“Oh, Raine’s far from boring. Or easy, come to think of it.” He frowned as he recalled their argument beside the bridge, the way he’d had to practically beg her to marry him. “Very intelligent but rather stubborn, not to place too fine a point on it.” Suddenly, the way they’d challenged each other with bold, teasing touches and stimulating conversation until dawn clouded his mind and tightened his body.
“She sounds perfect. And from the smile on your face, I’d say you agree.”
Christian rose and gave the duke a shallow bow. “Far from perfect, Your Grace, only perfect for me.”
Then he went to find the perfectly stubborn woman who would be his wife.
Epilogue
A romantic morning two months later…
Berkeley Square, London
“Kit,” Raine said as she stumbled over a wrinkle in the carpet, “I’m going to trip. Let me see.”
He laughed, a sound she would never tire of hearing, his hand shifting from where he held it over her eyes, allowing a burst of sunlight to sneak in and dust her face. His body was pressed against hers as he guided her down the hallway of their London townhouse, and she gave her bottom a little wiggle to throw him off his mark.
“Oh, no, my lovely bluestocking. You’re not using that trick on me. Penny nearly walked in on us in the morning room last week, or have you forgotten? The man doesn’t knock and you’re insatiable. Cross purposes I’m left to safely coordinate.”
“I thought you liked that I’m greedy where you’re concerned.”
Christian halted, tilted Raine’s chin, and covered her lips in a heated side-kiss that left them both dazed. “Where was I headed again?” he murmured against the nape of her neck once his breath had settled.
Raine lifted her gaze to his bottomless blue one, love a rushing tide through her veins. “It’s a surprise, so I don’t know!”
“Ah, yes.” Christian nudged her toward a paneled door at the end of the hall. “I remember now. Your touch is finally loosening its hold on me.”
“But this is your new study,” she said and glanced back at him. “You had the carpenters in all week. I haven’t stepped inside, not once, as you requested, though I don’t know what trouble I could have—”
He reached around her and opened the door.
She peeked inside, then leaned back into him with a low sigh. “Oh…Kit.”
“Go on.” He gave her another nudge, pushing her into the room.
She looked around, turned a full circle in wonder. The space was perfect.
It was her. And him.
Sunlight a bold wash over furnishings in shades of blue and green, her favorite colors. A magnificent globe showing the constellations, because she and Kit liked to gaze at the sky during their walks through their lush Mayfair garden. A set of stately library chairs situated before a blazing hearth. A brocade chaise in the corner, fresh flowers in a vase on the table beside it. Kit knew she liked to read and nap, and that she loved the sweet scent of wildflowers. Floor-to-ceiling shelves housing more volumes than she could read in a lifetime seized her imagination as she walked into the room. Crossing to the mahogany bookcases, she ran her finger down a stiff leather spine and drew in the refreshing scent of new books. “You’re spoiling me. New clothes and my very own phaeton. A personal account, a staff at my disposal. I’m completely ruined for life.”
He closed the door to the library—her library—and leaned against it. “You’re right, I am. And, damn, I’m enjoying it.”
She turned to face him, propped her hip against the bookshelf, and willed her heart to quiet its mad romp. She searched her mind for what to say, how to thank him, how to tell him. But only tears came, in great, heaving gulps.
He reached her in seconds and pulled her into his arms. “Raine, don’t. This is meant to be the happiest of places. Almost from the first moment at the duke’s home, I’ve dreamed about creating this spot for you. Don’t cry. Please, you’ll have me on my knees in moments.”
She melted into him, his heart thumping beneath her cheek. “I love it. I love you. But you don’t have to…do so much.” She sniffled, unused to emotional displays when she’d been profoundly expressive since the day of their wedding at Hartland Abbey five weeks earlier. “Give so much.”
He tipped her chin high, his smile contrite. “This next bit may not help your tears subside.”
“What?” she breathed. “There’s more?”
He reached in his trouser pocket, retrieved a small wrapped parcel with a hand that shook. “I’d like to say this is nothing, but it’s everything. More than the sapphire on your finger, more than this library and the phaeton put together.” Tapping the package to his chest, he whispered, “This is my heart.”
She unwrapped the parchment, knowing before she looked inside what he’d given her. The watch was delicately crafted, smaller, and more elegant than his usual pieces; the silver case etched with roses interwoven with her initials. The chain was one she recognized. “I thought I’d lost this,” she murmured and brought the timepiece to her chest.
“Too fine to be a bookmark, I agree.”
“There was never anything wrong with the filigree, was there?”
He shook his head. “No. But like my heart, I knew it was yours. There’s an inscription on the inside.”
Snapping the case open, she saw the words and felt her heart drop: at first sight. “Kit…” Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly. “I will treasure this forever.”
He pressed a tender kiss to her brow, her temple, her cheek. “Darling, I’m a watchmaker. This can’t be that much of a surprise.”
“But you’ve never,” she sniffled again and tucked herself into him, “the wenches.”
His chest rumbled with his laughter. “Never have I given a wench a watch. You are the first. The only.”
“That’s good,” she said into his now-damp linen shirt. “Because when the ton sees this, every woman in London will demand one. Prinny will have you make one for Maria Fitzherbert, you can certainly bet.”
“I’ll avoid that if I can.” Taking her shoulders, he moved her back a step and reached into his trouser pocket.
“Oh, no more, Kit.” She backed away, shaking her head until her hair fell like a shroud around her face. “My heart can’t take it.”
He grinned, a wicked, knowing turn of his lips. “This gift, the third and final for today, is perhaps more for me.” Crossing to the door, he fit a key into the lock and turned the tumblers with a snap. “The sturdiest bolt in England, or so I’m told. Enough to keep out even the most inquisitive of valets.”
“Penny doesn’t have a copy?”
Christian pocketed the key and leaned against the door with a licentious smirk. “No, and he’ll never get one. This room is ours.”
She tilted her head toward the chaise lounge. “That looks sturdy.”
“Hmm, very. I selected it myself.”
Giving her watch a swift glance, she crooked her finger, beckoning. “Do you have time to assist me with a project?” She flipped a button on her bodice. “A particularly knotty one, requiring a most refined touch.”
Everything he felt for her swept his face, filled his eyes—matching every wondrous thing filling hers. Pushing off the door, he moved to her. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”
The lock held.
And the love lasted.
THE END
Thanks!
Thank you for taking the time (Kit would love this reference) to read Tempting the Scoundrel! Who knew watchmaking in Regency England could be so sexy?
If you’d like to experience more luscious Regency Splendor, stick around for a tantalizing excerpt from Amanda Mariel’s Courting Temptation, the fourth book in the House of Devon series.
The opening book in the series, The House of Devon is FREE! Click here to read it.
House of Devon Series
Below stairs is where the romance begins…
FREE! The House of Devon by Amanda Mariel
and Tammy Andresen FREE!
A Touch of Temptation by Ellie St. Clair
Tempting the Scoundrel by Tracy Sumner
Courting Temptation by Amanda Mariel
Tempting the Footman by Lauren Smith
Tempted by the Windflower by Sue London
Tempting Miss Daisy by Tammy Andresen
Tempting Taffy by Meara Platt
Chapter One
Yorkshire England, 1818
The hot summer sun beat down on Miss Tabetha Barkley as she made her way down the Duke of Devon’s crushed stone drive. The sun had just crested the horizon when she had set out on her errand. It now hung high above. She used the corner of her thin shawl to wipe the sweat away from her brow. The combination of heat and nerves was stifling.
She slowed her pace as she approached the circle in the drive that surrounded a grand fountain so large it was more like a pond. Her gaze moved to the house’s facade. Four stories of embellished stone and turrets rose up before her. Large windows trimmed with sculpted stone hung proudly across each floor on the front of the home.
Tabby inhaled a slow breath. It was all so elegant… so stately. But then, what had she expected? Hartland Abbey was home to a duke after all. Of course, it would be elegant and stately and all together imposing. Certainly in the eyes of a village girl, which Tabby was.
She did not belong here. What if the duchess saw her boldness as an insult and refused to see her? What if the butler didn’t even allow her through the front door? Tabby would starve, or worse. She shook her head. Now was not the time to think about the worse. She needed to be positive and present her best self.
God willing, it would be enough.
Tabetha paused at the porch, her heart racing. Two stone staircases led up to the landing, one jutting off in each direction to meet the drive. Large stone urns of flowers decorated the balustrades. The place was fit for royalty, to be sure. Tabby sighed.
Heaven knew she did not belong here. Perhaps she should turn back now before it was too late. Before she made a complete cake of herself.
When you take away the money and titles, we are all the same. Remember your place, but never think of yourself as less. Mother’s words floated through her mind, and Tabby lifted her chin. She could do this.
She must, for she had no other choice.
Tabby took a hesitant step, then another, and another until she reached the porch landing. Drawing in one last breath, she reached for the ornate brass door knocker. When the oak door opened, she exhaled.
A footman dressed in golden colored breeches and a navy tailcoat appraised her, then stepped aside, allowing her entrance.
Tabby curtsied, then turned her attention from the arresting footman to the sever looking butler. An older man with warm hazel eyes that betrayed his serious expression.
Tabby swallowed past the nervous lump in her throat. “I have come to call on the Duchess of Devon.” She averted her gaze to the double doors at the far end of the entrance hall. A mistake, for the imposing sight of them, set her nerves on edge all over again.
“Your name, if you please.” The butler narrowed his eyes, studying Tabby.
“Miss Tabetha Barkley.” Her heart raced as the seconds ticked by. If he refused her, she would have nowhere else to turn.
At last, the butler turned back to the footman. “Show Miss Barkley to the drawing-room while I see if the duchess is home to callers.”
The footman nodded, then turned to Tabby. “This way, Miss.”
Her heart fluttered in the oddest way when their gazes meet. The man was strikingly handsome with sandy brown hair and deep green eyes. She could not help but notice his height and muscular build as she followed him across the marble floor of the entrance hall.
She’d wager he caused quite a stir among the women of the house. How could he not, being as handsome as he was?
The doors opened, and she followed him through into the main house. More opulence greeted her as they traversed a carpeted hall. The walls were the same dark blue of the footman’s tailcoat and white and gold gilded trim, and moldings added an elegant feel.
She glanced out one of the many large windows they passed to the expanse of green lawn surrounding the mansion. Tabby could not help but think how marvelous it must be to live in such a grand house.
The cottage she had shared with her mother would not even fill the entrance hall, and their shabby furniture could never compare to the padded high-back gold and blue velvet chairs she now strolled past.
The footman stopped at the door, opened it, and stepped aside. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Barkley.”
Tabby strolled past him and into the room, then pivoted back. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled.
She smiled back, her heart somersaulting. The man was too good looking by far. Before she could say anything else, he closed the door, leaving her alone. Tabby turned, her breath catching at the opulence surrounding her.
There was no doubt in Tabby’s mind that she did not belong here. Still, she had no choice other than to stay her course. She inhaled a slow breath, then blew it out slowly as she willed her nerves to calm.
Gaining entrance had been her first hurdle. She had doubted her ability to do so, and yet, here she stood. The duchess would receive her. Her Grace would help her. Tabby had to believe the duchess would. Mother had assured her the Devon’s were the caring sort.
She trailed her gaze around the room, looking for a good place to wait. A pale green fainting couch near a tall window framed in white and pale green velvet caught her attention. Tabby strolled across the plush white carpeting, then sat on the brocade couch.
As she waited for the duchess, she took in the rest of the room from the marble fireplace to the vases of fragrant flowers strewn about on the mahogany tables, white columns, and mantle. If not for her station in life, Tabby would be comfortable in such a room.
Perhaps she was too comfortable now. Maybe she should not be sitting on the duchess’s beautiful furniture. Her walk had left her dress dusty, and Tabby would hate to offend the duchess or cause more work for her maids.
She stood and smoothed her skirts, then turned to the sofa to dust the cushion she’d been sitting on. No dirt clung to it, but Tabby still felt the need to brush her hand across the cream and pale green fabric.
Satisfied with the results, she straightened, then turned toward the door just as it swung open. Her heartbeat ticked up as she dropped into a deep curtsey. The duchess was regal beyond Tabby’s imaginings.
She seemed to glide into the drawing-room, her footfalls silent and yellow silk skirt trailing behind her. Her shiny black hair was elegantly styled, and her blue eyes striking in their curious assessment of Tabby.
The duchess could pass for royalty, and here Tabby was looking every bit the village girl she was. It was a wonder the duchess did not dismiss her straight away. Instead, she motioned for Tabby to join her.
“Do, sit.” The duchess moved to a gold brocade armchair, then indicated the chair across from her.
Tabby gave a small smile. “Thank you.” She moved to take the chair, her insides churning with doubt.
“Am I correct in saying that you are Miss Barkley, my midwife’s daughter?” The duchess asked, one brow arched curiously.
“Yes.” Tabby wriggled under the regal woman’s scrutiny. “My mother told me you are a kind woman.”
“I am fond of her, as well.” Her Grace smiled. “Though I confess to being rather surprised at your visit.” She angled her head slightly, studying, apprising. “Why have you come?”
Tabby swallowed hard. “Forgive my insolence in calling on you. I am well aware of our difference in station.”
Her Grace waved a dismissive hand. “Rubbish.”
Tabby gave a small smile, her anxiety dissipating in small measures. “I never would have come if it were not of the utmost importance.”
The duchess pressed her lips into a tight line, her eyes narrowing.
Ta
bby rushed to continue. “My mother passed away three months ago.”
“Oh, dear.” Her Grace reached for Tabby’s hand and gave a small squeeze. “I am terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Tabby said. She bit her lower lip as she considered how to proceed. The last thing she wished to do was blurt out her troubles, but she scarcely saw any other way. “There is more.”
The duchess’s blue gaze held warmth as she nodded. “Out with it then,” she said, her tone encouraging and soft.
“I cannot follow in Mother’s footfalls. She tried to teach me her trade, but in the end, I gave up. I do not have the stomach for midwifery. Neither was mother able to leave me with much in the way of funds.” Tabby closed her eyes to gather courage. “I need employment.”
“Then, you have come to apply for a position?” The duchess asked.
Tabby nodded. “Yes. I have no formal skills to recommend me and no prior work history, but I sure you I am adept in housework and laundry.”
The duchess smiled and gave a small nod. “I am certain you are.”
“Forgive me.” Tabby sighed. “I do not know where else to go. I have applied to every great house running adverts, but each has turned me away due to my lack of experience. I am days from starvation and have no coal—”
“Say no more.” The duchess sliced her hand through the space between them, ending the conversation. She stood and strode toward the parlor door.
Tabby’s heart sunk as she watched the duchess traverse the room. She was not going to help Tabby.
Her heart pounded as panic welled inside her. What was she to do now?
Read on!
Also by Tracy Sumner
Garrett Brothers Series
Tides of Love
Tides of Passion
Tides of Desire: A Christmas Romance
Tempting the Scoundrel Page 8
