She licked her lips, and he fought the urge to grab her and kiss her and have her, whatever her intentions in coming to him tonight. The quiet house around them did nothing to shore up gentlemanly impulses.
“Tonight.” She paused as devastation made his heart slam to a stop. Then she went on in a faint voice. “And forever. If you’ll have me.”
It took him a moment to realize what she’d said. He’d braced for an answer that dashed his dreams all over again.
Still, he didn’t move, although the need to touch her was a fever in his blood. “You’d better mean that, Sally. I’m not going through this again.”
To his surprise, amusement lit her green eyes. “Good God, Charles, this is like negotiating a legal contract.”
He smiled back as certainty, solid as a mountain, settled deep and eternal inside him. “You are, my love. The sort of contract that lasts till death do us part.”
She frowned faintly. “So you still mean marriage?”
“I do,” he said, echoing the vows he soon hoped to speak in front of a vicar. “Do you?”
She raised her chin and regarded him directly. “I do.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed again. “Now, for pity’s sake, Charles, kiss me.”
A bolt of happiness struck him, made his head reel. “My darling,” he whispered reverently. “You make me the happiest man in England.”
With unsteady hands, he caught her by the waist and dragged her up for a hungry kiss. She sighed in satisfaction and wrapped her arms around him with unconcealed possessiveness.
It felt like an eon since he’d touched her. The heat flaring between them was even more incandescent than he remembered. And in seven sleepless nights, by God, he’d done a lot of remembering.
Her familiar scent, smoky rose, flooded his head. Her salty taste fed his rapacious senses. As if she, too, had starved for this connection, her eager tongue swept into his mouth.
His heart pounding, he edged her back until she met the wall behind her. Greedy hands wrenched her bodice down. They both groaned their pleasure when he cupped her breasts.
Breathlessly, she pulled far away enough to see his face. Joy transfigured her. He’d never seen her look so beautiful, nor so open. At last, she’d stepped beyond that wall of glass that had kept her safe from hurt.
She hadn’t yet spoken her love, but as he met her glowing eyes, he saw what she felt. Poignant emotion mixed with rising desire.
Damn him for a lucky dog. She was a woman in a million.
“Sir Charles, what on earth are you doing?” The mocking smile curling her lips only made his blood beat harder.
He dragged his hands through her hair, sending a hail of pins scattering over the carpet. Dark gold silk tumbled down around her unforgettable face, turning her into a wild creature. “My dear Lady Norwood, I believe the technical term is pouncing.”
* * *
Sally had time for a gasp of laughter, then Charles was kissing her again, with more of that tumultuous passion that she craved. A throbbing, now familiar weight set up in the base of her belly, and she shifted to ease the hungry itch between her legs. He was hard and ready, and excitement fizzed through her as she reached down to shape her hand around the impressive bulge in his trousers.
“Oh, yes,” he hissed, leaning into her in encouragement.
He pulled away far enough to haul his shirt over his head. She gave a soft growl of appreciation and ran her hands over his chest. The rasp of crisp dark hair beneath her palms was one more glorious sensation.
He kissed her again. She shivered with anticipation when she felt the slow upward slide of her silk skirts.
His hands reached her thighs and he paused. Then he released a soft exclamation of surprise against her lips. “By heaven, I love you.”
A breathless giggle emerged. “Now you know I arrived with wicked intentions.”
“Do your worst,” he said, stroking along her bare legs and making her shiver.
Deciding not to wear drawers tonight had seemed like boneheaded optimism when she’d left her house. She hadn’t even been sure Charles would see her, let alone want to touch her. Now the glitter in his eyes made her glad she’d chosen such a brazen course.
His seeking fingers found her cleft, and she shuddered as he explored her with sensual purpose. She trembled when he slid one long finger into her, then two. As liquid female pleasure greeted his incursions, she tugged his trousers open and closed her hand around rampant flesh.
He groaned and bent his head to her neck, scraping his teeth across her skin until she cried out and tightened her grip on him. The combination of the sting with the rhythmic thrust of his fingers sent her toppling over into a climax that left her knees like water.
“Charles…” she breathed, clinging to him and tracing a line of kisses across his collarbone. “Oh, Charles.”
“I love it when you say my name,” he gritted out. “I thought you’d call me Sir Charles until the day I died.”
“Sir Charles was too much of a gentleman to do this.”
“Don’t you believe it, darling,” he said. “Lift your leg and hook it behind my hips.”
“Yes, Charles.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “You’ve become very biddable lately.”
She gave a choked giggle as she curled her leg around him, allowing him wanton access. “If you keep me feeling like this, I suspect I’ll always be biddable.”
“Now there’s a delightful challenge,” he murmured.
He caught her under her buttocks and lifted her into his body. She strained toward him as need blazed through her, incinerating everything but love.
She gasped as he pushed forward, and her grip on his shoulders tightened. The pressure between her legs turned into a rapturous fullness.
Once they were fully joined, he went still and lifted his head to stare down into her face. His eyes blazed brilliant in his face, and he looked breathtakingly fierce. “Say you’re mine.”
She met that uncompromising gaze and read an unconditional love she’d never until this moment believed existed. “I’m yours.”
“Always remember that.” He drew out so slowly that she saw stars. Then he slid forward with a ruthlessness that left her gasping. The torrent of thrills rippling through her began to build into a tidal wave.
She closed her eyes and joined Charles on the journey to bliss. Just before the sensations inside her exploded into dazzling release, she opened her eyes. “I love you, Charles.”
“Sally…” he said on a long groan and thrust into her hard, sending her soaring into a realm of fire.
As the tremors subsided and she drifted down from the stellar heights, she felt wrung out, complete, sated.
Loved.
Poignant gratitude welled inside her, made speech impossible. To think, she’d nearly let her fears deny her this ecstasy, this unearthly closeness.
Well, she was no longer frightened. She was brave and forthright, and confident that she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
She hid her flushed face in his bare shoulder and kissed his skin, the tang of his clean sweat sharp in her nostrils. And she spoke again the words she’d never said to anyone until tonight. She was surprised how easily they emerged.
“I love you, Charles.”
“And I love you,” he said. When his arms closed around her, she knew she’d reached safe harbor at last.
* * *
Charles carried a sleepy Sally across to a large armchair beside the unlit hearth. Her declaration of love still echoed in his ears. The whole world glowed, now he knew that she loved him. He’d waited so long to hear those words, he couldn’t yet take them for granted. If fate allowed him the privilege, he hoped to hear her say she loved him every day for the rest of their long life together.
Happy beyond his dearest hopes, gloriously satisfied, he settled in the chair and arranged her in his lap. She looked thoroughly ravished. Her bodice sagged over her lovely breasts,
offering him a glimpse of sweet strawberry nipples. Her gilt hair cascaded about her. Her lips were red and swollen after his kisses, and her pale skin showed pink where his whiskers had chafed her.
“That was lovely,” she murmured, resting her ruffled head on his bare shoulder.
“It was. Although I promise next time we’ll be in a bed.” He paused. “And I’ll take the time to undress you. In fact, I’ll just take my time.”
She gave a soft laugh and nestled closer. “That will be nice.”
“I’ll get a special license today. I don’t want next time to be too far away.” Nor did he place too much reliance on her claims to barrenness. He wanted no sidelong looks if she bore a child nine months from now. And after the last, difficult days, he intended to claim her as quickly and as permanently as he could.
“I don’t either.” When she sighed, her breath was warm on his chest. “I wish I could stay tonight.”
His hold tightened. “I do, too, but you have to set an example to Meg.”
“I know.” She met his eyes. “If we’re getting married in a few days, I suppose I’ll have to let her stay in London after all.”
His lips twitched. “And forgive her for interfering.”
“She’s a minx.”
“Undoubtedly.”
She gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, my goodness, everyone is going to be so surprised when they find out we’re getting married.”
Charles hid a secret smile. He had a suspicion the only person surprised at this particular outcome was Sally herself. Most of their friends knew where his interest tended.
Sally sat up and kissed him with leisurely enjoyment. “We have so much to do,” she said. “And you have to cancel your trip to Italy.”
He felt so elated, he was ready to take wing and fly to Venice. As long as she flew with him. “Not necessarily.”
“Charles?”
“We could go there for our honeymoon. It only means delaying my journey a week or so.”
Her eyes turned brilliant green. “Italy? Oh, Charles.”
He smiled down at her, pleased with her reaction to his suggestion. “I’d much rather have you for company than a broken heart.”
The light in her eyes faded, and she placed her hand on the side of his face in a gesture of apology. “Oh, my dear, I’ve hurt you so badly, and all because I was too stupid to know what I wanted.”
“What changed your mind? You sounded so certain that you wanted nothing to do with me when we left Sans Souci.”
When he saw the shadows come back into her eyes, he was sorry he asked. “I was such a fool. I should have believed you when you told me you loved me.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.” Remorse turned her voluptuous lips downward. “I just didn’t trust that your love would last.”
“But now you do.” It wasn’t a question.
When she smiled at him with a return of rapturous happiness, his heart crashed hard against his ribs. He realized that she’d at last left past sorrows behind and looked forward to their glorious future.
So did he, by God. She was everything he wanted. What a life they were going to have together.
“Now I do. I’ve been so unhappy all week—then Morwenna reminded me that real love is worth every risk.”
“God bless Morwenna,” he said fervently.
“Yes,” Sally murmured. “She gave me the courage to come to you. I’m sorry I was frightened for so long.”
He brought her head down for another kiss. “You can spend the next fifty years making it up to me.”
She smiled against his lips. “I promise I will.” Then in a low, urgent voice, she said, “I love you so very much.”
He drew away, cradling her face between his palms and studying those fascinating features that had caught his heart from the first. “I swear I’ll make you happy, my love.”
Her wanton glance whipped his blood into a hot storm of desire. “There’s no time like the present to launch such an admirable project.”
Supreme happiness rang in his laugh. “Then, my darling, you and I are in complete agreement.”
THE END
Continue reading for an excerpt from:
* * *
Pursuing Lord Pascal
* * *
Book 4 in the Dashing Widows series
Golden Days…
Famous for her agricultural innovations, Amy, Lady Mowbray has never had a romantical thought in her life. Well, apart from her short-lived crush on London’s handsomest man, Lord Pascal, when she was a brainless 14-year-old. She even chose her late husband because he owned the best herd of beef cattle in England!
But fate steps in and waltzes this practical widow out of her rustic retreat into the glamour of the London season. When Pascal pursues her, all her adolescent fantasies come true. And those fantasies turn disturbingly adult when grown-up desire enters the equation. Amy plunges headlong into a reckless affair that promises pleasure beyond her wildest dreams – until she discovers that this glittering world hides damaging secrets and painful revelations set to break a country girl’s tender heart.
All that glitters…
Gervaise Dacre, Lord Pascal needs to marry money to rescue his estate, devastated after a violent storm. He’s never much liked his reputation as London’s handsomest man, but it certainly comes in handy when the time arrives to seek a rich bride. Unfortunately, the current crop of debutantes bores him silly, and he finds himself praying for a sensible woman with a generous dowry.
When he meets Dashing Widow Amy Mowbray, it seems all his prayers have been answered. But his mercenary quest becomes dangerously complicated when he finds himself in thrall to the lovely widow. Soon he’s much more interested in passion than in pounds, shillings and pence. What happens if Amy discovers the sordid truth behind his whirlwind courtship? And if she does, will she see beyond his original, selfish motives to the ardent love that lies unspoken in his sinful heart?
* * *
Prologue
* * *
Woodley Park, Leicestershire, November 1828
To a farmer, even winter’s dreary beginning had its purpose.
Or so Amy, Lady Mowbray, told herself as she stared out of the morning room window onto the landscape of her childhood. It was early on a gray day. Around her, the old house was blessedly quiet. That would change, once everyone was up.
Nash friends and family gathered to celebrate the christening of her brother Silas’s fourth child. The revels had extended late last night, but Amy, used to rising with the birds to tramp her fields at Warrington Grange, couldn’t sleep.
So she didn’t expect the door to open and reveal Sally Cowan, Countess of Norwood. “Lady Mowbray, I didn’t think anyone else was awake.”
Amy didn’t know Sally well. Recently the attractive widow had become friends with her sister-in-law Morwenna. Morwenna mostly lived in seclusion in Portsmouth, but she and Sally both supported a charity for indigent naval widows.
“I don’t keep sophisticated hours, Lady Norwood.” Anything but. Lately the sheer predictability of her days had begun to pall.
When she was a girl, she’d become interested in scientific agriculture, and since then, the rhythms of planting and harvest had ruled her life. Her brief marriage seven years ago had caused barely a hiccup in the endless seasonal work.
“I don’t either.” Lady Norwood closed the door and ventured into the room. “I’m looking for something to read. I know Caro keeps the latest novels in here. I won’t disturb you.”
Amy rarely sought female company, although she loved her sister Helena who slept upstairs, no doubt blissfully, in her husband’s arms. But something about the bleak, lonely dawn left her dissatisfied with solitude. “No need to go. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Lady Norwood cast her a searching look, before a smile of startling charm lit her face. She wasn’t exactly pretty. Her long, thin nose had a definite kink, and her eyes and mouth were too large for her face, b
ut she was dauntingly stylish. Next to her, Amy always felt a complete frump.
This morning was a case in point. Lady Norwood wore a filmy cream gown, trimmed with bands of satin ribbon, deep green to match her remarkable eyes. With her loosely gathered fair hair, she looked like the spirit of spring, even as the year moved into winter.
Whereas Amy had dredged a frock ten years out of date from the cupboard in the bedroom she always used at Woodley Park. She’d assumed at this hour, she wouldn’t run into any other guests. She was sharply conscious that the dress was faded and worn, and too loose for her. At twenty-five, she was slimmer than she’d been at sixteen.
“Thank you. I’d love a cup of tea. Morwenna speaks so fondly of you, Lady Mowbray. I was looking forward to this house party as a chance to get to know you.”
Amy crossed the room to the tray a footman had just brought in and poured two cups. “Please call me Amy. Lady Mowbray is my late husband’s mother.” Who lived in Brighton, and fussed over her ten pugs, and found little common ground with the practical young woman her son had married.
Lady Norwood turned something as mundane as accepting a cup and saucer into an act of breathtaking grace. Amy stifled an unworthy pang of envy. Not even her best friend—if she had one—would credit her with a shred of elegance. Somehow this morning, that seemed a shame.
“Very well, Amy. And you must call me Sally.” She sipped her tea as the door swung open.
“Morwenna,” Amy said in surprise, placing her tea on a side table and stepping forward to embrace her lovely, fragile sister-in-law. The body in her arms was so thin, Amy feared it might break if she wasn’t careful. “You’re up early.”
“You know I don’t sleep much these days.” The willowy brunette focused her large blue eyes on Sally and managed a smile. “Good morning, Sally.”
“Good morning, Morwenna.”
Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows Book 5) Page 13
