by Gaelen Foley
She obeyed eagerly as he lifted her skirts, then he mounted her in a fierce, needy, and passionate coupling. The whole bed rocked as they made love hungrily. She kissed him as he took her, certain she would never get enough of this man.
“Oh, God, Ian!” she fairly sobbed with pleasure, her heart brimming.
“I want to start over,” he whispered fiercely. “I want a whole new life with you. Let’s have a child.”
“Whatever you want, I will do it.”
“Sweeting.” He slowed, paused, stroked her flushed, perspiring face for a second, and looked into her eyes, a misty sheen of tears creeping into his for a fleeting instant. “I’m so sorry I hid so much from you. I won’t ever do it again.”
“I forgive you, love.”
“I just thank God you believe me.”
“Of course I do.” She captured his hand and linked her fingers through his. “Just don’t keep secrets from me anymore.”
He shook his head, the coltish forelock of his hair falling into his eyes. “I won’t. You have my word.”
“The word of a gentleman,” she answered with an unabashedly doting caress.
But the little smile he sent her from under his dark forelock filled her with that particular brand of thrill that only Ian Prescott could inspire in her. “Not always,” he whispered.
“Thank goodness for that!” she declared. Then she laughed in luxurious pleasure as he proceeded to show her what a very bad boy he could be.
EPILOGUE
I n the quayside hubbub of the Thames docks at London, smells from the fish market hung on the close summer air, while swirling seagulls cawed for scraps. The summer sun glinted in bright flashes on the deep olive river as innumerable small skiffs and fishing boats scuttled among the great square-rigged ships. From the nearby docks, where Georgie and Ian stood with Matthew, each holding a hand, they could hear the rhythmic cries of sailors throwing more muscle into their tasks.
They had left Aylesworth Park only a few days ago, hastening to Town after receiving word that her brothers’ arrival was imminent. Her father, Lord Arthur Knight, was expected to appear with Derek and Gabriel. According to his letter, Papa had managed to join her brothers when their ship had docked at Portugal to unload some Indian cargoes.
Now the three Prescotts watched the ships eagerly, Ian pointing out noteworthy sights to his son. In all, they made a very proper English family, Georgie mused, holding a parasol over her bonneted head to ward off the midday sun.
They had arrived at the pier with two carriages: Ian’s large town coach for the family to travel in, and a wagon to transport the new arrivals’ luggage.
“There!” Ian said suddenly, pointing as yet another longboat full of disembarking passengers approached the pier.
Georgie drew in her breath, a smile breaking across her face. She looked on in breathless delight as her brothers and her sire soon climbed the ladder onto the docks. Derek sprang up easily, then turned to see if Gabriel required help; Papa remained below to steady their wounded warrior. Gabriel moved slowly, gingerly up the ladder. Georgie could only imagine how much the proud commander must hate his weakened condition, but for her part, she could only thank God he was alive.
“Why don’t you go ahead and see them first?” Ian suggested softly, meeting her glance.
“You don’t mind?”
“’Course not. Go.”
She gazed at him in loving gratitude—then grinned, unable to contain her exuberance. Handing off her parasol to one of their servants who stood in attendance, Georgie picked up the hem of her skirts and rushed to the pier to greet her family.
Papa was the first to spot her as he climbed up the ladder after Gabriel. Tall and hale, still handsome and robust in his sixties, Lord Arthur swept off his bicorn hat and waved it to her with a grin from ear to ear, the sunlight gleamed on his thick white curls that had once been as black as her brothers’ hair was.
“Papa!” Georgie pounded down the planks toward them, dodging tattooed sailors and fishwives carrying crates of herrings on their heads, and in the next moment, she was in their arms, all of them hugging each other in joyous reunion. Georgie could barely speak, choked up with the knowledge that they had nearly been parted permanently.
She turned to Gabriel, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle embrace. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you,” she whispered. “How are you?” When she pulled back a small distance to study him, her stern eldest brother only nodded, his lips pressed into a taut line. She cupped his jaw, noting that he was thinner than before, and a trifle pale.
The traces of pain had been stamped into his rugged face, but his dark blue eyes were as determined as ever.
Tears filled her own. “My hero-brother. You saved our lives and nearly lost your own. But now you’re finally here, and I’m going to take care of you until you’re strong again.”
“Good, ’cause I’m a little sick of Derek,” he muttered dryly.
“Hey!” their middle brother retorted in mock indignation as the others laughed. “Ungrateful bastard. He’s had me waiting on him hand and foot!”
Gabriel cast him a sly grin.
“How now, where’s my little girl?” Papa boomed.
When he opened his arms to her, Georgie lit up and flew into his embrace. “You old rascal!” She hugged her father hard and then pulled back to stare sternly at him. “No more adventures for you, sir! My nerves can’t take it! Jack is going to have to find a new volunteer, because I’m not letting you go anymore. Do you understand?”
“Tut, tut, my dear.” With a fond chuckle, Lord Arthur pried her back and held her by her shoulders, giving her a once-over glance of distinct pride. “Well, look at you: Mrs. Married Lady!”
“Thanks to me,” Derek interjected.
Georgie turned, beaming at him. “Derek. Come here, you brilliant matchmaker!” She captured him next, and he returned her embrace with a roguish bear hug. “Sometimes, you know, you are the very best brother in the world.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well. Go on, say it.”
He flashed a charming smile. “I told you so.”
She laughed at him, shook her head, and hugged him again. He returned her embrace for a moment longer, neither needing any words to ensure they both understood there were no hard feelings left over from their quarrel upon leaving Janpur.
“How’s the war going?” she asked, pulling back.
He shrugged. “It’s going. Haven’t heard anything since we left India months ago.”
“Are you still under orders from Colonel Montrose to lobby Parliament for more army funds?”
“Yes, God help me,” he drawled. “I told Gabriel I’d handle this one myself. That way, he can concentrate all his efforts on getting well. By the way,” he added, glancing over as Ian approached, bringing Matthew down the pier to meet his new kin. “King Johar found out about Queen Sujana’s attempts to have us all butchered, and well, let’s just say he took care of the problem in the Eastern fashion.”
“Oh, dear,” Georgie said, wincing at the amount of bloodshed that his words implied, but nevertheless, she was wholeheartedly relieved to hear it. If King Johar had ordered all of Queen Sujana’s loyal henchmen beheaded or thrown to the tigers, or otherwise done in by some imaginative Eastern device, that meant there was nobody left to come after them. Now each night when she put Matthew to bed, she’d be able to assure the boy more convincingly that he truly was safe.
Ian was accepting handshakes and congratulations on their nuptials from Papa and Gabriel.
“Oh, look,” Georgie suddenly murmured to Derek, nodding toward their father, who had just been introduced to his new grandson. “Remember that old trick?”
Derek rolled his eyes and laughed.
“Right here, m’boy,” Lord Arthur ordered Matthew, holding up his palm and pointing to it. “Give me your best punch! Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Matthew looked u
p at Ian with a puzzled glance.
“Go on, son,” her husband murmured, his amused look suggesting that he, too, remembered Lord Arthur’s hallmark challenge from when he and all her Knight cousins were boys.
“Come on, lad! Have at you!” Lord Arthur urged.
Matthew knotted up his brow, drew back, and punched his new grandfather’s open palm as hard as he could, at which, predictably, the old man let out a bellow of pain. “Oh, blast! I think it’s broken! My, my, this boy’s got a fist on ’im! I say!”
This, of course, was all part of the charade. Matthew looked around uncertainly at the adults and, slowly catching on, joined them in their laughter.
“Come on, Dad,” Gabriel muttered, clapping him on the shoulder. “That trick is thirty years old.”
“It’s new to him. Isn’t it, lad?” Lord Arthur gave Matthew a cheery wink and rumpled his hair.
Matthew decided on the spot that a real grandpa of one’s own was an excellent thing to have, and latched onto Lord Arthur immediately. The old nabob, in turn, looked completely tickled by his plucky young grandson-by-marriage, and took the boy’s hand protectively.
For a moment Georgie watched them together, her darling father and her small adopted son, as they headed off down the pier hand in hand; then her gaze traveled over her brothers’ dear faces. They both looked glad to be done with their long and difficult journey. Gabriel still had a lot of healing to do, and as for Derek, though his manner seemed as wry and carefree as ever, she sensed a grim seriousness beneath his outward show of breezy charm. It seemed that nearly losing Gabriel had affected him more deeply than he cared to admit.
“Come on, everybody,” she forced out past the sentimental lump in her throat. “Let’s go home.”
“Don’t know if I’d call it home,” Derek said under his breath as he scanned the unfamiliar vista of London Town.
Georgie turned to him in surprise, lingering behind as Ian showed Gabriel up the pier toward the waiting carriages. “You plan on going back to India?”
“When my mission is complete, yes. Ah, don’t fret, sis. We younger sons have to make our fortunes somehow.”
“Maybe you’ll meet an English lady and end up getting married here, too.”
Derek snorted. “Why on earth would I do a foolish thing like that when the East abounds with dancing girls? Besides, I have to get back to my men. There’s a battle on, you know. I should be with them.”
She gazed at him wistfully, and then he swept a gentlemanly gesture toward the pier, inviting her to go ahead of him. She did, hastening forward to direct everyone into the appropriate carriages.
“Are we all going to fit in there?” Lord Arthur inquired, glancing into the stately town coach.
“We’re family, we can squeeze!” she answered brightly.
“Maybe not the best thing for Gabriel’s wound,” Derek murmured.
“You all sit in the back. I’ll drive,” Ian volunteered.
“What an excellent son-in-law!” Lord Arthur exclaimed, giving Ian an affectionate slap on the back as he strode past him toward the driver’s box.
“Why, thank you, sir.” He flashed her father a charming half smile and waved his coachman off to ride in the servants’ wagon.
“But, er, won’t the ton be shocked to see the Marquess of Griffith driving his own carriage?” her father baited him with a knowing twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
Ian sent Lord Arthur a devilish glance. “Who gives a damn what the ton thinks?”
“I say, Lord Griffith! Such shocking sentiments from a proper Prescott.”
“I know,” Ian answered dryly. “It’s all your daughter’s doing. She’s run amuck with all of our stately Prescott traditions.”
“Perhaps that is a boon,” her father said with a sage look as he lifted Matthew into the coach.
“Indubitably so,” Ian agreed. “Come, then. All aboard!”
“I’ll ride up here with you, husband!” Georgie said brightly, bounding up onto the driver’s box ahead of him. “If you’re going to shock Society, I want to help!”
“Which is just as it should be—my loyal helpmate,” he replied, shooting her a smile of sardonic affection.
Then he helped her up onto the driver’s box.
A moment later, as the four passengers all settled into the coach with a cheerful air—her father and Matthew and both of her brothers—they all plainly overheard the newlyweds’ curious exchange from up on the driver’s box.
“Give me the reins, darling.”
“But Ian, I want to drive this time—”
“Georgiana. Give me the reins.”
There was a long, stubborn pause.
Listening in, Lord Arthur furrowed his brow with the barest shadow of paternal worry.
But then the sound of a smitten feminine sigh floated down to them. “Oh, very well, husband. Take them, if you must. They’re all yours—as am I.”
“There now, princess.” Suppressed laughter softened his deep voice. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“No, not when you know full well that you’re wrapped around my finger.”
“Oh, am I? I shall kiss that saucy grin off your lips if you’re not careful,” the marquess purred.
“I dare you to try!”
Lord Arthur raised an eyebrow as a besotted giggle echoed down to them from the region of the driver’s box, and indeed, it was some moments before the coach finally jolted into motion.
But at last they were underway, merrily rolling homeward.
Read on to catch a special sneak peek at the next thrilling adventure from Gaelen Foley…
Her Secret Fantasy
T he distant sounds of tinkling music and revelers’ laughter floated out to the moonlit gardens from the sprawling manor house, but Lily Balfour scarcely heard above the pounding of her heart.
What a debacle!
On her hands and knees, she scanned the ground, frantically raking her satin-gloved fingers through the silky blades of grass.
Fool! How could I have lost it?
She knew very well it had been reckless of her to sneak away from the ball in the first place—unchaperoned, no less—merely to indulge her silly, sentimental nostalgia over the stupid gazebo.
She had first spotted the garden folly from the gaily lit terrace; then an opportunity to steal away for a closer look had presented itself when he had arrived. Her beau’s new friend caused a distraction, nay, an uproar, every time he made his entrance someplace new in Society. Amid the excitement of his arrival, Lily had seized her chance, slipping off into the shadows and hurrying away through the beautiful rolling parklands to see if the fanciful little structure was indeed like the one back home that had meant so much to her as a child.
It wasn’t, as it turned out.
Her host’s garden folly was fashioned as a miniature pagoda, whereas the one Papa had built for her as a child—her hideaway where she had spent so many happy hours immersed in her imagination—had been fashioned like a tiny Taj Mahal. All the same, it had been nice to get a break from the stuffy ballroom…and, admittedly, from Edward.
At any rate, within a few minutes, Lily had had her fill of looking at the garden folly and enjoying the vista of the ornamental lake nearby, kissed by moonlight. But she had no sooner steeled herself to return to the ballroom and to her beau when she realized by pure chance that she had lost one of her earrings.
Her initial alarm had turned to panic in the moments that ensued. Good God, she had to find it! She could not afford to lose the diamond, and certainly couldn’t afford to replace it. Its great sentimental value aside, her diamond earrings were some of the last Balfour jewels not to have been pawned, and one of the few tangible details helping her to keep up her moneyed charade.
Blast! A twinkle of silver among the dandelions turned out to be nothing but a sequin off her borrowed costume as the fairy queen. That does it. She straightened up, still on her knees, and tipped her pale satin half-mask up over her brow, re
vealing a fair young face set with a scowl of determination.
I am not going back inside without my earring.
Climbing to her feet, she walked back in the direction from which she had come, scanning the ground all the while, when suddenly, a flicker of motion in the garden caught her eye. She froze.
Someone’s coming!
Oh, please, don’t let it be Edward, she thought at once. If he found her out here alone, he would not miss the chance to make advances that he knew he should not. Lily wasn’t sure she was in the proper frame of mind to extricate herself from her beau politely enough not to offend him.
Bent on escape, she dashed around the garden folly and hid behind a large rhododendron just as the intruder marched into view.
But then her eyes widened—and her heart lurched. It was not Edward Lundy, the millionaire nabob at whom she had set her cap.
It was Edward’s new acquaintance—the cavalry hero, newly arrived from India.
She had not been introduced to Major Derek Knight yet, in fact, she had been going out of her way to avoid meeting him, but she knew who he was. Everyone in London did. Especially every female.
Heart pounding, Lily pulled her half-mask down again to hide her face and conceal her identity in case the barbarian spotted her.
From her hiding place behind the leafy cover of the rhododendron, she watched him stride over to the edge of the ornamental lake. He stopped on the reedy shore with his back to her. Resting his hands on his lean waist, he stared out across the water in brooding fashion, his feet planted wide. Her lost earring momentarily forgotten, Lily spied on him in consternation and more than a little disapproval.
What sort of man came to a mask ball and refused to wear a costume, anyway?
Derek Knight was dressed exactly as himself. It was of no consequence to Lily, except…the sheer chiseled beauty of the man was so blasted inconvenient.
Gnawing on her lower lip, she studied him. She could somehow feel the pull of his dangerous magnetism even from here. Moonlight gleamed on his ebony knee-boots, buffed to a brilliant sheen; above them, his tight, pale riding breeches molded the manly perfection of his thighs and derriere; but on the upper half of his body, all that was visible of his indigo cavalry coat against the dark backdrop of the lake were the gold epaulets on his shoulders, and these appeared about a mile apart.
