, presumably toward the stables. Daphne knocked, and after waiting a few beats, the cold gust of wind and rain urged her to open the door and step inside. The large hallway was dimmed, and no welcoming fire greeted her. In fact, all the furniture had been covered with white sheets, and fine dust was settled on the parquet floor.

  The door slammed shut, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream as she whirled around. Mr. Carrington leveled amused eyes upon her person.

  “It is only me. Let’s withdraw to the drawing room. I left a fire there earlier.”

  She tried to recall deportment lessons that would possibly guide her in how to behave at this unexpected development of sheltering from the storm with a strange gentleman in an evidently unoccupied house. Daphne frantically searched her memory but there was nothing.

  He prowled ahead, and she followed him into a room where the furniture was likewise covered in sheets. “I’ve heard it is to be let,” she said, hurrying over to the grate where a fire burned low. “Are you to occupy Kellits Hall with your family, Mr. Carrington?”

  He grunted but made no reply, shrugging from his soaked jacket.

  His hair was wet, and his waistcoat and white shirt were plastered to the powerfully defined muscles beneath them. A very strange but sweet twisting ache stirred in her belly, and her heart quickened. Blushing furiously, she dragged her gaze from his lithe form. She winced, for Papa would be grossly disappointed in any conduct that could be deemed unladylike. He had been trying so hard since Mamma died to ensure his daughter had the proper lessons to secure herself a suitable suitor at her coming out, which was only a few months away. An event she anticipated with great expectation.

  She glanced toward Mr. Carrington again. He looked to be about the same age as her older brother who was down from Cambridge for the week. Perhaps they were familiar? “Are you friends with Henry?”

  “Who, may I ask, is Henry?”

  Fiddlesticks. “The honorable Henry Collins, my brother. I thought you might know him.”

  “I don’t. How old are you?” Mr. Carrington asked abruptly. “Forgive my manners,” he amended, raki
ng his fingers through his hair, creating a wave of curls.

  “I will be seventeen in a week,” Daphne said, tugging the bonnet from her head.

  His attention snapped to her hair. He sucked in a sharp and obvious breath, dealing her an arrested stare. Daphne knew she must look a fright—her soft pink day gown was dripping and clung quite uncomfortably, with grass and dirt stains on the hems and her back. And never forget she only had on the one boot. How mortifying. She then noted his gaze remained an inordinate time on her silvery blond hair before he lowered his regard to her face.

  The warm admiration in his eyes as they stroked over her was alarming…and captivating. At her silence, he tugged at his cravat, the nervous action pulling a smile to her lips.

  “I do not mean to be rude, but I cannot stay with you here alone.”

  She glanced at the windows. “The weather is frightfully unaccommodating of that wish.”

  He started to pace like a caged lion, and she couldn’t help staring at his graceful movements. It suddenly struck her that he was worried about being caught alone with her. “Oh, dear.”

  A decidedly imperious brow lifted. “I see you finally understand my predicament.”

  Oh, I do. To abandon her so very far from home in an empty manor was ungentlemanly, but to stay with her would surely compromise her reputation and his honor. A tremor of uncertainty quivered through her. “My father would understand the need that forced us alone for a few minutes,” she said, flushing.

  “Wives and daughters of society have tried to trap me with less inventive scenarios than this,” he said with a rueful twist of his lips.