Charity Begins at Home
Page 30
Charity squirmed down beside him and rested her cheek against his chest. His arms tightened around her, and she felt the accelerating pulse of his heart. "Anything I want. Oh, what could I want? I'm perfectly happy as I am."
"There must be something you want."
"A short engagement."
"Just my thought. Fortunately it's Saturday. Well, it's not fortunate at all. I planned for your birthday to fall on Saturday this year."
"Absurd creature," she said lovingly. "But you are right. The banns can be posted for tomorrow's service, and for two Sundays after that. No, Tristan, I shan't be married by special license, no matter how romantic that sounds. The vicar would never forgive me for setting a bad example again."
"As you wish, my love."
"But I don't want to wait until the mourning for your brother-in-law is over."
"Why should we when my sister isn't?" Tristan said. "They'll probably run off to Gretna, so abandoned to common decency they are."
The thought of Francis eloping made her chuckle, and she felt him shake with answering laughter. "How utterly perfect we are together."
"No other demands? I mean, requests? Not one?"
He was so watchful again, his arms tense about her, that she applied her mind to finding something, anything, that could possibly make her happier. Her gaze fell on the painting of Ferendisi. "Oh, Tristan, I know you wanted to move to Braden right away. But I have always, always, wanted to see Italy. Do you think we could?"
He sat up, pushing her away, but only to feel around in his coat pocket and pull out a leather packet tied with black string. "Another birthday present."
She fumbled with the tie and extracted a whole sheaf of papers. On the top was a pair of tickets on a ship from Southhampton to Naples, leaving the Monday evening after the third Sunday banns could be posted. She regarded him suspiciously. "You were very sure of yourself, weren't you? You have been managing me all along!"
He shrugged modestly. "I mean to apply myself to anticipating your every desire. I anticipate that you want to kiss me again, for example."
She complied, dropping an absent kiss on his lips, then returned to examining the travel papers. "Oh, it will be such fun, taking our wedding trip in Italy! You must show me all the places you love and everywhere you've ever painted, especially the romantic places."
He drew her back in his arms, brushing her temple with a kiss. "I promise I will take you to every romantic spot in Italy."
"What luck you know Italy so well. I mean to write a guidebook." She turned her head to kiss his hard, tender mouth. "For brides," she murmured. She felt his mouth under hers curve in a smile and pulled away to see it.
"Oh, better and better. Then you'll have a purpose for the trip. And you must have a purpose, Charity Calder. Otherwise you will no doubt feel bored and useless."
She loved his teasing; this lightheartedness was something she had given him. So she only nestled into his arms, her head against his chest so she could hear the rapid beat of his heart. "Tristan, do you truly mean to paint me in the nude?"
He considered this, brushing her hair back from her face with a gentle hand. "I think I will have to. If you don't mind. Think of what fun the sittings will be."
"Imagine what Aunt Grace will say when she sees me in all my glory on the walls of the Royal Academy."
He straightened at this suggestion. "I was planning a private exhibition. Very private." After further consideration, he decided, "No nude painting. I couldn't do the subject justice. Once in awhile, nature doesn't need any embellishment from the artist. Only enjoyment. And I intend to have plenty of that."
And in his burning eyes, Charity saw visions of passion, romance, delights untold, and knew that they had a lifetime to make them real.
The End
Afterword:
If you enjoyed this book, you might enjoy other books by Alicia Rasley, all available where electronic books are sold:
The Wilder Heart, a Regency novella.
Poetic Justice, a Regency novel.
The Reluctant Lady, a Regency novel.
Royal Renegade, a Regency novel.
Check out the Amazon page for other Regencies by Rasley.
• Rakish heroes.
• Reckless heroines.
• Elegant stores.
About the author:
Alicia Rasley is a RITA-award winning Regency novelist who has been published by major publishers such as Dell, NAL, and Kensington. Her women’s fiction novel The Year She Fell has been a Kindle bestseller in the fiction category.
Her articles on writing and the Regency period have been widely distributed, and many are collected on her website, www.rasley.com. She also blogs about writing and editing at www.edittorrent.blogspot.com. Currently she teaches and tutors writers at two state colleges and in workshops around North America. She lives with her husband Jeff, another writer and a retired attorney. The elder of their sons is training to be a military officer, and the younger is a production assistant in Hollywood.
To my readers:
I hope you enjoyed the story of Charity and Tristan! I love writing about the elegant, exciting Regency period, and setting a romance within the political and military upheaval of the time.
If you like this book, please click the "like" on the sales page, and leave a comment. That really helps authors get the word out, and we appreciate it so much. Happy reading!
Alicia
A Warrior Returns: from Allegra's Song, by Alicia Rasley available where e-books are sold.
"I never imagined that, not in all those years away from you. I couldn't, of course, couldn't think of it, or I wouldn't have been able to go on. But to hear it said, by two men not fit to—" Nicholas shook his head and didn't finish.
"And you believed them?" she cried. "Gossip overheard in a taproom? Accusing me of—" She couldn't say the words betraying you.
"No. They weren't describing, only predicting, and in some detail." With a savage, smooth motion, he pulled out his sword. Instinctively she stepped back from the rush of wind as the blade slashed an inch from her leg. She heard a splash of water, and saw the tip of the sword flash silver, deftly beheading a waterscorpion at the lip of the fountain.
The two pieces held together for an improbable moment, then Nicholas swung up his sword and they fell separately into the water. Allegra gasped as drops splashed on her skirt, and shrank back from the tainted pool.
Automatically, Nicholas wiped the blade of his sword on his breeches and sheathed it. As if nothing had happened, he said, "So tell me, wife, tell me. Where were they wrong? What shouldn't I believe? That you left your home to come to London to see him? That you sent your son away? That Keverne was a frequent visitor to our house—our house—in London? That he got you invited here, and your sisters too as some sort of blind? That the other men at the party are wagering on the night of your succumbing?"
She gazed down at the dead thing in the water and couldn't speak. His recital was such a knot of half-truths she couldn't begin to undo it anyway. Finally she whispered fiercely, "If you won't believe me, I have nothing more to say."
"I don't know what to believe." For just a moment, the anguish rang clear in his voice, then he got control of it. "If you haven't betrayed me—if he isn't your lover, then why are you here? Why are you with him? No." With a sharp gesture, he cut off her protest. "Don't tell me you aren't with him. I have seen you with him, twice now. Oh, nothing compromising, no. But Allegra—"
He put his hand beside her, palm against the wall, his full white sleeve caressing her bare arm. He leaned closer, speaking softly, so that his words brushed her temple. "Tell me. If you knew there was talk of your connection to him, if you knew I would object—and you knew that, don't tell me you didn't, I saw it in your eyes tonight—then why did you persist? Why dance with him tonight, when you knew it would be the talk of the evening, you with that half-dressed rake?"
She didn't look up at him, instead watching the rise and fall of h
is chest under the white shirt as he took a breath and held it and let it go. "I will not let gossip determine who will be my friend."
"Your friend? He wants to bed you, if he hasn't—" He cut that off. "What does he do that makes you disregard all that? Make you forget you have a child at home, and a husband too?"
The pain in his voice was so raw she was moved to speak with equal honesty, though she knew it was a mistake. "He makes me laugh, that is all."
"Makes you laugh?" Nicholas sounded stunned. He drew back, and she was able to slip away from his imprisoning arm, and edge down the wall toward the opening. "Makes you laugh? Allegra, he's useless. What's he done in his life but seduce women and switch tailors? Laughter! How can you—you are carving me up, all I have been, all I have done, with his laughter!"
There was no use defending Simon; he didn't need it, and it would do no good. She had nothing but the truth, and that would not be enough. "You had better believe this, Nicholas, because I shan't say it again. I have done nothing to betray you."
"Nothing yet, perhaps." He pushed away from the wall and walked restlessly across the little grotto. He stopped where her mask lay, abandoned on the ground, and nudged it with his boot. "But then he might make you laugh again.” He looked up at her. "I will believe you if you come with me now. Come away from here, and from him. Now. Tonight."
"You will believe me then? Only then?" Her fingers were hurting, clenched tight like that, and she forced them to relax, to open, to lie gentle against her chest. "That isn't belief, Nicholas, if I must prove it to you. And I won't try. If you trust me, you will say no more."
He bent and picked up the mask, brushing the dirt off the white feather, studying it as if there was something written there. Now his voice was cool, all the pain stripped from it. "Come tonight, Allegra. Or don't come at all."