“I know you care for your brothers, your wider family. I understand what they mean to you, perhaps even more because I’m an only child. Indeed, because I understand, there’s nothing I want more in life than to have a family of my own, with you. A quiverful of children—little girls just like you, imperious and haughty, who’ll order me around.” He lifted his shoulders in a half shrug. “And a few boys, too, perhaps more like me, to keep you and the girls occupied arranging our lives.”
He saw the tears slowly fill her eyes, but didn’t pause, didn’t dare stop to learn why she was crying.
“I suppose I should adhere to the usual prescription, but that hardly seems applicable to us.” He drew breath, and hurried on, “I want you in every imaginable way, but especially as my wife. I don’t want some meek and mild miss, some simpering ninny. I want you, just as you are, the you others don’t understand and are wary of, the you I’ve seen so clearly over the last weeks—that’s the you I appreciate and want and need.
“I want you as you are, by my side for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.” He managed a small smile. “We’ve already encountered much of the worst of each other, and weathered it, and experienced sickness”—he gestured toward his head—“too. But more than all else, it’s you I want, not some marquess’s daughter, not a well-dowered bride, but just you.”
Reaching out, he took her hands, shifted closer, looking down into her eyes, swimming in tears. “You know what I am. I’m not any kind of gentle man. Through the centuries, Warnefleets have always been warriors. Because of that, I don’t need any gentle lady as my wife, I need you as my warrior-queen. For me, only you will do. You’re the only lady I’ve ever even dreamed of having as my wife.”
He dragged in a breath. “However, just so we’re clear, although I’m wealthy and wellborn, as you are, I don’t want to live a fashionable life in town. I’ve estates scattered the length and breadth of the country, and I enjoy running them, making them work. Taking good care of them, and the people they support. That, to me, is my rightful place. A touch medieval, perhaps, but if the cap fits…and in that respect, my wife needs to be an experienced lady I can rely on to sort out the roster for the church flowers, among other things.”
Although her eyes had filled, they hadn’t overflowed, but glowed through the tears, magical in their luminosity.
Hope welled. He essayed a small smile. “Do you think you could make do with that? With my heart, my love, and that?”
Clarice’s heart felt so full she could barely speak. It wasn’t his proposal that slayed her, but the manner of it, his laying of his warrior’s heart at her feet.
When she swallowed, and didn’t immediately answer, because she couldn’t yet speak around the lump in her throat, his face hardened, just a fraction. “Will you marry me, Boadicea?”
She tried to smile through her tears, but it must have been a poor effort, because his expression changed to one of incipient panic.
“If you really wish it, I can manage the estates from town—we could live there for most of the year.” He dragged in a breath. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do even that—anything—”
Pulling her hands from his, she waved them to cut him off. “No, no, no!” The words came out in a tear-sodden mumble.
His face fell. Then he blinked. “No to what?”
She managed to drag in a big enough breath, managed a real smile, a radiant one. “No don’t spoil it.” She looked deep into his eyes, saw his sudden panic evaporate as he looked into hers. “That was the most perfect proposal I could ever have hoped to hear.” She let all she felt show in her eyes. “I love you, you dolt. I’ve loved you for weeks.”
He grinned, and reached for her; she let him draw her into his arms. Reaching up, she traced his cheek. “I hoped, truly hoped that you’d ask me to marry you. I’ve never wanted to marry anyone else, not the way I wanted to be your wife. I was going to go back to Avening with you, then do whatever it took to extract a proposal from you.”
She tilted her head. “And if I failed, I was prepared to be your mistress for however long you wanted me. I’d rather be your mistress than any other man’s wife.”
His grin took on a distinctly male edge. He bent to kiss her; she placed a hand on his chest and pushed back.
“No—wait. Let me finish. I said I was going to wait and go back to Avening with you.” She paused to draw in a huge breath. “But last night, and even more tonight when that man threw the knife and I thought I might die, and then you hit me, and I thought you might die, and then the knife struck you, and that was even worse.”
She searched his eyes, saw nothing but love in the gold and green. “I was going to speak to you tonight, now. I was going to tell you how much I love you, that it didn’t matter if you didn’t want to marry me, but I had to tell you, had to own to it”—she felt the tears come again and fill her eyes—“because life’s too short to turn aside from love.”
He looked at her for a moment, then bent and kissed her eyes closed, kissed away the tears that seeped beneath her lashes.
“We’re not going to turn aside from love—we’re going to embrace it.” His words slid into her mind, into her heart as his arms slid around her and held her safe, close. Secure. “We’re going to go home to Avening and fill the manor with children, and grow old watching over them and managing our estates.”
Her arms stole around him and she sank against him, sniffed delicately. “What about Percy? He’s sweet, but…”
“You’ll cut him to ribbons.” Jack smiled against her hair. “You can help me choose which of my other properties to make over to him. I think he’ll do well, once he’s trained and has something behind him.”
She nodded. “Something that’s his.”
She drew back, and he let her. He looked down at her face, marveled at all she’d said, at all they’d shared. “You do know that I would trade everything that’s mine in this life, just as long as that meant you were mine?”
Clarice reached up and framed his face, looked into his eyes. “Take me back to Avening.”
He smiled, not his charming smile but the sincere expression that was so much more potent. “That will be my pleasure.”
She smiled back, slowly, tauntingly. “Indeed. That, too.”
Reaching up, she wound her arms about his neck, and drew his head down to hers. “But for tonight…”
Tonight, all that was left of it, was theirs. Theirs to share in a private celebration, and more, to go further, to take their first joyous steps into their joint future, to laugh, to play, to pleasure, to share.
In the soft shadows of her bedroom, in the warm jumble of her bed, they loved, and embraced all that flowed from that, that grew and burgeoned and welled from that. Carried in each caress, in every sighing kiss, in each moan, each surrender, the glory swelled, poured through them, filled them.
They exulted as the tapestry of pleasure and delight, of sensual glory and the overwhelming beauty of love’s transcendent power spun about them, trapped them, and held them. Until, at the last, it swept them, senses shattered, from the world.
Into that place beyond reality where only true hearts and souls could go.
Into a landscape that was familiar yet subtly altered, more definite, more distinct, more sure. More emotionally certain. Together, hand in hand, they gloried in the change, welcomed it and explored; side by side, they drew their new landscape into their hearts, into their lives, and made it a part of them.
Now, forever, always theirs.
The Altwood engagement ball, held at Melton House three nights later, became the most celebrated event of the Season. Never before in the annals of the ton had four scions of a noble house announced their engagements all on one night, at one place, at one time.
The ton was beyond dazzled.
Clarice wore the plum silk gown. She wanted the ton to remember this night, her swan song, the only ball she would ever host under her ancestral roof, the ball celebrating her own engage
ment along with those of her three brothers.
She wanted the ton to remember her as that scandalous Lady Clarice in her daring plum silk gown.
She succeeded.
The announcements were made with all due ceremony at a dinner for sixty attended by many of the most influential in the ton, then she and her brothers and their soon-to-be spouses welcomed the army of the fashionable who had, one and all, responded to her invitation to join their celebration.
In bright satins and silks, black coats and white cravats, the crowd thronged the ballroom, flowed onto the terrace, even filled the stairs, all eager to view the most exciting moment, when the newly affianced couples took to the floor to lead the company in the first waltz.
When the musicians set bow to string and the summons rang out, the crowd quieted and held their collective breaths.
Proud and transparently happy, Alton led Sarah down the wide stairs, followed by Roger and Alice, and Nigel and Emily. Clarice and Jack brought up the rear, but when Alton reach the bottom of the sweeping staircase, he stepped to the side, and halted, Sarah on his arm. Roger followed suit, moving to the other side of the stairs with Alice, Nigel and Emily close on their heels.
Leaving Jack and Clarice center stage.
The expectation gripping the crowd abruptly cinched a notch tighter. A few gasps were heard; a ripple of whispers sped down the long room, but quickly died. All eyes remained trained on the couples at the bottom of the stairs.
On Jack’s arm, Clarice stepped off the last stair. Surprised, she looked at Alton.
He smiled. “You should always have been the first. You’ve always given us the lead in matters such as this. Without you, God only knows if we would be here, like this, tonight.” With a graceful gesture, he waved her on. “After you, sister dear.”
Clarice looked into his eyes, then looked at Sarah.
Smiling mistily, Sarah nodded. “You and Jack first.”
The music swelled; at Jack’s touch on her bare back, Clarice inclined her head regally to her brother, then turned into Jack’s arms.
She felt them close about her, looked into his gold and green eyes and saw love shining down at her. She smiled back and let him sweep her onto the floor, into their future.
The crowd let out a collective sigh.
Her brothers and their fiancées followed; the four couples alone circled the floor once. In Jack and Clarice’s wake, a flurry of deliciously scandalized whispers erupted as more of the company took note of her gown, and the rest took note of what a handsome and striking couple they made.
Then others joined them; within a minute fully half the guests had taken to the floor, all eager to be a part of that very special moment.
Clarice didn’t see them; she was too deeply enmeshed in the web of happiness that cocooned her and Jack. “When can we leave for Avening?”
He, too, had eyes only for her. He arched a brow. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
She smiled. “I’ll order the carriage for ten. We can stop at the club on the way.”
Jack grinned. “Anyone would think you didn’t appreciate the ton in all its glory.”
Clarice arched a brow back, haughty, a touch tart. “I appreciate it well enough, but I know what I want—Avening, your children, and you.”
A wise man knew when to keep his lips shut. Jack’s grin deepened into a real smile; he gathered her closer, swept her into the next turn, and started to plan how best to deliver to his warrior-queen precisely what she wanted.
They returned to Avening so James could marry them in the village church where all the Warnefleets for generations had pledged their vows; neither had considered anything else.
Mindful of Jack’s injuries, not just his healing shoulder but his still-healing head, Clarice insisted they take three days to cover the distance from London, stopping for long relaxed luncheons and ending the day in the late afternoon at a comfortable inn.
They were traveling ahead of a small army. Her three brothers, their fiancées, and numerous other members of her family, as well as Jack’s aunts and other family members, along with a select contingent of family friends, Lady Osbaldestone among them, were to follow in a few days.
They intended to marry as soon as may be; neither wished to waste any more of their lives. Appealed to, the bishop had been only too happy to bestow a special license and his blessing on them. The other members of the Bastion Club had been duly summoned; all would shortly arrive. Dalziel had been invited, but had, predictably, sent his regrets.
Jack suggested they ride the last stretch. Glad enough to be free of the confines of the coach, Clarice joined him in long gallops interspersed with ambling walks through countryside still sharp with the freshness of spring, down lanes wending through rolling fields, sunshine and a sense of belonging all about them.
At the last, they cantered up the Tetbury lane and reined in at the top of the rise, as Jack had only a few weeks before. With Clarice beside him, he looked down on Avening valley, on the orchards surrounding his home, at the clouds of apple blossom still clinging to the trees.
The same, and yet not. The emotion the sight and scent of apple blossom evoked in him had changed.
He glanced at Clarice, smiling lightly as she surveyed her domain.
Jack felt his heart swell. This was his real homecoming, because now, with her, his home was complete.
Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips, brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Met her eyes and smiled when, surprised, she looked questioningly at him.
Releasing her, he waved her on. Side by side, they rode down the hill, to the village, to the manor.
Boadicea, Avening, and apple blossom.
At long last, he was home.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author STEPHANIE LAURENS specializes in writing historical romances set in Regency England. A Fine Passion is her twenty-eighth such work, and her fourth in a new group of novels about the members of the exclusive Bastion Club, first introduced in her novel The Lady Chosen.
Readers can write to Stephanie c/o The Publicity Department, Avon Books, HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022-5299, or via email to [email protected].
For information on Stephanie’s books, including updates on the Bastion Club and Cynster novels yet to come, visit Stephanie’s website at www.stephanielaurens.com.
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The Bastion Club Novels*
#1 THE LADY CHOSEN
#2 A GENTLEMAN’S HONOR
#3 A LADY OF HIS OWN
CAPTAIN JACK’S WOMAN (prequel)
The Cynster Novels
THE TRUTH ABOUT LOVE • THE IDEAL BRIDE THE PERFECT LOVER • THE PROMISE IN A KISS ON A WICKED DAWN • ON A WILD NIGHT ALL ABOUT PASSION • ALL ABOUT LOVE A SECRET LOVE • A ROGUE’S PROPOSAL SCANDAL’S BRIDE • A RAKE’S VOW DEVIL’S BRIDE
Also Available the Anthologies
HERO, COME BACK • SECRETS OF A PERFECT NIGHT SCOTTISH BRIDES
Coming Soon in Hardcover
WHAT PRICE LOVE?
*See members list on pages vi-vii
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A FINE PASSION. Copyright © 2005 by Savdek Management Proprietory Ltd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mech
anical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books™.
ePub edition August 2005 ISBN 9780061743627
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