Though it hurt his heart to say it, Lord Townsend saw no other way. He wanted his daughter to be happy. It was what he’d always wanted; what he would always want. But for that to happen, he would have to do something. Something no father was ever prepared to do. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his wife close.
“Now we let her go.”
Annabel walked quickly down the empty street, her footsteps muffled by the snow. Candles glowed in the houses that she passed, but everything was quiet and everyone was still. Clutching her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, she doubled her step, not giving herself any time for self-doubts or second thoughts.
She was nearly past the tea shop when Lucas emerged from the shadows, and even though she’d been expecting him she still gave a short scream of fright.
“Easy lass,” he said, steadying her with both hands when she jerked backwards and nearly slipped.
“You scared me,” she gasped.
The corners of his lips twitched. “I can see that.”
Gathering her composure, she stepped nimbly out of his reach, knowing she needed to first stand on her own if she had any chance of standing beside him. “Lucas…what are we doing here?”
“It has been fourteen days since I walked out that damn door, and I have thought of ye every hour, every minute, every bloody second since.” His heather gray eyes narrowed in a glare, as if it were her fault. “I canna get ye out of my damn head, Annabel.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. Of all the possible things she’d imagined Lucas would say on her way here, this was what she’d hoped for the most. “What are you saying?” she asked, her voice little more than an aching whisper as anticipation swelled inside of her breast.
“I am saying…” His chest rose and fell beneath his heavy greatcoat as he took a deep breath. “I am saying that ye may have been right. I dinna know if fate turned my head in your direction on that day in the park, but something made me look, lass. And I haven’t been able to stop looking. I know I am not right for ye lass. I never was, and I fear I never will be. You deserve more than an Irishman with a poor pedigree and I–”
“–deserve to be loved,” she finished before he could speak another word. “You deserve to be loved, Lucas, just as I deserve to be loved. Not for who Society wants us to be or thinks us to be, but for who we are. And I know…” Her voice caught as a lump formed in her throat, but she fought onwards, determined to say what needed to be said. “I know in my heart that we are meant to be together. I know how silly that must sound, but I–”
“No lass,” he interrupted gently. Closing the space between them with one short step, he cupped her cold cheeks in his warm palms and tilted her face up. “If ever there was a woman meant to drive me mad and make me fall, it is you.”
“Truly?” she whispered.
“Truly. That much being said, I am in no rush to get to the altar. I want to court ye properly, lass,” he said before she could open her mouth in protest. “And I want the approval of your family. ‘Tis obvious how much they mean to you, and I wouldn’t want ye to feel as though we were sneaking about behind their backs.” His mouth curved in a wolfish grin. “Tonight being an exception, of course.”
Had she ever felt this happy? Annabel didn’t think so. In fact, she was sure she hadn’t…and that made this moment all the sweeter. It was rather amusing, how life worked. Three weeks ago she’d been listening to a man talk about his button collection, and now she was standing before the love of her life. There would be hurdles to overcome, of course. After all she and Lucas hardly knew anything about one another, although she had the distinct feeling he was every bit as stubborn as she which would, she suspect, lead to many entertaining arguments.
At least one thing was absolutely certain, however.
With Lucas she would never be bored.
“Thank you for giving us a chance,” she said softly. “I know how difficult it must have been for you.”
With a rakish glint in his eye, Lucas pulled her against him. “You’re welcome, lass. But why not thank me with a kiss…”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book.
She isn't very fond of doing laundry.
www.jillianeaton.com
SWAN SISTERS SERIES
Read on for a sneak peek excerpt from Taming Temperance, the third book in the Swan Sisters series. Now available wherever e-books are sold!
Taming Temperance
Hugh Jacobson has dark secrets. Secrets he has brought with him all the way across the Atlantic to protect. Ready to start a new life in a new country, he knows the last thing he should be doing is trading insults with a sharp-tongued debutante, no matter how attractive he finds her. And yet after a chance encounter with one Miss Temperance Swan that is precisely what Hugh finds himself doing.
All three of the Swan sisters are strong-willed, but none more so than Temperance. Beautiful and brash, she has never met a man she could not twist around her little finger…until she meets Hugh. Completely immune to her considerable charms, the American is also rough, surly, and disagreeable. In short, he is everything Temperance doesn’t want…and everything she secretly desires.
Unable to deny their passion for one another, Temperance and Hugh are soon entangled in a secret affair that puts everything they hold dear at risk. Including their love…and their lives.
CHAPTER ONE
“Where did you get that?” Staring at the rectangular piece of glass dangling from her friend’s hand, Temperance Swan felt her entire body go cold all the way from the tips of her toes to the tip of her nose. She shivered, drawing her cloak more firmly around her shoulders despite the warm autumn sun beating down on the nape of her neck. “And who sold it to you?” she added, even though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.
Surrounded by men, women, and children all celebrating the end of harvest season with a village festival, Temperance should have been thinking about hair ribbons and hand carved ornaments and bread pudding. But instead of meaningless trinkets she could now afford to purchase courtesy of her sister Lynette’s recent marriage to a wealthy viscount, her thoughts were fixated on a man she had met in London. A man who had possessed a rectangular piece of glass exactly like the one Lady Annabel Blackbourne was now holding.
He had called it a look-behind, she recalled with the faintest of frowns. And she’d mocked him for it, even though it really was an ingenious invention.
When attached to the front of a carriage or other wheeled conveyance, the mirror allowed the driver to see behind them. It was a simple contraption. Unique as well, which was why she needed to know precisely where Annabel had gotten her hands on one.
Tall and lovely with hair the color of finely spun gold and eyes that matched the rolling countryside, Annabel’s pale beauty was a stark contrast to Temperance’s dark allure. Like her sisters Lynette and Delilah, Temperance had been blessed with porcelain skin, a thick tumble of tawny hair, and vivid brown eyes that were currently flashing with annoyance as she awaited Annabel’s reply.
The odds of Hugh Jacobson being in the tiny country village of Farmingdale were so astronomical they were not even worth considering.
But on the slight chance he was here…
No.
Her mind scampered away from the appalling idea like a rabbit fleeing from the hungry jaws of a fox. Hugh was not here. He could not be here. And even if he was, she did not want to see him! Or so said her mind. Her body, on the other hand, had different ideas.
Traitor, she thought with a disdainful glare down at her stomach as it filled with butterflies, their colorful wings anxiously stirring to life beneath the confining fabric of her chemise.
She could not recall the last time a man had elicited such a response. And therein laid t
he problem. A few years ago Temperance could have allowed herself to be intrigued by the notion of a surly American, but she was no longer a flirtatious debutante without a care in the world. She had responsibilities now. Responsibilities that had come far too soon courtesy of an old scandal…and her parent’s untimely death.
Lynette had done her best to shield her younger sisters from the harsh sting of such an unprecedented loss and the financial ruin that had quickly followed, but Temperance had always been far too perceptive for her own good.
Not to mention nosy.
She had seen the bank notes and the hastily scrawled letters from the debt collector’s on their father’s desk. And she had watched with both eyes wide open and her tongue tucked firmly between her teeth as their worldly possessions were sold off piece by piece.
The past twelve months had been especially hard. Even sweet, dreamy Delilah had begun to wither beneath the strain of shouldering far too large a burden. Which was why, Temperance suspected, Lynette had agreed to marry a man who was little more than a stranger. A man she had since fallen in love with even though she did not really like him all that much.
Nathaniel Blackbourne was not a bad person. In fact, as a brother-in-law he was rather quite generous, not to mention dashingly handsome and devilishly charming. But he and Lynette had rushed into a marriage that would have benefited from a longer courtship and they were both suffering the consequences of their impulsive actions.
Which is why I should not be wasting a moment of my time on Heath Jacobson, she told herself sternly. There are more important matters at hand than an American who called me a bitch!
Although to be fair, when put into context, the insult wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed. After all, she had accused him of blindness and attempted murder when in hindsight perhaps running in front of his carriage had not been the best course of action. But it had been raining and she and Delilah had been freezing cold, not to mention completely lost. What else could she have done?
Temperance bit her bottom lip, drawing the plump flesh between her teeth and worrying it as a dog would a bone as she felt an uncomfortable twinge of regret. Maybe she had been a bit too insolent, but then so had Hugh! Answering every question with a question, she recalled with a scowl. And the way he had stared at her in his look-behind! No man had ever looked at her like that before.
There had been an unmistakable hunger in his dark, tortured gaze. Almost as if he were starving...and she were a bright, shiny apple he could not wait to sink his teeth into.
“Over there.” Completely oblivious to Temperance’s conflicted emotions, Annabel pointed cheerfully at a long line of colorful tents where various vendors had put their wares on display. “The blue one in the middle. The man who sold it to me was quite nice.” Her even white teeth flashed in the dappled sunlight. “Handsome, too. And an American!”
Temperance’s heart gave an extra lurch inside of her chest. Then Hugh was here. Unless there was another American selling look-behinds, which she sincerely doubted.
It does not matter. He means nothing to you. Don’t you dare–
“I will be right back.”
Drats.
It was bad enough she never took anyone else’s advice.
Why in heaven’s name could she not take her own?
Picking up her skirts to avoid dirtying the hem on the dusty ground, Temperance ducked nimbly into the crowd. Dimly she heard Lynette calling her name, but her sister’s voice was quickly lost. Fixing her gaze in the direction Annabel had pointed she began to march determinedly towards the tents. Given the sheer number of people crowded into the small village square, however, getting from one point to another was easier said than done.
In addition to the farmers and merchants trying to earn a bit of extra coin before winter sank its icy fingers into the countryside there were also acrobats, dancers, and even a few trick riders on horseback. Young children dressed in white wove orange silk ribbons around a tall pole in the middle of the square while a group of traveling musicians set up on the far side of it, playing random notes as they struggled to tune their violins amidst the chaos and mayhem.
Turning sideways in order to squeeze between two men balancing precariously on wooden stilts, Temperance was both short of breath and patience by the time she reached the line of tents. Slanting a hand across her brow to block the sun from her eyes - she’d lost her bonnet within the first ten minutes of arriving at the festival - she hurried down the row, passing tables filled with everything from pretty silk scarves imported from India to pear-shaped gourds.
A faint breeze stirred the banners and flags tied to the tops of the tents, but close to the ground the air was sweltering hot from the press of so many bodies and soon sweat began to trickle between Temperance’s breasts and down the narrow space between her shoulder blades, making her squirm in discomfort as she fought her way through the crowd. Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, she yanked off a thin white glove and used it to dab at the perspiration glistening on her temple as she continued to search for Heath amidst the bustling village square.
If someone were to ask her why she was so determined to find the enigmatic American, she didn’t know if she would have an answer. At least not one that made any sense. The truth was that ever since they’d met (when he’d nearly run her over in his carriage and she’d ended up flat on her back in a mud puddle) it had been nigh on impossible to get him out of her head. Even with everything else going on - the sudden move to the country, Lynette’s impromptu wedding, and their new furry family member Mr. Humphrey, a little dog with a rather large attitude - her thoughts had never strayed very far from Hugh Jacobson.
It wasn’t because she liked him, Temperance assured herself hurriedly as she ducked to the left in order to avoid being thwacked over the head by a man juggling four skittles. Quite the opposite, in fact. And she did not even want to see him again. Not really. In fact, she could easily go an entire lifetime without ever gazing into his blue eyes or admiring the width of his shoulders or the way he had–
“What the hell are you doing here?” Standing in front of a narrow tent with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, Hugh stared at Temperance as though she were an irksome gnat he’d thought he had squished only to discover he hadn’t quite finished the job.
With his legs braced apart and his thighs bulging beneath the tan fabric of his trousers he looked more like a giant than a man. His shoulder-length hair was tied back in a knot and his face was cleanly shaven, revealing a square chin and a full mouth curled in disapproval. He had a heavy brow that extended over his eyes, giving him a perpetual scowl. His features were dark and heavy set; the sort one envisioned when they imagined a villain.
A smile might have lightened his countenance, but as Temperance gazed up at him she doubted he’d ever worn a smile a day in his life. “What am I doing here?” Skirting around a man pushing a cart filled to the brim with apples, she squared off in front of Hugh and crossed her arms, refusing to let herself be intimidated by his surly demeanor. He was like a grumpy old dog, and like most grumpy old dog’s his bark was far worse than his bite.
Or so she hoped.
“I happen to live right down the road, not that it is any of your business. What are you doing here?”
“This is a merchant’s fair and I am a merchant.” He glanced behind him at his tent. Though smaller than many of the others, it was packed to the gills with the same random assortment of things he had been carrying around in his carriage on the day they’d met. Never in all of her life had Temperance seen such an odd collection of belongings. There had been so many things she and Delilah had barely fit! And yet he’d struck her as more of a traveling gypsy than a merchant. As a general rule, merchants actually had to be nice to their clientele.
And Hugh was anything but nice.
“Oh is that what you are?” she said sweetly. “I rather thought you were just a collector of useless junk.”
Temperance did not know why she felt the
need to antagonize Hugh. No doubt it would have been best to leave well enough alone, but she so did love the way his eyes flashed and his jaw clenched when he was annoyed. It posed a delightful challenge. How much could she poke the bear before the bear poked back?
“Are you going to buy something?” he growled. “If not you can damn well turn right around.”
“Oh, I believe I shall have a quick look.” Ignoring his fierce scowl, she stepped neatly past him and into the tent…
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