Patrick's deep robust chuckle reverberated against her chest. "It is a very good thing, my love." He kissed the tip of her nose. "It means you're ready for me." He brushed a soft kiss on her cheek.
"I think I've been ready for you since the moment we first danced." Her body and soul craved his touch. They had the rest of their lives to go slow, to take their time. Aveline wanted to be his, and his alone. "I want you now."
The comment earned Aveline a seductive lopsided smile that made her pulse grow wild with anticipation of what was to come.
Moving his body to cover hers, he began to ease himself into her. "This may hurt."
Aveline could see the apprehension in his eyes and desperately wanted to reassure him. Through heavy breaths she said, "I trust you."
With one thrust, he broke through her barrier. Patrick took her mouth in a soft kiss, absorbing her cry. Her whole body tensed in response to the foreign invasion. He did not move for several seconds, giving her time to adjust.
He released her lips and whispered, "Just breathe and enjoy."
The pain was only momentary, quickly replaced by a simmering fire that demanded release. She took in a deep breath as he moved his hips, the full length of him enrapturing her core. Her body melted against his, becoming one. The kisses he showered along her neck sent a jolt of excitement through her body.
"You. Are. Mine." He breathed the possessive words across her slick skin. His expert touch sent her to even higher levels of pleasure.
Heat rippled through her as he guided her to a place too beautiful for words. "Oh Patrick," she cried out. Moments later she felt him shudder then relax against her.
Breathing heavily, he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him and held her snug within his embrace. Aveline rested her head against his wide chest. There was no place else she would rather be than here with him.
"I'm sorry I ever hurt you," he said with quiet emphasis. "I was desperate and…"
The restrained emotion in his voice brought tears to her eyes. She raised her head and pressed a finger to his lips. She did not want him suffer anymore. "I know."
Patrick's hand cupped her cheek and held it gently. He gazed into her eyes with an intense honesty. "I'm in love with you. Never doubt that."
"I never will again." Aveline's heart overflowed with a joy she never thought possible. "I love you." For the first time in her life, she was blissfully happy, fully in love, and completely at peace.
Their lips met with a dreamy intimacy, carrying her away on a wispy cloud. He brushed soft seductive kisses along her cheek. The warmth of his kiss set her body aflame. She would never tire of his touch.
"Oh, Patrick, yes," she sighed as he kissed and nibbled his way down her neck.
He lifted his head, the teasing sparkle in his eyes smoldered with fire. "Does that mean you will marry me?"
She gazed into his loving brown eyes. Without any doubt or hesitation she answered, "Yes, with all my heart, yes."
Stolen Kisses from the Viscount: Epilogue
Seven months later
THE PAST SEVEN MONTHS WITH AVELINE had been the happiest of Patrick's life. After they had married by special license, shocking the ton with their hasty nuptials, they retreated to the country to start building a new life together.
Within a matter of months, the estate had once again begun to prosper, far exceeding Patrick's expectations. Although Aveline insisted on using her dowry for repairs and renovations, Patrick was relieved the estate would soon be able to support itself. Aveline was more than a wife; she was a partner in all endeavors.
Patrick was able to put the past to rest and forgive his father. He'd severed all ties with Pickering and his prior life. There were more important things occupying his time. Everyday his love for his wife deepened and intensified.
"You look deep in thought." Aveline's silky voice glided through the room.
"I was thinking about you," he said with all the love he felt in his heart.
Aveline strolled toward him. The seductive sway of her hips was a reminder of the pleasures they had shared only a couple of hours ago. She walked into his embrace and kissed him, pressing her lips to his, caressing his mouth.
"I am not going to finish any business if you keep kissing me like that," he teased.
Before she could respond, Dwight entered the room. "Pardon me, Lord Leybourne, the trunk has arrived. Shall I have it brought it in?"
"Yes, thank you." Patrick turned his attention back to Aveline, but she was too curious about the delivery.
"Trunk?" She raised a delicate brow in question. "Are we expecting your sisters?"
"No, they are still in London with Aunt Agnes and will meet us in Bath as scheduled."
"My aunt and uncle?"
"No, their plans have not changed either." Patrick was enjoying keeping Aveline in suspense.
She huffed out an inelegant sigh. "Well, then, what…?"
Patrick kissed the tip of her nose. "I am not going to reveal my surprise, you're just going to have to wait."
Moments later, two footmen brought in a large trunk and then retreated back to their posts.
"Open it," he encouraged her.
Brows creased together with uncertainty, she walked toward the trunk. He followed close behind, excited for her to see the contents.
She undid the latch and raised the lid. A white Holland cloth covered the hidden treasure. Patrick bent down, grabbed hold of the cloth and whisked it away from the trunk in one swoop.
"Oh…oh my," Aveline breathed out. "Patrick, it's the lion cub statue from Aunt and Uncle's house. How…?" Her words trailed off as joyful tears streamed down her face.
"Shh, my love." Patrick enveloped her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head. "After you showed me your sketchbook, I wrote to your uncle inquiring after the statue. I offered a substantial sum for the little cub."
"Uncle Arnulf sold it to you?" Her words stuttered out, "It's one of his favorite…is…is he ill again?"
"Your uncle is still hale." Patrick felt the relief course through Aveline's body with his reassurance. "Actually, he refused my offer."
"But…why is it here?"
"Your aunt and uncle sent it to us as a belated wedding present."
Even as the tears pooled in the corner of her eyes, Aveline's smile broadened. "Thank you," she whispered out.
Patrick cupped her face and wiped away the tears. "No, thank you. You saved me from a lifetime of sorrow and bitterness." He brushed a soft kiss across her smiling lips. "My life is complete with you by my side. I love you more than I ever thought possible."
"Oh, Patrick, you are my all, my one true love." Aveline reached up and sealed her declaration with a true love's kiss.
TEMPTED BY A ROGUE
by Lauren Smith
Tempted by a Rogue: Chapter One
Midhurst, West Sussex 1817
WHITE AND PINK ROSES FORMED SPOTS of striking color against the dense green hedges as Gemma Haverford walked through the gardens of her home. She let her fingertips touch the petals of the roses as she headed toward the center of the garden. Twilight was her favorite time of day. Birds began to quiet their singing, the sunlight softened, giving everything a soft glow. Gemma took a seat on a cool marble bench at the center of the maze of hedges and rosebushes. Her hands trembled as she smoothed out her skirts. She was anxious enough that her knees knocked together too, but she couldn't banish her nerves.
It wasn't every day that she wore her best gown, an almost sheer sky blue silk, for a secret garden rendezvous. Everything needed to be perfect. She'd gone to great effort to have her lady's maid tame the wild waves of her hair and help to slightly dampen her gown to cling better to her form, which bore only the veiled protection of a single filmy shift.
She had to look her best tonight. At twenty-five she was past the age where most women found it easy to marry. One of her distant cousins had callously remarked earlier that year that she was so far back on the shelf that she was collecting du
st. Gemma, feeling a little too irritated at the remark, and having one too many cups of arrack punch, had sneezed at him as though he was the one covered in dust. Not her finest moment, she had nearly dissolved in a fit of unladylike giggles at his horrified expression when he'd struggled to find the handkerchief in his waistcoat to wipe his face.
There was a very good reason she hadn't married, but she couldn't tell anyone, not even her parents why she'd turned down more than one suitor over the years. For eleven years she had kept herself out of the hunt for husbands, believing, knowing that she would marry one man, James Randolph, her childhood sweetheart.
He and his best friend, Jasper Holland, had enlisted in His Majesty's Navy as young midshipman. James had been fourteen and Jasper, half a year older, had been fifteen. For eleven long years the two men had been gone, making their fortunes on the high seas, but now they set to return home, to marry and settle down. She'd not seen them in all that time, but she knew in her heart of hearts, that James was coming for her. His letters to her had been steady and filled with reassurances of his affection and his intent to marry her as soon as he came home. And now it was time.
What would he be like after so many years? Had he changed like she had? Grown taller, more muscular, more handsome than the wild young man who'd dashed off to sea? Would he be stern as a husband after commanding men and war ships? Or would he be gentle with her after so many hard years at sea, and want nothing more than a quiet country life full of friends and family within an easy walk of one's home? It was what she'd always wanted. She'd never cared for London and the fast pace of the city. She adored the country, the birds, the green lands, the sheep, even the garden parties that her neighbors threw often were an amusement she enjoyed. Would James want the same thing?
Gemma nibbled her bottom lip, glancing about the gardens. Wisteria hung over trellises to the entrance of this particular part of the garden, the thick blooms almost like wildflowers strung on green vines over the white painted wood. How lovely it was here tonight. How perfect too. She couldn't resist smiling.
Just that morning she had received James's latest letter, telling her he would seek her out in the gardens tonight, for a private audience, away from the eyes of parents and chaperones.
Tonight. The one word held such promise. Enclosed in James's letter was a soft strip of black gauzy cloth embroidered with silver stars. The letter instructed her to wait until twilight, and then blindfold herself for his arrival because he wished to surprise her.
A wave of heat flooded her cheeks at the thought of being so vulnerable and alone with him in such a manner, but another part of her heated in strange, unfamiliar places. She knew meeting him here like this wasn't proper and if anyone found out, she'd be compromised. But this was James, her James. The man she trusted more than anyone else in the world, except for her father. The temptation to meet him here, even in secret, was irresistible.
What would he do when he came upon her? Remove the blindfold? He might touch her face, her hair, her neck…Gemma trailed her own fingertips over her neck, wondering how different it would feel to have a man's hands there, ones worn with callouses from years of working the ropes while tacking the sails of a great ship.
A shiver rippled through her and she hastily dropped her hands back to her lap, feeling a little foolish. It was so easy to get carried away when thinking of James. When she first read the portion of the letter that told her to meet him like this, being compromised was her first fear, but James was a good and noble man. He was not the sort to ruin a lady, especially not when he intended to marry in good standing.
Even though she had not seen him since he set off eleven years ago, she had faith that he would not damage her virtue with this garden rendezvous. He would be a gentleman, wouldn't he? Gemma was all too aware that she knew little of the hearts of men, or how deeply they could fall prey to their desires.
Perhaps I ought to go back inside and wait for him to call upon me tomorrow morning? That would be the proper thing, after all.
Proper yes, but she wanted to see James alone and didn't want to wait another moment, even one night. If she were to be caught in a position that sorely injured her reputation, well, her father would demand a marriage immediately, James would comply, and all would be well.
Yes, all would be well enough. We need to be married, and mayhap it matters little how the deed comes about?
Perhaps that was what James intended, a certainty of compromising her so he could ensure they would be married. It was indeed a little unorthodox, but that might be his intent. To conquer her like he'd conquered his enemies upon the seas, swiftly and surely. If that were the case, then he was certainly a rogue. Another little smile twisted her lips.
Am I to marry a rogue? Wouldn't that be… She giggled unable to stop herself from thinking of how wonderfully wicked that would be. It would be scandalous, but if it was James, he would be her rogue.
So with that reassuring thought, she pulled the blindfold out, carefully put it over her eyes, and tied it into a small bow at the back of her head. She fiddled with her hair, tugging the loose untamable ringlets a little so they coiled down against her neck. Mary, her maid had done her best to fix it, but they both knew it would always look a bit wild. James would have to forgive her for appearing a little unruly. At least her gown had turned out well.
With the blindfold secure, she found she could see the vague outline of shapes through the thin gauzy cloth but her eyes were, for the most part, shielded from any clearer perceptions. Gemma smoothed her gown again, shifting restlessly as her stomach flipped over and over inside her. What if James had met with some delay, for he was not officially due to arrive in Midhurst until tomorrow where he and Jasper would be toasted and celebrated at Lady Edith Greenley's country estate garden party.
Gravel suddenly crunched close by as someone trod along the garden path leading straight toward her. She held her breath, sitting very still. It had to be James. Her heart fluttered so wildly that her ribs hurt from the hammering beat.
JASPER HOLLAND CURSED FOR the thousand time as he fumbled his way through the maze of the Haverford Gardens. It was a bloody mess, this whole situation. It was James who should be here, not him, yet he was the one who was trapped in the situation of compromising a thoroughly decent young lady because his best friend was acting like a cur. Straightening his blue naval coat around his waist, he took another right turn, facing a dead end.
"Who designed this damnable thing? I'll likely lose my way and be eaten by a Minotaur," he muttered, stumbled back and took a left down another path. Someone should have drawn him a map to this—
He heard a feminine giggle some distance away and halted. The sound was light, a little husky, and it had the strangest effect on him just then. He could almost picture a woman beneath him in bed, just as he was about to enter her and ride her to their mutual pleasure making that sound. It was the best sort of sound in the world and one he hadn't heard in a long time. On the sea, there were often chances to visit the docks when in port, and pay for a night at a brothel. James had done that often enough, but Jasper never liked it.
There was something sad about the painted faces and the quiet resigned looks of the prostitutes that betrayed the way they felt about the manner in which they earned their living. More than once Jasper would pay to simply talk to them and then leave for the night, unsatisfied. After that, he'd taken to staying on the ship, leaving James to cavort on his own.
It still amazed him that after all these years he and James were friends. Many men were separated at sea and went years without seeing anyone. Losing touch often resulted in friendships waning. However, that hadn't happened with him and James. They'd been assigned to the same frigate, the HMS Neptune as midshipmen after attending a naval college. They'd both been promoted to first lieutenants and by the time they were ready to leave service, they were both still on the same ship.
Due to the influx of men joining the service, the waiting list to be promoted to captain was
extensive and neither he nor James had enough peerage connections to curry favor for a quicker rise in officer status. Ergo they'd both agreed the time was good enough to leave service and return home. James had always been a bit of a rakehell, even as a young man before they'd left for the sea, but time had hardened both him and Jasper in different ways. He'd been more hesitant than Jasper to return to Midhurst and even the day before was talking about moving to London once he'd selected a pretty wife, one he could easily tire of and take mistresses later if he so chose. London was much better for mistresses than a little town like Midhurst.
"Love is for fools. Lust is what keeps a man going."
It was something James always said, something he'd taken to believing after so many years at sea. The women in ports had turned James into a jaded man and he'd abandoned dreams of marrying Gemma Haverford, the sweet little country gentleman's daughter he'd left behind.
"Jas, do a man a favor, write Gemma and break it off," he sneered under his breath in imitation of James's plea all those years ago.
It had started out so simple. A favor for a friend.
"And I'm the fool who took over writing those bloody love letters," Jasper growled in self-directed frustration.
He'd written one letter to Gemma, doing his best to imitate James's poor handwriting, but the words to end things…well they just hadn't come out on the page. Instead he found himself sharing details of his day, thoughts and impressions he had of the islands they'd visited, the strange lands and natives they'd encountered, the battles they'd faced. His fears, his hopes, his own dreams. And he'd signed that first letter with a single letter J. Not as James, but Jasper, the man he was. He hadn't wanted to deceive her any more than he had to. Her response to his first letter had been almost immediate. A letter back to him found him so quickly through the post that he had to assume she'd written it the second she'd received his letter.
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