Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (32 page)

All in all, things had worked out for the best, he supposed. He had escaped apparently unscathed from a marriage he had belatedly realized was all wrong. Gillian and Stephen seemed almost sickeningly happy. And, most important, with the disappearance of Amanda Wyndham, his sister became the newest diamond and was now courted by scores of eligible suitors willing to soothe her broken heart. That it was, in fact, only wounded pride made no difference to anyone but himself.

Sophia would be fine.

The only continuing problem was his family's precarious financial position. Geoffrey let his gaze wander around the slightly shabby breakfast room of their London home. What he needed was another heiress, but the list of possibilities remained dismal at best. They were none of them nearly as enticing as Gillian, nor could he easily contemplate a future with any of them. If only...

His thoughts were cut off as his butler entered and discreetly cleared his throat.

"Yes, Santon?"

"Mr. Jeremy Oltheten to see you, sir."

"Really?" he drawled, his curiosity piqued. What could possibly send his usually placid solicitor from his offices at this time of the morning? "Show him in."

The young man wasted no time in bustling in, fairly bursting with excitement. "My lord, I have wonderful news. I have found a sizable investor in your mining enterprise."

Geoffrey felt his attention sharpen with anticipation. "How sizable?"

Jeremy named a figure that made Geoffrey's heart stop. An investment of that caliber gave him considerably more breathing room. Enough, perhaps, that he could postpone his search for a wife until next Season at the earliest.

"Who is this mysterious benefactor?"

The young man colored and looked suddenly ill at ease. "I am afraid I cannot give you his name, but I can tell you he is one of my most august clients and quite trustworthy. He intends to leave all management of the company to you."

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. Someone who invested that amount of money without any control? "I do not believe it."

"Oh, no, my lord, it is quite true. The gentleman in question has recently become married and wishes to devote most of his time to his new wife."

Geoffrey stared at his solicitor, a slow smile spreading across his face. There was only one recently married man who was also one of Oltheten's "most august clients."

"Excellent," Geoffrey exclaimed, suddenly pushing away from the breakfast table. He had the most uncharacteristic urge to dance a jig. "Come with me to the library and let us see how we can best spend Mavenford's money."

"But..." The young man suddenly faltered. "I mean, I did not say—"

"Of course you did not, Oltheten," he said as he clapped the man on the back. "Now all that remains is to convince my mother that I have no need to become leg-shackled. At least, not this year. Two if we work hard, Oltheten." Then he winked at his startled solicitor. "And believe me, I intend to work very, very hard indeed."

The End

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MAJOR WYCLYFF'S CAMPAIGN

A Lady's Lessons

Book Two

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Major Wyclyff's Campaign

A LADY'S LESSONS

Book Two

by

Jade Lee

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MAJOR WYCLYFF'S CAMPAIGN

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"If you are ill, I shall send for a doctor at once."

He forestalled her words with a low chuckle. "My ailment cannot be cured by any doctor." He set aside an empty brandy snifter. "Do you wish to know of what I was thinking?"

She did not answer. His voice had trapped her, mixing with the moonlight to weave a spell of dark magic around her.

He leaned forward, pulling himself out of the shadows. "Of Spain and war," he murmured. "Of death and angels of mercy. Of you."

She shivered, drawn to him even as she kept a firm grip on the edges of her chair. She closed her eyes, determined to end his strange hold on her, but that only made the memories more clear, the pain more real.

"Do you know what I remember?" she rasped. "I remember sitting like this—in the dark—when you were in the hospital. I told my mother I was going to a musical soiree, but instead I went to you." She stood up, needing to pace away her agitation, but there was nowhere for her to go. So she simply stood, staring into the dark shadows near his shoulders, her words continuing without her willing them. "I remember the smell of blood in the air, the coppery taste of it and the moans from the nearby beds. But mostly, I remember you. I remember listening for your breath, holding my own until I heard yours." She felt a tear slip down her cheek. "Do you know how guilty I felt? Each time you drew breath, I thanked God you were still alive, and yet I knew I was only prolonging your suffering. I knew you would die. We all did."

"But I did not," he said firmly. Loudly. And there was power in each word, enough to ease the ache in her chest, but not take away the fear that it would happen again, the terror that another fever would claim him, that another wound might kill him. Then he stood, his body large and whole before her. "Do not think of it, Sophia," he said. "It is over."

She shook her head, knowing that it would never be over for her, despite his new found strength. She would always remember those days by his side. That last night in the dark. "I had to leave the hospital," she continued. "I could not be out all night." How she wished she had defied convention. How she wished she had ignored the risk of scandal and spent the night by his side. Then she would have known he lived. But she hadn't. "In the morning, they told me you were dead."

"Tis over," he repeated. He touched her then. He reached out and stroked her chin, lifting it until she met his dark gaze. "Think of something else," he urged as he stepped closer. "Think of last night. Of how we kissed."

He made to pull her into his arms, but she shied away, just as she shied away from those memories. She had been drunk, her reason gone, but the experience remained burned in her thoughts. His caresses had seared her skin. His kisses had set her blood afire. And all her resistance had melted away. "I remember that you left," she snapped, using the words to cool the heat he created. "You said I disgusted you, and then you left."

Again he reached for her, and she turned away, choosing to look out the window. Her gaze roved the moonlit night, but her senses focused behind her. On him.

"I have not left," he said. "I am here." He set his hands on her shoulders, and she tensed, half in fear, half in desire. "I want to have children with you, Sophia."

She bit her lip, startled by his sudden shift in topic and distracted by the strange longing his words produced. When she had decided to take the life of a spinster, she had mourned only one thing—that she would never have any children. It was still an ache, one that caught her unawares at times.

"I want to many you," he continued. "I want to make you my wife and bring you to my bed. I want to spread your golden hair across my pillow and kiss you until your skin glows with passion." Her body tensed with a new hunger, one she could not recall having experienced before. His words were as frightening as they were exciting, and she did not know what she should do or how she should respond.