The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "Four godparents is most assuredly better than only two," George said with a grin. "And if you keep looking at your wife like that, Alexander, Simon and I will be standing up for your new son or daughter in no time."

  Alexander grinned and kissed his wife. "Yes, actually. In about six months if all goes well."

  There was a great deal of hugging and back-slapping at that piece of news, and Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Oh no, it's not time to start showing the old regimental tattoos again, is it?"

  "Not on this happy occasion," said Simon. "I just want to forget the war, forget the foreign service, and concentrate on my wonderful future with my whole family."

  "Amen to that," George and Jonathan both toasted.

  They had a huge reception in the ballroom and on the lawn. Once again, Philip Marshall arrived late with his wife Jasmine, and they brought with them the most startling news.

  He came straight up to the three brothers, and motioned for Thomas Eltham and Clifford Stone to come join them.

  "What is it, Philip? What’s the matter?" Matthew asked with obvious concern.

  Randall and Michael saw the tense little group and pushed in next to Alistair, who was down with his wife from London for the special occasion.

  "This letter was marked urgent, addressed to all the Rakehells, so I took the liberty."

  "That’s Sebastian’s handwriting," George said in surprise.

  "What is it? Is he in trouble?" his sister Viola asked, exchanging alarmed looks with her husband Alistair.

  "No, nothing like that. It’s just the best news any of us could ever hear."

  Simon laughed. "What could be better than Oxnard and Napoleon being dead?"

  Ash grew a trifle impatient. "Come on, out with it, Philip, so we can start drinking more toasts. This is a family party for the babies, after all."

  "Well, it’s not quite the kind of news most people would want to raucously celebrate, but yes, I’ll gladly drink to it. Castlereagh is dead too."

  George grabbed his friend’s forearm to get a better look at the missive. Simon, Alexander, Miranda and Gabrielle all gasped. Miranda could hardly believe their luck.

  George nodded now. "Cut his own throat, apparently. Sebastian says he went home in a despondent mood and opened his veins with his letter opener. Died almost instantly."

  Simon shook his head, completely stunned that it was over at last. "The poor bugger."

  Gabrielle dared to give voice to what every single Rakehell and his wife was thinking. "I’m glad. Jolly glad. Now I never have to worry about him harming any of us again."

  "Amen to that," Alexander said.

  "Hey, that’s supposed to be my line," Jonathan said with a laugh, though everyone in the group could see the effort it cost him.

  George nodded. "It should be. I think we’d all appreciate a few words for the soul of the departed, and a blessing for the future for us all."

  Miranda smiled up at her husband. "We already have it, darling. Look around at your family and friends. We should all make a point of counting our blessings every day. None of us have any idea how close we came to losing them."

  George hugged her to him now. "Oh, I do, believe me I do. Far too close."

  Alistair, Thomas and Randall all gave each other a long look, and smiled in relief. "Far too close. But never again."

  "Amen to that," Jonathan said loudly. "There, got in before all of you."

  George laughed happily now. "Aye, nothing worse than getting your lines stolen."

  "And nothing better than saying them," Miranda said, stroking his cheek lovingly.

  They both glowed with the memory of how they had met and fallen in love at his theatre. George shouted for more champagne. Soon they toasted every Rakehell in turn, and then the dancing began.

  "What, what is it?" she asked softly as she danced in her husband's arms.

  "I can't quite believe all the threats to our happiness are truly gone at last."

  "Aye, every one of them," she said with a relieved smile.

  "I know this sounds like a terrible thing to say, but I don't think I would ever have understood just how much I loved you had I not come so close to losing you. To losing everything that meant most to me in the world, including the hope of finding Jason and Simon again."

  "I understand. I feel the same way. It was terrible at the time, but I knew you would save me, bring me back from the darkness and into the light."

  George shook his head. "It's you who've save me, my dearest girl. I just hope you don't ever have cause to regret—"

  "Never. You're right. As hellish as it was, the way we fought to win each other's love, the struggle, will also make us never forget how blessed we are."

  "One look at you is all I need to remind me."

  "Just a look?" she said, with a suggestive waggle of her brows.

  He cupped her closer. "Aye, though a touch or two and that magic thing you do with your hand is an ample reminder as well."

  "Later, darling, when I get you alone."

  "I can't wait."

  She stroked his cheek lovingly. "Alas, love, we'll have to. I think Lucinda is bringing us one soggy baby."

  "Here, let me," he offered.

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  He dandled the child for a moment uncertainly, then gripped him to his chest, where the crying babe nestled snugly. "I'm sure. You carried him for nine months. Now it's my turn to take on the burdens and share them with his beautiful mother."

  "Thank you, darling. And thank you, Lucinda."

  The blonde smiled wanly. "Congratulations. And thank you. You both helped save my son."

  "Our nephew," George and Miranda both said with a smile.

  "Oh, but—"

  "By all accounts Simon has been more of a father to Christopher than his own ever was," George said proudly. "And if there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that some friends can prove to be even closer than one's own family."

  Lucinda smiled shyly and nodded. "Aye, Simon saved my life. He truly is my brother. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to my own son."

  "Of course. Enjoy the party, both of you."

  "Pity Sebastian isn't here for our big day," Miranda said with a sigh as she watched the fragile woman pick her way through the crown, separate from it even though she was surrounded by so many merrymakers.

  "Aye, I know. And I agree. He may not be of my blood, but he's like the younger brother I never had."

  "And Viola?" she dared ask.

  "Strictly a sister," he said with a shake of his head. "And in fact, if the truth be told, I like Juliet even more. She's so, well, remarkable."

  "I'm glad. And what of Sarah and Gabrielle?"

  He smiled and nodded his approval. "We D'Ambois men certainly have all chosen well. But then we Frenchmen always did have the most exquisite taste in women," he teased as they began to head to the small chamber that had been designated for the babies to rest and be changed in while the party went on.

  "And fashion, food, wine, literature…"

  "Nay, my love, for as many great playwrights as we have, nothing can compare with the Bard. His works were always my favorite, but I little imagined that Shakespeare would ever bring me the woman of my dreams. My Cleopatra, my goddess."

  She beamed up at him. "Hold that thought until the guests are all gone, and then prepare to be even more dazzled, my love."

  In the privacy of their bedroom some hours later, Miranda finished feeding little Dominic and laid him down in his cot. The sight never failed to move her husband, who dashed away a furtive tear and swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

  She was about to refasten her gown when George shook his head. His dark eyes glowed like a candle flame.

  His fingers brushed the underside of her breast lightly, the delight shooting straight up into her loins. "No, my love. It's my turn to suckle you now."

  A slow blush crept to her cheeks, and consternation crept into her dark blue eyes. "O
h, but let me at least wash—"

  "Don’t be silly," he said, holding out his hand to her. "If I thought you smelled gorgeous and had the most perfect breasts before, I’m sure you’re a goddess now. Look at those luscious nipples, dusky pink, the wonderful aureoles, their spectacular fullness. Just like your body when you carried him. God, you were so breathtaking I’m surprised we weren’t making love while he was being born."

  Miranda giggled. "It was dashed close, I seem to recall."

  George glowed with the heated memory, and groaned. "Yes, yes it was. Just like I am now. I love every inch of your body, every particle of your being. Just being in the same room with you has me completely beguiled, witless with wanting. I promise not to steal the poor chap’s food if I can help it, but I need to..."

  From there it was only a matter of time until she was completely bare and his head was between her thighs, and he finally filled her with his huge, hot hardness and made love to her so tenderly that she was sure she was no more than a melted puddle in the bed.

  Then he moved his mouth between her legs once more to tease her anew. "The only thing more exciting than your own taste is the one we make together. That tang of torrid desire is just, well, beyond compare."

  "As are you. Oh George, thank you for making me the happiest woman in the world. I do love you so. And Dominic, and the many more little blessings I want in our future."

  "I most certainly hope we have a dozen children. And if you insist on doing that wonderful thing with your toes at the dinner table every night, it’s going to happen sooner than either of us think."

  Miranda smiled. "I don’t mind, really. As many as we can manage."

  He kissed both her eyelids tenderly. "I can see I’ve created a monster."

  "Monster?" she echoed nervously, with a guilty twinge over her gladness that Castlereagh was gone. She couldn’t help but wonder...

  "I should never have taught you about that. I nearly knocked over the banquet table when you caressed me under it."

  She giggled. "It’s your own fault. You’ve said I’m a sorceress, Miranda from The Tempest. But you beguiled me from the first, when you looked at me, smelled me. So you have no one but yourself to blame for being so, so alluring. Besides, are you really complaining about having too much pleasure?" she asked with a grin.

  George gasped and groaned, and reciprocated her attentions. "Never too much so long as it’s with you and for you." His hand gliding up her thigh made her smile wider.

  "Yes please, more."

  "As much as you like, always."

  "I love you, George, always. From the moment I saw you peering at me from behind the curtains. I knew you were the man for me."

  "And that our fates were somehow intertwined," he said with a nod. "I spent so many years of fruitless searching, only to be granted all I could ever have wished for in the arms of--"

  "A bold orange wench with more than enough fruit," she teased, jiggling her breasts happily.

  "Aye, most rare fruit indeed. A fruit so sweet and delectable, one taste is like pure magic and leaves me craving more. I never believed time could ever heal the hell I went through before you came into my life. But with you, my darling wife, everything seems possible. Castlereagh is gone, and all the Rakehells safe thanks to you and Sebastian."

  "Me?" she said with a guilty start.

  "I never would have had the nerve to stand up to Castlereagh or carry on the struggle to find my brothers if it hadn't been for the two of you. So it's all for you, my love, you and our son, and how ever many children we may have in the future."

  He took her hands and entwined them in one of his own, while the other cupped her to him so he could kiss her more deeply. "It's all in your hands, all of it. You have it all, my life, my love, everything I ever hope for or ever wish to be. You truly are the wonder of the world, a woman of infinite variety, and my fancy's queen. I love you, always and forever, my darling Miranda."

  She lolled her head back as he began to kiss his way downwards. "As I love you, my dearest George."

  AFTERWORD

  This novel was inspired by two true historical events. The first was the fact that members of the court of Charles II would sometimes dress up as orange wenches to see the play and indulge their passion for flirtation, intrigue, and hot sex.

  The second was the sad story of Nan, countess of Oxford, as she came to be styled throughout her life, who was preyed upon by the bachelor count. When she refused to succumb to his blandishments, he had her and two of her friends go to his house for a ‘wedding,’ and she of course spent the night in what she assumed to be her husband’s arms.

  Imagine her shock and dismay when he woke her the next morning and told her to get out—that the wedding had all been a sham. She maintained to the end of her days that they had been legally married, that it had not been a rehearsal for a play as the Count gave out after the fact to save himself from the law.

  They must eventually have reconciled their differences, for she bore him a child over two years after the supposed marriage, and was still known as the countess even when he actually did take an aristocratic bride quite a few years later.

  The story intrigued me, and since we had already met George the spy and theatre owner, still looking for answers to what happened to his family, the two stories elided into one. Miranda became the quiet country mouse led into temptation in the big city.

  I hope you will agree that George has proven to be one sexy man in each of the novels he has appeared in, and has met his match in Miranda. Theirs was an intense love story to write, and I hope I have captured the simmering excitement of their passion throughout the novels.

  All of the details are historically accurate, if raw at times, in the sense that they really did happen to real people, though just not the historical personages I have chosen.

  The parallel narrative of George’s missing brother and the reunion of their whole family also brings us pretty much to the end of the Rakehells series, but hopefully not to their world.

  The sequence of the novels has been to a large extent dictated by the true history of this fascinating period, with me inserting my characters into moments of historical and political crisis. There are still other love stories to be written for this extensive group of friends, so I will be revisiting them in further novels, but some of them will not be in series, as it were.

  For example, in my galloping excitement in the enthralling events at Brimley, Peter Davison and Laila in India got shunted to one side, and they never got into the linear sequence.

  Ash’s book came straight after Eswara’s when it was being written, for he was such a thrilling character I really couldn’t let him go. But he needed time to grow up, and other stories had to be told to make sense of the whole. "The Model Husband" ended up being simultaneous with Lawrence and Juliet’s tale, "Experience," and the time span continued on from there.

  Since we do have quite a few still unattached men and women in the Rakehell set who deserve a happy ending. I am sure we will be revisiting Sebastian Morrison and Antony Herriot at some point in the future.

  The parallel narratives with Simon being cured and George falling in love with Miranda and seeking his brothers was not always easy to write, and I hope Book Sixteen, Madness, did not spoil Book Seventeen and Eighteen too much for my readers.

  I also have to give a big thank you to my publishers for allowing me to split the tale into two in order to help bring the whole series to a fitting conclusion in two full-length novels.

  Each intense couple in these last three stories had their own perspective upon the events, and came to the end through two totally separate paths as the brothers sought each other. I hope you enjoyed revisiting our magical monastery and castle from Innocence and Madness at the end.

  Many thanks for following this series through to its natural conclusion, the death of Bonaparte. And yes, Castlereagh did really cut his own throat on August 12, 1822. This was a logical place to end the novels so that we could be
certain the three D’Ambois brothers will get the happily ever after ending they deserve.

  As for Sidmouth, he lived on to the ripe old age of 87, dying in 1844 in the reign of yet another monarch, Queen Victoria, the niece of Prinny, George IV, and daughter of William IV, Prinny's brother, who came to the throne after him.

  Thus the Regency is well and truly over at last, with the death of George III and accession of Prinny as George IV, but this will not be the last you see of the Rakehells.

  And if you enjoyed it, might I humbly suggest that there is also more you might enjoy in the Scars of the Heart Series, set during the Napoleonic Wars. We will be getting a few glimpses of our favourite Rakehells as young men in the war there as I expand the universe of Vevina and Wilfred Joyce, her husband Stewart, and their friends.