‘Leave it. I owe you. More than I could ever repay. It goes against the grain, but I can’t stand by and watch the damage this would cause John.’
Anthony nodded. Marcus had the right of it. This would ruin John if it became public.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’d better—’
‘Leave it to me,’ repeated Marcus. ‘I’ll give him some money. Enough to get him out of the country.’
‘An allowance,’ said Anthony, nearly choking on it. ‘For as long as he stays out of the country. It ceases if he ever returns, or applies to John for money.’
Marcus’s smile would have chilled an iceberg. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘Our dear cousin will be under no illusions about the terms of our assistance.’
Anthony met his gaze and nodded. ‘The entire staff, including the grooms, has permission to watch the fireworks from the south lawn,’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ said Marcus. ‘Then—’
‘I’ll slip down to the stables and make sure he doesn’t take the wrong horse,’ said Quinlan calmly.
Despite the situation, Anthony exchanged a grin with Marcus. ‘Yes. She definitely married the right man,’ he said.
‘So glad you approve, gentlemen,’ said Quinlan drily. ‘I know Cassie does!’
Sir Charles sidled up to Anthony as the gentlemen left the dining room to join the ladies.
‘Shocking business, Lyndhurst. From what your great-aunt says, that scoundrel caused all your trouble as well! Your poor wife! Gallant little thing, coming down to dinner as she did!’ He shook his head. ‘Dreadful business! That confession of Grant’s is absolutely damning, you know. It all hung together. Couldn’t trip him up.’ He flushed. ‘Not but what I couldn’t quite stomach the idea that Sinclair had attacked Frobisher! The thing is…’ he passed a handkerchief over his face ‘…damned hard for John! But there’s nothing I can do to spare him!’
‘Naturally not, Brandon,’ said Anthony gently. ‘You are bound to uphold the law. As is John himself, as a member of the House of Lords.’
‘Quite,’ said Brandon, an expression of something unaccountably like hope dawning on his face. ‘As I said, Grant’s confession will clear Sinclair…’
‘I see,’ said Anthony, flicking a glance at Marcus, who nodded imperceptibly. ‘I think we understand each other, Brandon.’
Sir Charles sighed. ‘I hope so, Lyndhurst. I certainly hope so! Now, these fireworks. Must say I’m looking forward to it. Miss Lyndhurst gives me to understand that your fireworks parties are quite famous!’
‘Anthony, what are we doing here?’
Georgie had expected to watch the fireworks from the cupola with the rest of the party, but instead Anthony had led her out into the park. The balmy night blazed with stars and the full moon sailed overhead.
The arm Anthony had around her shoulders tightened slightly, drawing her closer under the spreading branches of an oak tree. It was darker beneath the tree and she looked up to find his face shadowed.
‘We’re going to enjoy the fireworks, of course.’
She could hear the laughter in his voice. And something else. Something leashed. Something that made her heart race and her skin tingle. ‘But shouldn’t we be with the others?’
He stopped and turned, smiling down at her in a way that stole every scrap of breath. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. Gentle, tender, the kiss deepened until her thoughts dissolved and her body melted against his and all she knew was the need consuming them.
Releasing her mouth at last, Anthony said, ‘I don’t think so, do you?’
Her mind thoroughly disconnected, it took her a moment to remember what she had asked. His mouth brushed over hers again, further scattering her thoughts.
To her utter amazement Georgie found that she was being drawn down on to a rug, spread beneath the tree. ‘Anthon—’
His kiss silenced her again. It was, she realised, a very effective weapon.
When at last he raised his head, she had no further thought of protest, but snuggled against him as he settled with his back against the tree.
‘You can see enough from here,’ he murmured against her hair.
Enough of what? The tree? And another thing…‘Anthony, what about the servants?’
‘On the other side of the house,’ he murmured reassuringly.
Her mind whirled, unable to think beyond the distraction of his fingers, which appeared to be…
‘Anthony—you’re unlacing my—’ She gasped. Correction. He had unlaced her gown. Now he was sliding it off her shoulders and…Pleasure speared her as his lips slid gently down her throat and over her collarbone, tracing a fiery path to her breast. A startled cry escaped as he captured her nipple, taking it deep into his mouth.
‘How—?’ Her lungs seized. Somehow he had managed to remove her chemise as well as her gown. For several moments she could scarcely remember her own name, let alone what she had intended to ask. And somehow in those heated moments, Anthony disposed of not only all her clothes but his own as well.
The sound of a galloping horse penetrated the dizzying delight. ‘Anthony! Listen. I think one of your horses is—’
He shook his head. ‘No, sweetheart. I hope you can forgive me, but—that should be William.’
Wonder flooded her and she sat back to look at him. ‘You’re letting him go?’ Despite that appalling betrayal, Anthony had protected his cousin.
He pulled her back against him. ‘Yes. For what he did to you, I should have let him—’
‘Me?’
He stared at her. ‘Yes. You! When I finally realised what he had done, it was all I could do not to kill him. And this afternoon—he would have seen you taken for murder if he could! But Marcus had to be cleared first. And then, in the end—’
‘Lord Mardon,’ she whispered, understanding the depth of loyalty and honour that ruled him. To save his cousin shame and grief, he had forgone his own vengeance.
‘John,’ agreed Anthony. ‘Can you understand, Georgie? And some of it was not all his fault, was it?’
She shook her head. If she had not been such a fool, such a muddleheaded little idiot…
‘Can you forgive me, darling? If I had not been such a crassly jealous fool as to believe his lies—if I had trusted you—it could never have happened. Can you—?’ He broke off. His hesitation, his uncertainty, hung between them in the velvet shadows.
She leaned forward, kissing him. ‘I love you, Anthony,’ she breathed against his lips.
High above the house, light and fire danced in a riotous explosion as the fireworks began. Anthony barely noticed the noise for the explosion of light and joy in his own heart. He stared at her, unable to speak for the emotion choking him.
‘You love me?’ he whispered at last. ‘Even after what I did, the things I said—’
‘Love does not alter,’ she said softly. And something silver trickled down her cheek.
‘When it alteration finds, nor bends with the remover to remove,’ he finished. Pain laced his joy as he bent to kiss away the tear. ‘Georgie—then you always loved me? Not Finch-Scott?’
He drew her to him.
She came, soft breasts pressing against him, igniting him.
‘Always you,’ she confessed. ‘I liked Justin…he was kind…I thought that was enough, but then I met you…and loved you.’
‘And I, you,’ he whispered, hanging on to his control by a thread. ‘From the moment I first saw you.’
‘But—’
‘Always,’ he said, kissing her brow, her cheeks, nuzzling the curves of her ear and feeling her breathing shatter. ‘But I was too damn scared to tell you. I told myself I didn’t want to frighten you with what I felt, but I was the one who was frightened. So I told you that rubbish about a marriage of convenience.’ He shuddered. ‘And you still loved me.’
He lifted her over him, his need consuming him. She was soft, sweet, melting about him as he caressed her in tender intimacy.
‘Anthony! Like…like this?’
/> He groaned, easing her down. ‘Just like this, my darling.’ He pulled her closer, capturing one tightly crowned breast with his lips, suckling gently as her body closed about him.
‘Tell me what you want, sweetheart,’ he whispered.
‘You,’ she breathed. ‘Everything.’
Overhead the heavens exulted as the Lyndhurst Chase fireworks rioted and danced among the stars. Voices and laughter floated down, rejoicing, celebrating.
‘Everything?’ he murmured, his fingers teasing gently, until her voice broke on his name. ‘Everything might take a very long time. A lifetime.’ He kissed her deeply, tenderly. ‘Two lifetimes,’ he added.
‘Two?’
His arms tight around her, he rolled, landing her beneath him. ‘Mmm. Yours and mine. It means,’ he said, against her lips, ‘that I can take my time. And we might even prove that doctor wrong.’
Doctor? She had no idea what he was talking about. Her senses swam as he moved within her, deep and sure, driving away all doubt, all uncertainty as he loved her. Totally, unconditionally.
Later, as she drifted in the safety of his arms, she vaguely recalled the doctor. The night breathed around them in velvet shadows and glimmering starlight. Pressing a sleepy kiss against the broad chest pillowing her cheek, she dared to hope. On such a night…
‘If that doctor was wrong, Georgie,’ came a deep murmur, ‘would you object to calling a child after Marcus?’
Was he reading her mind? ‘What if it was a girl?’ she asked provocatively.
A faint chuckle purred in her ear. ‘In that case, my love, we’d just have to prove him wrong again. Wouldn’t we?’
* * *
Major and Mrs Anthony Lyndhurst request the pleasure of your company at Lyndhurst Chase from 20th August 1820 to celebrate the Christening of their son, Marcus Anthony Lyndhurst.
* * *
AUTHOR NOTE
Warning! Spoilers ahead!
Thank you for accepting the invitation and joining us at Lyndhurst Chase. We hope that you have enjoyed the Regency house party of the Season!
A blank canvas is always challenging, but with three of us to create the setting, characters and plots for a house party bursting with romance and intrigue, we were raring to go.
We started with three very different basic ideas, which could have been a problem, but wasn’t. Elizabeth’s plot of the abandoned husband selecting an heir became the thread connecting all three stories. Once Joanna worked out the Lyndhurst family tree, and we knew who was who, we soon found a way to fit in the other two plots.
So how did three authors, two in England and one in Australia, do this? Enter modern technology. E-mails whizzed back and forth between the U.K. and Australia (over 300 during the course of the project!), characters evolved and Elizabeth Rolls decamped to New Zealand for a hiking holiday in the middle! She returned with blisters the size of Middle Earth on each heel and her final scene written.
Nicola found the ideal house that inspired our Lyndhurst Chase—Ashdown in Berkshire, complete with the cupola on the roof that is so important in the story. Joanna designed the inside of the house and Elizabeth furnished and decorated it for us.
Then there were the characters. Quite a few of them insisted on different names from the ones we had chosen and behaved in totally unexpected ways. Great-Aunt Harriet grew more outrageous by the day, determined to show her eighteenth-century origins. Initially called “Great-Aunt Harridan,” she did eventually admit to a slightly gentler side. Although she doesn’t appear in “The Fortune Hunter,” Nicola nevertheless managed to herald her arrival in a suitably pithy letter. Joanna introduced the lady herself and Elizabeth brought her to her triumphant conclusion.
We all loved Stella, Anthony’s black-and-tan setter, to bits. She started off merely old and smelly, but as the plots developed, she became deaf and, finally, almost blind.
Seeing our characters through the eyes of another author was amazing. For example, Elizabeth asked Nicola and Joanna how their characters would react to the dramatic unmasking in the final story. Armed with the replies, Elizabeth then wrote the scene. The crucial test was whether the characters felt right to the author who had created them. And on every occasion they did. We spent so much time talking and joking about the Lyndhursts while we got inside their heads that we got inside each other’s heads, as well.
It was a wonderful project and we’d love to do more. Just one slight problem. Nicola and Elizabeth are pestering Joanna to write the prequel—John and Sarah’s story—and Joanna is resisting, because she’s not sure she can write a Lyndhurst story without a daily fix of e-mails from Nicola and Elizabeth. A pathetic excuse, since they are both only too happy to oblige!
With best wishes,
Nicola, Joanna and Elizabeth
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4019-7
A REGENCY INVITATION
Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
First North American Publication 2005
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
THE FORTUNE HUNTER
Copyright © 2004 by Nicola Cornick
AN UNCOMMON ABIGAIL
Copyright © 2004 by Joanna Maitland
THE PRODIGAL BRIDE
Copyright © 2004 by Elizabeth Rolls
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
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