by Meara Platt
“What is the meaning of this, Welles?” the duke intoned.
Poppy stood by Nathaniel’s side, feeling it was important to remain. She was not one for confrontation, but a proper countess would not back away from this problem. If Nathaniel appeared surprised, he did not show it as he responded. “There are a few loose ends to tie up before we all retire to our beds.” He held out the note Charlotte had slid under her door. “Your Grace, do you notice something odd about it?”
“No, should I have?”
“It is Charlotte’s handwriting.”
“What if it is?” But he held his hands out in a placating gesture. “Now, Welles. There’s no harm done. You obviously care for Miss Farthingale, so it all turned out well. Perhaps your offer of marriage to her came a bit sooner than you intended, but it is obvious your proposal was in the offing.”
“The problem is serious,” Nathaniel countered. “Do you know a man by the name of Andrew Gordon?”
Charlotte paled. “We’ve never heard of him.” She took her father’s arm. “Come along, Father. This is all nonsense.”
“Stay put, Charlotte,” Nathaniel said, his tone sharp and commanding.
Her father took her arm when she attempted to leave. “He said, stay. What’s this about?”
“I believe your daughter and Andrew Gordon are involved in blackmail schemes. Friends of ours have been receiving threatening letters. Pay up or we’ll expose your dirty secrets. I caught the man forging my name, pretending to act on my behalf while digging up dirt for them to use to destroy lives.”
Charlotte’s gaze turned venomous. “He’s lying, Father!”
“How do you explain this, Charlotte? The handwriting on the note you slipped under Miss Farthingale’s door is the same as on the blackmail note one of my friends received.”
“Your friend? Hah! It was your aunt, Lavinia. And I know her secret. Harm me and I shall reveal it to the world. She’ll be ruined. Destroyed. Have no doubt that I shall do it.”
Her father gazed at her in horror. “Charlotte!”
She turned her seething rage on her father. “What did you expect me to do once you cut off my allowance? Remain by your side? The dutiful daughter? Marry a dullard and live under his thumb? Pretend to enjoy my wifely duties? I want none of that.”
Her father was too shocked to respond, so Nathaniel filled in the rest of it. “When Andrew Gordon approached you, attempting to blackmail you, instead you offered to work with him. You traveled in the highest circles. You’d give him access to the wealthiest men in England.”
She laughed. “Women, too.”
Nathaniel looked disgusted. “Of course, forgive me for assuming you had a whit of remorse. Widows and orphans were not off limits.” He turned to her father. “Andrew Gordon has been shipped out of England, someplace far where he can never touch anyone here again. I’ll leave your daughter’s fate to you. But if she attempts to—”
“She won’t. I give you my word of honor.”
Poppy had never seen a man look more defeated. Nor a young woman more scared, for Charlotte obviously feared her father. “What will you do to her, Your Grace?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
As much as she disliked Charlotte, she had no wish to see her beaten. In truth, the duke did not appear to be the sort to raise his fists to his daughter. Surely, there would have been a sign such as Charlotte cringing or drawing back whenever he moved his arm.
“What business is it of yours, you –” He stopped himself when Nathaniel suddenly stepped between them, his expression ominous and forbidding. “Welles, I’ll see to my daughter. There’s no need for anyone to meddle. Now that the war’s over, she and I will do a bit of traveling on the Continent. You’ll like that, won’t you Charlotte? Indeed, I think we’ll leave first thing in the morning. You don’t mind, do you?”
Nathaniel eased his stance and cast him a wry smile. “I’ll get over the disappointment.”
“Gad, what a mess,” he muttered, turning to Poppy once the Winthrows had retired and they were alone. “The girl tried to ruin you and you still worried for her safety.”
“The duke is a stern man. I didn’t want him hitting her, although I don’t think he ever has. I sincerely hope their trip to Europe will do her good.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “Poppy, not everyone is good.”
She nodded. “I know. I see nothing but frustration and envy in her. And yet, she’s the one who has been given every advantage in life.”
“She isn’t you, Poppy. She isn’t kind or caring. Her heart isn’t gentle and her touch isn’t soothing.” He took her back in his arms and kissed her gently. “I’ll obtain the special license tomorrow. “How fast do you think Penelope and Lavinia can assemble a wedding celebration?”
She laughed heartily. “Your sister? She’d have us married this very night if it was left to her.”
“And you?”
“I’d have us married this very night, as well. I love you, Nathaniel. I hope you don’t mind my telling you that every day of your life.”
“No, love. Don’t mind at all.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Two weddings in less than a month,” Vicar Carstairs intoned, nodding to Nathaniel and casting an obviously wistful gaze at Poppy who looked radiant in her cream satin.
Nathaniel stood beside her before the altar, their wedding ceremony attended by family, friends, and the citizens of Wellesford who were all crowded in the church this morning.
He looked toward the pews with satisfaction, pleased to see Penelope and Lavinia seated in front. Beast, Goose, and Thad sat right behind them. Poppy’s family was in attendance as well, her parents and sister, Violet, who looked upon Poppy in adoration. Her Aunt Sophie and Uncle John and their identical twins, Lily and Daffodil, were seated beside them.
To his surprise, Pip sat with the twins and Violet, the four of them with their heads bowed, looking in fascination at something in the boy’s hands.
“His spider,” Poppy said with a quiet laugh. “Some things never change.”
When the ceremony started, he took Poppy’s hands in his and held them as they exchanged vows. “Poppy,” he said in an aching whisper, wondering how he would convey the breadth of his love for her. Did she know? Could she feel it? He’d lost his way after returning home from the Continent. He’d lost his heart. The Book of Love had set him back on his path home. That path led to Poppy. She was his home and hearth.
She’d always been there, waiting for him to find his way.
“Nathaniel, I’m so happy.” Her eyes were bright and shimmering with love for him. No wiles, just open and honest feelings. She was too happy to mind when Pip dropped a spider onto her slice of wedding cake. “It’s his way of welcoming me into the family.”
After the festivities, they retired to Nathaniel’s bedchamber, now theirs to share throughout their marriage. The guests had remained, and music and food continued to flow. He supposed they’d all go home once the food had all been eaten.
“It is a lovely party, Nathaniel. I’ll have to thank Penelope and Lavinia for organizing it so beautifully.”
“Plenty of time to let them know tomorrow.” He took her into his arms.
She cast him one of her beautiful Poppy smiles. “Are you going to kiss me with conviction?”
He chuckled. “Yes, and leave your gown askew… for as long as you have it on, which won’t be long.”
He was true to his word, slipping the gown off her all the while he kissed her and stroked her and touched her in places that were a husband’s right to claim.
When he’d filled her and felt her tremble with pleasure, heard her sighs and moans of ecstasy, he soared along with her, spilling his seed in her. He knew there would always be a part of him driven mindless by her body. But there was so much more to love than the physical urge to mate.
He watched her sleep in the quiet hours of the night.
He watched moonlight spill across
her beautiful face.
He took her in his arms, glad that she was fast asleep, for his eyes began to fill with tears for all those lives he’d wished to save and couldn’t. He understood now it wasn’t his burden alone to handle.
He had Poppy to share it with.
He’d found his way home. She was his home.
“Nathaniel,” Poppy said in a sleepy, contented whisper.
“Yes, love.” He kissed her on the lips.
“I’m glad you looked at me and really saw me.”
She was referring to The Book of Love. Yes, he’d finally looked and taken in her lavender scent and heard the lilting ripple of laughter in her voice, and tasted the sweetness of her lips.
But it was Poppy’s touch that had soothed and healed him.
She appeared to be drifting off to sleep again, but she set her hand over his heart and murmured a yawning, “I love you, Nathaniel. Tomorrow night I’d like you to do to me what Lady Cordelia’s count did to her on her Tuscan adventure.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered. “What did he do to her?”
They got no more sleep as Poppy began to show him.
The Taste of Love
Book of Love, Book Three
Meara Platt
To all who are romantic at heart
Chapter One
Wellesford, England
September 1815
“Bollocks,” Thaddius MacLauren, Laird of Caithness, muttered the moment he spied young Phillip Sherbourne running from the lush, green copse of trees beside Sherbourne pond toward the manor house, his laughter so gleeful, it could only bode ill for his latest victim.
Thad handed his mount to one of the waiting grooms and hurried to the entrance of the house in time to catch the boy at the door. “Pip, what’s in your hand?”
It looked like a woman’s gown, and since the boy had just come from the direction of the pond, from the very spot where one went to undress before jumping in to swim naked in the water… “Och, lad. Ye didn’t. Is it Loopy’s?”
A guilty look swept over Pip’s face. He tossed the white muslin dotted with embroidered pink flowers at Thad, and with a muttered “uh, oh” took off into the house.
Thad stared at the soft fabric in his hands, exhaling a moan as his fingers began to tingle. Seems Penelope Sherbourne did not have to be in the gown for his body to respond. Just knowing it was hers, taking in her familiar wild strawberries scent was enough to get his heart pounding.
He hadn’t seen Penelope since her brother’s wedding to Poppy Farthingale a fortnight ago, purposely avoiding her now that The Book of Love had come into her possession. She had yet to use a single ‘recipe’ out of this mysterious book on him, but it did not seem to matter. He already had the urge to mate with this fertile female as the author had described in explaining the science of a man’s brain.
He needed to get his hands on the book, for he’d received warnings about it from his friends, Alexander Beastling and Nathaniel Sherbourne, and wanted to be prepared to combat whatever scheme Penelope was plotting to use on him.
Alex was the Duke of Hartford and known as Beast to his friends. He had been taken down first by Penelope’s friend, Olivia Gosling. A fearsome Beast bested by a Little Goose. Nathaniel, the Earl of Welles, had fallen next and married Poppy Farthingale. Was it a coincidence that his two friends had lost their hearts to Penelope’s best friends?
And now Penelope had possession of The Book of Love. What did it bode for him?
He glanced up at the sun as it beat down on him from a cloudless, blue sky.
Sherbourne Manor was usually a bustling hive of activity, but no one other than a few stable boys, a footman at the front door, and a gardener seemed to be about, for it was shortly after noontime, the hottest part of the day, and no one would be strolling about the grounds unless required, as these men were, for work.
Sighing, he ran a hand raggedly across the nape of his neck and started toward the pond, the fabric still in his tingling hand and the summer sun beating down on his head. He strode down the path toward the copse of trees and the pond where Penelope was swimming in all her natural glory.
He wasn’t going to delegate the chore of handing back her clothes to anyone but himself. The girl was too beautiful, and no man could be trusted. Other than him, of course.
He wasn’t going to peek.
Not that he was particularly honorable or a gentleman, and even though Loopy was the most maddening woman in existence who deserved an occasional set down, he was not about to humiliate her by ogling her in the altogether without her permission.
He would look his fill if she ever allowed it, but that was never going to happen.
To her, he was just a big, arrogant Scot with an irreverent attitude and a smart mouth. “Loopy,” he called out, stopping at the edge of the trees and overgrown hedges along the pond. “Don’t come out of the water.”
“No, Thad!”
He stepped into the copse, ducking under branches laden with green leaves and nudging aside honey-scented hedgerows. “Stay in the water. I’m going to place your gown on the branch of–”
His heart burst, for there she stood at the very spot he’d warned her not to be, her auburn hair long and wet and curling about her breasts and hips. “Bollocks, I told ye–”
Her banshee shriek almost ruptured his eardrums. “Don’t look! You big, Scottish oaf! I’m not…” She shrieked again and grabbed the gown out of his hands.
He finished the sentence for her in his mind. Not dressed. I’m not dressed.
“Mother in heaven!” She was practically naked except for the wet chemise she’d worn to swim that hid nothing from his view.
Nothing.
Not the rosy tips of her breasts.
Not the ample roundness of those breasts. Nor the blessed curves of her exquisite body and her long, shapely legs.
He closed his eyes and turned around, his mouth hitting a jutting tree branch in his haste to blindly step away. “Damn it, Loopy! I warned ye not to come out of the water.”
“I was already out, you dolt. You marched in like an invading Hun and gave me no time to jump back in.”
“Ye could have alerted me to that fact,” he muttered testily, for his heart was still in a rampant roar and he’d now cut his lip on the protruding branch.
“I said No, Thad. Was that not enough of a clue?”
“I thought ye were agreeing with me. As in, No, Thad. I will do as ye say for once in my blessed life and not come out of the water.” He put a finger on the spot of the cut and felt the warm ooze of blood. “Figures, I’m back less than five minutes and already bloodied because of you.”
“You’re hurt?” He heard a momentary rustling, no doubt Loopy hastily tossing off her chemise and donning her gown before she came up to him, her manner now gentle because she was a soft-hearted Harpy and could not bear to see him hurt.
He opened his eyes and studied her as she began to fuss over him. This is why he could never dislike her no matter how much she vexed him. She thought of him as a big, dumb Scot. But he was her big, dumb Scot, and he’d never known kinder treatment from anyone whenever she sensed he needed it.
“Oh, Thad,” she said in a breathy moan, running her thumb lightly over the spot to wipe away the small trickle of blood. Her wet chemise was dangling over her arm, so she took it and raised the gossamer fabric to his mouth to use it as a cloth. “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
“No, Loopy. I’m fine.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I wish I could say the same for myself. But it’s all my fault, isn’t it? I trusted Pip to behave. I ought to have known better. Where is that devil-child anyway?”
“He ran inside the house.” Thad couldn’t resist brushing a stray, damp lock of her hair off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.
She smiled at him. “You must be tired and hungry. How was the ride from Plymouth? Any news on your regiment?”
He tried to stifle his ache, but Loopy kne
w him better than anyone alive and sensed it immediately. “I’m so sorry, Thad. I know how weighing these weeks of delay have been on you. I’ll have Cook make up a batch of your favorite scones. They’ll be ready by the time you finish unpacking and wash up.”
“Thank ye, Loopy.”
A pink blush spread across her cheeks. “I don’t suppose I can ask you to forget what you saw just now.”
He nodded. “Of course. Done.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise, relief shining in those dark emerald orbs. “Really?”
Lord, how could a smart-mouthed girl still be so gullible? “No, lass. I will remember the wild tumble of your hair and the sight of your naked body into my dotage. It is burned into my brain. Once seen, it can never be unseen.”
Her blush deepened and spread to the tips of her ears and down her neck. “I was not naked. I had on my chemise.”
“Which covered absolutely nothing.”
She gasped, and then looking quite pained, began to nibble her lip in obvious dismay. “Promise me you’ll never speak of it to anyone.”
“Aye, Loopy. That I can promise. Ye need have no fear o’ that.”
He brushed back another stray lock of her hair, for the wind had suddenly picked up and now carried a hint of cool air to signal the end of summer. Since she’d donned nothing but her gown and did not have a stitch on beneath it, he could see she was responding to the sudden coolness. Goose bumps appeared on her arms. Her lips began to tremble when another gust surrounded them.
His gaze drifted lower.
Aye, the lass would put him into an early grave.
“Thank you, Thad.” She dabbed at his lips again. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”
But his ache hadn’t.
What was he going to do about this girl? She was Nathaniel’s sister and raised to be a consort to a prince or other elevated nobleman. He was just the laird of a small clan in the upper tip of the Highlands. His lands were as far away from the glittering London ballrooms as any rugged patch of hills and crags could be and still be considered a part of this sceptered isle.
