by Joan Smith
“Nor in Alderton, either, when my ex-fiancée is through with us.”
“I trust your having a sister a duchess will return us to her good graces. No match for a royal princess, of course.”
“I am afraid we must not count on Deborah’s continued intimacy. At least I sincerely hope we may not.”
They moved to the sofa and sat, chatting, while he drew her head to his shoulder and stroked her hair. “How did you come to offer for her, Rawl?”
“I hadn’t met you yet. Again, I mean, for of course I saw you some years ago. I think I always loved you from afar.”
His fingers cupped her chin and turned her face up to meet his. “I rather thought you did,” she said frankly. “I was cross as a bear when you didn’t bring Gillie yourself but sent her with Miss Pittfield. I had a whole feast prepared, to seduce you.”
“If I had known that, I would have brought her.”
“And you an engaged man. You are depraved.”
“Yes, and I didn’t even know it till you showed me. As we are a pair of depraved beings ...” He pulled her onto his knee, where he began to execute new depravities.
“Rawl! What are you doing? You can’t do that!”
“We could if we was married,” he countered, and did it anyway.
Copyright © 1991 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449219488)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
