“There was always honor,” she whispered as tears flooded her beautiful eyes, making them shine dazzling silver.
“If there was, only you could have found it. You can’t leave the task half done.” He spread his hands in appeal. “Don’t exile me to become the wicked Duke of Kylemore again. Now you’ve started the process, it’s your Christian duty to finish dragging me into the light.”
“Stop this,” she protested brokenly. “It’s cruel. You know only an illicit arrangement is possible between us. And I can’t be your mistress after you wed, Kylemore. I’ve committed many sins, but I won’t commit that one.”
“If I don’t marry you, I will never marry,” he said quietly. “There are no more Kinmurries after me. The title dies when I do.”
“Please don’t say that,” she begged, flinching away. “You must have an heir to take his rightful place in the world. Even if we wed and by a miracle I fall pregnant, our children will never be accepted.”
“Our children will be beautiful, like their mother. And strong enough to fight their own way. You can’t blame them for your obstinacy.”
Last time he’d mentioned a baby, she’d been so certain she could never conceive. She sounded less certain now, he noted. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her midriff, as though she already carried his child.
Perhaps she did.
He fought the primitive urges that thought aroused and strove to maintain his reasonable tone. Bullying and brute strength would never sway her. He’d only win her consent when she acknowledged that neither of them had the power or the right to deny what love demanded.
“Anyway, I’m sure I’m barren,” she said bitterly.
“If that’s true, then it will just be the mad duke and his exquisite wife alone in their Highland eyrie.” He took another step toward her. She might run, but he doubted it. “You say society will scoff. I believe you’re wrong. All the men, at least, in the ton will envy my good fortune.”
He injected every ounce of grave sincerity he could muster into his voice. “Verity, be brave again. Be brave for both of us. I love you. Surely that’s worth more than the world’s scorn.”
“Don’t touch me.” She recoiled, although he’d stopped several feet away. “When you touch me, I can’t think.”
For the first time, he smiled. “I know. You must reach this decision on your own. See what an affliction you laid on me when you conjured honor from my soul?”
She didn’t smile back. Instead, her face was drawn sharp with wretchedness.
“It would be so easy to say yes,” she said bleakly.
“Then say yes,” he coaxed, stealing nearer. “We have work to do to repair the damage my mother wrought on my estates. We have love to share. We have, God willing, children to raise to choose their own path. As their father chooses his own path. As their mother will do.”
He paused, but she didn’t speak. So he plowed on with all the desperate certainty he felt.
He was so sure. Why the Devil wasn’t she? He drew in a shuddering breath. “Be brave, Verity, for their sake, for mine. Above all, for your own.” Then, in a low, intense voice, “Don’t leave me, mo cridhe. It tears the heart from my body to think of living without you.”
He stretched out his hand. To his humiliation, it shook. But what did his pride matter now?
She looked away, fighting tears. Frantically, he searched his mind for something else to say, something that would finally convince her to stay.
But words proved such a frail weapon against her will. Instead, he stood grieving, in agony, struggling to accept that he’d failed.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned and turned aside. He couldn’t watch her walk away from him again. And this time, it would be forever.
All hope was gone. He’d lost.
Silence stretched endlessly between them.
His breath caught as he steeled himself to listen to the door open. When it closed, it would close on his every happiness. He strained to hear her soft footfall fade into the distance as she abandoned him to his desolation.
Still she didn’t move.
What was she waiting for? His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He’d kneel and beg if he thought it would do any good, but he knew in his heart that no plea could change her mind.
He didn’t doubt now that she loved him. The tragedy was that she just didn’t love him enough.
“No.” Her voice cracked on the word.
Of course that’s what she’d say. Hell, hadn’t she tried to escape him ever since he’d first seen her?
She’d flung him back into his perpetual ice. He supposed he should be inured to it, but for one flaring moment, love had beckoned with false promises of life and warmth. So his fate now was impossible to bear.
With a soft crackle, a log crumbled to embers in the grate. The sound spurred him to movement, anything to break this agonizing stasis.
“Heaven keep you too,” he said hoarsely, blindly trying to find his way back to the desk.
“No,” she said more strongly. “Don’t go.”
He felt her fumble at his sleeve like an importunate creditor. He stopped in trembling bewilderment.
Her touch burned like fire through the superfine of his coat. Its heat was alien to the cold creeping death slowly moving through him.
“Do you really love me, Kylemore?” she whispered.
Why did she torture him like this? She must see his overwhelming misery.
Shamingly, his voice broke as he answered. “I die for love of you, mo leannan.”
The hand on his arm tightened. “Then God help me. God help us both,” she said huskily. “But, yes, I’ll be your duchess.”
What he heard made no sense.
“What did you say?” His question emerged as a bewildered croak.
He heard her inhale before she spoke. “I love you, Justin Kinmurrie, and I will marry you,” she said clearly.
By God, this couldn’t be true. Had he won after all?
He twisted around and grabbed her shoulders roughly, because in his extremity, gentleness was beyond him. “Say it again.”
Tears glittered on her cheeks, but the gaze that met his was alight with certainty. “I will marry you.”
The bruising force of his grasp eased. “And the rest.”
“Justin Kinmurrie, I love you.” She gave a fractured laugh that chimed oddly with her weeping. “I love you and I’ll take up residence in your barbarian country, and if I can, I’ll give you a pack of wild Highland brats to torment you into old age. And if that doesn’t terrify you, you’re brave to the point of recklessness.”
She tried to make him smile. But he was beyond levity.
“Oh, Verity,” he rasped as he clawed her into his arms. She gave a muffled sob against his shoulder and clung to him with the same possessiveness.
Eventually, he lifted his head and looked into her face. No trace now of the pale, unhappy woman who had come to him earlier. Color flushed her flawless skin, and her silver eyes glowed with incandescent joy, even through her tears.
Her beauty had caught and held him at first. But now he saw so much more. Strength. Honesty. Loyalty. Trust.
And love. So much love it banished the chill from his soul forever.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said in a wondering voice. “I thought you were going to leave me.”
“Never,” she said fervently. “Never. Never.”
She dragged his head down to hers for a clumsy, passionate kiss that tasted of weeping and happiness. As she drew away, he caught her face in his hands and looked searchingly into her rain-clear eyes.
At last, no shadows lurked in those radiant depths.
Passion beckoned, as it would always beckon when he was with her. But for the moment, he resisted its urgings. “I swear to make you happy, Verity,” he said gravely.
Her face filled with a love so powerful that it humbled him. “Just love me, Justin.”
“Forever,” he vowed.
&nb
sp; “Yes, forever.”
And he did.
Acknowledgments
As this is a first book, I have a lot of people to acknowledge. First, I’d like to thank everyone at Avon Books who steered Claiming the Courtesan on its journey from manuscript to book. I’d particularly like to thank my wonderful editor there, Lucia Macro. Heartfelt thanks to the Art Department for my gorgeous cover. I’d also like to thank my agent, Julie Culver of Folio Literary Management, who supported this project from the moment she read it. My gratitude also goes to the marvelous writers I’ve met through Romance Writers of Australia and Romance Writers of America. I offer a special thank you to the members of my writing group, Turramurra Romance Writers in Sydney.
Finally, I dedicate this book to three remarkable women—my beloved mother, Dagmar; my oldest and dearest friend, Jill Turner; and my critique partner extraordinaire, Ann See.
About the Author
ANNA CAMPBELL decided to become a writer shortly after she learned to walk. Then she discovered romance novels and realized she just had to be a romance writer and tell stories about love and hope and triumph through adversity, not forgetting gorgeous, passionate men. After various jobs and as much travel as she could afford, including a stay of several years in the United Kingdom, Anna has now settled near the sea on the east coast of Australia. You can contact Anna through her website at www.annacampbell.info.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Anna Campbell
CLAIMING THE COURTESAN
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CLAMING THE COURTESAN. Copyright © 2007 by Anna Campbell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition © FEBRUARY 2007 ISBN: 9780061800405
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