“About time,” a mocking voice drawled from behind them. Verena had been so wrapped up in the man she loved that she hadn’t heard Shelburn’s carriage approach.
Eliot raised his head without any particular rush. He kept his arm around Verena, as the phaeton rolled to a stop beside them. “I see you’ve caught up at last, Shelburn,” he said with commendable coolness. “You can be the first to congratulate us. Lady Verena has just agreed to marry me.”
“It seems she’s made her choice.” Shelburn was kind enough to pretend regret. “I bow to the better man.”
Verena really did have a good friend in him. When she’d heard about the race, she’d been puzzled as well as angry that he wagered something he didn’t value against Eliot’s marvelous horses. But now she wondered if perhaps he’d hoped that the race would bring her romance with Eliot to a happy conclusion.
“Thank you.” Eliot’s grip firmed on her. “I’d offer my condolences, but as you’re about to win the race, you’ll have my grays. That should console you.”
Shelburn gave a dismissive wave. “Keep them as an early wedding present. In my view, the race has ended in a draw. Or, no, not quite. You’ve come out the winner in the only way that counts.”
“Perhaps you should introduce us to your companion.” Verena glanced at the woman beside Shelburn, who observed them with intelligent hazel eyes. “I assume that somewhere over the last fifteen miles, you’ve managed to exchange names.”
Shelburn cast the dark-haired woman an unreadable glance. Verena recognized sexual interest, but that was no surprise. He was a rake, after all. But there was something new in his expression that she couldn’t quite identify. “Lady Verena Gerard, Lord Colville. Allow me to present Miss Catherine Starr of Bradbourne in Derbyshire.”
Eliot bent his head. “Miss Starr.”
Verena smiled. Right now, she wanted to smile at the whole world. “Miss Starr.”
The woman smiled back. She was a handsome creature. “My lady. My lord. May I add my congratulations into the mix?”
“You may,” Verena said.
“Go ahead and claim the victory, my lord,” Eliot said. “We had a bit of a mishap with the curricle about a mile back. It seems to be in one piece, but I don’t want to take too many chances with my precious cargo.”
Shelburn frowned. “What the devil happened?”
“A dog ran out in front of us and nearly brought us to grief,” Verena said. “No real harm was done.”
In fact, much good had come out of that reckless hound’s perilous dash. She’d intended to make everything right with Eliot when they reached Hatfield and he no longer had to worry about controlling his team. But the sweetness of exchanging their vows of love in this lush countryside setting would always be a cherished memory.
“Thank the Lord for that.” Shelburn turned to Eliot. “If you can bear to share a carriage, Colville, you and I could come in together in my rig and officially make it a draw. That way, the people who placed wagers will get to keep their blunt.”
Verena considered this option and dismissed it. “If Eliot arrives at Hatfield as your passenger, people will still say you won because it’s your carriage. I’ve got a better idea. My cabriolet is coming up behind us. With the delays, I imagine it will show up any minute.”
Actually, now that she thought a little more about delays, she was surprised at how far Shelburn had been behind them. He should have been closer on their heels, if he was pushing his team hard enough to win the race.
Her questioning gaze dwelled on his face, but he was busy looking interested and pleased at the news of her engagement. That convinced her even more that he’d done his best to ensure that Eliot came in first.
When she caught his eye, his innocent air only confirmed her suspicions. She sent him a small, grateful smile and went on with what she meant to suggest. “Why don’t you two gentlemen travel in my rig? Miss Starr and I can follow in Eliot’s curricle, and my groom can bring Shelburn’s phaeton and the chestnuts in last. That is if you’ll trust the grays to me, darling?”
Eliot smiled at her with more of that unabashed adoration. Warmth filled her, a warmth that she knew would remain with her for the rest of her days. “I trust you with my life. And my horses.”
She laughed, even as she sent him an equally besotted look. “I promise on my soul to take good care of both.” She turned back to Shelburn, who was looking rather abashed at the conversation’s sentimental turn. “What do you think? Miss Starr, I’m a good driver if you’re nervous at all. Or if you’re unsure, you can travel with my groom. In any case, it’s only a couple of miles.”
“I’m sure you’re more than competent, my lady,” Miss Starr replied with what appeared to be her usual aplomb. “I’d be honored to be your passenger.”
Verena was curious about this woman who had so readily accepted Shelburn’s invitation. She looked like a respectable citizen. Her dark blue traveling ensemble was in the first stare of fashion, and the blue-blooded company didn’t appear to overawe her.
There was some mystery here, Verena was sure. Perhaps she’d discover it on the way to Hatfield.
“That’s a capital solution,” Shelburn said. “Given the race has ended with a joyous result but no genuine victor, this should satisfy all parties.”
Eliot climbed down and stared up at Verena with his heart in his silvery eyes. He’d been staring at her with his heart in his eyes for nearly a year, but she’d been too lost in old miseries to realize it.
“I hate to let you go, now that I’ve got you to consent to marrying me.” He spoke in a low tone, so only she could hear. “I want to laugh and talk and plan. Not to mention, I want to kiss you and hold you close and spend hours wondering at how well everything has turned out.”
Tenderness flooded her, as she gazed down into that remarkable face. “I hate to leave you, too, but we’ve got the rest of our lives to congratulate ourselves on our excellent judgement in deciding to marry.”
He laughed, then looked behind him. “Your rig is coming up the road right now.”
She glanced back and saw Smith approaching at a measured pace. “Let’s put the race behind us, then we can concentrate on just the two of us.”
“If I get a special license tomorrow, will you marry me this week? Or we could call the banns at St. George’s and make our vows in a couple of weeks under society’s full glare.”
She smiled down at him, enchanted anew. So many times, he’d told her that he was proud of her. His willingness to wed her in front of the world and his wife just confirmed it. “I had a big wedding first time around, and it was a catastrophe from the beginning. Let’s do something small for us, then have a long honeymoon.”
His smile developed a devilish edge that suited him surprisingly well. “No wonder I love you.”
“I’m very glad you do.” Her mind focused on the forthcoming wedding. “Let’s do the pretty in a week. I want a couple of days to have a new dress made. I’d like to look my best when I pledge my life and heart to you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He crossed to Shelburn’s phaeton and held one hand out to Miss Starr. “May I assist you across to my curricle, Miss Starr? Lady Verena has a wonderful touch with the ribbons. You couldn’t be in safer hands.”
“Thank you.” She lightly stepped down.
Within ten minutes, the new arrangements were in place. As he urged her horses to a run, Eliot blew Verena a kiss whose mocking edge in no way lessened his fervent message of love. His rival sat beside him in apparent ease.
Verena urged the grays to follow at a gentler rate, in case the curricle had sustained any damage in the accident. Miss Starr maintained the calmness that seemed to be her habit. Smith had taken charge of Shelburn’s carriage and brought up the rear.
The imprudent race to Hatfield had reached an unexpected, but perfect denouement. Verena knew that she and Eliot had found the perfect ending to their clandestine love affair as well. The love would go on foreve
r. The affair would turn into a lifetime of passionate joy for the angelic Lord Colville and his audacious lady.
Epilogue
Trentham Hall, Wiltshire, May 1818
Verena kissed Eliot with deep, succulent carnality and rose over him on her knees. Steaming water sloshed and splashed against the marble sides of the huge tub. It held pride of place in the bathing chamber that now adjoined the viscount’s apartments in his gracious Elizabethan manorhouse. Originally this room had been assigned to the viscountess but, as Verena pointed out, she only ever slept in Eliot’s bed anyway.
As he fondled her wet breasts, she straddled him and sank down to take him into her body. Even after almost two years of marriage, the immediacy of the pleasure shocked her. He filled all of her, body and soul. She gazed into his eyes, reading hunger and enjoyment and best of all, invincible, eternal love.
“Ah, yes,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the edge of the bath and tilting his hips to thrust deeper.
She tensed around him and watched heat flare in those velvety gray eyes. The soft afternoon light through the open casement windows shone gold on his chiseled features. He still looked like Sir Galahad. He still surprised her with daring sensual adventures that no pure and holy knight would think to attempt.
“How is it that this is always new?” she murmured, leaning forward to press her breasts deeper into his palms. He tugged at her nipples just the way she liked it, almost to the point of discomfort. Every pinch of those long fingers on the sensitive tips sent a bolt of sensation sizzling to her womb. When she shifted experimentally, the pressure inside her altered in a most exquisite fashion.
“That’s easy to answer,” he said, his joy in her unhidden. An enchanted smile stretched his lips. He bumped upward again as she circled her hips, taking her time. “It’s love, Verena. Love alone has this magic. I love you more now than I did when I married you. And then I loved you so much that every beat of my heart spoke your name.”
“Oh, Eliot,” she whispered and leaned down to kiss him again. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not.” She rose with a voluptuous slowness that had him gasping before she lowered again. Once again, she yielded to the transcendent connection. “I’m so glad you didn’t let me get away.”
With languorous appreciation, he combed his hands through the veils of rich brown hair clinging to her slippery skin. “I’m so glad you let me catch you.”
Verena suspected that her smile was as besotted as his. “We were lucky, weren’t we?”
“So lucky.” He brought her down for another kiss. When he pulled away, she was trembling.
“Now take your pleasure, my darling.” His soft baritone vibrated with anticipation. “I’m at your service.”
She set her hands flat on his chest and began to move, swift to find her rhythm and succumb to the familiar rise of ecstasy. Soon she was undulating in a wild ride, sending water spilling over the sides of the bath.
With a groan, Eliot gripped her hips and brought her down hard when she crashed through into hot, quaking, liquid bliss. As she cried out at her peak, she felt him flood her with his seed.
Still shaking, she collapsed over him, gasping in the thick, humid air. His arms curled around her, holding her against his pounding heart.
For a long while, she lay upon him, breathless after the rapturous journey they’d just taken. She loved the peace that filled her soul after she and Eliot climbed to heaven. Until she’d married him, peace had been a stranger in her life. Its sweetness added a glow to everything they did together.
A tired but exultant smile curved her lips as she thought back over the last two eventful years. There had been so many changes, not least in the restless, brittle widow who once strove to fill an empty life with constant activity. She’d feared marriage for so long, but it turned out to be the best thing that she’d ever done. The Verena who lay in Eliot’s arms now was gentler and kinder and more self-aware than the brazen lady who had set the beau monde on its ear.
A week after that dramatic carriage race to Hatfield, she and Eliot had married in a quiet ceremony at St. James in Piccadilly. None of his family had attended. Stella and Halston had been on their honeymoon. Imogen was exiled to Gloucestershire. After Eliot placed the notice of their forthcoming marriage in the Morning Post, his father had publicly disowned him.
To nobody’s surprise, the storm of gossip raging around the unlikely union between the sinner and the saint had been vociferous and cruel. But by then, Verena had had enough of high society and its hypocrisies. After a glorious wedding trip to Paris, she and Eliot had retired to his estate in Wiltshire and established a fulfilling, busy, useful life.
At the next election, Eliot had left parliament to concentrate on local issues. Here in Wiltshire, he was an active justice of the peace and he’d done wonders with the estate, developing it into a model of modern farming practices.
Now that he was famous for his agricultural innovations, landowners came from far and wide to seek his advice. And Verena’s. To her surprise, it turned out that all those centuries of land management running through her bloodlines meant that she’d taken to country life as if born to it.
Sometimes she met her eyes in the mirror and wondered how flighty, unhappy Verena Gerard had become this contented, purposeful creature.
Eliot was right. The transformation was all down to love
“I’m glad we had the floor tiled,” Eliot murmured with lazy amusement, as he stroked her glistening flank. “Carpet or wooden boards wouldn’t cope with the flood we cause every time we bathe together.”
With a weary laugh, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. There was a spot between his neck and shoulder that was specifically created for her to rest her head against. A perfect fit. But then, everything about Eliot was a perfect fit for her.
Who would have thought that the wickedest woman in London and virtuous Lord Colville should turn out to be exactly right for each other?
“You put such thought into our bathing chamber. I’m in awe at your cleverness. The steam-powered pulleys from the kitchen, so the poor servants don’t break their backs carrying water up all those stairs? Genius. And the way the pipes take away the waste water? Even smarter.” She paused. “I’m hoping you can perform similar magic in the nursery.”
A charged silence descended. Eliot’s body turned rigid beneath hers, and his caressing hand went still. “Verena, have you got something to tell me?”
She sat up slowly. When she shared the secret that she’d carried for the last two months, she wanted to look into his eyes. She’d so hungered to give him a child, that at first, she’d feared that only wishful thinking led her to imagine she was pregnant. “I’m going to have a baby, Eliot. Around Christmas, I think.”
Incandescent joy lit his face and he sat up, too, splashing more water onto the floor. He caught her shoulders and stared at her as if she brought the stars down from the sky and set them in his lap for his delight. “My darling, you make me so happy.”
She blinked back silly tears. “I wanted to be sure before I told you. I was so convinced that this would never happen.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Marvelous.” She gave him a beaming smile, even if one that was a little misty around the edges. “Like I want to take on the world. I thought I’d be sick and miserable, but all I want to do is eat. I suspect by the time the baby comes, I’ll be the size of an elephant.”
When he grinned back, she’d never seen a man look more elated. “I’ll have a lovely, plump little wife to fuss over. I can’t wait.”
“Soon none of my old clothes will fit me.” Life in the country hadn’t lessened her interest in fashion. “I’ll need a new wardrobe.”
Eliot rolled his eyes in fond mockery. “Of course you will.”
She drew one of his hands across to rest on her bare stomach, which as yet showed no sign of the life growing within. “You can’t expect
your son to put up with a frump for a mother.”
“I want my daughter to grow up as dashing and stylish as her mamma.” He curled his fingers against her skin in a tender gesture of protection. When his voice lowered, she caught a hint of the powerful emotion flowing beneath his teasing. “I love you so much, my darling. Thank you for marrying me. I already knew that I was the happiest man in England. Now the arrival of a baby as the fruit of our love is almost too much to comprehend.”
Drat these tears. She sniffed and gave him another watery but jubilant smile. “And I love you.”
In a silent gesture of adoration, Eliot laced his fingers through hers. “Kiss me, Verena.”
“With pleasure, my beloved husband.” Verena leaned forward and whispered a promise against his parted lips. “Always with pleasure. Always with love.”
***
I hope you’ve enjoyed Two Secret Sins, the second book in my A Scandal in Mayfair series. Please read on for an excerpt from book 1, One Wicked Wish, and the cover for Three Times Tempted, Imogen’s story, which should be out later in 2021.
One Wicked Wish: A Scandal in Mayfair Book One
Her secret lover...
Stella Faulkner has been a despised poor relation in her odious uncle’s house since she was forced to flee Italy ahead of Napoleon’s invasion. In return for a roof over her head, she acts as her cousin’s unpaid governess and companion. Stella knows that if she shows the slightest trace of her disgraced mother’s wildness, she’ll be cast out to face destitution. But after ten years of thankless servitude, Stella encounters a dashing libertine who turns her world to flame. Handsome Lord Halston is irresistible, but every kiss, every caress carries the risk of discovery, and with discovery, disaster.
The rake beguiled...
Grayson Maddox, Earl of Halston, glories in his reputation for charm, seduction, and ruthlessness. His mistresses know that the profligate lord offers them pleasure and luxury, but when he says goodbye, the affair is over. To Halston, love is a sentimental myth and fidelity a trap. One night at a glittering ball, he sees a beautiful woman trying to fade into the crowd of dowdy chaperones, and every instinct clamors to make this mysterious lady his. But all bets are off when Stella Faulkner promises to become the lover he’ll never forget.
Two Secret Sins Page 18
