“I own eighty dresses,” she said, her voice sleepy.
“Then I’ll build a bigger wardrobe. Two of them.”
“I want a lady’s maid.”
“I’m sure you can afford a dozen,” he teased, but it was true his allowance from the rectory and stipend from the Brotherhood would fall short, and she would have to spend her own money on the luxuries she wanted. He would swallow that bank-account-sized lump of ego when the time came. Her fingers squeezed then rubbed a circle, and a groan escaped his throat. She was going to kill him.
“I am the most vain woman you will ever meet. I wash my face in milk and honey and comb expensive fruit oils into my hair. Every day. I look in a mirror when I pass it and never come down to breakfast unless I am presentable.”
“Who says we’ll ever get out of bed in time for breakfast?”
She chuckled then hummed. “I’m forty-and-six years old.”
That made him two years younger, but he decided to lie. “So am I.”
“The third week of every month I am as grouchy as a badger. And I might weep for no apparent reason.”
“The prior notice is appreciated. Anything else?”
“That’s all. What about you?”
Her hand wandered higher, and he didn’t expect her to spread her fingers wide over his pectoral then squeeze, hard. It was the physiological equivalent of a bugle call, as far as demanding his attention went. Deciding he’d had enough of being played, he did it back to her on the flank, then rubbed his hand over her backside. Her surprised gasp was gratifying.
He thought about asking her to attend church on Sundays, but she would probably do it anyway. Julian also knew she would take good care of his mother. He’d always imagined he would choose an affectionate wife if he ever married, and that was certainly no shortcoming in Helena. That summed up everything he cared about.
“The council will probably ask you to learn Latin, but I have no demands.”
“Oh, you will.”
She’d probably intended the innuendo, but he couldn’t keep up that early in the morning. “You’re right, I do. Kiss me again.”
About the Author
Moriah Densley sees nothing odd at all about keeping both a violin case and a range bag stuffed with pistols in the back seat of her car. They hold up the stack of books in the middle, of course. She enjoys writing about Victorians, assassins, and geeks. Her muses are summoned by the smell of chocolate, usually at odd hours of the night. By day her alter ego is your friendly neighborhood music teacher. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband, four children, and two possibly brain-damaged cats. Moriah has a Master’s degree in music, is a 2012 RWA Golden Heart finalist, 2012 National Reader’s Choice Award winner, and ’12 NRCA “Best First Book” finalist. She’s the author of the bestselling “Rougemont” Historical Romance series and the “Network-One” Paranormal Romance series coming fall of 2014.
For news about upcoming releases and a humorous blog on writing and life as a “mean mom,” visit www.moriahdensley.com. She loves to hear from readers!
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest
Goodreads
Also by Moriah Densley
Song for Sophia
To win a man's heart, a woman must have the mind of a diplomat, a general, and Cleopatra, all in one.
Desperation has led Anne-Sophia Duncombe to a life of exile. Still, she is always just one mistake away from capture and a marriage she would rather die than endure. As a last resort to remain hidden from her former life, Sophia attempts a radical scheme; a life of humility and disguise.
Rumor has it Wilhelm Montegue, the Earl of Devon, is insane. A tormented war hero haunted by scandal, he is only tolerated because of his brilliant mind and swarthy good looks. His unmentionable "condition," which keeps him confined to his country home, is also the source of his talent for composing music.
When a new housemaid is hired at Rougemont, Lord Devon is perplexed to find himself fascinated by her. He knows the exquisite beauty is keeping secrets but her siren's voice draws him ever closer, and he can't resist the intoxicating scent of danger surrounding her.
The King of Threadneedle Street
He owns three shipping companies, a diamond mine, and his own castle.
He knows Portuguese, Hindi, Mandarin and Morse code.
His assets net thirteen million.
Everyone thinks Andrew Tilmore, Lord Preston, the financial prodigy dubbed “The King of Threadneedle Street,” has it all, but he wants the one prize money can’t buy: his childhood sweetheart.
Alysia Villier can’t say if it’s worse having Andrew’s father in control of her inheritance or Andrew in control of her heart. He’s ruined her for any other man, but she simply can’t give in to him. She knows he’s destined for great things—marrying a courtesan’s daughter would jeopardize everything he stands for.
Keeping Alysia out of trouble and away from eager suitors becomes a cross-continental quest for Andrew, and he won’t be stopped by his old-fashioned family or the disapproval of the ton. After all, he’s a man with the power to play newspapers and investors like pawns, tumble world markets and incite riots…but can he win the biggest gamble of his life?
Mary’s Christmas Knight
Mary Cavendish’s corset is already too tight. All the lovely Christmas food is tempting her, and that’s bad news for her dream of attracting a “knight on a white charger” — not that volunteering at the parish hospital is how she expects to meet him. Enter a mysterious Christmas Eve patient, who is none other than the famous Shakespearean actor Sir Wesley Samuel Darcy. Mary finds him arrogant, too forward... and maddeningly handsome.
When Mary learns Sir Wesley has been invited to spend Christmas with her family at Rougemont, she vows to resist the charming London rogue. Wesley thinks finding the perfect present for Miss Cavendish will tempt her — she’s not as prim as she pretends to be. Mary turned down six proposals last Season, and she’s not about to give in to a rake. But if Mary can’t resist the sugarplums, how can she resist the dashing Sir Wesley?
esKape Press
Any time. Any place. Any day. Getaway.
www.eskapepress.com
Beauty and the Spymaster Page 11
