Devonshire: Richard and Rose, Book 2

by Lynne Connolly

  We followed the man down the cold stone steps to the back door where Carier waited.

  There was a small lobby before the door. As Tom and the footman passed through it, Richard caught my arm and pulled me back.

  His face was white, his clear blue eyes completely paralysed. He dragged me to him and held me tight, his head buried in my shoulder. He threw his head back and took several deep breaths, then looked at me, not smiling, with such need in his eyes I wanted to take him to my bed and hold him until he’d forgotten what he’d done, so there was only us again. “I told you, my love. An act like this takes a little of your soul, but I could see no other way.” I admired him deeply, even more now I knew what it had cost him to take this step. My husband-to-be respected life more than anyone would ever know. Except me.

  He forced a smile, and took my hand. We went out into the yard together.

  Richard cupped his hands and helped me into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse. Tom, still dumb with shock, waited for us. We wasted no time putting Penfold Hall behind us. I welcomed the release, and galloped up to the ridge beyond, letting my horse have her head. I didn’t think of anything except the wind at my ears trying to free my hat where I had jammed it hard on my head as we left.

  Richard let me go. He must have seen my need to release some of the tension I felt, to try to deal with my feelings, but I was always aware of him riding closely behind me.

  Once over the ridge, the house out of sight, we deliberately slowed down. If anyone had seen us going hell for leather it would have seemed suspicious, when the tragedy at Penfold Hall was discovered, and after a while we stopped completely. Richard helped me down and I didn’t let him release me when I stood on the ground. “I took Rose out for a gentle ride today,” Richard said to Tom, his arm still around my waist. “She is, after all, still convalescent. We met you and you rode with us for a while. We know nothing about any other occurrences, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tom repeated. “What made you do it?” he cried, his voice cracking.

  Richard touched his hand in a steadying gesture. “It was needful. Apart from all other considerations, Rose wouldn’t have slept soundly for a long time to come if she knew he was doing what he did to her to anyone else, someone without protectors. The man would have caused the death of many other people, and perhaps started a war to gain territory. He was greedy and he wouldn’t have stopped. I’ve seen his kind before. We both have.”

  He glanced across at Carier who concurred with a dour nod. “Not too many times, my lord, but I can recall one or two.”

  “Left to themselves they get worse,” Richard told a silent Tom. “In this instance, the moment he laid a finger on Rose, he was dead. I was planning to ruin him, was plotting with Cawnton to take over his part of the smuggling enterprise, and although it would have taken much more effort and money, it might have been worth it.”

  “You love her that much?” Tom asked, wonder in his eyes.

  “Oh, much more than that,” Richard assured him. His hand tightened briefly around my waist. “Other women are presented with jewellery and money as proof of devotion. If I started to present mine with dead bodies, society might begin to wonder.”

  Richard waited while I gave Tom a hug.

  Then he took me back to my horse and helped me to mount, and we continued on our way.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I was weary when we got home, and I spent most of the rest of the day in the small parlour kept for family use, reading the papers with my feet up. Richard joined me for much of the time, and we sat in companionable silence, recovering from the ordeals of recent days. Once I asked him, “Have you done this often?”

  “No,” he answered. “Sometimes the authorities deal with it, sometimes the family themselves, if it avoids a scandal. I’ve killed before, but not usually in cold blood.”

  “Could it have been avoided?” I was concerned for Richard’s welfare more than anything else.

  “No. I could have got someone else to do it, but this one was mine.”

  I didn’t ask any more.

  I was in my room getting dressed for dinner when Lizzie hurtled in with the news. “You’ll never guess.”

  “What?” I knew from the look on her face, excitement suppressed by concern, what the news was.

  “It’s Norrice Terry. He’s been found dead in his study.”

  “Good God.” I kept my eyes on the mirror, marvelling at the calm expression on my face while my stomach churned.

  Lizzie noticed nothing amiss. She continued to talk, telling me all about it, and all I could see was that comfortable study, and the thing on the desk. “They found him in his study at about twelve o’clock with his gun next to him on the desk. He’d killed himself, they said. At least he won’t come to trial. Or perhaps one of his lowlife friends murdered him. What do you think?”

  “I’m not going to think about it. It’s a shock, but not that much of a shock.” I rummaged around on the dressing table in the pretence of searching for something there. “I’m not even going to speculate.” I met her eyes in the mirror. “But I’m glad he’s dead,” I added, with no particular emphasis, deliberately taking the heat out of my voice.

  “He was a wicked man,” Lizzie agreed, serious for once. “When I saw what he’d done to you—” She broke off. I sighed when I remembered the conversation I’d had with Martha about my bruises. More perceptive than Lizzie, she’d seen where the marks were clustered and it took some time before I could convince her that he had done nothing else. “Rose, you’re getting married on Thursday and Strang has seen the marks., so it’s as well he killed himself or whatever happened, because I can’t see your husband-to-be leaving that one alone.” She turned to me in shock. “Rose. Do you think…?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, picking up my nail buffer. “What time has he had? He was with me all day today, and we met Tom when we were out riding.”

  “Do you think Tom might have done something?” Lizzie asked, balked of her original prey.

  “Even less of a chance than Richard, I’d say. And in any case, he wouldn’t do anything in cold blood like that. Did you say he was found at twelve o’clock?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long had he been there?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed.

  I smiled in satisfaction. “Well then, if the servants heard the noise and came immediately, Tom couldn’t have done it, because we met him at least half an hour earlier than that.”

  “Oh.” She was more relieved than disappointed, and I hadn’t actually lied to her. I knew now I could live with what we had done, and I felt easier Terry wasn’t going to torment me or anyone else any more.

  If I could live with this, I could live with Richard as proprietor of Thompson’s and all that went with it. He needed it as a basis for his own power. If I had insisted, he would have given it up, but he must see that we were both safer with the company behind us rather than with no protection at all. He had let me in to every aspect of his life now, nothing hidden from me. I had to honour that and take him as he was, not as I might wish he would be. He wasn’t a country squire, he was the heir to one of the principal peerages in the country, sophisticated, powerful, and he would never be any different. I would have to learn how to be the best wife I could be to him, in public and in private. Private was easier.

  This was the end of my life as a spinster sister in rural Devonshire. I wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but I knew one thing. Richard was the centre of it. He always would be.

  About the Author

  Winner of two EPPIEs, Lynne Connolly is the best-selling author of sensuous romance, including the Triple Countess series, the Secrets trilogy and the Richard and Rose series. Lynne fell in love with the Georgian era at primary school, and never fell out of it, visiting historical sites, towns, battlefields and houses in her home country of England.

  Lynne writes sensuous historical romance, and gives the reader a real flavour of
what it was like to live and love in the eighteenth century. But she likes the twenty-first century fine, and she also writes paranormal romance set in bustling, modern cities. She lives in England with her family and her Muse, a cat called Jack. She writes surrounded by the doll’s houses she enjoys making and filling.

  She has a website at www.lynneconnolly.com and a blog at www.lynneconnolly.blogspot.com. She’d love to hear from you—write to her at lynne_connolly@yahoo.co.uk

  Look for these titles by Lynne Connolly

  Now Available:

  Triple Countess Trilogy

  Last Chance, My Love

  A Chance to Dream

  Met by Chance

  Secrets Trilogy

  Alluring Secrets

  Seductive Secrets

  Richard and Rose series

  Yorkshire

  Devonshire

  Coming Soon:

  Secrets Trilogy

  Tantalizing Secrets

  Richard and Rose series

  Venice

  Harley Street

  Eyton

  Darkwater

  To survive, she’ll have to trust him with all her secrets.

  Seductive Secrets

  © 2008 Lynne Connolly

  The Secrets Trilogy, Book 1

  Nick is back.

  After eight years of facing public scandal and private humiliation with her head held high, Isobel’s courage fails when the man she never stopped loving returns and asks her to marry him. Once he discovers her secret, he won’t visit her bed more than once. And she can’t bear his rejection.

  Nicholas, Marquis of Cardington, is confident he can cope with the baggage Isobel carries from her first marriage. It doesn’t matter that the beautiful widow once left him to elope with another man. After all, he was partly to blame for that disaster. All that matters is he has always loved her, and now she’s free to accept his proposal.

  Only on their wedding night does Nick learn the terrible secret Isobel has harbored for eight long years. To win his wife’s trust will take every ounce of tenderness he possesses—when what he really wants is to show her the passion he saved for her and her alone.

  But just as Isobel begins to believe her heart is safe with Nick, the blackmailers who drove her first husband to suicide reappear. And they want their pound of flesh.

  Isobel must finally trust Nick will all her secrets—and her life—or their enemies will destroy them both.

  Warning: Keep a man handy for judicious use during the graphic sensual sex scenes. A fire extinguisher might be useful, too.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Seductive Secrets:

  Nick felt his anticipation increase as he prepared for bed. He could almost taste it. He meant to savour every moment of the night ahead, help his new wife to do the same. He hoped the fear he’d felt in her when he kissed her earlier was natural reticence. She’d been a widow for over a year—time to get used to her own company at nights. Now it was time to accustom herself to something else.

  Handing his waistcoat to his valet, he studied the embroidered flowers rioting over it as though he’d never seen them before. The frivolous design reflected the joy he felt today; finally making the woman he’d always wanted his wife. There were shadows but his optimistic mood made him sure he’d overcome them. He’d have to be careful, that was all.

  He stripped, washed, shaved and allowed his valet to help him into a long, enveloping robe. Too hot for an evening as balmy as this but he didn’t want to alarm Isobel by an excessive show of masculine nakedness. He planned to take it as slowly as she needed.

  He passed through the sitting room that stood between the bedrooms and grunted in satisfaction when he saw everything was in order. He didn’t stop but knocked softly on the door to her room.

  When he heard her quiet, “Come,” he turned the knob and went in.

  Isobel was standing by the open window, looking down into the garden. Her dark gold hair streamed over her shoulders, her loose bed robe showed her figure, slim but beautifully rounded in all the right places. He caught his breath, and had to concentrate to hear her words. “There are people still there,” she said. “Gardeners, at this hour.”

  His anticipation rose several degrees. He took his time, steadying himself, but the sight of her like this intoxicated all his senses. “It’s quite early, really.” He crossed the room to join her and stood close but didn’t touch her. They watched the gardeners attending to the plants in the soft dusk. Some gardening jobs were better done out of the heat of the day and nurturing tender plants was a constant job.

  All that passed through Nick’s mind but his concentration was on something else. He felt Isobel flinch when he put his arm around her, careful not to trap her glorious hair. He kept his hold light. She needed relaxing and softening before he’d go any further. After all, she was his wife, not a mistress or a passing fancy and he hoped to spend many years with her. It might take more than one night, though he hoped not. He ached for her.

  “Come with me.” He led her faltering footsteps away from the bed, towards the inner door to the sitting room.

  Isobel turned to him, a question in her eyes. “What is this?”

  “You ate nothing during the wedding breakfast. I want to see you eat something now.”

  He took her to one of the two chairs set before the table and drew it back for her. “I’m really not hungry,” she protested but she sat down.

  “Nevertheless, please try to eat something.”

  He lifted the lid of the nearest serving dish and she gasped. “Scotch collops!” She reached forward and lifted another lid. “Lemon cream!” Her lovely eyes lifted to his in surprise. “How did you know they were my favourites?”

  Smiling, Nick lifted another lid to show her the fresh salad, delicately sprinkled with her favourite dressing. “I asked.” Just her smile made the trouble worthwhile. “When we went into the ballroom I stopped and sent for your maid. She told me what you liked and I sent to the kitchens for them. I doubt I’m a favourite there, with the wedding breakfast to arrange and then this.”

  She laughed. “I must make sure it’s made up to them. They deserve my thanks.” She helped herself to some of the meat and salad. “Perhaps I am a little hungry.”

  He poured wine for them both and took a little salad, just enough to keep her company. Unlike Isobel, he’d partaken of the banquet set before them earlier and he needed nothing more.

  It was pleasant to watch her, knowing with lazy certainty that he could do it for years to come. He marked it in his mind as their first time, and decided that intimate suppers would make a delightful addition to their life together.

  She ate, and he was glad. Watching her at the ball, he’d thought her mood was low, and knew it must be partly from lack of food. Not wholly, though. There was something else, something he couldn’t work out. It might be simple nervousness but he sensed more than that in her troubled demeanour. “Did you enjoy the day?” he said, looking for a way in, to begin to release the tension pulsing from her.

  “Yes. It was perfect.”

  She didn’t mean it. He knew by the way she avoided his eyes, and blinked quickly to get rid of what might be tears. Nick would expect this from a new bride, untried, young and virginal but he’d married a widow who must have experienced some of the joys of the marriage bed before matters went wrong between her and Harry.

  Isobel finished her lemon cream and pushed the dish away with a satisfied sigh. “You’re right. I do feel better for that.”

  He refilled their glasses. “I thought you would. And I thought it would give you time to—” he broke off when he saw her look at him innocently and made him laugh, “—get used to seeing me like this.”

  She laughed too. “It’s not too much of a shock.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  They took some time finishing their wine, chatting about the day, until he put his glass down and stood up, holding out his hand in a gentle but definite command. “Come, wife.
Let’s go to bed.”

  All the fear he thought dispelled came rushing back to her face. Her eyes widened, her smile disappeared and her mouth opened slightly, before she remembered to shut it again. He saw it but she said nothing and put her hand in his. “Of course.”

  He hadn’t wanted it like this; he still didn’t. Silently cursing the late Harry Thoroughgood, for what he wasn’t yet sure, he led her through to her bedroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, drawing his wife into his arms and settling her for a series of kisses he hoped would end somewhere in the vicinity of the bed.

  At first, he was gentle, allowing Isobel to accustom herself to the closeness. Only a few layers of thin fabric lay between them, and he felt her soft, warm body against his, heating his desire. She returned his kisses. He feathered light caresses with his mouth along her jaw, and her forehead before he took her mouth again, deeper this time, touching her lips with his tongue, insinuating it inside her mouth.

  She responded so well Nick almost lost control but he remembered in time to keep his caresses light, his hands to soothing, easy strokes. He kept his mind off the thought of touching her bare skin, kissing her body, because he needed to gentle her into this. If he frightened her, he’d find it hard to forgive himself.

  She drew away a little, so she could speak. “This is nice.”

  Relief surged through him, mingling with the hot desire he’d been feeling all day. “Good. Perhaps we should…?” He left the decision up to her.

  She nodded, lowering her head so he couldn’t see her face, and moved away towards the bed. Nick watched, his gaze softened by desire and love for her as she loosened her bed robe, revealing a thin muslin night rail that did little to hide the curves beneath. The inevitable happened and his cock rose to meet the gorgeous sight before him. His mouth watered and he watched her, waiting for her invitation for him to join her. Giving her this space hurt him, but he couldn’t rush her.

  What she did next was the stuff of nightmares.