“Thank you! Thank you for not taking revenge like you’d planned.” She squeezed. “I know that took a lot of control not to give in to it.”
He returned the fierceness of her embrace and sighed deeply. “For you, I’d give the world. After vengeance for Rachel,” he whispered.
She looked up at him and mouthed thank you when he caught her off guard and swooped her up into his arms and kissed her hard. It was harsh, demanding and so him, she thought, when he abruptly stopped and set her on her feet. The reflection in his eyes was not warm.
“Dear Lord, run back to your husband,” he warned. “Because if I’m of a notion to steal you away, with me.”
Her eyes widened, surprised after his quick release of her just minutes ago. In the corner of her eye, she saw James staring at her, a stiff look. He saw the kiss and now waited to see what she’d do. But now, she knew what was right—she spun on her heel and ran to James’s arms, the force of her leap to him made him grunt as he gripped her tightly. She squeezed and gave the pirate a glance. His mouth was in a thin line as he gave a short, barely noticeable nod to James before he turned and left them.
* * *
“Thank God, you are back to me!” James nuzzled her neck. She smiled as it felt right, the feel of him against her. “I love you, Eleanor.”
She pressed against him and relished in the return. “And I remember it all now. I love you too, James.” She pressed a kiss against his check. But suddenly, she stepped back, a worry taking hold. “Could you ever forgive me for this last month?”
“Forgive you?” He looked puzzled.
She shifted her feet and bit her lower lip. Would he understand that her loss of memory had driven her into Trent’s bed?
James squeezed her hands and pulled her up close, tipping her chin up so he could look into her tear-laden eyes. “I love you. He saved you and you had no memory. There’s nothing to forgive.” He kissed her forehead. “All is back to what it should be.”
Inwardly, she relaxed. “Take me home?”
“Yes darling.” He swooped her up and kissed her mouth, his tongue running the seal of her lips, prying them open.
His tongue invaded and quickly, her own responded with welcome. The kiss was hard, deep, demanding, and beautiful. She sighed. She was home, with the man she loved.
* * *
James’s heart soared to the heavens when his Eleanor returned to him. The poor organ had taken a sound beating with her abduction and then to find her here, on a pirate ship, in another man’s arms. Confusion slammed into him as to why would she run to another when the love they shared was so rich, so deep. That mixed with his desire to kill Cavendish for taking advantage of her out here at sea, a position she found herself in due to an evil side to his friend of old, Clearwater, who she escaped only to fall head first into a pirate’s hull and losing her memory. In a sense, he couldn’t resist the feeling of satisfaction that the man would have to admit to his crime with the confession and James’s own determination to make sure the authorities would have that document. In their hands, Clearwater would pay, hopefully for more than just by the indignation of being under the law.
So he could rest assured, as best he could, that Clearwater would pay yet regardless what the courts said, he’d make sure Eleanor was never in his presence again. As to Lydia, he couldn’t help but inwardly revel at the mere thought that she’d be returned to her husband and that man would be informed of her wanton behavior. Despite her beauty, her husband could enforce total reform on her, something that was sorely needed.
But one question remained. Could he forgive Eleanor for accepting another lover?
His heart screamed for her. She was his wife, his life even. He really had no choice but to forgive and take her into his embrace, to show her how much he loved her. From all the arguing around them between Lydia, Clearwater, and the pirate, who glanced at Eleanor one more time but not again, James thanked the heavens for her return to him.
And he’d spend the rest of his life loving her. The impact of that drove into him deep, just like his kiss. Oh, this love of mine…forever will I love you.
He wasn’t sure if he said the words or if she read them in his movements but either way, her kissing turned ferocious, of the style he understood. Now and forever….
—The End—
About the Author
Gina Danna
Gina Danna - A USAToday Bestselling author, Gina Danna was born in St. Louis, Missouri, and has spent the better part of her life reading. History has always been her love and she spent numerous hours devouring historical romance stories, always dreaming of writing one of her own. After years of writing historical academic papers to achieve her undergraduate and graduate degrees in History, and then for museum programs and exhibits, she found the time to write her own historical romantic fiction novels.Now, under the Texas sun and with the supervision of her three dogs, she writes amid a library of research books, with her only true break away is to spend time with her other life long dream - her Arabian horse - with him, her muse can play.
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BRIDE OF FALCON
Collette Cameron
Bride of Falcon: Chapter One
London, England, Late May, 1818
“There you are, Miss Wimpleton.”
Ivonne Wimpleton whipped her gaze to Captain Melvin Kirkpatrick. Groaning in frustration, she snapped her fan closed, prepared to use the frilly accessory to give him a good poke or two, if necessary.
Fiend seize it. What is he doing here?
He must have arrived after she ventured outdoors.
She’d specifically asked Mother not to invite him tonight. Somehow, the bore had finagled an invitation to accompany another guest. Ivonne had hoped he’d finally sailed for Africa and wouldn’t impose his unwelcome presence on her for six blessed months or more.
He staggered toward her secluded bench on the side terrace, a drunken smile skewing his mouth.
She shot to her feet, searching for a means to avoid him. The only possibility lay in the narrow stairway descending to the manicured garden where an occasional colored lantern glowed. Ivonne strode toward her salvation at a near run.
Captain Kirkpatrick caught her arm and pinned her against the balustrade with his great weight. Her fan fell, clattering to the flagstone.
Straining against him, Ivonne fought to breathe and gagged. Did the man ever bathe?
“What audacity. Unhand me, sir!”
He shook his head. Excitement glimmered in his glassy eyes. “I think not. You’ve played the reluctant miss long enough. It’s time you tasted what our married life will be like.”
“Are you dicked in the nob?” Though no match for his strength, Ivonne still fought to break free. As she struggled, her hair pins came loose and scattered onto the stones. “I. Am. Not. Marrying. You.”
He tightened his clasp, and she winced as he held her arms in a bruising grip.
“I prefer blondes with blue eyes, but I cannot complain about your curves.” Leering at her bosom, Captain Kirkpatrick licked his lips. He pawed her breast with one beefy hand as his other gripped her head in an attempt to steal a kiss.
His foul breath assailed Ivonne, sending her stomach pitching at the stench of strong spirits and onions. Intent on screaming like a banshee, she opened her mouth and sucked in a huge breath.
A chortling foursome of gentlemen burst through the French windows onto the other side of the terrace. Their sudden appearance rescued her from the captain’s lewd groping. Panting heavily, his bushy red eyebrows scrunched together, he released her and scowled at her brother, Allen, Lords Sethwick and Luxmoore, and the Duke of Harcourt.
A pity the new arrivals weren’t her twin cousins, Edwina and Edward. They would come to her aid and not breathe a word of the untoward situation. However, if Allen spied her in Captain Kirkpatrick’s company, there would be the devil to pay.
Ivonne tried to blend into the manor’s shadow, but the sea captain’s stout form obstructed her. Her brother had warned the widower away from her once already. If he suspected the captain dared lay a hand on her, Allen would call him out. A dab hand at pistols—all firearms, for that matter—Captain Kirkpatrick might wound, or, heaven forbid, kill dear Allen.
She shuddered. It must not come to that. She peeked at the captain from beneath her lashes. More than a trifle disguised, his drunken focus remained on the other men. Ivonne seized the moment. Without hesitation, she kneed him in the ballocks with her good leg and gave him a mighty shove.
Bent double and growling in fury, he stumbled backward, clutching his groin.
Ignoring his gasps of pain and vile curses, she edged away. With one eye on the laughing quartet, she crept down the stairs. Once out of their view, she flew across the lawn as rapidly as her injured leg would allow. She’d broken the limb in two places in a riding accident three years ago. The leg pained her on occasion, and she endured a permanent, though slight, limp made worse by overexertion.
She darted behind a tall rose-covered trellis. In her haste, the ball gown’s black net overskirt caught on a thorn-laden cane. Breathing labored and leg throbbing, she halted just inside the alcove and gave the skirt a gentle tug.
Dash it all. Stuck fast.
She sent a frantic glance along the footpath.
A twig snapped. Had Captain Kirkpatrick followed her?
A jolt of fright raised the hairs on her arms and stole her breath. Did she dare step outside the arbor and release the material? Would he see her if she did? She couldn’t move farther into the enclosure, though if she remained here, she risked almost certain discovery.
A sleepy dove cooed from somewhere in the garden’s trees. The night’s festivities had no doubt disturbed its slumber.
Ivonne peered through the lattice slats.
Where was he?
With her forefinger, she nudged a couple of leaves aside. Her white gloves stood out, a stark contrast against the plants. Oh, to have the mythical mantel of Arthur in Cornwall and be invisible.
A soft wind wafted through her hiding place and rustled the leaves overhead. Several spun lazily to the ground. Guests’ laughter and the lilting strains of the orchestra floated through the beveled French windows and carried to her on the mild breeze.
What possessed her to give into the impulse to venture outside alone and catch some air?
Because you dislike balls, gentlemen treating you as if you’re beneath their touch, and all the pretentious nastiness that’s generally present when the denizens of High Society gather.
Though only May, the crush of the crowd inside the mansion caused the temperature to rise uncomfortably. The heat, mixed with cloying perfumes, less-than-fresh clothing, the aroma of dozens of beeswax candles, and the occasional unbathed body, made her head ache and stomach queasy.
She’d sought a secluded niche on the side terrace to recover. Unfortunately, Captain Kirkpatrick, deep in his cups, found her there. Much like the shaggy bull he resembled, he’d stalked her at every social gathering.
A more off-putting man she’d never met.
Ivonne turned sideways and hoped the vines’ thick cover concealed her. If fear had a scent, the captain’s bulbous nose would lead him straight to her. Heavy footfalls crunched upon the gravel not more than a yard away. She closed her eyes as her heart lurched to her throat. Thank God she hadn’t tried to detach her gown. He’d have been on her like dense winter fog on the River Thames.
“Miss Wimpleton, you saucy minx, where are you?”
A low, suggestive chuckle followed. “I do like a spirited gel in my bed. I do, indeed.”
Ivonne’s eyes popped open. Captain Kirkpatrick’s gloating singsong whisper sent a shiver of loathing the length of her spine. She bit her lower lip, afraid to exhale lest he detect her presence.
He advanced another foot, pausing before the lattice.
She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes.
He stood so close, the noxious mixture of his dinner, pungent cologne, and sweat assaulted her nose. Hot bile rose to her throat, and she swallowed against the burning. Her nose twitched. Flaring her nostrils, she fought to suppress a sneeze.
If he discovered her hidden within the nook, there’d be no escaping the man’s amorous attentions. He might claim to prefer blondes, but he’d become bolder each time she encountered him. Given the opportunity, God alone knew what the foxed knave might try in this private bower. Look what he’d attempted on the veranda in full view of anyone who might have come along.
Holding her breath, she pursed her lips.
Do not sneeze.
The captain planted his hands on his ample hips and scanned the shrubberies. He turned in a slow circle. The straining gold buttons of his black tailcoat gleamed in the moonbeams bathing the path. He withdrew a silver flask from his pocket, and after a furtive glance around, took a couple of healthy gulps.
“Where are you? Come out, my sweet.” He belched and returned the flask to his pocket. “No need to be coy. I have something of importance to ask you.”
Precisely why Ivonne huddled like a timid mouse amongst the foliage outside her parents’ mansion. In the past two months, he’d asked the same question thrice before. Her firm “No” each time hadn’t deterred him in the least. In fact, her reluctance appeared to make the stocky widower more determined to win her hand.
Grimacing and cautious to keep her gown from rustling, she shifted her weight to her good leg.
Ah, much better.
Wisteria and salmon-colored climbing roses concealed the garden nook. Her favorite hideaway, normally, she would have relished the fragrant air surrounding her. Tonight, however, she could only be grateful the roses’ scent masked her perfume and hadn’t produced a fit of sneezing.
Ivonne swallowed against the tickle teasing her throat. If only she dared pinch her nostrils. She mustn’t. Her gloves against the verdant leaves might give her away. Yearning to slip into one of the nook’s inky corners, she yanked her skirt again. The fabric didn’t budge.
Captain Kirkpatrick swung his dark gaze to the trellis.
Bride of Falcon: Chapter Two
Petrified, Ivonne mouthed a silent prayer.
Dear God, don’t let him find me.
The distant glow pouring from the manor’s open doors bathed the captain in muted light. Kirkpatrick turned his head from side to side, a perplexed frown on his broad face.
“Where’d the chit get to?”
She nearly wept with relief. He hadn’t discovered her after all.
Muttering a vulgar curse, he scowled at the couple strolling along the path in his direction.
Bless, Edmund and Edwina. Their presence in the garden wasn’t accidental. They must have been looking for her and followed Captain Kirkpatrick. They wouldn’t leave her to his mercy.
“Mr. Linville. Miss Linville.” He offered the briefest of bows.
Edwina favored him with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a splendid evening for a turn about the gardens. The honeysuckle there,” she pointed in the opposite direction of the alcove, “smells divine, does it not, Captain?”
“Er, indeed.” He didn’t spare the fragrant vine a glimpse. He peered behind them. “You haven’t seen Miss Wimpleton, have you?”
Edmund canted his blond head. “Why no, not since I asked her to dance.”
“She danced with you? She told me she doesn’t dance.” Scowling, Captain Kirkpatrick scratched his buttocks.
Staring pointedly at his indecorous behavior, Edwina raised a fair eyebrow.
“No, she doesn’t dance anymore, but I still like to make the offer.” Edmund flashed one of his engaging smiles. “Ivonne wanted to try her hand at cards tonight. Claimed she felt lucky.”
Cards bored Ivonne as much as French lessons or gossip of Prinny, yet she would play the entire night if she didn’t have to dance. Never nimble on her feet, with a lame leg, she’d become even le
ss so. A blindfolded elephant in half-boots possessed more grace than she.
Creating a spectacle before two hundred guests again was unthinkable. She had done so once before and found herself plopped upon her derriere, her gown mid-thigh, exposing her legs for all to see. She no longer danced, and gentlemen rarely asked her to. Nonetheless, Edmund always made a token request at those gatherings that included dancing as part of the evening’s entertainment.
Her nostrils tingled in warning. Eyes watering, she pressed her teeth together.
Don’t sneeze. Don’t sneeze.
Do. Not. Sneeze, Ivonne Georgina Augusta Wimpleton.
“Cards, eh?” Captain Kirkpatrick rubbed his chins. “She was taking the air on the terrace a few minutes ago. I’m positive I saw her wandering along this path.”
Lying buffoon.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re mistaken, Captain.” Edwina’s voice acquired a harsh edge. “Ivonne might be set upon by an uncouth, inebriated lout if she strolled about alone. Lord and Lady Wimpleton would be most displeased if such a thing befell their daughter.”
Brava, Edwina.
“Why don’t you accompany us inside?” Edmund turned his sister in the direction of the house. “We’ll look for Ivonne together.”
Ivonne smiled. Her cousins would have the widower examining every unused, cobwebby cranny in the manor. She held her breath against another potential sneeze. Something else must be in bloom. Roses didn’t cause her this distress.
The captain shook his oversized, red-haired head. “I’ll be along in a moment or two. It’s too hot in the house, and I need a few moments more to cool off.”
He removed his handkerchief from his coat pocket.
In the faint light, Ivonne detected thick beads of sweat glistening on his mottled features. He did rather resemble a great lathered ox. Truth to tell, everything about the man shouted brutish beast, from his thick-set build, bullish shoulders, and wide face, to his bulging round brown eyes, clomping walk, and gruff, deep-toned voice.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 22
