We moved after them, out of the close to where our carriage waited. Martha came up with us, Ruth by her side. “That went off very well. Of course, there’s the wedding breakfast yet, but I’m not so worried about that.”
“Lizzie’s very happy,” I ventured. “She has everything she’s ever wanted.”
Martha let out a little sigh. “I shall miss her. But she says we can visit, and they say Portugal is a lovely place.”
“She’ll come home too.”
“Yes of course she will,” Martha agreed.
Ruth was the first person that day I had seen who wasn’t happy, or pretending to be. The scowl she’d lost when James inherited his title was back with a vengeance. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever marry now John has gone.” She stared at the ground in front of her.
Martha glanced at her. “Not looking like that you won’t.”
Only I heard Richard’s suppressed laugh. I pressed his arm to show him I had noticed. “Never mind, Ruth. If Sir John thought of leaving at such short notice, perhaps he’s too fickle to be married.”
“I’ll never know, will I?” She looked up and straight at me, the savage expression replacing the scowl. “And I know you had something to do with it, so don’t try to tell me you didn’t.”
I shook my head. “Only a little. But he wouldn’t have done for you.”
“I liked him,” she said sulkily, and returned to her contemplation of the floor.
“You can have your pick of the beaux now,” Martha told her. “With Lizzie gone—”
That was the wrong thing to say, it seemed. “Oh yes, with her gone,” Ruth said bitterly. “The beauty, the one everyone wanted. I’ve a good mind to marry the first man who asks me next season. If I get any offers at all.”
We were best leaving Martha to deal with her so we dropped behind, and Richard took the opportunity to murmur to me, “I’m sorry she should feel that way.”
“So am I. She’ll come around—maybe. When she meets somebody better. Do we know where John went?”
“I left someone with him. We should be hearing from him soon.”
“What will you do?”
Richard paused to take my hand and help me up the steps to the carriage. “Leave him to pave his own way to Hell. I won’t acknowledge him, and I won’t help him. He wouldn’t take it anyway.”
I climbed into the carriage and waited until he was seated beside me. I slipped my hand into his, out of sight of the people gathered to see the second society wedding in three years.
“Can we go home soon?” Richard asked.
“Yes. That would be wonderful.”
“Where I can love you all day and all night, really put my heart into the business. No distractions.”
“None at all,” I agreed.
About the Author
Lynne Connolly has been in love with the Georgian age since the age of nine, when she did a project about coffee and tea at school. One look at the engraving of the Georgian coffee house, and she was a goner. It’s the longest love affair of her life.
She stopped looking around old houses and visiting museums long enough to go to work, fall in love for a second time, marry and have a family, but they have to share her with her obsession, which they do with good grace and much humor.
To learn more about Lynne Connolly, please visit www.lynneconnolly.com. Send an email to [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lynneconnolly. She can also be found at MySpace, Facebook and the Samhain Café.
Look for these titles by Lynne Connolly
Now Available:
Triple Countess
Last Chance, My Love
A Chance to Dream
Met by Chance
A Betting Chance
Secrets Trilogy
Alluring Secrets
Seductive Secrets
Tantalizing Secrets
Richard and Rose
Yorkshire
Devonshire
Venice
Harley Street
Eyton
Hareton Hall
In this game of hearts, winner takes all.
A Betting Chance
© 2010 Lynne Connolly
The Triple Countess, Book 4
Sapphira Vardon needs five thousand pounds to avoid a cruel marriage and a grim future, and there’s only one path for her. Don a mask and an assumed name, and risk everything to win at the gaming tables. First, though, she has to get through the door. Luckily she knows just whose name to drop.
Corin, Lord Elston, is curious to find out who used his name to gain entrance to Mother Brown’s whorehouse and gaming hell. The enigmatic woman who calls herself Lucia isn’t the sort of female usually found here. Behind her mask and heavy makeup, she’s obviously a respectable woman—who plays a devilish hand of cards.
Sapphira is desperate to keep her identity a secret, but Lord Elston’s devastating kisses and touches demand complete surrender. And once he learns the truth, there’s more at stake than guineas. Corin finds himself falling hard for a woman who’s poised to run. A woman who’s about to learn that he only plays to win…
Warning: Hot action on the gaming table and in the bedroom might make you go looking for a time machine.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Betting Chance:
“I wish you’d trust me with your secret. I might be able to help,” Lord Elston said.
“I don’t know you.” Not in any recognized meaning of the word. The connection Sapphira felt to him had to be her imagination. He couldn’t feel it, not this wild needing.
“I think we should get to know each other better. I want you to trust me.” He touched her chin, his forefinger stroking her skin. She wanted to purr like a cat, but instead she moved back. Before she could retreat out of his reach he tilted her chin up so she had to meet his direct gaze. His eyes bored into her soul. “There’s something about you—I don’t know.” He bit his lip. It was the first time she’d seen any vulnerability about him and she found it meltingly seductive.
She couldn’t risk weakening. She put her guard back up and kept it firmly in place, reminding herself that he was a stranger, that she didn’t know him. “I told you, I can’t do that. I’m here to play cards, no more.”
“I love a challenge,” he murmured, and lowered his head.
The first touch of his lips against hers paralyzed her. Recognition—of what she still didn’t know—shot between them and she opened her mouth to protest, but he used it to his advantage and licked her lips before he slid his tongue into her mouth.
Now shock held her rigid. Nobody had ever kissed her like this. She hadn’t imagined it possible. She’d seen the caricatures in the shops with their sometimes explicit content, watched a man fondling a whore, seen mercenary transactions take place in the street—she’d thought herself reasonably au fait with sexual matters, for a virgin.
She’d been wrong. She knew that watching and experiencing were two different things but had never known it could be so devastatingly different. The intimacy floored her, and she could do nothing other than reach out for something to steady herself.
The memory of that other kiss—that disgusting, slobbering kiss George Barber had forced on her—returned in full measure. This didn’t compare, couldn’t. She wanted to press closer to Elston, not jerk away, put as much distance between them as she could. Nothing like that. If anything had told her that she couldn’t go ahead with marriage to George Barber, this did.
Corin cupped the back of her head as her hand made contact with his velvet-clad arm. She clutched it, praying for control as he took his time exploring her mouth, caressing her with soft strokes that made her heat up right down to the forbidden area between her thighs. He held her safe, didn’t move his hands or try to unfasten her clothing. One arm curved around her waist, the other over her wig. She wanted his hands under it, in her hair, cupping her head intimately. One of the strings of her mask loosened.
She jerked back, her hand going to her only protection against discovery. “No, don’t!” Her voice was breathless, whispery, but at least it still worked. As did her common sense.
“I want to see you.” He sounded as out of breath as she did.
“No, you can’t.” She reached up and retied the one string he’d managed to undo. Luckily the other one still held firm. He’d dislodged her wig, and she pulled it back into place, but he must have seen that she was a brunette.
“Why not? Will I know you?”
Having regained her composure, enough to confront him anyway, she shook her head. “It’s highly doubtful. But you might see me somewhere else.”
“And you’ve lost that accent. I knew you’d assumed it, but there’s still a tinge left. Are you a Londoner?”
Born and bred. “I’ve visited London a lot,” she said, hoping desperately to put him off the scent. She had to get out of here before he guessed more. Before he had her out of her clothes and spread out on the bed for his pleasure. How could she have been so stupid?
But she had to pass him to get to the door, and he caught her skirts. “A challenge, sweet Lucia. Just between us.”
“Why?”
“Because of the danger. Because you want a bit of excitement in your life.” If only he knew she’d have more excitement than she’d ever wanted soon. But she appreciated that he didn’t threaten her. He could have her barred from this house with very little trouble, but he hadn’t done it.
She turned around, willing at least to listen, but keeping some distance between them, as much as this small room would allow. He sat there in his splendid clothes looking every inch a prince. A wicked prince. He released his clutch on her skirt, and she resisted the urge to put her hand where his had just been, to touch the residual warmth. “Well?”
“Let me get to know you better. You intrigue me. Can you meet me, talk to me, with your mask and maquillage off? Can you look me in the face without your protection?”
“No.” She couldn’t do it. With no mask or makeup he’d see every expression on her face, and he’d know she was his for the taking, however hard she fought against it.
He leaned back, smiling. “A challenge, then. A bet, just between us, with no money at stake. If I recognize you and challenge you in public without your disguise, you promise to meet me at a place of my choice.”
“Why?”
He smiled. “I want you, sweet Lucia. I want to see your face while I’m making love to you.”
Before she could repress it an image flashed into her mind. Him, naked, admiring her naked body, kissing it, touching it. Oh she wanted it so much, but she couldn’t. Mustn’t. She held back her shock. Barely. “And what’s in it for me?”
His rich laugh filled the small space with joy. “I hope to give you pleasure as I’m taking it.”
She pulled out of his grasp, put her hand on the door latch. “I can’t.” Then she was gone, hurrying toward her servant, Frankie, as fast as she could without colliding with anyone or losing her foothold.
When anger and tenacity collide, sparks are inevitable.
Devils on Horseback: Lee
© 2010 Beth Williamson
Devils on Horseback, Book 4
The Civil War took more than Lee Blackwood’s arm. It took his confidence, his pride…and hope that any woman will see him as more than half a man. His friendships helped keep the demons at bay—until now. As each Devil has found happiness, Lee is left alone to cope with the darkness that claws at his soul.
Genevieve Blanchard has only one thing going for her: her no-good late husband’s run-down farm. That, and a fancy name no one can spell might get her a cup full of dirt in Tanger. Room, board and seamstress skills aren’t much, but it’s all she can offer any man willing to help her bring in her wheat crop.
Reluctantly Lee takes on the job, the widow’s smart-mouthed daughter and his growing attraction to a woman who stubbornly refuses to see him as anything less than whole. Slowly, his bitterness begins to fade under the light of their blooming love.
Warning: Y’all will fall in love with this stubborn cowboy, cheer for his strong woman, and get caught up in plenty of fightin’, lots of makin’ up, bone-meltin’ sex and forever kinda romance.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Devils on Horseback: Lee:
As she dried herself, Genny resisted the urge to linger over her painfully hard nipples. After hearing the noise outside, she had the silly fantasy that Lee had been observing her bathe. She even took extra time getting undressed to prolong the game for herself. The foolish thing was, she wanted him to actually be there. Her body still throbbed with the hum of arousal from watching him, fantasizing about him.
Playing sexual games really wasn’t like her, and that’s what bothered her the most. There weren’t many things throughout her life that were under her control, but one of them had always been her physical reactions, particularly to men. Henry was a shitty lover, selfish and clumsy. Genny hadn’t gotten a single moment of pleasure from having sex with her husband at all. It was like one of her farm chores, boring but necessary. Her experience before Henry had been horrific, the stuff of nightmares she still experienced now and again.
She shook her head to dislodge the dark feelings that always overtook her when she started thinking about Camille. She’d promised herself when she moved to Tanger that she’d stop thinking about her life before Texas, the squalor she’d been used to, and the disregard for human beings she witnessed daily as a child. Nothing about the farm reminded her of the dark street in New Orleans so there was no need to dwell on it.
No, she’d much rather remember why she’d been aroused in the bathtub in the first place. Truthfully, she had never experienced pleasure with a man, only by her own hand.
Right now though, she ached for release. One day with Lee and she was fantasizing about being intimate with him, without even a smidge of interest from him. He grunted, answered in one syllable or ignored her. There was no rhyme or reason to her body’s apparent infatuation with the man. It should set off warning bells inside her.
Genny couldn’t risk being distracted by a man when she needed to focus on getting the wheat crop in. Too much depended on her keeping her mind and her body on that task and not on Lee Blackwood. She knew her options with men were limited, even if widows had the freedom to choose a bed partner. Until the blond one-armed man had swaggered into her life, there hadn’t been a man she would choose.
As an intelligent, strong woman with needs, sometimes she just had to let herself feel. And at that moment, she was feeling quite a bit. As the towel rubbed across her skin, it pebbled up, sending shivers through her. God how she wished it was a calloused hand instead of the rough material. She could look for him, but knew it wasn’t a good idea even if her mind raced with the possibility of what would happen if she found him. What would happen if he was just as willing as she was.
A shiver wracked her body at the thought. No matter how much she wanted to, it just wasn’t a good idea, and that was that. With something like remorse, she picked up her nightdress to put it on. A small knock at the door had her jumping out of her skin.
Heart pounding, she had to swallow before she answered. She knew who it was, yet she called out anyway. “Who is it?”
There was a pause. “It’s Lee Blackwood. I, uh, wondered if you were done with the tub. I can empty it and take it out for you.”
He sounded strange, almost talkative, and she hadn’t yet heard him speak so fast either. Perhaps her fantasy wasn’t hers alone. Tingles raced through her at the thought and a single heavy throb resounded in her lower belly.
“Not yet. About five more minutes.”
The sound of boots scraping on the wooden porch sounded outside the door. “Well, okay. I’ll just sit a spell out here and wait then.”
Her pulse pounded through her veins as she stared at the door, knowing he stood on the other side. All she had to do was open it and ask him in, her nude body the onl
y invitation required. Dampness coated her pussy as she trembled with a nearly overwhelming arousal. She needed him quite badly at the moment.
What would be the harm? She was a widow and he wasn’t married—a perfectly acceptable arrangement done all the time, discreetly of course. Folks in town, including Hettie and her posse, had to know Lee was there with her alone. They’d never openly shunned her, but they also never opened their arms to Genny or Sophie. Part of that was because Henry had been such an ass he put people off. However, part of it was the fact Genny appeared one day at his side, wide-eyed and angry with a wedding band on her finger. She had not been exactly friendly to the people in Tanger that first year, and she was sure they had long memories.
So why should she care if they knew Lee was at the farm? Gabby must’ve told the townsfolk about her need for a farmhand, and everyone knew Henry had passed on. After all, he died at Aphrodite’s saloon with a beer in one hand and a whore’s tit in the other. No one would blame Genny for turning to another man for solace in her bed.
Her nipples ached to be touched and her body craved a release, one that didn’t involve her hand. Growing up, she had been witness to the ways men and women could be together, and many of them were still crystal clear in Genny’s memory. She wanted to try them with Lee, even if it meant she was a loose woman, because she sure as hell wasn’t a whore. No money was changing hands between them, simply work and trade for goods.
She wanted him, that was for certain. The question was, how much? Water puddled on the floor around her feet as she stood there, heart thumping like mad, and continued to stare at the door. Genny knew she wasn’t pretty but she’d been told her raspy voice was nice by several men. Her breasts were large and she was curvy, if not particularly tall. If she offered herself to Lee, he might say no. Was she willing to take that risk?
Genny stepped toward the door and reached for the knob.
Lee stood on the corner of the porch and stared up at the night sky. Stars winked in the velvety blackness, reminding him of just how different things were in Texas than Georgia. Even the sky looked different. He sometimes wished so hard life was like it had been before the war. It was an ache deep in his chest that could bring tears to his eyes.
Hareton Hall: Richard and Rose, Book 6 Page 27
