Read Rogues and Ripped Bodices Online
Authors: Samantha Holt
Rogues and Ripped Bodices (32 page)
“No,” she said when the fit had
subsided. “I wanted to stop the fire, but I wanted to find you. To say...I love
you.”
The hand on her cheek stilled
of its own accord and he stared at her. Had the fire sent her delirious? Had it
sent
him
delirious? Had he misheard?
“Pardon?”
“Love you,” she whispered.
It was wholly inappropriate
given the situation but a smile worked its way across his face.
“Do not laugh at me.”
His grin expanded at the
surprising strength to the words. “I would not dare.”
“I know I have ruined
everything and—”
“Ellie, do be quiet,” he said
none too gently. “I love you too, you foolish woman.”
Her lids fluttered several
times and a crease came between her brows.
“Devil take it, any other woman
would be happy to hear such a declaration. Perhaps my words were not flowery
enough.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “How about this? Eleanor, you are the
light of my life, my reason for living. I was but a grizzled, cantankerous old
viscount before you and likely a great big fool too, but you have brought light
into my world. With you, I am a better man. Not perfect, I shall give you that,
but certainly one hundred times better. If you love me and I love you, I can
think of no reason not to marry, and I shall not take ‘I will think about it’
as an answer this time.”
Those perfect lips—even if
covered in grime—parted and she gazed up at him.
“Do I need to say more? Spout
words of your beauty perhaps, though I must tell you, Ellie, you are a damned
mess right now.”
Ellie laughed and it turned
into a cough. He patted her back, easing her closer to him. Her warmth seeped
through his muscles and the feel of her soft body against his eased some of the
apprehensive ache in his chest.
“You always did have a way with
words, Lucian.”
He scowled. “Do not try to
change the subject.”
“Considering you are meant to
be charming, you’re terrible at marriage proposals.”
“Well, I have not had much
practice,” he grumbled. “Ellie, I did not take you for a tease.”
“Forgive me, Lucian. I have
suffered much of your teasing and it is only fair to repay you.”
“Even after I rescued you from
a burning building?”
“Yes, I suppose you have more
than made up for you behaviour.”
He clenched his jaw and found
his fear had been replaced with a very strong urge to throttle the woman. Was
this what it would be like, their marriage? She forever leading him on a merry dance?
Probably. And there was little to be done about it. He had to have her and if
she decided to torment him for the rest of his life, he would let her.
“Poor Lucian.” She reached up
and pressed her palm to his cheek. “What sort of fool would I be to say no? I
am only sorry I did not say yes sooner but I was so scared. I didn’t want to
make the wrong decision. Now I see you could never be a wrong decision.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Do you need flowery words
also?”
“I just need a blasted yes,” he
said through gritted teeth.
“Then yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.
Yes, I’ll love you forever.”
Lucian battled the desire to
let out a string of curses at her for keeping him waiting for so long, but pure
happiness quashed the words and instead he found himself burying his head in
her curls.
“You will not regret it, I
swear. I shall do all I can to make you happy, Ellie.”
“I know,” she said as she
lifted her head to his. “You can be my happily ever after.”
A laugh escaped him at the
romantic notion, but he had to admit, he was feeling one or two distinctly
fluffy notions and he nodded. “And you can be mine,” he murmured as he lowered
his lips to hers.
What’s
Wrong with Gretna Green?
“Thank the Lord that’s over,” Lucian said as he slid into
the carriage next to Eleanor.
“I do not think you’re meant to
be glad your wedding is over.”
He grinned, looking as handsome
as ever in his perfectly fitted suit and elegant dark green waistcoat. Lucian
took her gloved hand, peeled off the fabric and slid his fingers between hers
before bringing her hand to his lips.
“Do not tell me you are not
grateful it is all over.”
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Very well, yes I am. I didn’t trip and I did not say the wrong words, or
sneeze into my flowers, but I feared greatly I would.”
“You were perfect, wife.” He
emphasised the words.
“As were you, husband.”
“But I still would have
preferred to go to Gretna Green and avoided all this fuss.” He waved a hand to
the array of people waiting outside their carriage to see them off.
“Mama would have killed me for
certain.”
“Come wave to your adoring
crowd and then we can make for the hotel. It’s been a busy few months and I am
desperate to remove that rather fine gown from you and make you my wife
properly.”
“We have already made love,”
she whispered, as though one of the cheering crowd might hear her. “I’m not
sure we need to do it again to make it formal.”
“Nonsense. I need to make you
my wife in every way possible and that means keeping you up all night.”
His voice rose with the last
few words and, though she doubted anyone heard, she knew he was teasing her and
heat spilled into her cheeks. She slapped his arm. It had been a long few
months trying to get the mill repaired and everything up and running again. Not
to mention tracking down the culprit.
Leaning across him, she saw her
mama and papa waving and she waved back. Even Papa seemed to have tears in his
eyes. As the carriage began to move, she settled back against the plush
interior. She glanced at their joined hands and let herself relax. With Lucian
at her side, she never had a need to be nervous again. If she proved to be the
clumsiest, most ungainly wife of all time, he would still love her.
“It’s a shame we can only be
gone a few days,” she said.
They had to return soon for Mr
Newcombe’s trial. He had been billing them with inflated figures and had hired
men to sabotage the mill. All because he wished to set up his own mills and was
looking to buy up the local mills at cheap prices. What they had not known was
that he had already done the same to two other mills in Lancashire, forcing
them to close and be sold off at a discounted price.
Also Lucian wanted to oversee
the final stages of the build. With a little help from his main investor—namely
her—they had managed to save the mill and the jobs of the people in it. She
could not wait for them to see their modernised mill with better working
conditions and safer machines. She could not object too much at his eagerness
to return. She had come to love the mill as much as he.
“Pardon?” She found him staring
avidly at her. “Forgive me, I was admiring my beautiful wife.”
“I said it is a shame we only
have a few days.”
“A few days is all I need.”
She glanced at his wicked
smile. “You are a rogue and a rake, Lord Rushbourne.”
“Ah, yes, but I am your rake.”
Eleanor laughed and took his
face in both her hands so she could slide onto his lap and straddle him. “You
are indeed,” she confirmed and proceeded to kiss him in a manner that only a
very wicked woman would. He groaned and cupped her rear to press her against
him.
“Even the worst of rakes do not
bed women in their carriages,” he informed her between kisses.
“Yes, but you are not the
worst, you are the best.”
“How very true that is,” he
agreed.
And he proceeded to show her
just how good a rake he really was.
THE END
Christmas
Seduction
Table of Contents
One
Penicuik, Scotland 1879
The last time Alexander, Duke of Wyndbourne, had seen his
wife, she had been embracing another man. Even as the groom drew down the steps
of his closed carriage and Alex stepped out to survey the wintery scene, heat
pulsed through his veins, bringing with it fresh annoyance.
Balmead looked to be in good
order. He paused, hands on his hips to view the castle. With its round turrets
and tall keep, it was every inch the grand Scottish home. The light dusting of
snow that had been falling throughout his journey truly completed the picture.
He was just grateful it was only a light snowfall, or else he might have been
forced to turn back.
Grateful? Was he? He finally
dropped his gaze to the woman waiting on the steps for him. His heart did an
odd jig in his chest. Part of him longed to have had an excuse to return to
London for Christmas. Then he would not have to face the lady who had
humiliated and hurt him.
Not that he wanted to admit as
much, but the image of her tucked against a virile-looking man still created
the deepest ache in his gut. He’d never expected much from their marriage—Emma
was a quiet, cold sort, but he had hoped for some kind of companionship at
least. And Lord knows, he’d looked forward to a constant bed partner.
Drawing in a breath of cool,
crisp air, he drew off his hat and made his way to the steps. With her red hair
and pale skin, she could almost pass for a bonny Scottish lass, but Emma was
every inch the cold, reserved Englishwoman. Barely a hint of emotion sat in
those blue eyes as he took her hand and dropped a kiss to her bare fingers.
Her beauty annoyed him. His
reaction to her delicate hand aggravated him. Stirrings of sensations both
unwelcome and welcome pervaded his body. Welcome, for he would need to bed her
as soon as he could, and unwelcome because he still hated the woman.
Needs must, he reminded
himself. Nearly a year of marriage without a child was not acceptable, and he
had to do his duty. Alex could hardly sire an heir if he didn’t see his wife,
after all. He would devote all his Christmas to getting her with child, then
flee once more. He intended to be a good father and spend time with the child
once it was born. Of course, he would need another child too. But if he could
limit his time with his wife, he certainly would.
“Your Grace, how was your
journey?”
Alex scowled at her as he rose.
He’d forgotten the effect her voice had him. It was like her. Steady,
controlled...but with a soft hint that never failed to reach down inside him
and pull at his gut.
“Good, thank you. I feared I might
get caught in the snow, but Mother Nature has decided to be merciful.”
“Indeed.” Her lips pulled into
a thin smile.
Quite a feat really, as they
were ridiculously full and beautiful lips. Everything about his wife was
beautiful. Her glossy red hair, her heart-shaped face, deep blue eyes...and
from their limited time together in bed, he knew her figure was not just the
work of corsets and bustles. She had curves that made a man want to drop to his
knees and beg to kiss every inch of them.
What a shame her character was
left wanting.
“I fear the snow shall not hold
off long,” she said before turning on her heel. “Come inside, it is freezing.”
Alex watched her for a moment.
Nothing about her had changed, whereas he felt immeasurably different. World-weary
almost. She walked with a steady grace, her head held high. The dark green gown
she wore curved over her waist while the bustle at the back enhanced the
slender shape of it. His mouth grew dry when he remembered putting his hands to
that waist on their first night together. His mouth had been just as dry then.
What a bumbling fool he had been.
Walking swiftly to catch up, he
handed his hat and coat to the butler, Hampton, and kept pace with her as she
moved into the drawing room. With antlers and shields on the wall, the rustic
appearance of his Scottish home was far removed from the drawing rooms of
London or France. Bare stone lined these walls and though the furnishings were
fine, he was surprised Emma had left it so untouched. He had given her free reign
after all and the estate made a good living. All women were keen to put their
personal touch on places, were they not?
She signalled to the footman to
bring over the tea and motioned for him to sit.
As though he was a guest. In
his own blasted home.
Alex gritted his teeth and sat
on the chair. He fingered the velvet covering on the arm briefly and noted the
wear. Perhaps things were not as well cared for as he thought. He glanced
around and realised she only had a few candles and three oil lamps burning.
With the grim weather, the room was gloomy and in need of more illumination
than three lamps. Why in the devil was she living like a pauper? Had the estate
been losing money this year? He was sure she would have no problems living
comfortably on what it earned but perhaps he needed to look at the books.
Emma sat opposite him and
clasped her hands in her lap while the footman brought over the tea and poured
it for both of them. Alex took the cup and held it gratefully. Coldness had
seeped into his bones during the journey and his fingers still felt stiff.
Thank goodness for the large fire crackling in the hearth.
She cleared her throat, drawing
his attention to her but as soon as he glanced her way, she dropped her gaze to
her lap. Her cup of tea was left untouched. He found himself tapping his foot.
What to say to her? What did one say to a woman one barely knew yet had
bedded—even if only a few times? What did one say to one’s estranged wife?
“Are you ready for Christmas?”
he asked, feeling as though his voice was the loudest sound on Earth, and he
had just taken a hammer and shattered the silence with it.
Those beautiful blue eyes
widened and locked with his. “Oh, yes, I have the meals planned out. It will
only be a small party, however. Your mother and a few cousins. Many preferred
to stay south for the winter.”
He nodded. He didn’t blame
them. As beautiful as the estate was, it was a darn sight warmer in London.
Alex let his lips quirk. His icy wife certainly fit in well here.
“You have not decorated yet.”
It had only just struck him, but there was distinct lack of greenery or even a
Christmas tree.
Her lips tightened and her gaze
darted from side to side. “There are decorations in the dining room. It
seemed...extravagant to decorate everywhere when it would be so small a party.”
Letting a brow rise, he studied
her. A tiny hint of perspiration sat on her top lip. Any other time, the sight
might have tugged at his insides—the idea of sweeping his tongue over her lips
and tasting them certainly held appeal—but the way she could not meet his gaze
or how her throat worked made him tighten his grip on his cup.
“Extravagant? Am I not a duke?
Why should a few baubles and bits of tree be extravagant?”
She winced at his tone and he
regretted it instantly. The fact he had summoned some kind of emotion from his
wife, even if it was a little bit of fear, surprised him however. He saw her
knuckles whiten in her lap and the cold mien to her expression snapped back.
“Forgive me, I didn’t know you
were coming until a few weeks ago, it was not really long enough—”
He waved a hand, dismissing her
words. He regretted that movement too. He never meant to be an arse around her
and yet he found himself behaving like an absolute blackguard in her company,
when all he wanted to do was get on with her comfortably. Oh yes, and seduce
her.
“Few candles lit, no
decorations...we are not paupers, Emma. What’s going on?”
“N-nothing is going on.” That
throat worked again and he had the deepest desire to run his tongue across it.
“I think I shall have to look
over the books,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.
Emma’s shoulders straightened.
“I am not mismanaging the estate if that is what you believe. I’ve done my very
best, Alexander. Balmead is a large estate and I have little experience
managing such a place, but I have tried my hardest.” She paused and her lips
parted to take in a breath.
“I did not—”
She stood abruptly. “It’s all
very well for you, running off and doing whatever you wish, but I’ve been stuck
here, trying to do my best. I did not think you the sort to be bothered by
decorations or frivolities...”
Her chest rose and fell and he
eyed it, feeling the inevitable heat of desire curling into his gut. He stood
too and tried to get over his astonishment at her flare of anger. Colour sat in
her cheeks and her eyes were animated. He’d never seen her like this, not even
on those few occasions he’d bedded her. Even then, she had remained cold and
unfeeling.
“I did not mean to imply...” He
paused. Didn’t he? What had he been saying? That she had not been managing the
estate properly? He hardly knew, seeing as he had been here all of five
minutes.
Emma drew her chin up and eyed
him coolly. “I must speak with Hannah and ensure all is ready for dinner
tonight. Please excuse me. I’m glad you are home, Your Grace. Good day.”
She swept past him, the
faintest floral hint washing over him as she went. He put out a hand to stop
her. He only needed to brush her arm to have her pausing and peering at him
through narrowed eyes. He was mightily glad, for he did not wish to manhandle
her. Besides, the smallest touch seemed to send tingles through his arm. Alex
recalled the very same sensation the first time he had danced with her.
That seemed so long ago now.
Words of apology sat on his tongue,
but he had never been good at communicating—particularly not with his cool,
quiet wife. He’d always considered himself a man of action. Hence why he had
vanished to France upon discovering her with her lover. Did the man still
attend to her in bed? Was he somewhere about the castle at this very moment?
Instead of saying something
soft or apologetic, his mind attached itself to the fleeting realisation he had
not seen his valet. “Where is Stanley?”
That graceful, pale throat
worked again. “Mr Stanley?”
“The very same.”
“He is no longer here.”
He scowled. “He has gone
somewhere for Christmas?”
“No, Your Grace. He took a job
elsewhere.”
“But why?”
Two spots of colour appeared on
her cheek. “Forgive me, I thought you would be bringing your valet with you. Had
I realised...”
“I gave him Christmas off. He
has a sister in London.”
The fearful cast to her gaze
dissipated slightly, but only a little. Not enough to appease him. Damnation,
he didn’t want her fearful around him, Or did he? Did she not deserve every moment
of his scorn for humiliating him? For making a cuckold of him? Nevertheless,
the pang of guilt at frightening her—at always frightening her, it
seemed—struck deep and sharp.
“Mr Jacoby can attend you,” she
suggested, and he recalled that was the second footman. “He is quite efficient,
I can assure you.”
Though tempted to query the
departure of his valet, Alex let it slide. They had already had enough of a
disagreement as it was and he’d only been in residence for all of five minutes.
Was he not meant to be intent on drawing his wife into bed? Arguing with her
would not help his cause. Stanley had been at Balmead for as long as he could
remember but seeing as he rarely spent time in Scotland, even before abandoning
his wife, he had not used his services very often.
“Very well,” he said stiffly.
Emma dipped her head in
acknowledgement and left the room, leaving behind the floral scent to remind
him of her. For all his annoyance with her, he still felt the buzz of
attraction stirring through his veins. It had been what persuaded him to
propose to her. There had been no friendship between them, no real basis for a
marriage, but her wealth combined with the deep ache in his gut had been enough
to persuade him they could have a good marriage. His family was keen on the
match and thus, after no more than three social engagements, he had asked for
her hand.
Alex pushed his fingers through
his hair. He had to wonder if that had not been the biggest mistake of his
life.
