Lord Skeffington got to his feet and bowed to her.
“Lady Clifton, I take it?”
“That is correct, sir.” She turned to Lucius. “What bet, dear heart?”
She looked up at him, her eyes very blue, very clear, the question in them unmistakeable. He wavered, but only for a moment.
“Before I met you,” he told her, “I laid a bet at Brooke’s that I would not marry before I was forty. But then I did meet you, and,” he shrugged, “lost the bet.”
“Oh.” Emmaline looked thoughtful for a moment. “Have I cost you a great deal?”
“Reduced me to penury,” Lucius said mournfully.
She gurgled with laughter at that and cuffed him on the arm as Fred brought in her tray.
“Oh good,” she said, and indicated where he should set it. “Please excuse me, Lord Skeffington. We have only shortly arrived home and I am ravenous.”
She smiled and Lucius noticed the hint of a dimple in her cheek. A dimple? Had she one before? He thought not, but Skeffington was asking him about the trout streams at Avondale and shortly the two men were engaged in a deep conversation about fishing.
***
Lucius threw out an arm and realized Emmaline was not in bed beside him. They had gone to bed late and soon fallen into a deep sleep. It was not yet light so what time must it be? He knuckled sleep out of his eyes and looked around for her.
Flames in the hearth sparked and leaped as if the fire had just been stirred into life. The soft glow illuminated Emmaline’s delicious form and Lucius padded silently across the floor to join her. She looked up as he stopped beside her, her eyes dark, a sweet smile curving her lips. Would she ever tire of him? He hoped to God not.
As he came close to her, he saw a trail of something dark trickling from her mouth, down her chin. Saw, in the flickering firelight, the pomegranate she held in her hand.
Holding his gaze with hers, she bit into the fruit again. Juice spurted as her small, white teeth crushed the seeds and left them glistening on her lower lip.
Lucius leaned in, caught the juice on his tongue, lapped it from her skin, caught the seeds and swept them into his own mouth. A moan of desire erupted from his throat and Emmaline dropped the fruit and reached up for him.
His hands were in her hair, under her robe, seeking, stroking, holding her to him. His lips demanded, plundered. His blood roared as Emmaline’s hot, sweet tongue sought his.
Lord, how he wanted her. How he wanted to taste her, drink from her, sink into her. The madness that had invaded his mind the instant he saw her now ran riot as he savoured every inch of her. She was no longer his shy, virgin bride but a hot wanton woman, gazing at him with lust filled eyes.
In a tangle of arms and legs they sank to the floor. Emmaline pushed his arms back and straddled him, threw her head back with a hoarse cry as she settled onto the full length of his erection. Lucius ran his hands over her hips, her waist and up to cup her breasts.
She was curvier, more voluptuous, her breasts heavier than he remembered. He ran his thumbs over her peaked nipples and he forgot that thought as she screamed with pleasure. The primal sound made him shiver.
She rode him hard, gasping, crying, calling his name as she collapsed onto his spent body.
For a moment they lay still, their hearts racing, blood heaving, both replete. As, their bodies began to cool Lucius reached behind him and caught her robe to throw over them. She snuggled into his side, burrowing into his warmth.
He held her close and closed his eyes. He had never thought to love again, had never wanted the pain of it. His eyes pricked with tears at the thought he might have lost Emmaline, but here she was, soft and sweet in his arms.
“I do love you so,” he said softly.
Emmaline stilled against him.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“I do love you so,” he repeated as he looked down at her. “Did you doubt it?”
Emmaline’s silence told him that she did.
“Silly goose,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I loved you from the start. I tried not to but you, Lady Clifton, stole my heart.”
“So this was never a marriage of convenience?”
“The only thing convenient about it was that it kept you by my side.”
“Oh, Lucius, how foolish we have been,” Emmaline said with a laugh.
Her eyes glowed as she smiled at him and he gathered her into his arms.
EPILOGUE
Emmaline sat in the window seat in the Peacock Room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees, and looked out over the park.
It was October. The morning sun shone out of a crisp, clear blue sky burnishing the crowns of oaks and elms, horse chestnuts and beech trees. Their autumn colours glowed with gold and amber, bronze and orange making them look like strange fruit floating in the thick mist still blanketing the ground.
There was so much to look forward to. Juliana and William were to be married at Avondale Park at Christmas. Caroline and Lord Chulmleigh and their daughters were coming to stay. The Berkeley Square house would be closed up and the staff from there would help with the festivities here. Edward had proved himself to be adept at organizing which left her and Lucius little to do.
She shifted her arms from her knees to cradle the slight dome of her belly. And in May... her thoughts were interrupted as Lucius came into the room, a frown on his face.
“You have remarkably high placed friends, sweetheart.” He handed her a letter. “This arrived by special messenger. It is a royal seal, is it not?”
Emmaline looked at the insignia and her hand trembled a little as she took the letter from Lucius.
“It is the seal of the Prince of Orange.”
She broke it and unfolded the heavy parchment. Her lips moved silently as she read the contents. When she finished reading, she cried out in surprise and covered her face. The letter fell from her hand.
Lucius stooped and picked it up, alarmed at what it may contain but when he looked at Emmaline again he saw relief behind her tears and the unsteady smile on her face.
“It’s over,” she whispered. “It really is over.”
“What is over?”
Emmaline took the letter from him and opened it again.
“The Prince writes that it was never his intention that I should carry his blame, and has only now discovered the case and absolves me of any wrong doing.”
“What blame? What wrong doing?”
Emmaline patted the seat beside her and Lucius sat down.
“You know I only stayed with Etienne du Lully simply to forward any intelligence I might discover.”
Lucius nodded and took her hand.
“We were in Liege, shortly before the battle at Waterloo and I overheard Etienne discussing French troop movements. It was vital information and imperative that I get it to the Duke.”
“Wellington.”
Emmaline nodded. “Wellington had several aides, Prince William was one of them. It was he to whom I entrusted the intelligence.”
“And it was the Prince of Orange you have been protecting all this time?” Amazement was clear on Lucius’ face as her bravery and the danger into which she had placed herself became evident to him.
“Yes.” Emmaline swallowed hard and closed her eyes before continuing. “But Etienne discovered us. He recognized the Prince from Salamanca, for it was he who saw Etienne kill my father. Etienne immediately attacked him but the Prince shot him.”
“And this is the secret you have been hiding?”
“There were just the three of us.” Emmaline dropped her voice. “I sent the Prince away so he could get my information to Wellington. It appeared to those who found his body that Etienne and I were alone together. The evidence that I had killed him was overwhelming. Raoul put a price on my head, but I managed to escape and came home to Baymoor. My intention was to stay there, where I knew I would be safe.”
She tipped her head back and rested it against the wall. She s
ighed with relief.
“Safe, but cutting yourself off from the world and love,” Lucius offered, kissing her fingertips.
“I didn’t know you then,” she said shyly. “But, grandfather insisted I must be wed. In London I was so afraid that I would come across someone from my past who might know anything of this. I knew it would discredit me, whatever my motives, and bring disgrace to anyone with whom I was acquainted.”
Emmaline scanned the letter again. “The Prince, through his own circles, heard that Raoul was offering a reward for discovering my whereabouts and made it his business to find Raoul first. He writes that Raoul shot himself rather than have his misdeeds made public.”
“So Styles was hoping to claim the reward.”
“And more.” Emmaline shivered. “I was part of their bargain. I was to be Peregrine’s prize, for him to do with me whatever he pleased.”
Lucius stiffened, his hatred for Styles tempered only by the fact that the man was now dead. He pulled Emmaline into his arms and kissed her.
“What now?” he whispered into her hair.
“Well, I was thinking...” Emmaline began.
“Oh, Lord,” Lucius teased her. “Last time you did that you went out to buy a pig, and look what happened.”
“Yes, but that’s all over.” She turned her blue gaze on him and fluttered her eyelashes shamelessly. “Now that we have Sadie back from the gypsies I was thinking I would breed her, and Psyche too.”
“We don’t have a stud.”
“Not yet we don’t.” Emmaline looked up at him, her eyes beginning to twinkle. “I hear that Mr. Caldwell is selling his Black Conroy...”
“That rogue!” Lucius shook his head. “He all but killed his groom.”
“And would you not do the same if you were shut in a closed stable most of the time?” Emmaline shook his arm. “Lucius, Black Conroy has the blood of the desert in his breeding. He is descended from the Byerley Turk and the Godolphin Arabian. He should be allowed to run free. He is only a rogue because he is misunderstood.”
“And you want me to buy him for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Give me one good reason why I should.”
Emmaline took his hand and laid it on her belly.
The End
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Several of the characters and incidents I have referred to do have foundation in history.
Angelica Catalani: (1780-1849) was a renowned Italian soprano.
The Prince Regent: George, Prince of Wales and son of George III. When George III was deemed unfit to rule, his son ruled as his proxy as Prince Regent and ascended the throne as George IV on the death of his father.
Lady Jersey and the Countess Esterhazy: two of the six or seven lady patronesses who presided over Almack’s Assembly Rooms.
The Army of Wounded Warriors: my fabrication based on the fact that Wellington was well supplied with intelligence from many sources.
Cuidad Rodrigo (January 1812), Badajoz (March 1812) and Salamanca (July 1812): major battles fought during the Peninsular Wars, that period from 1807 when Napoleon’s troops invaded Spain to his defeat at Waterloo in 1815.
Sam wins the Derby: Derby Day in 1818 was very hot and dusty and Sam won the race by three quarters of a length.
William II, Prince of Orange: spent his childhood in England, attended Oxford University and served as an aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington. Often referred to as Slender Billy
The coach stops named on Emmaline’s trip to Devon were major stops on a route known as the Trafalgar Way which ran from London to Falmouth.
Gloucester Old Spot: A hardy breed of pig from the Berkeley Vale of Gloucestershire, U.K. Also known as the Orchard pig.
The Byerley Turk and the Godolphin Arabian: along with the Darley Arabian (not mentioned in my text) are considered to be the foundation sires of today’s Thoroughbred racehorse.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Being born in Bristol, England, Victoria Chatham grew up in an area rife with the elegance of Regency architecture. This, along with the novels of Georgette Heyer, engendered in her an abiding interest in the period with its style and manners and is one where she feels most at home.
Apart from her writing, Victoria is an avid reader of anything that catches her interest, but especially Regency romance. She also teaches introductory creative writing. Her love of horses gets her away from her computer to volunteer at Spruce Meadows, a world class equestrian centre near Calgary, Alberta, where she currently lives.
NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
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