She still could not believe that this dark, sensual Frenchman who had come into her life so unexpectedly was the man she’d been looking for, hoping for, all her life. Arend was every wonderful thing she’d ever wanted—protector, lover, husband, friend.
She loved him so much her body trembled in anticipation of their joining. Fierce joy blazed through her as he settled his strong, virile body over hers. Being one with this man completed her.
When he filled his hands with her breasts and spread her thighs with his own, she opened eagerly for him, her aroused body slick and wet, welcoming him inside her.
With their bodies joined, he surged heavily into her. His mouth crushed hers, his tongue demanded entrance.
She loved how eager he was for her, his wanting matching her own.
They moved together in perfect rhythm, an exquisite cadence, their hearts beating as one, the pleasure undeniable.
Arend made her body sing, and Isobel let him direct them in their song of love, the notes as true and powerful as the marriage vows that now bound them together for life.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold off her release as he stroked deep inside her.
But soon his breathing grew ragged, more labored. “God,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. So hot. So perfect.” He came in a fierce explosion, his body bucking and straining as he filled her with his seed, and Isobel shattered, taking flight, soaring to the heavens, into rapture.
—
Arend stayed physically joined to Isobel for as long as he could. When they became one like this, the darkness that had haunted him for years was forgotten.
Finally he slipped from her body and rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her tightly in his arms and letting her long, dark tresses cover them like a mantle.
Every time he made love to his wife, he forgave himself a little more. He had made many mistakes in his life, but loving this woman was not one of them.
Sometimes he still lay awake at night, haunted by the thought that there could have come a point where she might have given up on him. When she could have decided that a man who could not trust or share all of himself with her was not worth the effort.
He now knew what it was to fully share himself with another person. It was terrifying. Dangerous. Exciting. Rewarding. Most of all, it filled his life with joy.
He pulled her into the curve of his body, but Isobel was already fast asleep.
The feel of her soft skin as it brushed against his made him ache and aroused him again.
But his love needed her sleep. He smiled to himself. Arend knew exactly how to wake her in the morning.
Besides, he had the rest of his life in which to share his secrets, his desires, and his heart.
He pressed a kiss to her head.
What a wonderfully sensual life it was going to be.
A Night of Forever is my thirteenth published manuscript, and I’m still pinching myself that my stories are being read and enjoyed by you, the readers.
I feel humble to know that you enjoy reading about the characters that speak to me. I write for myself, but also for you. Thank you.
Acknowledgments
I thought this was going to be the end of the Disgraced Lords series, but readers wanted more. Although we have found and dealt with the Libertine Scholars’ villain, two characters have not had their happy-ever-afters, and readers have suggested I correct that situation. So there will be two more books. One will tell the story of Rose, Portia’s best friend, and her relationship with Philip, Portia’s brother. And of course Helen, Marisa’s sister, needs to be swept off her feet by a tall, dark, and handsome man.
But prior to their stories, the next book will be Addicted to the Duke (see the excerpt that follows). It’s a book I wrote a long time ago, and I’m so pleased it will get to see the light of day. That’s because I’ve found a wonderful home with Random House Loveswept and my editor, Sue Grimshaw. The team let me take my creativity and fly, and they are always supportive and enthusiastic about my stories of heroes who are dark and often slightly damaged, but always lovable.
As usual, I have to thank my Book in 50 Days team, in particular Gracie O’Neil, Rachel Collins, Karen Browning, and Kendra Deluga, for caring enough to share their honest opinions and keeping my spirits up when I can’t see the wood for the trees. I’m the worst deadline drama queen ever! To my sister, Leigh, and my mum, thanks for constantly pointing out that you love my story ideas and characters. It means a lot to have your support.
And thanks to my two devoted Cavoodles, Brandy and Duke, who constantly paw at me to remind me I can’t write all day and that they need some attention in the form of a walk. Taking them for a walk keeps the weight off both me and the dogs, lets me clear up any sticky plot points in my head, and makes me learn my characters in depth as they happily chat to me on our hour-long daily walks.
Lastly, lest we forget…Read. Feel. Fall in love.
BY BRONWEN EVANS
The Disgraced Lords Series
A Kiss of Lies
A Promise of More
A Touch of Passion
A Whisper of Desire
A Taste of Seduction
A Night of Forever
Other Books
Addicted to the Duke (coming soon)
PHOTO: © MALCOLM BROW
USA Today bestselling author BRONWEN EVANS grew up loving books. She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines and compassionate alpha heroes. Evans is a three-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, with her dogs, Brandy and Duke.
bronwenevans.com
Facebook.com/bronwenevansauthor
@bronwenevans_NZ
Read on for an excerpt from the next book by Bronwen Evans:
Addicted to the Duke
Available from Loveswept
Prologue
THE GREEK ISLE OF MYKONOS, AUGUST 1810
His Grace Alexander Sylvester Bracken, the Marquess of Tavistock, heir to the Duke of Bedford, on no account considered himself a hero. In all his twenty-three years, he’d never rescued anyone, let alone a young girl. Her sorrowful cry filled the still night air, unsettling creatures both big and small. The sound drifted down the stairs from the rooms above with fear imbued in every note. It was as if she was desperate to be heard over the din from the drunken men in the tavern below.
The girl’s father thought he was here simply to repay a debt of honor. And that was true, but Alex was also here for vengeance.
He knew who would be coming for the girl.
Slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself, he moved his head, easing muscles now corded with tension as he lay on the stained tabletop pretending he was comatose from drink. His tattered clothes were soaked with sweat. At three in the morning the cicadas haunting the night air were adding to the night’s disturbing symphony. The smell from the nearby dock was overpowering. From under semi-closed lashes, he studied the activities within the tavern. To any casual observer, he appeared to be just another seafaring pirate well into his cups.
It wasn’t until dawn had begun to set the sky on fire that Paval, the tavern owner, began dispatching all the patrons from the bar. Alex was counting on the Greek being too lazy to bother moving the drunken sailor—him—from the back. Paval glanced Alex’s way, took in his drunken snore, and walked past him to lock the door out onto the dock. Alex silently heaved a sigh of relief: so far, so good.
Within seconds of the door closing, Sultan Murad Bayezid, accompanied by two of his fierce Turkish warriors, entered through the back.
Alex swallowed the bile threatening the back of his throat and let the deep hatred at the sight of Murad dressed in his white flowing robes infuse his soul. His hands itched to bury the dagger he had hidden in his palm deep into the empty cavity of Murad’s chest. He knew from firsthand experience that the sultan had no he
art. He would never, for as long as he lived, forget Murad’s cruelty, reflected now in his cold, dead eyes. Alex had a score to settle with the sadistic sultan, and the opportunity to do so had been a long time coming.
His nemesis gestured toward the stairs, and one of the warriors bounded up them two at a time. He heard the sound of dragging feet overhead, a muffled slap, and a small piteous cry. He swallowed his fury; the thought of what could have already happened to the young girl clouded his mind.
The warrior arrived back downstairs with the girl slung over one shoulder like a sack of grain. Without ceremony, he dumped her on the floor at the sultan’s feet.
Dressed in what had been a virginal white nightgown, now dirty and torn, she looked up from the floor, and her eyes filled with dread. Alex watched as she gathered herself together and, with more grace and pride than he’d expected from a girl of only five and ten, rose up from the floor like an opening flower to stand tall and erect. Terror was clearly visible on her exquisite features, but what really captivated him was her look of courage. The intake of breath in the room was audible.
He watched Murad’s evil smile break across his thin lips, causing his thick moustache to twitch comically in his fever to possess her. Alex’s hatred for the perverted sultan almost choked him.
The sultan approached the girl and viciously wrapped his hand in her flowing fair tresses. Her silky hair hung so long it looked as if she was wearing a protective mantle of angel wings down her back. Cruelly the sultan tilted her head into the light. His accent was more pronounced in his desire. “Paval, you have outdone yourself. She is indeed a rare beauty. But a face can be misleading. Let us see the rest of her.”
Dropping his hand from her hair, he gripped the top of her white nightgown and ripped it from top to bottom, then threw back the edges, leaving the torn pieces to flutter to the floor.
She gasped in horror and tried to cover herself, cringing where she stood. She attempted to flick her waist-length hair forward to cover her small breasts, but Murad maliciously pulled it back.
Her eyes swept the room before coming to rest on the man slumped in the shadows. Lifting his head for just a second, Alex hoped that his sympathetic look of support would give her strength. Her beauty made him believe, for just a moment, that there was a God. Only a heavenly force could have made something so innocent and so lovely.
Apparently Murad had had the same thought.
“Don’t be shy, my beauty. Let us see what exquisiteness Allah hath wrought.”
With hands at her side, she stood trembling, her head lowered in shame, while Murad walked slowly around her, touching her shamelessly.
“There is no need to be scared, little one.”
At the word “scared” her shoulders straightened and she lifted her head against the dishonorable onslaught of the sultan’s intrusive hands.
The image of her with her head held high despite her nakedness, her small pert breasts heaving in her attempt to hide her fear, sheen from the heat on her fine porcelain skin, and the curl of disdain on her lips would be forever imprinted on his brain. He had never seen anything more magnificent.
But Murad’s next words chilled his heart.
“Men would kill to possess one such as you. I am going to have to guard you well. Paval tells me you’re an innocent, and he wants a great deal of money for you.” Murad reached out and squeezed her nubile breasts. It must have hurt, because Alex caught the grimace that flickered in the depth of her fiery sapphire-blue eyes.
The spoiler of innocents moved closer to his prey.
“Perhaps I will take you here on this table to ensure I’m getting what I paid for. You’re welcome to fight. I like a girl with spirit.” Murad was practically drooling now.
Alex’s stomach heaved. The rage brewing in him at the thought of the man raping the girl almost overwhelmed him. He unclenched his fists but waited; the time for action was not quite here.
Suddenly the sound of a hand slamming hard against flesh resounded around the shadowed room. His admiration grew. She’d slapped Murad’s face. Her voice, when it came, caressed him like a cool breeze, swirling around him until he was completely off balance.
“That’s the only fight you’ll get from me, you piece of filth. You may be able to take my body, but you’ll never take my soul.” And then she did the unforgivable. She spat on her would-be rapist.
Alex’s body coiled, ready for action, but it was too late to stop the instant backhander Murad dealt her. The force sent her sprawling unconscious across the drink-littered tables. With a cry the sultan fell on her, one hand gripping her face, the other fumbling within his robes.
Frantically Alex looked around. Where were his men? Yet, even without them, he had to act. If he didn’t, Murad would take the girl on the table, in front of him.
Without thinking, he stood up and called from the shadows, “So the mighty Murad first has to steal his women and then has to knock them out in order to take his pleasure. It goes to show women have excellent taste.”
At his words Murad swung to face him. A smile began to play across his cruel lips. “What a…pleasant surprise, Alexander. I did not know you were back on Mykonos.”
“Forgive me. You weren’t top of my calling card list.”
With an evil laugh, Murad gloated, “Quite so, but how quickly you forget. I don’t need to knock my conquests out, as it doesn’t take me long to have them begging for my touch.” His leer grew as he added, “You of all people should understand my power. As I recall, you would have done almost anything for me—once.”
Alex shuddered as repressed memories, disgusting and degrading, flashed before him. Out of the corner of his eye, a movement to his left showed the warriors moving to Murad’s side. With a relaxed smile, he leaned against the back wall; they would not take him from behind.
“How long has it been, Alex? Far too long, I think. I have missed your beauty in my palace.” Murad’s tone became cajoling. “I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing my altin kole—my golden slave—again.”
Alex snarled, “Don’t you call me that or I’ll forget my manners. I’m not your slave, not any longer. All I want is the girl.”
Murad stroked his moustache and with a sly smile cooed, “She is a beauty, but are you sure that is all you want?”
Murad gestured toward the tavern keeper. “Paval, bring us a pipe. As I recall, opium was more of an allure for you than even a woman. There is no need for hostilities. Are we not old friends? Come, my Adonis. I have some of the finest opium with me. Let us lose ourselves in dreamland and perhaps, like old times, we can share the girl. I’d even let you have her first. Anything for you, my special boy.”
Paval approached. At the first waft of the sickly sweet smell from the opium pipe, Alex’s mouth filled with saliva and adrenaline surged through his veins. No, not again. He would not give in to his past addiction. Momentarily he basked in memories of the ecstasy the narcotic would give him. His hands itched to take the pipe while the voice in his head thundered that the rapture was merely an illusion.
He looked at the smirk on Murad’s face and almost retched. He’d die before he let himself become Murad’s plaything again. He might not have fully broken his addiction, but God damn it, he was here to rescue the girl. He owed her father. A river of sweat poured down between his shoulders. He would have to master his driving need for the drug’s compassionate relief.
“Come and taste her. You’ll know once you’ve smoked from the pipe what sweet release this innocent beauty can offer.” Murad’s sure voice held a note of triumph. He was not to know that Alex hadn’t touched the drug in almost a year.
Pushing nonchalantly off the back wall, Alex approached, one slow, considered step after another, returning Murad’s ruthless smile with one of his own.
“Perhaps you are right. She is indeed very beautiful. I’ll even hold her for you once I’ve finished with her.” Alex licked his lips. “But first maybe let’s have just a small puff for old ti
me’s sake.” He pointed to the naked girl on the table behind Murad. “While we wait for our plaything to awaken.”
He watched Murad’s shoulders relax as he motioned for his warriors to step back and pushed the pipe toward Alex. Then Murad turned his back on Alex and stroked his pudgy, grimy hand high up the girl’s milky thigh.
Briefly Alex closed his eyes, allowing the fury of Murad’s assault on the girl to fill him before ultimately giving into his rage and letting his leashed temper explode. In one swift movement he surged forward and seized Murad by the throat, pulling him away from the girl’s naked flesh. Murad let out a cry of alarm, and his guards immediately went on the attack.
He held Murad around the throat, his hidden blade pressed into the now madly pulsing vein in Murad’s neck. “Surrender or forfeit your life.”
“Go to hell, my special boy. You’ll likely kill me anyway,” Murad spat back.
“Call off your men. Tell them to back away from the girl and move up the stairs,” he hissed through clenched teeth. It took all his willpower not to sink the blade into Murad’s neck. But he needed to get the girl out first. Only then could he think of taking his revenge.
Murad issued instructions in Turkish, but his warriors made no move toward the stairs.
Alex fingers flicked in eager agitation over the knife’s hilt, but his voice remained calm. “I only want the girl. She’s not worth dying over. There are plenty of other girls for you to plunder.”
Murad barked out a harsh order. To Alex’s relief, the two warriors moved to the bottom of the stairs. But his respite was short-lived.
“Your move, I believe, Alexander.” Murad laughed. “Your sleeping beauty can’t walk out by herself, so you’ll have to let me go if you wish to save her. If you kill me, I’ve instructed my men to kill her; you’ll never get to her in time.”
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