Captivated by His Kiss: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Seven Regency Romances

by Cheryl Bolen

  As luminous, sky blue eyes fluttered open to look up at him, he swallowed hard. Like a stupid fool, he’d let her burrow back into his heart. He didn’t hold out much hope he’d survive any better from the experience than he had the first time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He finally pushed himself off her, and rose from the daybed on shaky legs. He walked to fetch them sustenance because he needed a minute to process his feelings. He hadn’t expected to be so moved by the connection he’d just had with Sabine. What they had just shared was unlike anything he’d ever experienced with any other woman before.

  He collected their wine glasses and then selected a plate of meats for them.

  “Do you think we’ll ever make it to a bed?” she asked teasingly.

  He paused to stare at Sabine. Lying naked on the plush silk of the daybed, her skin flushed with arousal, she looked like a goddess. His body stirred once more.

  “Not if you continue to stare at me like that,” he answered honestly. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. I’ve been playing cards all day, remember?” He let his gaze wander longingly over her breasts. “Besides, I think I’m going to need sustenance in order to not disappoint you for the rest of the night.”

  She blushed at his bold stare and remark. But then she turned saucy and began to study him with appreciation. “Oh, I’m hungry too,” she purred, “but not for food.”

  Naked desire flared again and sped through has veins. It was close to two in the morning, and they’d just made love, yet his body craved hers once more as an addict craved opium.

  “Tonight has already exceeded my wildest fantasizes. To have you wanton and eager in my arms is a dream, but what about tomorrow, Sabine?” He ran a hand through his hair. “This time, no secrets so no one gets hurt. What is it you want from me?”

  The smile fled from her eyes. “Earlier this evening you released me from our wager. I gave myself to you of my own free will.” She looked away and uttered softly, “One night, Marcus. It can only be one night and you know it. Too much has happened in our past to think we could make more of this. I have a son to think about. And you need to marry. Your mother thinks Amy Shipton would be a good choice.” She swallowed hard. “And she is. She would do the Wolverstone name proud.” She turned back to him and looked directly at his face. “This is something my name could never do. Besides, your mother would never accept me.”

  He fought the urge to drop to his knees and vehemently deny her statement. Surely, they could make a life together, couldn’t they? But only if he could truly trust her.

  Unless she confessed what had happened all those years ago, he would never be able to fully give her his heart. Eventually, if she couldn’t confide in him or trust him to understand, the not knowing would turn him bitter and resentful. He’d always be suspicious of her.

  The way her sad eyes interlocked with his, he knew she understood what he was thinking, but her lips remained closed.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t ruin such a perfect night, Marcus, with these painful, stupid memories.”

  “If that’s all they are, painful, stupid, then tell me what happened, and end my suffering. Let us clear away what happened in the past and then perhaps we can make a life together. I’d trust you enough to do that if you confessed the cause of your treatment of me. For pity’s sake, just this once, prove I’m the most important thing in your life and you’d do anything to be with me.”

  She stretched out her hand to him in appeal, yet he would not budge. He would never trust her with his heart without first understanding what had happened.

  Her hand fell back to the couch. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked quietly.

  His heart closed up tighter than the clutch of a child frightened by a nightmare. Sabine would never love him like he craved her to. He’d been a fool to dream otherwise. The woman he’d fallen in love with in the gardens long ago was a figment of his deluded mind.

  Henry had been right. He should find someone more worthy. Lady Amy Shipton’s innocent and beautiful face appeared in his mind’s eye.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the beauty lying provocatively on his daybed. His body wanted to sink again deep between those lovely pale thighs. His physical need was ferocious, but his mind refused to allow him to contemplate the act.

  He’d set out to bed her, to slake his revenge, only to discover she still possessed his heart as she had done for the last ten years. In fact, as she had possessed it ever since he’d first laid eyes upon her all those years ago. Couldn’t he simply keep her as his mistress?

  No! He would be strong. He would walk away before he was unable to do so. Before, he would accept her in his life on any terms. That would only led to more heartache and bitterness and he was sick of being unhappy and of only living half a life; a life of empty pleasures.

  He wanted and deserved more.

  He put the plate and glasses down. “I can’t do this. I can’t make love to you again knowing you’re only in it for the pleasure.”

  At her look of shocked surprise, he went on. “I know of my reputation as a rake better than anyone, but having you back in my life has taught me I want more than that. I do want a home and family. But I want one filled with love and trust like my parents had.” He walked over to his discarded clothes and began to dress. “I know I can never have that with you. You hold too many secrets. You have deliberately kept me out of the essential aspects of your life.”

  Tell him! Her brain and heart urged. Tell him and make him understand. Then, cold fear clawed at her body. If she told him, she knew what he’d do and if, as a result, he was hurt, or even worse, killed… Or Gower came after Alfredo… She shuddered at the very idea.

  She had no other choice but to let him go.

  She too rose and began to dress, the agony of her predicament almost ripping her in two. For a brief instant, she wondered how she was ever going to walk away from this pleasure—from him–without dying. Then she thought of her son, Alfredo, and all she risked by staying.

  When they were both fully dressed, they stood looking at each other, sorrow shrouding both their faces.

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Be happy, Marcus. You deserve much happiness.”

  She watched the man she loved, would love until her dying breath left her body, briefly close his eyes and breathe in deeply. She prayed for some sort of miracle. Foolishly, she prayed he’d pull her into his arms and say the past didn’t matter; that only she mattered.

  “Thank you for a memorable night. I’ll treasure it always.” The raw emotion behind his words almost saw her buckle at the knees and throw herself into his arms to confess all.

  “It is I who should thank you. You helped me when you had no reason to.”

  “I’d always help you, Sabine. You know that. You will always be someone special in my life.”

  Tears that she thought she’d managed to keep at bay, slipped silently down her cheeks.

  “Come, I’ll see you home.”

  Sabine wiped the tears from her cheeks. She stared at him drinking in one last, yearning look, a look which would need to last her a life time. His warm amber eyes were pools of unshed tears, his chest quickly rose and fell and the harsh planes of his face were drawn tight. She remembered the lean hardness of his body when it pressed on top of hers. He was so incredibly handsome it pained her just to look at him.

  This was a memory she would cherish forever.

  Pain wrapped an icy hand around her heart. Now that the moment had come, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to simply walk away from him and from all that she had ever wanted in life.

  Swallowing the anguish welling in her throat, she nodded, and let him guide her out into the cold and empty dawn.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You are leaving England?” Monique’s startled question must have been heard in her modiste’s salon, because it suddenly went quiet in the room on the other sid
e of the curtain. “But your life—your heart—is here,” she added in a subdued tone.

  Sabine shook her head. “No. I was mistaken.”

  Today was Friday. Tonight she would go to Gower and give him what he desired. Then she would leave England, never to return. Marcus and Alfredo would be safe.

  Just as in her youth, she’d arrogantly thought she could take on the powerful and win. And, once again, she was to pay a very heavy price for this.

  “Excuse me, Madam Baye, Lady Amy Shipton is here. Apparently, she needs a new dress urgently for tonight.”

  “For tonight? She has a dress, the blue silk, to wear to the Earl of Skye’s ball.”

  “She states she now needs a far grander dress. Her engagement to Lord Wolverstone will be announced tonight.”

  Sabine gasped and smothered her mouth with her hand, feeling suddenly nauseous. Two days, he’d waited only two days before moving on-without her.

  Monique said, “I’ll be there shortly. Show her ladyship the deep burgundy damask. It will suit her complexion.”

  Sabine rose unsteadily to her feet. “I should go. You’re busy.”

  Monique’s hand gripped her arm. “Is he the reason why you are leaving? He rebuked you, didn’t he? The cad…”

  “No!”

  Monique sank into the chair she’d recently vacated. “Oh my God, you didn’t tell him.” She looked up at Sabine. “Why not? You’ve dealt with Gower. You hold all his vowels. He’ll have no choice but to leave England….”

  Sabine’s mouth dried up. What could she say? “I under-estimated Gower, yet again. He’s threatened everyone I love. I can’t risk it.” She turned away from her friend’s searching gaze as bitterness clogged her throat.

  She heard the rustle of Monique’s dress as she rose and moved behind her. Two warm arms came around her waist from behind. “What have you agreed to? What does that pig of a man want from you now that would see you flee back to Italy?”

  She sank back against her friend soaking in the warmth of her sympathy. “He wants me to hand back his vowels tonight. At his house,” she added in a shaky voice.

  Monique’s arms tightened around her. “And? What else? If you go to his house, you know what will happen.”

  A wave of nausea washed over her again and she swayed. She would have fallen without Monique’s support.

  “What else can I do?” she cried. “I won’t risk Alfredo or Marcus’s lives. He’s threatened them both. He can make little boys disappear, he said…” She started sobbing despairingly.

  “Gower’s such a bastard. I’d like to kill him with my own hands. You must go to the magistrate if he’s threatened Alfredo, or at the very least allow Lord Wolverstone to help you.”

  The curtain between Monique’s showroom and her private parlor rustled and a young woman stepped into the room.

  “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Is Lord Wolverstone in danger?”

  Amy Shipton stood in the doorway, her innocent face a dark shadow of concern. She stepped further into the room.

  “I’ve heard that you’re a good friend of Marcus’s—that is, Lord Wolverstone. You seem very upset, Lady Orsini. I’m sure he would help you, or at least wish me to offer help if I’m able.” Her voice was low and gentle and conveyed nothing but understanding and kindness.

  Mortified embarrassment flooded Sabine’s face. She could barely look Lady Shipton in the eye. This was the woman who would marry Marcus, share his home and bed, and bear his children. She’d thought herself numb to the pain, but the sharp ache in her chest told her otherwise.

  Amy was beautiful. With a serene beauty and blessed with alluringly good looks, a person might be forgiven for thinking he was gazing upon perfection.

  Amy stood full of sympathy, looking between the two women. The pale rose tint of her gown enhanced her faultless ivory complexion, while setting off the dark gleam of her hair. Her dramatic coloring was the complete opposite of Sabine’s own pale and blonde features. She felt insignificant against the unusually tall and slender beauty.

  In spite of her height, Amy looked as if a strong wind would break her.

  Worse, Amy seemed to know who she was. Had Marcus discussed her with Amy? How mortifying that thought was!

  “Truly, there is no need to bother Lord Wolverstone with my silly problem.” She shot Monique a warning look.

  Amy kept looking between the two women. “It doesn’t seem to be a small problem.” She stepped forward. “Oh, you’ve been crying. Please, let me help.”

  Sabine gathered herself together, feeling inadequate in the face of Lady Shipton’s generous spirit. Perhaps the young girl was too naive to understand or know the real details of her relationship with Marcus. She would not hurt her by allowing the nature of her connection with Amy’s betrothed to raise its unseemly head.

  “Thank you for your concern, Lady Shipton, but I should be leaving.” She gave the girl a big smile. “I’m excited to be heading back to Italy tomorrow and I’m simply sad to be leaving such dear friends behind.”

  Amy looked dubious. “Well, if you are sure that is all it is…”

  “I’m sure.” She turned and collected her cloak from the chair behind her. “I’ll leave you to sort out Lady Shipton’s dress.” She smiled warmly at the young girl, letting excitement enter her tone, when in reality she was choking with grief inside. “I hear there is to be a big announcement tonight. As I shall not be present, may I offer you and Lord Wolverstone my warmest congratulations? He’s a lucky man indeed.”

  Amy’s face broke into a smile and she grew even more beautiful. Sabine could understand why Marcus was captivated by her. Their children would be stunningly beautiful.

  Amy actually giggled. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but since you won’t be attending the ball…” She looked excitedly over her shoulder. “He proposed to me this morning. Marcus, that is Lord Wolverstone, got down on one knee and rather stoically told me that he wished me to be his wife and…” she laughed again, a delightful tinkling sound, “asked me to make him happy. Happy.” She sighed. “Not quite a declaration of love, but I mean to do everything in my power to see to his and my own happiness.”

  Sabine swallowed back the tears. “Good for you. He’s a fine man. I’m sure you’ll make him exceedingly happy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must leave,” and she hurriedly pushed out into the store and out onto the street. Monique was close behind.

  “I’m sorry, Sabine. I did not know she was coming today.”

  She hugged her friend tightly. “Hush, Monique. At least I leave knowing Marcus is in good hands. She’s a lovely girl. She’ll make him a fine wife.” She turned and stepped into her carriage.

  Monique pushed the carriage door closed after her and leaned in the window. “He doesn’t love her, so how happy can he really be?” She gripped Sabine’s arm when she refused to answer. “Don’t go to Gower’s house tonight. Have the vowels delivered.”

  “That won’t be enough. I’ve made a fool of him. He’ll demand retribution….” She leaned and kissed her friend goodbye. “I’ll survive. I always have,” she whispered under her breath.

  As the carriage rolled on its way she didn’t look back. She’d learned that there was no point ever in looking back. The memories were too painful.

  *

  Amy stood hesitantly on the steps leading up to Lord Wolverstone’s, Marcus’s, front door. She could hardly believe she was betrothed to the most notorious rake in England yet, having met him, she knew he was not as his reputation signified. The heady rush of happiness made her legs shake.

  She knew she shouldn’t be here, but the scene in the modiste’s this morning made her stomach churn with worry. Something about Lady Orsini gnawed at her conscience.

  Marcus had asked her for her hand, and requested that she make him happy. He’d not asked her to love him. He had not professed love for her either. Why would he, they hardly knew each other, and she understood few men of privilege did—love—that is. But sh
e felt uneasy about marrying a man who might love another. That was something altogether different.

  She moved up a step.

  She’d heard rumors at Lady Somerset’s ball, that there may be something between the gorgeous, fair-haired French émigréé, who’d made a successful marriage to an Italian Conte, and Lord Wolverstone. There were rumors abounding that they had been lovers.

  She understood that a man kept a mistress. That she could tolerate, if, and only if, the transaction stayed financial. But she could not bear to marry a man whose heart lay elsewhere. That would condemn her to a life of misery. For who wanted to be the cause of another’s pain?

  Her foot took her another step closer to the door.

  Did she really wish to hold such an awkward conversation? Would she like the answer if she did so?

  She bit her lip, unsure of what to do next. Perhaps she should talk with friend, Clarissa, before doing something so foolish. Clarissa had recently married and had always been a source of sound advice.

  Why did she suddenly fear this marriage? After all, what woman would not want to become Lady Wolverstone? The position alone would overcome any woman’s hesitation in marrying such a rogue, and the idea of sharing a man of such experiences bed—delicious! He was handsome beyond compare. So why did she hesitate?

  Too late! The front door opened and Marcus stood staring down at her. Upon seeing her, concern immediately flooded his features.

  “Amy, is everything all right?”

  Her heart began to race, almost propelling her up the stairs toward him. He looked as devastatingly attractive as ever, even with a frown on his handsome face. His thick, dark hair was immaculately groomed and when he smiled at her, she flushed a little. While his high cheekbones gave his face an arrogant cast, his straight nose and nicely chiseled jaw made him every woman’s dream. Then why did she get the feeling he would never really be hers?