"And I'm most certainly the happiest of women," she replied with a watery smile, before pulling him down to her for a kiss.
"I'm far too heavy," he protested a short time later.
"No, please, please stay. I love it. The weight and feel of you, your wonderful smell."
"Not half as wonderful as you feel, I'm sure. The most delightful mattress, the most tender and soft of women. Lovely shapely hips, with just the right amount of cushioning." He gave her one teasing thrust and she gasped.
"I thought you said it takes half an hour to get it back," she said, her eyes rounded like Os.
"Apparently not in your case. I'm just so excited. And I have to say I've never done it three times in a row. So I'm more than eager to try. But in fact, I would rather see you pleased as well. I want to count your zeniths. Every man I meet talks about how many times he climaxed the night before. Well, I want to count how many you have from now on."
"Very generous of you, I'm sure," she said with a happy laugh.
"Anything for my lovely wife. Just so long as you know I'm mad about you."
She giggled. "I don't think your chap down below has any intention of leaving me in any doubt of that. And I'm mad about you, as mad as they say I am. Oh, Clifford, I never imagined I could ever love anyone as much as I love you."
He grinned with sheer delight. "And will continue to love me more forever, I pray. As I will you. This is just the beginning, my darling. The best is yet to come. There's going to be so much more."
She gazed at him in confusion and gave him a loving smile. "More? How could there be more than what I've already felt?"
He rolled himself onto his back and let the sheet fall away. "Every inch of the human body can be a seat of pleasure. I want you to touch me as much as you like, without shame. I'm all yours now, with no hesitations. And I hope one day you will let me do the same for you, touch, taste even."
She was surprised at his words. Taste. But when she saw his manhood pulsing again she knew. Knew, and admired. She felt the warm blush of love course through her veins once more as she marveled at the physical beauty of the man she had married.
She was tempted to ask about the scar on his stomach and back, but she had far better things to do with her tongue as he urged, "Kiss me, my love."
She was tempted to taste as he had suggested, but was too shy. She made for his mouth instead, and let all her emotions burst forth in that one simple gesture.
Clifford kissed and caressed her until every nerve ending in her body tingled. Then he took one hand and placed it on his yearning flesh, velvet and steel, and her other one on the satiny pouch below, cupping the fingers around his most delicate flesh.
Her fingers trembled, but she did not pull away, and gripped him more firmly with one. Sweat beaded his brow instantly. "Easy. A bit more delicate with the left, and that's sheer perfection. Then just stroke and tease, lick and nibble some day if and when you feel ready, and it will be heaven. And I hope you'll let me do the same to you."
"Oh, um, yes, I think I'd like that very much."
"Good. All you have to do is tell me. Share all your desires, fantasies. No secrets, nothing forbidden if it pleases us both. There's nothing you can say that will shock me. Nothing I wouldn't do for the woman I love."
She gazed into his blue eyes deeply, any lingering sense of shyness evaporating now like the morning mist as she saw the warmth blazing within their depths. "So long as you're honest with me about what you want as well. I would never want to think you strayed because I was lacking."
Clifford laughed at that. "Lacking? If you were any more talented I would think you came from a harem." He swung around to rest his head on one satin thigh, and flickered out his tongue.
Vanessa grinned and gasped. "Is there a male equivalent of a harem? For I'm sure you must have visited it yourself."
"Hmm, you like that?" he asked between moist caresses.
"Oh my, yes," she said eagerly, stroking him with both hands a moment longer before boldly bending her head to worship her husband's magnificence as he was worshipping her.
"Come with me?" Clifford rasped a few moments later.
"Wherever you like, my love."
Their destination would be heaven and back, for the many long years of joy they would share.
Afterword
This series of novels came about during lunch with some friends one day. We wondered why serial killers seemed to be a particularly modern phenomenon. Then we concluded that there must have been serial killers in the past, but they had never been classified in such a manner.
For one thing, without efficient countrywide or international communications and cooperating police forces, a killer could easily move from place to place without any pattern being discerned.
For another, without forensic investigative techniques, finding a commonality of method, and evidence left behind at the scenes, was very much a matter of luck and guesswork.
We discussed the fact that Jack the Ripper had never been caught, and how his serial killing spree still puzzles the best detective minds in the world to this day.
From there, my original story of a woman won in a card game became a dangerous tale of cat and mouse, and the uncovering of the dark secrets of Millcote.
In the next Rakehell Regency novel, The Missed Match, Thomas Eltham meets the woman of his dreams in a most unlikely way, and we will be seeing more of Jonathan Deveril and the Jeromes very soon.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series
Book 2
THE MISSED MATCH
Sorcha MacMurrough
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SYNOPSIS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
AFTERWORD
SYNOPSIS
The wrong man!
Beautiful heiress Charlotte Castlemaine is just about to elope with "the man of her dreams," worldly seducer Herbert Paxton, when fate takes a hand in the form of handsome Thomas Eltham, the Duke of Ellesmere. She finds him waiting at the appointed place for her elopement, and thinking he is a friend of Herbert's and party to the plan, hops into his carriage. A few minutes alone with the sexy Thomas nearly proves her undoing.
Compromised by this near-stranger in front of her father, she faces the prospect of certain ruin, until Thomas declares that they are engaged. Charlotte's passionate response to the Duke is bad enough; the fact that Thomas persists in making wedding plans even though he knows she is in love with another seems a disaster of the worse magnitude.
Thomas has admired Charlotte from afar, but little thought he would ever have an opportunity to marry her, until he overhears three of Charlotte's supposed friends plotting her ruin. Determined that his long time enemy Herbert Paxton will never harm Charlotte if he can help it, Thomas warns her father that the young woman has fled, and races to the appointed meeting place before it's too late.
Thomas's single kiss in the carriage in order to make their supposed elopement look genuine sparks off an inferno of passion, jealousy, suspicion and revenge which can only have one outcome: the Duke,
a former soldier, must fight for the woman he loves and all he holds dear in a winner-takes-all battle that he has no intention of losing.
The question is, will Charlotte prove Thomas's enemy, or ally? Can she ever come to love this stranger with kisses like fire? Or will she flee from the desire that blazes within her at his merest touch, scorching all reason and commonsense. Will Charlotte return to Herbert, or learn to trust the enigmatic Duke and help him defeat his nemesis?
THE MISSED MATCH
A Rakehell Regency Romance Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
Herstory Books
Copyright the author 2002, 2008, 2009, 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Under the 1988 UK copyright laws, the author asserts the right to be identified as the creator of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-58345-100-7
Published by HerStory Books
http://www.herstorybooks.com
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sorcha MacMurrough is a multi-published author from Ireland who has taught English literature and English and Irish history.
She has lived all over the UK and Ireland, including London, Edinburgh, and Dublin. Her favorite cities to live in or visit are Bath and York. She loves old houses, castles and estates and can usually be found touring these locales to help make all of her settings come alive for the reader. Sorcha loves the Regency period and the Napoleonic era in particular, which form the beginning of the modern world as we know it.
Her novels have been chosen as monthly "Top Picks" by Romantic Times, and she has also been nominated for a Reviewer's Choice award for best novel of the year by Romantic Times. When she is not writing, researching and teaching, she cooks, knits Aran sweaters, and enjoys spending time with her large family. She loves Irish dancing and music, and beachcombing on the shores of Donegal, Sligo and Galway.
PROLOGUE
February 14, 1813
The tall dark-haired Duke of Ellesmere stepped into the anteroom, about to collect his cloak to depart. It had been a long evening, made even more tedious by the fact the only woman he longed to stand up with for the exquisite pleasure of even one single dance had been monopolised by every young buck in the region.
The Fates had most certainly conspired against him. But perhaps it was for the best, Thomas tried to tell himself. Perhaps the despondent ache in the region of his heart might somehow ease if he attempted to reason it away.
She might well be of age now, but that did not mean she was ready for marriage. Far better to let her spread her wings for a time, discover more of the world for herself, than lock her in a prison of his own choosing. A gilded cage was still a cage, after all.
He took up his black silk evening cloak and tossed it around his shoulders, before stepping out of the French doors into the orangery. It was a charming addition to the splendid old mansion, a man-made paradise with a white-painted wrought iron frame with crystal panels to let in the sun.
He could picture his lovely lady reclining on one of the low chaise longues with a book in her hand. It would no doubt be a Gothic novel, he thought with an indulgent smile, thinking his own sisters' reading habits. He watched her in his mind's eye as his lady love tittered over the truly terrifying bits in the safety of the broad daylight which poured through the glass panels.
But now all was cold and dark within. He wished to avoid any awkward goodbyes and expressions of gratitude for having come, or for his humble gifts. He would slip out the side door into the garden and walk around the house to the front to meet his carriage. He would enjoy the biting mid-February air for a few minutes before heading home. The bleak weather would be perfectly suited to his mood.
Just as St. Valentine's Day was the perfect birth date for his lovely blue-eyed goddess, he thought with a sigh. She was as divine as any on Mount Olympus, and just as out of reach.
He drew his cloak about him more tightly, longing for just one touch of her hand, some small gesture of affection and comfort. Then, telling himself to act his age, nearly thirty, not thirteen, he moved forward.
The Duke hadn't gone more than three steps when he froze.
The orangery was already occupied. He heard the hurried whispers, and drew back at once. He had no wish to interrupt a romantic tete a tete. Especially since he was fairly certain the white-gowned figure partly obscured by a tall potted palm was the lady of the house herself.
To his surprise, he heard the swish of a second woman's skirt.
Ah, discovery. And no doubt histrionics to follow.
But no. There was only more whispering, the third person's low-timbred voice indicating this was no gaggle of silly schoolgirls gossiping about the ball.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickling with a sudden, inexplicable fear, he pressed his back to the wall and silently sidled closer to the trio, straining his ears to hear.
"It's all set. I urged her as subtly as possible to press forward with the plan, and I'm sure she'll do it now," a woman's deep voice declared. "She'll be at the bottom of the bridle path leading to Millcote at midnight."
"Good work," a man's voice murmured.
"Are you sure you've done your part?"
"Never fear. All is ready. And mine will be easy enough. Tumble the wench, then see what we can squeeze out of her father. I'm counting on you to play your part to the letter."
"Haven't we done so already? The silly bitch doesn't suspect a thing," the second woman said with a gloating note of triumph which turned Thomas' blood cold. Her voice was lighter, more soprano than mezzo.
"Good. See that she doesn't," came the growled reply.
"It hardly matters now. Once she's in that coach, even if she has second thoughts, it will be too late," the deeper-voiced woman pointed out. "Just write to us as soon as you're at Gretna and the thing has been done safely. Then I shall come to you both to help manage her."
The man snorted in derision. "I'm sure I'll figure out a way to manage her once we're wed. Never met any woman I couldn't handle. It's her pa I'm concerned about."
"Never fear. Her friends will all see she wants for nothing. We just need to be patient for a short while, and then we can all have everything we've ever dreamed of."
"Aye, and then some. But you'd better go now. There's the cake to attend to, and after that she can slip away unnoticed."
"Good luck. And enjoy your wedding day."
The man let out a vulgar snigger. "It's the night I care about."
The first woman glided out of the orangery without noting the tall dark man's presence. He heard her slippers slap along the tiles of the anteroom hurriedly, leaving the other two conspirators far behind.
There was no more plotting and scheming for the moment, just the sound of clothing being fumbled with, and the moist sounds of clinging lovers. Then he heard the woman sigh.
"I can't wait until this is over," her muffled soprano voice declared. "I know why we're all doing it, but I just hate the thought of you and her--"
"I'm doing it for us, love, you know that," the
man wheedled.
"But what you just said about the wedding night--"
"The marriage needs to be consummated for me to get her family right where I need them. Otherwise the silly chit can go to blazes so far as I'm concerned."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 34
