“No—”
“It is true, but I hope I have changed—or at least that I am changing that.”
“You did not need to change,” she protested.
“Maybe not for you, Joanna, but for myself I did. I thought I rather liked the man I was but now I see that I did not.”
“Mr. Henley said you kept muttering about going to the hospital to see the children when you were ill,” she said. “Is that how you sickened?”
He nodded. “I decided playing at charity was not quite the right way to go about it.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Though, I rather wish I had not also managed to ail from it.”
“You’re a good man, Ambrose.”
“Not yet, but I am working on it.”
“Perhaps, while you are working on it, you can assist me with the fair once more.”
“I suppose once I am well, I would not mind offering my air.”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling and smiled. “How generous you are, my lord.”
“Working at your side might be tolerable.”
“I should hope it might be a little more than tolerable.”
“Very well, extremely tolerable.” He squeezed her hand and cursed under his breath.
“What is it? Do you need something?”
“I’m only frustrated I cannot climb out of this bed and kiss you properly, like you deserve.”
She tugged off her bonnet and dropped it onto the side table then leaned over the bed, the sweet scent of her fragrance tantalizing him and making him want to groan again.
“Then I shall have to kiss you properly. Like you deserve.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I think you can relax now,” Chloe said through a mouthful of food.
Joanna shook her head. “Not until this is all over.”
“It is going wonderfully.” Augusta gestured around the gardens, teeming with visitors.
Entertainers moved amongst them, captivating them with juggling and sword swallowing. Various stalls were set up across the lawns, selling their wares. Plenty of people were gathered around them, so Joanna prayed sales were good and that their portion of the earnings would be plentiful to put toward the hospital.
As promised, the men were offering boat trips on the lake—with the exception of Ambrose. He was too useful at persuading wealthy visitors to part with their money to have him rowing, though Joanna rather regretted she did not get to witness such a sight.
“You have a knack for this, Joanna,” Chloe said, rubbing a protective hand over her increasing stomach. “And how wonderful it is to see you out of those gray and black dresses.”
“Yes,” agreed Augusta, “you do look beautiful. What perfect timing to hold the fair.”
“If it goes well, I shall have to start thinking of my next fundraising event. I was considering an auction of some kind. Perhaps I could get some of our lady friends to paint some pictures to sell.”
Chloe wrinkled her nose. “You shall have to count me out. I cannot paint to save my life.”
“You can use your confinement to practice,” suggested Augusta.
“I shall be using my confinement to read as much as I can.” Chloe gave a mischievous smile. “I cannot wait.”
Augusta shook her head. “Chloe Waverly, you must be the only woman in the world who cannot wait for such a thing.”
Joanna bit down on her lip, hardly able to concentrate on her friends’ conversation. “It is going well, is it not?”
“It is!” they both insisted at the same time.
Chloe gave her arm a quick squeeze. “You have done a fine job, Joanna, and this will be a marvelous success.” Chloe’s gaze landed on something behind Joanna. “And here comes Lord Newhaven to sing your praises, no doubt.” She offered her arm to Augusta. “Let us leave Joanna in peace. I think she needs to speak with Ambrose.”
“Oh you do not need—”
Her friends were gone before she could finish her sentence. Not that she did not wish to speak with Ambrose but nor did she wish to make them dash off.
She turned and smiled up at him. How handsome he looked. He had recovered swiftly from his illness and no one would ever know he had been so desperately ill. It hadn’t stopped him from spending time at the hospitals either and she often joined him. She found it useful to know what the patients really needed and how best to help them.
“I have excellent news,” he said, dropping a quick, subtle kiss to her cheek.
“Oh?”
“We have a new trustee. Lady Coley-Smith?”
“A woman?”
He grinned. “She is rich and speaks her mind. I thought it would be a fine idea to ensure you are not the only one fighting to be heard.”
“She is quite the fearsome woman. I have no doubt she will be an asset, but, Ambrose, am I not correct in thinking that she refused to leave her London house since her son’s death? I did not even know she was here.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I am quite charming, I am told. Besides, when she heard you were leading the charge to build this hospital, she could not say no.”
“I rather imagine it was your charm that swayed her.”
“You showed her what a woman can do even after a great loss. You are an inspiration.” He looped an arm around her waist. “God knows, you inspire me on a daily basis.”
“Ambrose,” she hissed, glancing around in case anyone saw them, even while reveling in the feel of his hand on her body and his breath whispering in her ear.
“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her to the trees, bringing her around behind one of the trunks. “You remember this tree?”
“I do believe it was that one.” Joanna pointed to the third tree along.
“You still remember.”
“How could I forget?”
“I would spend all day, kissing you behind this tree, if I could.” He pressed himself up against her, making her gasp. “Although I would rather it be behind one of the trees at my house.” He took a step back and she instantly missed the warmth of his body. “Or what could be our house…”
“Ambrose?”
Drawing off his hat, he shoved his hand through his hair and kept the hat hanging from one hand. “You have to be the only woman in the world who can make me nervous, Jo.”
“Well, you make me blush so I think we can call it even.”
He glanced at his feet. “I daren’t mess this up again.”
Joanna sucked in a breath and held it. They had been discrete lovers until her mourning period was over but they both knew where they were headed. At least, she thought they knew. She couldn’t deny she had been waiting for him to broach the subject. But now it was here, she rather thought she might prefer to take charge of her destiny for a change. It seemed an apt way to start a life together.
She stepped forward and took his free hand in both of hers. “Ambrose, I think you should marry me,” she declared in a rush.
He blinked at her several times, a smile tilting his lips. “Was that a proposal?”
She released a lengthy breath and nodded. “I think it might have been.”
“You know I have been practicing what I would say over and over and you have ruined it entirely, woman.”
“Oh well.”
“Oh well?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Is that all you can say when I have spent evening after evening practicing the perfect proposal so that there was no chance you could say no? Poor Bram had to suffer being proposed to at least ten times.”
Joanna laughed at the mental image of the stoic butler receiving marriage proposals. “Poor Bram,” she agreed.
“What am I to do with you?” he asked.
She moved onto her tiptoes and pressed both palms to his chest. “I can think of many things,” she murmured. “But first you must marry me.”
He folded a hand over one of hers and pressed it hard against where his heart beat in his chest. “I suppose I can do that.”
“Is that a yes?”
Amb
rose dropped his hat, looped both arms around her, and squeezed her tight. “Of course it’s a bloody yes,” he whispered before bringing his mouth down on hers.
Joanna sank into his embrace, giving herself up to him, giving herself up to whatever the future held for them.
He pressed his forehead to hers and she could not hold back the wild grin threatening to spread across her lips.
“I love you.”
“You know I think that might be the first time you have actually said that,” she pointed out.
He frowned. “That cannot be true. You know I love you.”
“Well, I do know it but I’m still certain it’s the first you have said it like that.”
“I do believe you have not said it either.”
“Is proposing marriage not enough?” she asked with a smile, looping her arms around his neck. They might be spotted sometime soon but she didn’t care anymore. She was out of mourning and free to be with whoever she wished.
And it was Ambrose. Always.
“Not quite,” he said. “But I suppose you could say it with kisses instead.”
“If I must,” she teased.
She pressed a light kiss to his mouth. “I…” Another kiss. “Love…” One more light one. “You.” She finished with a deeper kiss, reveling in the feel of his mouth upon hers, of his body so close. “Will that do?”
“I suppose so.”
“What a demanding man you are!”
“Always.” He cupped her face in one hand and she closed her eyes to relish the feel of his fingers cradling her cheek. She felt his warm breath on her lips before he said, “And I shall never cease demanding kisses from you.” He danced his mouth over hers, making her body tingle from head to toe. “Never,” he vowed.
THE END
www.samanthaholtromance.com
Find more titles by Samantha Holt on Amazon:
US | UK | CAN | AUS
You can also find Samantha on Facebook.
Scroll down for a preview of There Are Plenty More Dukes in the Sea
Chapter One
London, 1818
Angel inched open the door, breath held. Her heart pressed against the bodice of her gown. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she stepped into the room quietly, no one would notice the late hour. The door hinge squeaked, and she winced.
Blast.
Easing one slippered foot through the tiny entrance she’d created, she crept through the gap into her brother’s office. The fair heads of her siblings remained focused on the lawyer who sat facing Angel. The slender man, his gray hair pasted over a balding and splotchy scalp, did not look up.
She let loose a breath and immediately regretted it as the sound seemed to fill the quiet room. Her oldest brother, the Marquis of Eastbrook, gave her the briefest of glances. A lone brow arched. Angel felt her very soul shrivel. Theo was infamous for his stony glares, and she had been on the receiving end of them one too many times.
A smile stretched across her lips. She took a few sideways steps and slipped into the chair next to her mother. The gilded chair gave a little creak when she relaxed into it, and she grimaced. Angel kept her smile in place then glanced at her siblings. Even Seth had a stern expression fixed to his face.
Blast.
She released the smile and pressed her lips into a stern line of aloofness. Lord, the corners of her lips itched to curve already, and her brows felt weighted and unnatural. It was not that she was not deeply sorry their grandfather had passed—the man had doted on them all and had been one of the funniest, sweetest men she had ever known—but there was only so long one could grieve. And frankly, grieving was a messy business, and she did not much fancy partaking in it. Far better to thrust one’s chin up and get on with things in her opinion. She was certain that was the way Grandpapa would have wanted it.
“You are late,” her mother whispered while the lawyer shuffled a few papers.
“Well, you see…there was a problem with my hair. And then I saw Miss Newhurst as I was about to leave, and naturally I could not be rude. And there was trouble with my carriage…” She clamped her mouth shut when her mother arched an eyebrow.
Angel peered at the graying brow. So that was where her brother had learned it. Why had she not spotted that before? Perhaps because their Mama was a soft sort of character and rarely scolded any of them, especially not Angel, the youngest of them all.
Minerva at least spared her a brief smile before turning her attention back to the lawyer. Her sister wore her mourning wear with more confidence than she had ever worn a fine gown of lace and silk. The gray gown was formless and frightful, but Angel had never seen her older sister look more comfortable. Minerva was so shy and retiring that she probably adored how it failed to draw a single jot of attention.
Angel fingered her own gray gown. It would not be long before she could return to wearing bright colors and fine fabrics. She could hardly wait. Gray did not go well with her pale complexion and brought out the darkness under her eyes. The rest of her siblings and even her mother did much better in dark colors than her thanks to their fair hair and alabaster skin. Angel’s own mahogany brown hair looked its best when coiled artfully over a sheath of vibrant silk.
The lawyer cleared his throat, and Angel lifted her gaze. A thin sheen of sweat covered the man’s forehead, and he licked his lips, making Angel frown. Mr. Barton had worked for the family for as long as she could recall and had no reason to be nervous. Her brother might be one of the more powerful men in the country and had a countenance that could frighten many a man, but she could not fathom why Mr. Barton appeared so nervous.
“Well, now that we are all here, shall we begin?” he asked, looking to Theo.
Theo gave a stiff nod. “If you please.”
The lawyer tweaked his cravat and pushed spindly glasses back up his nose. “As you are aware, your grandfather had no sons and there are no male relatives to inherit.”
Angel looked away from the lawyer’s sweaty features. Their grandfather had been a baron of excellent means thanks to some fine investments. Why that meant all of them needed to gather, she did not know. With no male heirs, it was assumed most of the wealth would pass to their mother—his only daughter—and maybe Theo as the oldest grandchild. Goodness knows, Angel would far rather be joining Miss Newhurst at Hyde Park and enjoying the fine weather while trying to spot the Duke of Norwick, who was known to drive his curricle through the park on warm days like today. Though she was not certain she wanted him seeing her in such grim clothes. He would never fall at her feet in this unattractive sack of a dress.
Fixing her attention back onto Mr. Barton, she pressed herself to listen. Did the man have to have such a droning voice? It was horribly difficult to concentrate on his words when he spoke in that monotonous tone.
“My daughter will inherit a sum of one thousand a year for the rest of her natural life and my beloved family home—Holbury Hall.” Mr. Barton glanced up, presumably to look for her mother’s reaction, but she remained a mask of dignity even though Angel knew her mother would be glad that the home where they had all enjoyed such wonderful childhood memories was hers.
Mr. Barton licked his lips and drew out a handkerchief to dab his forehead. “And finally, I, George Lockett, decree that my grandchildren, herein named, will inherit the rest of my fortune in its entirety, so long as they fulfill the following terms.”
Angel drew her attention from the pretty gilding that ran along the edge of the room and shared a look with Seth, who made a face and gave a shrug. None of them had anticipated inheriting anything from Grandpapa, but the Templetons could certainly do with the funds. After their brother had been swindled by his late-wife, they all had vowed to take as little as possible from him, but it was not easy to live on little as Angel had discovered.
“Each person must complete their task to my lawyer’s satisfaction or their share of the inheritance shall be forfeit,” Mr. Barton continued.
The man glanced around the room. Angel’s sibl
ings remained still, brows creased. Minerva pursed her lips and opened her mouth before shutting it again. Theo tugged his jacket straight. Seth leaned in then shifted back in his chair.
Angel huffed. It would always be up to her to speak up for them all, which was ridiculous. She was the youngest for goodness sakes, but they were all too held up by the idea of propriety—even Seth, who prided himself on being quite the rake.
She held up a finger. “Mr. Barton, if I may, what on earth do you mean by ‘task’? And to whom will the money be forfeit?”
The lawyer shifted in his seat and scanned the paper in front of him. “I was just…um…about to get to that.”
“Well…?” Angel pressed.
“Angel,” her mama hissed.
Chastened, Angel folded her arms across her chest and tapped a finger against an arm.
“Let’s see.” Mr. Barton’s brow puckered. “Ah.”
“What is it?” Theo asked, a hint of irritation edging his voice.
Angel noted he did not get scolded by their mother.
“If you are unable to fulfill your tasks to my satisfaction, all remaining inheritance shall be bestowed upon a Mr. Hastings.”
A sharp inhale of breath echoed around the room. Angel met Minerva’s worried gaze.
“That’s preposterous,” Theo blurted.
“Theo,” Mama scolded.
Angel had no time to be smug that her brother had finally been reproached. How could she celebrate such a tiny achievement when the bulk of their wonderful Grandpapa’s wealth could go to such a beast of a man?
“What the devil was Grandfather thinking?” murmured Seth.
Minerva shook her head. “This cannot be right. He would never give his money to that man.”
Mr. Barton lifted his shoulders. “The will is quite clear. Should you fail, Mr. Hastings shall inherit.”
“He is not even family,” Theo said, his tone bitter.
Especially not after he separated from their cousin and brought utter scandal upon their family when he tried to gain a divorce and ran off with a nursemaid to Ireland. As far as they were all concerned, Mr. Hastings had not been part of the family for a good five years and their grandpapa had been suitably riled at the whole sorry mess. It was unfathomable that he should inherit anything after what he’d done to their poor cousin who passed away only six months after the event.
Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3) Page 16
