Valentines Heat II

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter, Cynthia Hampton

  The sound of her raised lines of gooseflesh, puckering her nipples and causing arousal to pool warmly. She pulled him closer and he obliged, wrapping her in his arms, the length of his thigh pressed against hers, the solid warmth of his chest waiting for her to explore.

  And she did, touching his arms, shoulders, chest, and head as he placed openmouthed kisses along her neck, encouraged by murmured words that stopped as he claimed her lips once more, boldly, thoroughly, completely, until she ran out of air.

  They parted, but Toby’s forehead touched hers as the panting slowed and air fully filled her lungs.

  “I should go,” he whispered.

  “The storm hasn’t cleared.”

  He chuckled and pulled away from her, straightening his clothing as he did so. “There was nearly a storm right here. And I think a bracing walk is about the best medicine a man can take about now.”

  Ann closed her eyes as disappointment filled her, darker than the night outside, but he was right. He should leave. Leave here, leave her, leave well enough alone.

  “Ann?”

  When she finally opened her eyes, she was fully composed, that is until she looked into Toby’s face once again and saw the measure of his desire for her.

  “I’m falling in love with you, Ann Sellars. I think it’s only fair I tell you that now.”

  Ann swallowed at the words, wondering if she was expected to reply to his declaration. She was about to say something when a finger pressed itself to her lips.

  “No. Don’t say anything, not now—especially something we’ll both regret.”

  His eyes could hide nothing from her, and they spoke now of deep longing. Ann nodded, and Toby’s hand cupped her chin. A thumb caressed her cheek. She watched him stand and pull his oilskin coat from the cloak cupboard.

  She opened the door for him. Thunder grumbled a complaint in the night sky and a bloom of cold air filled the parlor with the scent of rain.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she whispered in return.

  Toby hesitated as though he wanted to say more and then smiled. He tipped his hat to her as he stepped out onto the porch, then turned up his collar against the wind and the rain and walked down the lane, whistling a tune that was familiar to her.

  She closed the door behind her, bolted it shut for the night, and thought of the words of the True Lover’s Farewell:

  O fare you well, I must be gone

  And leave you for a while:

  But wherever I go, I will return,

  If I go ten thousand miles, my dear,

  If I go ten thousand miles.

  Ten thousand miles it is so far

  To leave me here alone,

  Whilst I may lie, lament and cry,

  And you will not hear my moan, my dear,

  And you will not hear my moan.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  May, 1789

  Ann heard her name called while she examined the newly arrived fabric from Manchester. It sounded urgent, and for a dreadful moment, Ann feared another disaster at the mine until she realized she heard no siren.

  “Ann!” The storeroom door flew open and Toby’s frame filled the gap. He looked like he had run all the way from the Penventen office.

  She dropped the bolt of material she was holding. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here? Is it the mine?”

  He shook his head, and worry creased his brow. “James has news from England.” He took a deep breath. “His father has died. That makes him Lord Penventen.”

  It was Ann’s turn to frown. She didn’t know much of James’s family other than the fact they weren’t close, but surely that wasn’t enough to rush all the way down here.

  “I presume that means he has to return to England, but why…” Ann stopped. All of a sudden she knew why. “You’re going with him,” she said. It was not a question.

  Toby nodded once. “First thing tomorrow, we’re going to hunt for the first ship back to England.”

  “Why you? What about the mine?”

  “Mac can manage the mine on his own for a spell.” Toby paused and looked behind him.

  The patrons were halting their conversation in an attempt to eavesdrop. She marched to the storeroom door and slammed it. Patience let out a squeak.

  “What about us? You promised Andrew to take him fishing for his birthday next month.” She hated the words the moment they left her mouth. They sounded weak and manipulative, two things she prided herself on never being.

  Toby looked pained. He glanced down and fiddled with the brim of his hat. “It’s complicated, but I need to go with him. There are more than just family obligations. I wish I could tell you more but I’m sworn to secrecy and I won’t break my word.”

  Pain welled from beneath Ann’s ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Tears welled close to the surface. Raw emotions vaguely similar to those she felt after Robert’s death simmered to the surface. Her vision swam.

  Toby took her by the elbow and urged her to sit on a barrel. With both her hands in his, he knelt before her.

  “Marry me,” he said in a rush.

  “What?” Ann stood. It was obvious he was making up plans as he went along.

  “We can be wed on the ship. We’ll honeymoon in England; we’ll be back before…” Toby stood also, and then paused, seeing her thunderous countenance.

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in all my born days,” she announced.

  His expression turned from astonished to crestfallen, and Ann’s heart fell with it. She caressed his face, and the creases around his eyes and forehead softened a little. Ann replaced her fingers with her lips.

  “I feel very deeply for you,” she whispered between each kiss, “but I want to be sure. And I have responsibilities—to Andrew and to the business. I have to be sure.”

  She placed her arms around him He stepped into her embrace and held her tight.

  After long moments, they broke apart. Toby’s eyes seemed to glisten silver, but Ann couldn’t be certain, as tears welled in her own eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Toby.”

  * * *

  14 February, 1791

  Ann attended the first of the funerals for the men recovered from the Yankee Star roof collapse.

  Her mourning clothes, packed away more than two years ago, smelled musty despite being aired and felt strange on her, even though this black had been her constant wardrobe in the year following Robert’s death. She stood at the back of the throng, the brisk late winter winds pushing at her back.

  One of the bitterly weeping widows was being comforted by her family as the first bit of sod thudded onto the coffin.

  Today she had made her decision. The portrait of her husband Robert now lay in a chest, along with other keepsakes Andrew would one day treasure in memory of his father.

  One by one the mourners filed by, dropping clods of earth into the grave or small posies of brightly colored greenery and flowers. Small snowflakes flittered and danced in the breeze before settling on the ground.

  Ann dropped the larger of the two bouquets she held in her hand.

  She clasped hands with the widow and offered her condolences. She knew what it was to experience love and loss, but she would not linger with the mourners who huddled around the bereaved today before drifting back into their own lives, satisfied the work of comforting had been complete.

  One month, three months, six months after today—that’s when those families would need a shoulder to cry on, a friendly smile to encourage the telling of beloved memories, a timely reminder that pain eases and that it’s all right to go on.

  Ann drew away from the crowd and wandered toward another part of the cemetery, one she knew well, and took a path she had trod nearly every day for two and a half years.

  One small headstone that stood among many others drew her. The grave was well tended and established.

  With her black-gloved hand, she brushed the face of the stone free of snow
to read the engraving, although she knew the words by heart.

  Robert Andrew Sellars

  1759-1787

  Beloved husband and father

  Died a hero at Penventen Mine

  “Robert, Toby comes back this week,” she said softly, placing the posy of multicolored pansies at the base of the stone. “Thank you for Andrew, thank you for the years we spent together…”

  Ann shook her head and cleared her throat. “We will never forget you, but it’s time for me to move on. If—when Toby asks again, my answer is going to be yes.”

  She stood and placed her hand on top of the stone. Snow eddied about her, brought in by the northerly winds, which grew stronger as the day wore on. Midafternoon and the light was beginning to dim.

  Up at Coal Hill, there was a pinpoint of light, a glow, which was the camp where the rescuers toiled at the Yankee Star. Six dead had been recovered yesterday, and worse still, it was feared only the dead would now be brought back from shaft seven. Two weeks after the disaster, a dozen men were still unaccounted for in a roof fall thought to extend for many hundreds of yards. But until all hope had gone, searchers would continue digging and families would continue hoping.

  Ann said a prayer for them and walked out to the street. She watched the mourners walking back to Reverend Greenwood’s for refreshments. Patience and Dan, Patience’s would-be beau, waited with the buggy.

  She dismissed them, preferring to walk the three blocks back to the mercantile alone with her thoughts.

  In the place of Robert’s portrait on her dressing chest was the watercolor of Toby. The artist was indeed gifted. She had captured the intensity of his silver eyes, the strength of his shoulders, and the fullness of his lower lip. She looked at it and remembered more than his fine looks.

  She drank the image in, remembering his humor, his kindness, his passion, and his integrity. Ann missed him with a longing that ached in her soul as well as her body.

  She rounded the corner, and her heart quickened at the sight of a familiar horse waiting on the street outside the mercantile.

  Tears of joy, hot and salty, melted the frosty flakes of snow falling on her face.

  The horse’s owner turned and sprinted toward her, then swept her up in his arms and spun her around. But Ann was giddy without that.

  “You made me a promise, Ann,” said Toby, his voice raw. “You promised an answer.”

  “Yes!”

  Toby steered her out of the increasingly heavy falling snow to the shelter of the mercantile, where it seemed a throng of people waited—Ruth, Patience, Andrew and some others she didn’t know.

  He tugged on her hand to pull her attention back to him.

  “Yes, you promised me an answer? Or is the answer yes? Put me out of my misery, Ann, for pity’s sake, please.”

  “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, although Ann hardly heard it.

  She loved him, she was as sure as she had ever been of anything in her life, she loved Tobias Jackson and knew their future lay together.

  Always.

  ~ About Elizabeth Ellen Carter ~

  Elizabeth Ellen Carter has been a writer all her life, as a child typing her own adventure stories during long school holidays, to a 13 year stint as a newspaper journalist to most recently working as a marketing and communications specialist.

  With Moonstone Obsession Elizabeth has returned to her first love of storytelling.

  Elizabeth Ellen Carter lives in Queensland Australia with her writer husband and two cats.

  Discover more about Elizabeth Ellen Carter here

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  Also by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Buy more Historical Romance from Elizabeth Ellen Carter

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  A shared secret from their past could destroy their future…

  Northumbria, 1077. In the years following William the Conqueror’s harrying of the North, Lady Alfreya of Tyrswick returns to her family home after seven years in exile. But instead of returning victorious as her dead father had promised, she returns defeated by Baron Sebastian de la Croix, the Norman who rules her lands.

  To save her gravely ill brother's life, Alfreya offers herself hostage to her enemy. As Alfreya gets to know her new husband, she finds he’s not the monster she feared, and their marriage of convenience soon becomes a bond of passion. But Sebastian is a man with a secret—one that could destroy him.

  As a series of brutal murders haunt their nights, the man who betrayed Alfreya’s father returns claiming to be her betrothed. He has learned Sebastian’s secret and will use it to further his own ambition—using Sebastian’s own family—which will destroy Sebastian and mark him a traitor, and plunge an unprepared England into war with the Scots…

  A PERFECT JUDGE by Cynthia Hampton

  Dedication

  For those who suffer from BPPV

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Honey, we have to do something about this.”

  Kamber Prescott squirmed in the uncomfortable director’s chair and frowned at her reflection in the large mirror framed with lights. “What’s wrong with it?”

  The stylist who had proclaimed himself Erik in a dramatic flourish looked horrified as he shoved his hands into her long blonde hair. “Seriously? You’re wearing Valentino—the Valentino—and you don’t see the problem? Understated glamour and elegance is the goal. Of course, that’s why I’m here.” His fingers pulled her hair up and over, straight back, then to one side. “What to do, what to do…”

  “I think the dress speaks for itself.” She loved the ice-blue silk accented with crystal beads that hugged her body and flared at the knees. But she was out of her comfort zone in this type of elegance. Give her a stylish suit with a pencil skirt and she was good to go any day of the week. “I’m an attorney, not a model.”

  Erik’s face appeared in front of hers, blocking her view. “No, sweetness, this is not a courtroom. This is the Valentine’s Day fantasy auction where rules exist only if you want them. Women are here to drool over the flesh being peddled by every available bachelor in Tulsa. God knows I’ve been drooling.” He fanned himself with one hand for effect and grinned at her. “You are here to stir up sensual ambience. Set the mood, so to speak, as you introduce those delectable morsels. If you don’t do your job, no money for the cause.”

  “Gee, thanks, Erik. No pressure at all.”

  “Counselor, with assets like yours, there’ll be all sorts of pressure. Pity that you’re not up for auction. No telling how high some of those bids would go. Now, let’s make you a goddess.”

  He took his place behind her again and resumed his mission. Kamber looked at the dangerously deep neckline and cringed inwardly. It wasn’t that she didn’t like showing what she had, but this was too much. She tugged the neckline higher and Erik slapped her hand.

  “No, no, no. You’ve got it, so work it.” He tapped her on the shoulder with one finger. “Close your eyes until I say to open them, and tell me again about BPPV. I’m so lost with all the technical stuff.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Benign Paroxysmal Position Vertigo. Basically, a person never knows when the symptoms of vertigo and extreme nausea are going to happen. You can be fine one moment and suddenly your world tilts sideways. For professionals like firemen, window washers, steel workers, oil rig roughnecks…anyone whose job has them working with heights or operating machinery of any kind, it can be deadly. That’s why many of them have to quit their jobs and find something else to do. Tonight’s auction will raise funds to help families affected by BPPV.”

  Kamber knew too well how debilitating the effects of BPPV could be. At least three times a year she missed work to comb
at the frustrating dizziness that made everything around her shimmer like water. She kept her eyes closed as Erik worked with her hair and asked questions.

  “How do people get this disease?”

  “It isn’t really a disease but it can affect anyone.”

  “And nothing can be done for it?”

  “It’s not something that can be cured. There’s a procedure called the Epley maneuver that reduces vertigo and helps a person feel better almost immediately.”

  Erik let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Well, honey, I certainly feel better about this hair. Don’t you?”

  Opening her eyes, she saw a stunning person in the mirror. Kamber had to admit the change had a dazzling effect. Both sides of her hair had been swept back in a style that emphasized her high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes. Simple and elegant.

  “You’re incredible, Erik. I look almost sexy.”

  Kamber tensed when Jeffrey Hatcher stepped into view beside the chair. His blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and handsome face had haunted her dreams for weeks.

  “There’s no almost about it. You are sexy.” He stood with one hand in a pocket of his exquisitely cut tuxedo. “Hello, Kamber.”

  Surely everyone in the building could hear the pounding of her heart.

  “Jeffrey. What brings you to the auction?”

  “I’m a last minute addition to the bachelor list, at my request. After all, if it’s for a good cause, it’s good for my image. And I couldn’t resist signing up when I heard you’d be emceeing. How have you been since the party?”

  His cocky grin told her he remembered their encounter at the Van Helt Christmas party. She’d had a few too many drinks, he’d kissed her into oblivion by a statue of Aphrodite, and she’d run away just as things heated to a boiling point. Now after managing to avoid him the past two months, she had nowhere to go.