He didn’t give a fig whether they approved or not.
He smiled down into Jemmah’s upturned, amazingly composed face. Lambasted thrice in ten minutes and here she stood, the epitome of grace and poise, beaming with love for him—for him!
His heart had chosen well.
Statue still, her countenance pale as the scalloped lace edging her fashionable spencer, Miss Milbourne peered around.
Blinking slowly, as if someone had whacked her upon the head with her frilly parasol, she murmured, “Excuse me. I see an acquaintance I must speak with.”
Head held high, she spun about and glided toward the pond, where nothing but a few ducks napped in the sun.
Taken to chatting with ducks, had she?
“Ho, what have we here?” Sutcliffe gave them a jaunty wave from across the green, and ambled their way accompanied by Pennington. Brow furrowed, he turned and watched Miss Milbourne’s progress.
Jules shook his head and rolled his eyes toward the greenery overhead.
“My God. Did someone extend invitations unbeknownst to me?”
“Invitations? Is there a special occasion I’m unaware of?” Sutcliffe’s attention veered to the departing uncles, Miss Milbourne, and lastly Jules. His grin threatened to split his face in two upon greeting Jemmah.
“Miss Dament.” He bent into an exaggerated courtier’s bow. “May I say how delighted I am to see you taking the air with Dandridge?”
“As am I.” Pennington clasped a hand to his waist and bent low, too.
Jemmah canted her head, and eyes sparkling, offered them a bright smile. “Thank you, your graces. You’re exuberance is... refreshing.”
“Is there any special reason you’re visiting the pleasure gardens today?” One hand on his hip, Sutcliffe, as subtle as a nubby toad on a pastry, attempted a nonchalant expression.
“I intended to propose, if you must know, you two interfering tabbies. But they,” Jules jabbed his thumb in the direction of his uncles’ and Miss Milbourne’s departing figures, “ruined the occasion.”
“By Jove, that’s the best news I’ve heard in ages!” Pennington pumped Jules hand while Sutcliffe bent over Jemmah’s. “Not that they ruined the occasion, but that you’ve at last declared yourself.”
“I wish you the greatest happiness, Miss Dament,” Sutcliffe said. “Now, we’ll take our leave and let our friend be about this most important business.”
Rubbing his thumb across the back of Jemmah’s hand, Jules remained silent as the pair strode away. Everything he’d planned to make the day romantic and memorable had been quashed.
“Jules?”
He met Jemmah’s slightly disconcerted eyes. “Yes, my dear?”
“Why is everyone staring in our direction?”
Jules raised his head and took a casual glance around.
She was right, though several people hastily looked away, finding either the sky or the ground profoundly fascinating.
Damn, the news of his intentions had travelled faster than the wind in sails, thanks to Jemmah’s bitter sister.
Hmm, perhaps not a bad thing at all. With a few dozen witnesses...
He withdrew the ring box from his pocket.
“Jules?” This time Jemmah’s voice went all soft and melty, as did her eyes. “Here?”
“Indeed.”
Raising the lid, he folded to one knee.
His valet would scold him soundly for getting grass stains on his pantaloons. But this was right in its simple, unpretentiousness.
Just like his precious Jemmah.
With the sun shining upon them, bees busy gathering nectar, a frog or two croaking in the ponds’ underbrush, while various birds called to one another, he would ask her to be his duchess.
“Jemmah, you are the jewel I’ve carried in my heart since I was a wee lad of ten. No one else makes me smile like you do. You consume my thoughts, and I cannot imagine any greater joy than spending the rest of my life with you.” He smiled into her shining eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Jemmah squatted and extended her left hand.
Leave it to her to do something wholly unexpected.
“I shall, Jules. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what life was before I did.” She gave a little self-conscious laugh, as he slipped the ring on her finger.
“As a little girl, I imagined myself a princess, wearing a sapphire and diamond tiara, and locked in a tower. And you were the handsome prince who rescued me. On a white steed, of course, and carried me off to his castle to live happily ever after.”
“Well, the duchy has a castle, and I believe several tiaras too. I own a white horse or two as well,” he said assisting her upright. “And I shall strive every day to make you happy.”
“I need nothing but to be with you to be deliriously so.”
Then, in typical Jemmah fashion, she levered onto her toes, and kissed him.
On the mouth.
In public.
And it was perfect.
Chalchester Castle, Essex, England
July 1810
“Darling, Teodora giggled again.”
Grinning in her excitement, Jemmah, holding her three-month-old daughter, gingerly picked her way between the smooth stones to Chalchester Lake’s edge. The afternoon sun’s rays reflected off the water as if a thousand brilliant diamonds had been cast across its surface.
She’d believed she couldn’t be happier when she married Jules just over a year ago; after Mama had finally agreed to the match, because Adelinda found herself scandalously pregnant.
But Jemmah had been wrong.
Each day as Jules’s wife brought her a new measure of joy and contentment she’d only dreamed of.
Oh, there’d been worries in the beginning, but not between her and Jules.
He’d kept his word and settled Mama and Adelinda in a charming cottage in Sussex, with a generous monthly allowance. But after Adelinda lost her babe and ran off with a traveling performer, Mama had fallen gravely ill, dying shortly thereafter.
The rancor and bitterness she’d harbored for so long, combined with a broken heart killed her, the doctor said.
On her death bed, Mama had pleaded for Jemmah’s forgiveness, and she’d given it. She refused to harbor malice, for eventually, it would corrupt her soul as it had Mama’s and Adelinda’s.
Jemmah had no idea where her sister was now, but truly hoped she’d found even a small degree of the peace and joy Jemmah had.
Her bonnet’s lavender ribbons stirring in the faint breeze, and the gravel crunching beneath her half-boots, she made her way to her husband.
Jules, standing knee deep in the gently-flowing current, and holding a fishing line, glanced behind him.
Teodora cooed and waved her little fists.
“She’s a happy darling. Like her mother.”
“Like her father too, although you do your best to convince people otherwise.”
“Well, how else can I maintain my dour reputation?”
He chuckled as he stepped from the river, and after laying his pole beside the blanket spread upon the shore, extended his arms.
Jemmah laid Teodora within his sturdy, secure embrace.
The baby promptly smiled at her father, her almond-shaped eyes the same unusual topaz as his, and seized his forefinger in her tiny grasp.
She yawned and blinked sleepily.
Jules adjusted the infant then draped his other arm across Jemmah’s shoulders. “We are happy, aren’t we?”
Blissfully so.
Her head resting against his brawny shoulder, Jemmah nodded. “I’m so glad we decided to live here after marrying, rather than in London. I never realized how much I didn’t like the hubbub. I enjoy visiting once in a while, especially since Aunt Theo won’t venture to the country, but honestly, I never want to live in the city again.”
“Did you really love me all that time we were apart?” Jules gazed down at her with such adoration, her heart stuttered a bit. “When you never spok
e to me or even saw me?”
Jemmah poked his rib. “I’ve told you so dozens of times. I think it puffs your head to think so.”
“It puffs other things too.” He looked meaningfully at the bulge in his trousers.
“Well, husband, I believe I might have just the cure for what ails you.” Jemmah took their sleeping daughter from him and once she’d tucked Teodora into her basket beneath a tree, extended her hand. Asleep in the shade, their daughter would be safe. Besides, they were but a few steps away. “There’s a lovely little grove yonder.”
“Duchess, do you mean to have your way with me in broad daylight?”
The seductive twinkle in Jules’s eyes and tugging at his delicious mouth told her he liked the notion every bit as much as she.
Following an animal trail through the grass, she arched him an invitation over her shoulder as she began to disrobe.
“I do, indeed, Your Grace.”
Before you go, if you enjoyed A DIAMOND FOR A DUKE please consider leaving a review on B&N.
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author, COLLETTE CAMERON pens Scottish and Regency historicals, featuring rogues, rapscallions, rakes, and the intelligent, intrepid damsels who reform them.
Blessed with fantastic fans as well as a compulsive, over-active, and witty Muse who won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she lives in Oregon with her mini-dachshunds, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time.
You’ll always find dogs, birds, occasionally naughty humor, and a dash of inspiration in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
Her motto for life? You can’t have too much chocolate, too many hugs, too many flowers, or too many books. She’s thinking about adding shoes to that list.
Explore Collette’s worlds! Join her VIP Reader Club and FREE newsletter. Giggles guaranteed!
FREE 3-BOOK STARTER LIBRARY: Join Collette’s The Regency Rose® VIP Reader Club to get updates on book releases, cover reveals, contests and giveaways she reserves exclusively for email and newsletter followers. Also, any deals, sales, or special promotions are offered to club members first. She will not share your name or email, nor will she spam you.
Follow Collette on BookBub
Dearest Reader,
I never set out to be a romance author.
It’s true. I am, like you, first and foremost a devoted romance reader. That’s what led to this journey. And what a journey it’s been! A Diamond for a Duke is my seventeenth book, and the first of a new Seductive Scoundrels series.
I had so much fun writing the story, I decided to create a new series featuring devilish and dashing rakes and rogues.
I confess, I’m a bit obsessed with writing. All right, more than a bit. I have so many stories just waiting for me to put them on the page. And what makes it worthwhile, is you! Yes, I write because I love to write, but I pen romance because I want to impact lives, even if only for a few magical moments.
I’m so thrilled you chose to read A Diamond for a Duke, and see Jules and Jemmah through to their happily ever after!
Please consider telling other readers why you enjoyed this book by reviewing it on B&N. Not only do I truly want to hear your thoughts, reviews are crucial for an author to succeed. Even if you only leave a line or two, I’d very much appreciate it.
So, with that I’ll leave you.
Here’s wishing you many happy hours of reading, more happily ever afters than you can possibly enjoy in a lifetime, and abundant blessings to you and your loved-ones.
Connect with Collette!
www.collettecameron.com
Follow her on:
Twitter @Collette_Author
BookBub
Facebook
Instagram
Goodreads
Pinterest
Enjoy the first chapter of A KISS FOR MISS KINGSLEY
A Waltz with a Rogue, Book One
Can a beautiful spinster trust love again? Especially with the rouge who broke her heart the first time?
Caution: This humorous historical Regency romance contains a dashing, pessimistic rogue, a strong-minded heroine with a temperament as fiery as her red hair, an audacious aunt who says precisely what she thinks, and an uppity villainess who gets her comeuppance at last.
Olivia Kingsley didn’t expect to fall in love and receive a secret marriage proposal two weeks into her first Season. However, one dance with Allen Wimpleton and her fate is sealed. Or so she thinks until her eccentric and ailing father announces he’s moving the family to the Caribbean for a year. Distraught at her leaving, and unaware of her father’s ill health, Allen demands she choose—him or her father.
Heartbroken at Allen's callousness, but thankful he’s revealed his true nature before she married him, Olivia turns her back on their love. The year becomes three, enough time for her broken heart to heal, and after her father dies, Olivia returns to England. Coming face to face with an embittered Allen, she realizes she never purged him from her heart, and once again the flames of passion ignite. But is it too late for their love?
Buy the first book in the Waltz with a Rogue historical Regency romance series for a rousing, emotional, and romantic adventure you can't put down.
Though this book is part of a series, it can easily be read as a stand-alone.
A lady must never forget her manners nor lose her composure.
~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment
London, England
Late May, 1818
“This is a monumental mistake.”
God’s toenails. What were you thinking, Olivia Kingsley, agreeing to Auntie Muriel’s addlepated scheme?
Why had she ever agreed to this farce?
Fingering the heavy ruby pendant hanging at the hollow of her neck, Olivia peeked out the window as the conveyance rounded the corner onto Berkeley Square. Good God. Carriage upon carriage, like great shiny beetles, lined the street beside an ostentatious manor. Her heart skipped a long beat, and she ducked out of sight.
Braving another glance from the window’s corner, her stomach pitched worse than a ship amid a hurricane. The full moon’s milky light, along with the mansion’s rows of glowing diamond-shaped panes, illuminated the street. Dignified guests in their evening finery swarmed before the grand entrance and on the granite stairs as they waited their turn to enter Viscount and Viscountess Wimpleton’s home.
The manor had acquired a new coat of paint since she had seen it last. She didn’t care for the pale lead shade, preferring the previous color, a pleasant, welcoming bronze green. Why anyone living in Town would choose to wrap their home in such a chilly color was beyond her. With its enshrouding fog and perpetually overcast skies, London boasted every shade of gray already.
Three years in the tropics, surrounded by vibrant flowers, pristine powdery beaches, a turquoise sea, and balmy temperatures had rather spoiled her against London’s grime and stench. How long before she grew accustomed to the dank again? The gloom? The smell?
Never.
Shivering, Olivia pulled her silk wrap snugger. Though late May, she’d been nigh on to freezing since the ship docked last week.
A few curious guests turned to peer in their carriage’s direction. A lady swathed in gold silk and dripping diamonds, spoke into her companion’s ear and pointed at the gleaming carriage. Did she suspect someone other than Aunt Muriel sat behind the distinctive Daventry crest?
Trepidation dried Olivia’s mouth and tightened her chest. Would many of the ton remember her?
Stupid question, that. Of course she would be remembered.
Much like ivy—its vines clinging tenaciously to a tree—or a barnacle cemented to a rock, one couldn’t easily be pried from the upper ten thousand’s memory. But, more on point, would anyone recall her fascination with Allen Wimpleton?
Inevitably.
Coldness didn’t cause the new shudder rippling from her shoulder to her waist.
Yes. Attending the ball was a featherbrained solicitation for disaster. No
good could come of it. Flattening against the sky-blue and gold-trimmed velvet squab in the corner of her aunt’s coach, Olivia vehemently shook her head.
“I cannot do it. I thought I could, but I positively cannot.”
A curl came loose, plopping onto her forehead.
Bother.
The dratted, rebellious nuisance that passed for her hair escaped its confines more often than not. She shoved the annoying tendril beneath a pin, having no doubt the tress would work its way free again before evenings end. Patting the circlet of rubies adorning her hair, she assured herself the band remained secure. The treasure had belonged to Aunt Muriel’s mother, a Prussian princess, and no harm must come to it.
Olivia’s pulse beat an irregular staccato as she searched for a plausible excuse for refusing to attend the ball after all. She wouldn’t lie outright, which ruled out her initial impulse to claim a megrim.
“I ... we—” She wiggled her white-gloved fingers at her brother, lounging on the opposite seat. “Were not invited.”
Contented as their fat cat, Socrates, after lapping a saucer of fresh cream, Bradford settled his laughing gaze on her. “Yes, we mustn’t do anything untoward.”
Terribly vulgar, that. Arriving at a haut ton function, no invitation in hand. She and Bradford mightn’t make it past the vigilant majordomo, and then what were they to do? Scuttle away like unwanted pests? Mortifying and prime tinder for the gossips.
“Whatever will people think?” Bradford thrived on upending Society. If permitted, he would dance naked as a robin just to see the reactions. He cocked a cinder-black brow, his gray-blue eyes holding a challenge.
Toad.
Olivia yearned to tell him to stop giving her that loftier look. Instead, she bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him like she had as a child. Irrationality warred with reason, until her common sense finally prevailed. “I wouldn’t want to impose, is all I meant.”
A Diamond for a Duke Page 9
