Courting A Sinful Stranger: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  Slowly, hesitantly, he started to move within her. Her hips gyrated of their own accord, spurring him on. He groaned deep in his throat, moving faster within her. She rose to meet him with every thrust as the feelings intensified again, growing ever stronger. She was on that dizzying ladder once again.

  She cried out as he moved ever faster, tossing her head from side to side in abandon. This was just like her dream, only better. He was actually holding her in his arms; she could feel the slick sheen of sweat upon his skin. Her own skin broke out into a hot fever as they strained against each other.

  She gripped him hard, crying out again, as it suddenly exploded within her. Wave after wave of dizzying sweet sensation. She had never known that such bliss was possible. He cried out, too, straining above her, riding the wave of his own release. Within seconds, he fell upon her, utterly spent.

  They were silent for a moment, both panting in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Then he carefully raised himself, gazing down at her tenderly, brushing stray hairs off her face.

  “That was incredible,” he whispered, his dark eyes burning with love. “And at last we are one, Sarah. This has made you mine more than any vows in a church.”

  Her throat thickened with emotion. “Yes, My Lord. I am yours, and you are mine. At last.”

  They curled against each other. She gazed out of the window. Twilight had just fallen. A rosy mauve sky. Soon, night would descend, and the moon and the stars would shine like beacons. The day was almost done. The most beautiful and wondrous day of her life.

  Sarah sighed with utter contentment, basking in the afterglow. She had the man that she loved cradling her in his arms and their whole lives stretched before them.

  Briefly, she wondered what new adventures awaited them together. She knew that with this man beside her it was bound to be a wondrous whirlwind, a never-ending excitement. The game that had brought them together was not completely over and, hopefully, it never would be.

  Epilogue

  Lady Pembleton sighed as she adjusted her spectacles higher onto the bridge of her nose, squinting at the letter in her hand. She glanced up at her husband, who was seated at the end of the long table sipping his morning tea, a slightly churlish expression on his face.

  Outside the dining room window she saw a thick blanket of snow, as thick as icing sugar, on the ground. Snowflakes were falling still, scattering in the air. It would be a very cold Christmas this year. Thank the Lord she had made sure there was extra firewood and hot rum as well as the requisite baked goose and fruit cake.

  “Dearest,” she said, breaking into his ruminations, “I have just received a letter from Lord Halwell. He sends us season’s greetings and hope we are well during this frigid cold snap.”

  “Oh, yes?” said Lord Pembleton in a distracted voice. “And how are things in London? Does he say?”

  Lady Pembleton nodded. “He says the streets are thick with snow and that the Thames has almost frozen over.” She sighed, placing the letter down. “He also makes hesitant enquiries as to the wellbeing of Arthur and Sarah. Do you think he is offended that they decided to spend Christmas with us this year as opposed to him? Should I invite him for the day? It is only two days away, but I suppose there is still time…”

  Lord Pembleton smiled slightly. “Charles would not be offended, my dear. He knows how much Sarah was desirous to spend their first Christmas as a married couple with us.” He looked at her pointedly, “Especially considering her delicate condition.”

  “Hush,” said Lady Pembleton nervously, her eyes darting to the door. “Lord Halwell knows nothing of that. And they shall be down to breakfast at any moment. And you know that Sarah is yet to share the glad tidings with her husband.”

  “Well, she should just get on with it, I say,” replied her husband irritably. “What the deuce is she waiting for? She informed you almost immediately.”

  “I am her mother,” said Lady Pembleton patiently. “It is different. She needed to confide in someone and talk about how she was feeling.” She paused. “She said she wants to wait for the perfect moment to inform Arthur he is about to become a father for the very first time, that is all. We cannot let the cat out of the bag.”

  “Mum’s the word,” said Lord Pembleton drolly, making a tweaking gesture at the corner of his lips. “Promise.”

  There were footsteps approaching the dining room. The sound of laughter, quickly smothered.

  “Here they are now,” said his wife, hastily folding the letter and tucking it away in her pocket. She glared at her husband sternly. “Remember, not a word. But I do hope Sarah tells him soon. Secret keeping has never been my forte.”

  ***

  Sarah lay back against the luxurious fur on the floor, gazing at the flickering red and orange flames in the fireplace. She felt lazy and sated and ready to doze. Arthur had just made very satisfactory love to her on the floor of their guest chamber at Pembleton House, of all places.

  She gazed at her husband languidly. He was lying next to her, looking as stunned by the lovemaking as she felt. She had to put a hand over his mouth to stop him making too much noise, for fear Annie the maid would come running. They had almost collapsed into a fit of wild giggles.

  She sat up, leaning her head on her hand, as she kept gazing at Arthur. The past year as his wife had been as wonderful as she had envisaged. And now, they were sharing their very first Christmas together under her parents’ roof.

  Her eyes strayed down to her belly. She had a little surprise package in there, but she hadn’t told him yet. The only person she had shared her joyous news with was her mother, who was sworn to secrecy. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell Arthur or feared his reaction – he had told her many times he couldn’t wait until they had children. No, she was just waiting for the perfect moment. It just seemed the perfect moment never arrived.

  “You look pensive,” he said suddenly, his eyes widening as he gazed at her. “Solemn. What is on your mind, my love? You are not still worried that anyone heard us just now, are you?”

  “Oh, no,” she said hastily, sitting fully upright, clutching a blanket around her bare shoulders. “I am sure that if my parents did hear they would just laugh and ignore it, after all.”

  He sat up, too, kissing her shoulder, before lifting her hair up to blow into her ear. “Then what is it?” he breathed. “I can tell that something is up, Sarah. I know you too well by now. Lately you have this fey, faraway look on your face sometimes.”

  She felt her face growing pink in the glow of the fire. Would there ever be the perfect moment to tell him he was about to become a father for the very first time? And it was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day and they would open their presents from each other. Perhaps she could tell him when they did. An extra present that she hadn’t gift wrapped but was more valuable than all the others, after all.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Sarah,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “Just tell me. You are starting to get me a little worried. I am imagining you telling me you are dying of the consumption or something. Anything has to be an improvement over that, surely?”

  She laughed, despite her nerves. She loved him so very much. Each day she loved him just a little more. How grateful she was that they had stumbled across each other at that ball wearing their masquerade masks, pretending to be other people entirely.

  They had fought for their love and it had been worth it. She simply did not know how she would live without him anymore. He was her companion and her rock as well as her lover.

  She smiled slowly. Sometimes they still played their secret game with each other. She would arrive home to find a love note from a ‘suitor’ on the bed, or he would leave clues scattered like breadcrumbs on her daily walks in the grounds entreating her to meet him in another guise. It was still as exciting as it had ever been.

  But at the end of the day, when they turned to each other in bed, they were themselves again. She knew he truly loved her just as m
uch as she loved him. They were a team of two, braving adventures together, side by side.

  But now, it was different. Now, they were about to become three. An entirely different adventure, to be sure, but just as exciting.

  She swallowed nervously. There was no perfect moment. There was only now.

  Slowly, she took his hand, guiding it to her stomach and resting it gently there. He looked at her questioningly.

  “I have an early Christmas gift for you,” she whispered.

  It took a few seconds for the light of awareness to slowly dawn in his eyes. He gazed at her incredulously.

  “Is it true?” he whispered, looking thunderstruck. “Can it be true?”

  “It is,” she whispered back, her eyes filling with tears. “I did not know how to tell you. I was trying to wait for the perfect moment.” She laughed breathlessly. “But now is as good as any, I guess. You are going to be a father, Arthur.”

  He looked so incredibly moved, with tears shining in his dark eyes that she was overcome with emotion and had to look away for a second.

  He picked up her hand, kissing it reverently.

  “You have given me the greatest gift,” he whispered fervently. “A dream come true. A child that we have made together. Our first child.”

  She couldn’t help it then. She sobbed with pure happiness. Slowly, he leant towards her kissing her languorously. It was one of the sweetest kisses he had ever given her.

  “My love,” he said, his eyes shining with joy, “I vowed to cherish you on our wedding day. And this Christmas Eve, I vow to cherish our child and our family. Forever.” He sighed. “You have made me the happiest man in the world all over again. I did not think it possible, but there it is.”

  And then they fell into each other’s arms, laughing breathlessly. He rested his hand on her belly again, as if he was already in communion with the child.

  They talked long into the night about their dreams for the child and possible names. And when they finally drifted into bed, exhausted, the hands on the mantelpiece clock had already struck midnight. It was Christmas Day.

  Tomorrow they would wake up to their first celebration of it together. And be embarking on what might just be their most exciting adventure of all.

  THE END

  Can't get enough of Sarah and Arthur? Then make sure to check out the Extended Epilogue to find out…

  How will James and Marianne manage to keep their parallel love affairs secret from each other and everyone else?

  How will Sarah’s visit affect the wedding and how will James react when he sees her?

  How will the couples’ reunion with their old friends be and how will they react to the surprising news?

  Click the link or enter it into your browser

  http://emilyhoneyfield.com/sarah

  (After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters from “Never Play with a Rakish Duke”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)

  Never Play with a Rakish Duke

  Introduction

  The tempting Lady Sarah Rubyton is tired of acting like a well behaved young lady, only to please her parents that want her settled with a proper, tedious gentleman. Sarah yearns for so much more, secretly lusting for an enthralling adventure… When she attends a masquerade ball, she is allured by the raven-haired seductive stranger, who whispers shockingly tempting things into her ear, without revealing his identity. She knows all this is far from how a lady should behave, but she finds this game of seduction simply irresistible. After all, what hope can a respectable young lady have in finding any kind of tantalizing excitement? While trying to unveil this captivating masquerader’s identity, will she indulge in an adventure of inappropriate promises and lustful desire?

  Arthur Colton, the Viscount Nordarken, is a bored gentleman, ready to risk it all for the sake of pleasure. While visiting his father in the district, he is on the hunt for a rousing distraction. Sadly, not even one of the eligible young ladies sparks his interest after the whirlwind of excitement that London was. Little did he know that everything was about to change with the announcement of a masquerade ball and the appearance of an enticing dark-eyed beauty into his dangerous path. Being used to always getting what he wants, he comes up with a wicked plan, to make her succumb to his sinful passion. How far is he willing to go in order to conquer her fiery heart?

  Against all odds, their lives and their feelings get tangled and challenge everything they have ever known. That is when a game of false identities and flaming desire begins... A game that must end soon, or it could otherwise lead to their destruction. For Sarah it is being in the midst of a scandal and losing her gracious place in society. For Arthur it is being targeted and risking turning into a social pariah.Will an arising old scandal threaten their affair to its very core? Will their untamed passion for one another be enough to thrive, in spite of all the hardships or will they drift apart after all?

  Chapter 1

  Isabella Northwood leaned forward in the chair, sipping her tea thoughtfully, as she contemplated the young gentleman sitting opposite her. The gentleman who was talking so politely with her mother. But she had noticed the shine in his eyes as he gazed at her from time to time.

  Isabella looked down at her teacup, pretending to contemplate the delicate floral pattern on it, as the conversation washed over her. His name was Mr Laurence Wilson, a local gentleman, who had been very correctly wooing her recently. A walk in the park, properly chaperoned, of course. Morning tea, a few times a week, as they were doing now.

  She gazed back up at him, her eyes sharp. He was a moderately handsome man, pleasant- looking rather than striking, with brown hair and dull brown eyes to match. His conversation was perfectly respectable if a little on the dull side. But Mr Wilson was from a well-to-do local family, with status rather than much wealth, and she could do a lot worse. She was two and twenty now, after all. Teetering on the edge of turning from an eligible young lady into an old maid if she wasn’t careful.

  He turned to her now, fixing her with those brown eyes in an almost speculative manner. “You enjoy painting, then, Miss Northwood?” he asked slowly. “I am a rather prolific amateur artist. A keen interest.”

  Isabella nodded. “I do enjoy painting, Mr Wilson,” she replied. “But I would not boast that I am particularly talented in that regard …”

  “Oh, you are being too modest, Isabella,” interjected her mother. “You are very talented, my dear. Why, your drawing master praised you mightily when you were a girl.”

  Isabella stared at her mother. It was a downright lie. Mr Kite, the drawing tutor her parents had hired for their daughters when they were growing up, had never praised her at all. It was Jane, her eldest sister, who had been the talented one, in that regard. But then, maybe Mama had just got them mixed up.

  “If you say so, Mama,” she said slowly, sipping her tea.

  Mrs Northwood nodded decisively. “My youngest daughter is very accomplished, Mr Wilson,” she said, turning to the gentleman. “Isabella is a credit to her father and I. We are both extremely proud of her.”

  Mr Wilson looked pleased. “I can discern how exceptional your daughter is, Mrs Northwood,” he said, nodding. “She has a very special aura about her, which I noticed immediately. It does not surprise me in the least, that she is as accomplished as she is lovely …”

  Isabella bristled, just a little. They were both talking about her as if she wasn’t even sitting here in this room. As if she were a prize calf being paraded at auction. She wasn’t sure if she liked it at all.

  She knew how the courtship game played out, but this part of it was always mildly offensive to her. It seemed so … bloodless and calculating. She had played this game with other young gentlemen over the years. A game which had led to tame flirtations, but never an offer for her hand.

  Her best friend in the world, Eleanor, assured her she just hadn’t met the right gentleman yet. Isabella wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t as if she had any wildly romantic notions
about courtship and marriage.