by Cara Elliott
Lucas was looking just as bedraggled, with his dripping-
wet shirt and sodden breeches.
“Lud, what a scandalous picture we present,” she murmured, picking a strand of seaweed from her hair.
“Scandalous.” Rolling to his knees, he wrapped his arms around her. Though her body was numb with cold, she could feel the thud of his heartbeat and was filled with an inner warmth. For a moment the only sound between them was its steady pulsing, echoed by the ebb and flow of the sea.
And then a whisper of breath tickled against her throat as Lucas started laughing. “Do you think this will make the newspapers? I can just see the bold print in the gossip column—‘Lord H once again in hot water!’”
“That won’t do—you’re shivering,” said Ciara. “Perhaps the writer should consider another lead-in… ‘Lord H submerged in a new bumblebroth with the Wicked Widow.’ No, on second thought I’ve an even better one—‘Lord H makes a new splash!’”
“You have an extraordinary talent for journalism, as well as science,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Ciara looked up through her lashes at the chiseled contours of his face, which had become so achingly familiar. I can’t find the courage to tell you how much I love you.
She cleared her throat with a watery sniff. “As you saw, I can’t swim very well.”
He grinned. “Luckily for you, I’ve had some practice at it.”
“Yes, lucky me.” Ciara tightened her hold on him, wanting to savor every last bit of this moment. All too soon, it would be gone. As would he—back to his wild life in London, while she returned to the solitude of her laboratory. Strange how a man reputed to be a devil-may-care rogue had stepped in to accept more than one role in their lives, she thought. His lighthearted laughter, his caring compassion had filled an achingly empty void…
“Ciara?” Lucas touched his fingertips to her cheeks. “Are you crying, sweetheart?”
“No.” Her sorrow mingled with the salt of the sea. “Yes.”
“The danger is over. Trust me, Sheffield’s family won’t ever threaten you or Perry again.”
“I—I know.”
“Then tell me why tears are streaming down your face, my love,” he whispered.
Love. Her sobs grew louder.
Lucas held her tightly, stroking her hair until the snuffling subsided.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “It’s just that I shall… miss you.”
“Miss a bird-witted scoundrel like me?” He shook his head, sending a mizzle of tiny droplets through the air. “I should think you would be relieved to be rid of me.”
“Please don’t joke,” said Ciara, unsure of how to go on. “I am trying to be serious—”
“Let me be serious too, sweeting.” Lucas leaned back and lifted her chin. “I’ve no intention of leaving you or Perry.” A hesitant smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “I am ready to take the plunge into a new life. A married life. If you will have me.”
“I…”
“You have to admit, we get on swimmingly.”
“Oh, Lucas.” She dared not look him in the eye. “There is no denying the chemistry between us. But I don’t want a marriage of convenience. I would want you home with me every night, not out carousing with your friends.”
“No more brandy, brothels, and birds of paradise?”
She shook her head.
A smile slowly spread over his lips. “I think I can live with that.”
“Don’t joke,” she repeated.
“I’ve never been more serious in all my life, sweetheart. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, and with Perry, and with our children.” His mouth crooked. “Would you mind terribly if we have enough to field a complete cricket team?”
A ball-sized lump in her throat kept her from speaking.
“If we tear out the boxwood hedge and the graveled walkways of my townhouse garden, we would have just enough room for a practice pitch.”
Somehow, she found her voice. “You are completely, utterly—”
“Incorrigible. Impossible,” he finished. “Yes, I know.” His eyes suddenly deepened to the same luminous shade of blue as the surrounding seas. In them she saw the reflections of a soaring kestrel and her own tear-streaked face. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m selfish enough to ask anyway. I love you, more than I can express in words. Will you marry me, Ciara? For real.”
“Yes…”
He kissed her. Quite thoroughly, so it took a moment for her to finish her sentence.
“BUT.”
Lucas groaned. “Not another blasted ‘but.’”
A hail from the cliffs interrupted the exchange. Lucas waved back at Jack. “We are fine,” he shouted. “Take the children and the Battershams back to the manor. We will meet you there.”
Jack snapped a quick salute and started to climb the rocks, Peregrine cradled in his arms.
“Now about that ‘but,’” said Lucas.
“But,” repeated Ciara. “Before we enter into a new agreement, I think we should settle up old accounts. There is, after all, the matter of our bet, and who is entitled to claim the forfeit.”
“Ah, you wish for me to concede?” he asked. “Very well—I’ve lost my heart, that is for sure. But as for ornithology…” His gaze suddenly angled up to the sky. “Look, it’s a pair of ospreys. A male and female. Did you know that they return to the same nest year after year?”
Ciara watched the birds hover high overhead.
“The thing is,” he went on. “You told me there was nothing you wanted from me if you won.”
She feathered her lips against his. “You taught me a lesson about making assumptions. I’ve learned that I want you—your laughter, your kindness, your compassion, and even a few of your antics.” She paused. “Within reason.”
Lucas chuckled.
“I love you, with all my heart,” she continued. “But fair is fair. It is I who must admit defeat and allow you to choose your prize.”
“Very well. I’ll accept victory because I know exactly where I shall bestow my kiss.”
She felt herself blush.
“After that, would you consent to giving me… a course in biology? I’ve discovered that science is not so boring, after all.” Sunlight sparkled in his eyes. “And then, maybe we could move on to chemistry.”
“I think we have all the ingredients for a lifetime of learning,” she murmured.
“I can’t wait to begin my studies.”
It was several long minutes before Ciara could regain possession of her mouth to speak again. “I’m not quite sure who is the teacher and who is the pupil. But regardless, we probably ought to defer further lessons until later.” She fumbled with the fastenings of her bodice. “What with the children and the Battershams, poor Lord James has his hands full.”
Lucas gave an evil leer. “To the devil with Sheffield’s family. With any luck, Jack will break Arthur’s other leg in hauling him up from the rocks.” His amusement suddenly dissolved into a look of alarm. “But speaking of the others, what did he do with the dowager and Isabella while he was helping us? Surely he did not leave the little girl alone with that dangerous woman?”
“Actually, he tied Lady Battersham to a tree. As for Isa…” Ciara couldn’t repress a chuckle. “He did the same, claiming it was the only thing he could think of to keep her from following him to the cliffs.”
His brows winged up.
“Apparently she called him a number of very bad names in Italian.”
Once Lucas stopping laughing, he rose and offered his hand. “We had better return the favor and go rescue Jack. By the by, how did he come to be looking for us?”
“He overheard the postboys talking when he stopped at a coaching inn on the road to London,” recounted Ciara. “Battersham had tried to hire someone to abduct a child, but he could find no takers for the sum he offered. Your friend immediately turned ar
ound and was coming to warn us when he spotted Battersham’s carriage pulled off to the side of the road.”
Lucas pursed his lips. “You will have to tell the marchesa that Jack does have some redeeming qualities.”
Ciara made a wry face. “Trussing her daughter to a tree is not one of them.”
“Have pity on the poor fellow. Villains he can deal with, but Jack doesn’t have much experience with children.”
“All the more reason not to delay,” said Ciara. “Rope, rocks, and a very large horse—I shudder to think of what Isa might do to retaliate.”
His grin was no longer so smug. “You are right. We had better hurry.” Pointing out an opening in the gorse, Lucas started across the strand. “Come, this way it is an easy walk back up to the top of the cliffs.”
Epilogue
Are you sure you don’t mind looking after Peregrine while we are away?” asked Ciara. “I can’t help but feel a little bit guilty. It is, after all, your honeymoon, as well.”
It still felt a little odd to be thinking of herself and Ariel as married ladies. The past three weeks had gone by in a blur. But somehow Lucas had managed all the dizzying details without batting an eye. He would not elaborate on how he had orchestrated the private legal negotiations with her late husband’s family, save to tell her the final agreement. In return for hushing up the attempts on Peregrine’s life and handing over a deed to a small tea plantation in India, Lady Battersham and Arthur were now on an East India merchant ship, sailing half a world away from London.
With the threat of public denunciation and a long prison sentence hanging over their heads, Sheffield’s kin should be no further threat to her and Peregrine. To think that from now on, she could open the morning paper without fear tainting the taste of her tea.
Her lips quirked. Lucas had been equally adept at arranging the special licenses for himself and Henry, along with the perfect celebration.
Ciara rubbed at the gold ring on her finger, hardly daring to believe it was real. The double ceremony had been a quiet country service, with only their closest friends in attendance. Charlotte and Kate had hurried back from Scotland to serve as witnesses for the occasion. Their pique at missing all the excitement was quickly assuaged by seeing how blissfully happy the two new brides were with their men.
And while she had secretly worried that marriage might affect the future of the ‘Sinners,’ the others had all assured her that their special circle of friendship could never be broken.
Friends. Family. Some wild, wonderful spell had transformed the Wicked Widow of Pont Street into the luckiest woman in the world.
“Oh, pish!”
Ariel’s airy dismissal drew Ciara back to the present moment.
“Go enjoy yourselves—the two of you deserve an interlude of peace and quiet together. The fortnight will likely pass more quickly than you would like.”
“Don’t forget that we are not likely to be engaging in nearly as many strenuous physical activities as you are,” added Henry dryly. “Bird-watching can take a great deal of energy.”
“So does keeping an eight-year-old out of mischief,” replied Ciara as Lucas swallowed a snort of laughter.
“I am well aware of that, my dear. But after raising the hellion who is now your husband, I consider anything else mere child’s play.”
“You deserve a medal,” she said. “Maybe two.”
“Oh, come, I wasn’t that bad,” murmured Lucas with a boyish grin. “London didn’t burn to the ground. Parliament didn’t explode. The Tower is still standing.”
Ciara arched a brow. “Still, I shudder to think what your poor uncle endured.”
Henry curled his fingers around Ariel’s hand. “I think I can safely say that the lad has atoned for his youthful follies.”
“Hear that, Perry?” Lucas ruffled the boy’s curls. “Promise me that you will behave yourself, so that Henry doesn’t regret his words.”
“Yes, sir!” answered Peregrine.
“It’s Lucas,” he corrected. “We are family now, lad, not formal acquaintances.”
Family. Ciara felt a welling of happiness bubble up inside her. Blinking back the prickle of tears, she watched her son look up at his new stepfather with undisguised adulation.
“Yes, Lucas.”
“That’s better.” Lucas’s expression turned impish as he regarded his uncle. “You may still have your work cut out for you, Henry. There is the matter of a little red journal that the ladies are keeping. A compendium of sorts… but I shall leave it to your bride to fill you in on the details.”
Ariel’s blush was a vivid scarlet.
“Come along, Perry. While your mama says her good-byes, perhaps you’ll give me a hand with the carriage blankets and hamper for our journey—” Lucas stopped in midsentence as a large dray cart, accompanied by four burly workmen, rattled past the terrace and stopped by the garden gate. “What the devil is that?”
Henry shook his head in puzzlement.
“Your wedding present,” replied Ciara.
The workmen untied the ropes and removed the canvas covering from the towering load.
“Why, it’s… it’s…” Though rarely at a loss for words, Lucas was reduced to sputtering.
“A fountain.” She slanted a sidelong look at his profile. “Do you like it?”
His face went through a series of odd contortions, and then a burble of laughter slipped from his lips. “I love it.”
“The far end of the rose walk looked a little bare,” she explained. “So I took the liberty of commissioning a memento for all of us to enjoy. I think that it will look rather lovely there, bathed every evening in the pink and gold light of the setting sun.”
Peregrine squinted, studying the decorative sculpture rising up from the stone basin. “It looks like a lady… and a bird.”
“Yes. Leda and Zeus,” murmured Ciara.
“Who occasionally appeared in the form of a swan,” said Lucas.
“They are figures from classical Greek mythology,” explained Ariel after a fraction of a pause. “Er, Sir Henry has some very educational books on the gods and goddesses of the ancient world. Perhaps we shall begin reading about their exploits while your mama and Lucas are on their wedding trip.”
Lucas coughed. “Be careful what you teach him.”
Her son grinned. “Oh, my tutor has told me a little about the myths. They are ripping good tales, especially the ones with lots of action—like flying thunderbolts, magic arrows, and the clash of the Titans and the Trojans.” Grimacing, he added, “The ones about kissing are a little boring.”
“When you get to be my age, you might change your mind,” said Henry with a broad wink.
Peregrine looked slightly skeptical.
“Don’t make a face, lad,” chided Lucas. “On the whole, you’ll find the stories very entertaining.”
“If you say so.” Her son thought for a moment. “Do I get to hear the one about Leda and the swan?”
“Maybe a little later in life,” said Ciara.
“Why? Does it not have a happy ending?”
“I suppose that depends on your interpretation. As the lord of the gods, Zeus could be an arrogant, unrepentant rogue.” Lucas grinned in unholy amusement as he gathered his bride in his arms and feathered a kiss to her lips. “He was certainly not a saint. But he did have some redeeming qualities to make up for his sins.”
“A few,” she conceded.
“So let’s just say that the modern variation of the tale has a very happy ending, indeed.”
She touched his cheek, reveling in the warmth of his closeness, the caress of his laughter.
“Amen to that.”
Enjoy a sneak peek at
Cara Elliott’s
sizzling new romance!
_____________________
Please turn this page for a preview of
To Surrender to a Rogue
Available in June 2010.
Chapter One
You tied my daugh
ter to a tree?”
Rendered momentarily speechless, Alessandra della Giamatti flashed a very unladylike gesture at the gentleman who stood on the edge of the terrace, stomping great clumps of wet earth from his mud-spattered boots.
“Si grande nero diavolo—you big black devil!”
He stilled, and his dark face tightened in a fearsome scowl. “Damnation, it was for her own good.”
“For her own good,” she repeated. “Santa cielo, if I had a penny for every time a man said that to a woman, I would be richer than Croesus.”
Lord James Jacquehart Pierson muttered something under his breath.
Alessandra narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I am fluent in German, sir. As well as French and Russian.”
“Well, it seems that your command of the English language leaves something to be desired, marchesa,” he shot back. “For you don’t appear to have comprehended the situation quite clearly.”
Squaring his broad shoulders—which were made even broader by the fluttering capes of his oilskin cloak—he set a hand on his hip and glowered. His olive complexion and wind-whipped tangle of raven-dark hair accentuated the shadows wreathing his chiseled features. In the fading light, his eyes appeared to be carved out of coal.
No wonder the man was known throughout London Society as “Black Jack” Pierson.
Alessandra did not doubt that his pose was an intentional attempt to appear intimidating. However, the man really ought to know her better by now. A delicate English rose might wilt at the first sign of masculine ire, but she was only half English.
As for the rest of her…
Meeting his gaze, she deliberately mimicked the gesture, adding one slight variation. As her shoulders weren’t quite as impressive as his, she stuck out her bosom.
His dark lashes flicked up a fraction.
