His mouth curved into that pirate’s grin she knew so well. It was the look he always wore when he’d had the last word in an argument or done something that left her speechless.
“I heard what you said.” His tone was teasing, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You love me, Hester Morden! No—!” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “You can’t take it back. I heard you, loud and clear. And so did your hairy friend over there.” He gestured toward Suleiman, who sent them a jovial wave. “I have a witness.”
“But—”
“No buts.” His gaze suddenly flicked past her to focus on the sky above. “Well, would you look at that.”
Hester turned to see what had captured his attention. An enormous bank of dark, billowing clouds were rolling across the bay with unnatural speed, like a great wave. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and a flash of lightning leapt towards the sea. She blinked in surprise. “How extraordinary.”
Suleiman sank to one knee and bent his head. “The goddess!” he whispered. “The sacrifice has been accepted. Her curse is broken.”
“Sacrifice? What sacrifice? Where’s Drovetti?”
Hester started to rise, but Harry caught her wrist and tugged her back down. She fell across him, her breasts plastered against his chest and her cheeks heated in mortification. She tried to struggle upright but Harry caught the back of her neck and, with a gentle tug, drew her closer.
His gaze captured hers. “I don’t give a fig what Drovetti’s doing,” he said softly. “He can swim all the way to Egypt for all I care.”
The look in his eyes—both admiring and hungry at once—made her stomach do a little flip.
Another crash of thunder sounded directly overhead and a fat raindrop landed on the deck next to them, creating a tiny dark stain on the dry boards. Harry raised his brows. His eyes gleamed with humor. A second droplet splashed onto Hester’s back, wetting her shirt. And then, as if released from a dam, a deluge of raindrops landed all about them, soaking hair and clothes and skin.
Harry’s teeth flashed white as he grinned. His gaze flicked to her mouth and then back up again, and every nerve in Hester’s body tingled in sudden anticipation.
“I do believe it’s raining, Hester Morden.” His breath sluiced over her parted lips. “And that means you have to kiss me. A promise is a promise, after all.”
“I said I’d kiss you when it rained in the desert,” Hester said. She gazed down at him and her throat clogged with sudden emotion. “Oh, Harry, you idiot. You took a bullet meant for me.”
His grip tightened on her nape. “Of course I did. I love you. Haven’t you realized that by now?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply captured her mouth with his.
Hester almost swooned in delight.
His lips molded hers with delicious assurance. His tongue slid along the seam of her mouth, urging her to part her lips, and when she did, he swept inside and took full possession. Sensations swirled through her with the ferocity of a sandstorm. She fisted the material of his shirt and pulled him closer, losing herself in the glory of it.
The taste of him was perfect, wicked and dark, and she wanted to keep on kissing him forever, to play this sensuous game of slide and retreat until neither of them could think.
He groaned into her mouth, a sound of pure animal need, and his fingers threaded through her hair to angle her head to his satisfaction. He kissed her as if he could never get enough of her, as if he’d been thirsting for her taste for an eternity. When he finally pulled away, they were both panting.
“Marry me,” he said unsteadily.
Hester shook her head, trying to clear her befuddled thoughts. She released his shirt from her grip and pulled back. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to offer for me just because we’ve kissed. I told you that back in England.”
He gazed deep into her eyes. “That’s not why I’m asking. I want to marry you. More than anything in this world. What do you say to one more adventure?”
Hester’s heart seemed to expand and glow. “You really mean it?”
He gave a lopsided smile. “God help me, I do. I must be a glutton for punishment.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. He really was a charming rogue. Life with him would never be dull. “We’ll drive each other mad.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll want to strangle you on a daily basis.”
“I’ll want to kiss you even more often.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. I’ll even kiss you when it’s not raining. How’s that?”
Hester’s smile widened. “In that case, Tremayne, I accept.”
Harry gave a whoop of joy and gathered her against his chest. His hug almost crushed her ribs, but she was laughing against his shirt.
When he finally released her, he helped her to her feet, and they both went to join Suleiman at the ship’s rail. Hester gasped as she caught sight of Drovetti’s lifeless body floating face-down on the swell.
“He drowned?”
Suleiman nodded in disgust. “Crocodiles did not eat his heart.” He sounded disappointed. “He went after the necklace even though he couldn’t swim. Such is the power of man’s greed.” He glanced meaningfully up at the sky, which was once again a bright, clear blue, with no hint of the previous storm. “And of the goddess’s wrath,” he added reverently.
Hester turned to see if the inclement weather had moved inland, but there was not a cloud to be seen. She shook her head, mystified.
Harry was staring out at the murky water, at the spot where the necklace had disappeared. “At least Napoleon won’t get his hands on the scorpion. He’d need to dredge the bay to find it now.”
A stab of disappointment pierced Hester at the loss of such a beautiful thing, but she shook it off. The necklace could sleep undisturbed at the bottom of the sea. Curse or no curse, she was in no doubt of Harry’s love. And that was all she’d ever desired.
Harry glanced over at Suleiman. “Ready to head back to Egypt, my friend?”
Hester elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re not planning to buy any mummies to take to England, are you?”
He shook his head. “You made a persuasive argument for not providing the good surgeons of London with—how did you put it? Ah yes,—‘somebody’s grandmother.’ Every time I look at one, I have an image of Aunt Agatha wrapped up in bandages.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “No. It won’t do. There are better ways to earn a few shillings.”
Hester lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Harry turned her in his arms and bent to kiss her again, but Suleiman cleared his throat.
“If it pleases you, I have always wanted to visit London. Your uncle spoke of it so often, Lady Morden, that I wish to see it for myself.”
“That, Suleiman, is a capital idea,” Harry said. “But it’s the lady’s choice.” He glanced down at Hester. “So what’s it to be? England or Egypt? I’ll marry you wherever you want, you know.”
Hester’s heart turned over. “London, please. It’s time I went home.”
Harry flashed a smile at Suleiman. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Aunt Agatha.”
Epilogue
London, June 1815.
Harry Tremayne folded down the corner of his newspaper and smiled at his wife as she bustled into the room. He shook his head in silent wonder. Wife. He could hardly believe it. He’d finally convinced the irascible, untamable Hester Morden to become Mrs. Hester Tremayne.
He’d barely managed to make it to their wedding without making love to her, but he’d kept a mostly chaste distance during the ten days it had taken to sail from Cannes to London and the three days it had taken to procure a special license from Doctors’ Commons.
Aunt Agatha had served as a witness, along with Suleiman, and her smug expression had amused Harry exceedingly. Aunt Agatha seemed to think the wedding was entirely her doing, but Harry had
been feeling rather smug himself, as the bridegroom, so he’d said nothing.
The gladness in his heart was echoed by the sound of cheering and celebrating coming from the street outside.
“Have you heard the news?” Hester asked breathlessly. “It’s all over town. Napoleon has been defeated! Wellington has gained a famous victory at a place called Waterloo, in Belgium.”
Harry put down the Racing Post. Makeen had won a hundred guineas on the flat last week at Stamford. He caught Hester by the waist and tugged her down onto his lap. A hectic blush stained her cheeks, but she didn’t put up much of a struggle. She wound her arms around his neck and snuggled closer.
“I can’t help wondering what would have happened if Bonaparte had still been in possession of the scorpion necklace,” she said. “Would it have made a difference, do you think? Would we all be mourning Wellington’s defeat and preparing for a French invasion?”
Harry shrugged. “They’re saying one of the deciding factors was heavy rain the night before the battle. Napoleon was afraid his artillery would be bogged down by the mud, so he delayed until midday. That gave Blucher’s Prussian army time to join up with Wellington’s men and carry the day.”
“Do you think the curse had anything to do with the sudden rainstorm?”
“Who knows? There are plenty of theories flying around. Someone else said they thought Napoleon relied on an incorrect map, which showed a road where none existed.”
Hester raised her brows. “And we all know the importance of accurate maps, do we not?”
“Absolutely,” Harry said dutifully.
She put her palm to his cheek. “Do you really believe in curses?”
Harry shrugged again. Did he? Perhaps. He definitely believed in miracles. His own particular one was gazing down at him, a wicked expression on her face.
“Come here, wife,” he growled. “And kiss me.”
She shot a cheeky glance out of the window. “But it’s not raining.”
“It’s bound to be soon. This is England. Think of it as an advance on future precipitation.”
She gave a delighted giggle and lowered her head. Harry closed his eyes and savored the exquisite taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. He was home.
After several breathless minutes, she swatted him playfully on the arm. “You’re distracting me,” she scolded. “I almost forgot. I had a letter from the Royal Society of Physicians.”
Harry tried to adopt a surprised, innocent expression and clearly failed, because she narrowed her eyes at him.
“It seems the good doctors are most interested to hear about the pain relieving and aphrodisiac properties of a certain Blue Nile Lily syrup I encountered in Egypt. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Harry Tremayne?”
A grin split his face. “I know we don’t need the money, my love. Not since Aunt Agatha made good with her promise of five thousand pounds to the man who got you back in the country.”
She poked him in the chest.
“But you must admit, it would be a shame to deprive the world of something that could be beneficial to thousands. And just think, the surgeons will be so busy researching your love potion, they won’t have time to dissect any mummies.”
Hester gave a huff, but it lacked heat. She slid off his lap and went to sit at the leather-topped desk in the corner. From the drawer she pulled out a small book, dipped a pen in the inkpot, and began to write.
“What are you doing?”
She lifted her head. “I’m writing a record of our adventures in Egypt.”
“Are you going to mention the scorpion necklace?”
“Of course. And the curse, too.”
“Supposed curse,” Harry said.
She chewed the end of her pen thoughtfully. “I know it ended up at the bottom of the sea, but what if it finds its way back into someone’s hands someday? A written record of our experience might prove an invaluable resource for future generations.”
Harry smiled. “A noble idea. I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”
Hester shot him a congratulatory glance. “The perfect response, Tremayne. I believe you might turn out to be quite a good husband after all.”
Harry sent her a heated look and enjoyed the pink that tinged her cheeks. “Oh, you know the family motto. Semper Paratus. I’m ready for anything you can throw at me, my dear.”
THE END.
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Promise Of A Kiss. I hope you enjoyed Harry and Hester’s adventures as much as I enjoyed writing them!
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Happy Reading!
Love Kate
Also by K. C. Bateman
To Steal A Heart (Secrets & Spies #1)
A Raven’s Heart (Secrets & Spies #2)
A Counterfeit Heart (Secrets & Spies #3)
The Devil To Pay
This Earl Of Mine (Bow Street Bachelors #1)
To Catch An Earl (Bow Street Bachelors #2)
About the Author
Kate Bateman, (also writing as K. C. Bateman), is the #1 bestselling author of Regency and Renaissance historical romance, including the Secrets & Spies series; To Steal a Heart, A Raven’s Heart, and A Counterfeit Heart.
Her Renaissance romp, The Devil To Pay, was a 2019 RITA® Finalist. When not writing feisty, intelligent heroines and sexy, snarky heroes, Kate works as a fine art appraiser and on-screen antiques expert for several popular TV shows in the UK.
She currently lives in Illinois with a number-loving husband and three inexhaustible children, and regularly returns to her native England ‘for research.’
The Promise Of A Kiss (Regency Novella Series Book 1) Page 10
