Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (298 page)

Electra stared at him, speechless with disbelief. She drew in a deep breath as the full portent of his words moved effervescently through her body.

He raised his head. “Well, are you going to say something?”

She shook her head and as she lifted a hand to touch his cheek, she began to unbutton her gown with her other hand.

The only sounds in the room were the light slapping of a sheet of paper on the table, pestered by a cool breeze from the river and the rustle of fabric as clothes were discarded. A curtain billowed into the room, causing the single candle on the window ledge to falter and straighten … But the two figures naked on the bed saw nothing but each other as pale, delicate arms reached out to embrace strong sun-browned ones.

As the black night began to turn grey with the coming dawn, Electra gazed lovingly at the man who sprawled warm and heavy across her naked body. With the tip of her finger, she traced his solid, hard muscled arms and shoulders, careful of his injuries. She drew in a shallow breath that lifted his cheek on her bare breast and his hair was silky under her chin. A shiver ran through her body at the memory of his heat as he filled her and the fire in her body in response. His cheeks had been wet as trembling at his release, he pressed his forehead against hers and whispered, “I swear, I will love you until the day I die.”

He stirred, sensing she was awake and moved his hand onto her stomach.

“Mmm, I can feel my son’s heart beat. I think he’s saying good morning to his father,” he mumbled.

Electra chuckled. “Oh? And what makes you think it’s a boy?”

“Of course it’s a boy. I need a son and heir and someone to side with me against his mother. The next one can be a girl.”

“The next one? Do you actually think I’m going to let you do this again?”

“Well, if you’re not interested … ”

His hands were already trailing slowly down her body and she moved beneath him, her voice a low moan in response. Their bodies hummed with an urgency that would not be contained and as she abandoned herself to desire, she knew she had come home.

• • •

Rope nets filled with bales of wool swung from the docks onto the deck of the ship, balanced and lowered by seamen, their muscles bulging with the strain. The passengers had finished boarding and Isabele stood on tiptoe trying to get a last glimpse of her mother.

They had all come to farewell Charlotte with streamers and gifts. For Isabele’s sake, William wanted it to be a festive occasion. Molly Preston was there, with Annie and Marcus Holbourne flanking Isabele. The four had become firm friends and Marcus was never far from Isabele’s side.

Susanna and Percy Langley stood behind Electra, next to the MacDonalds.

Susanna bent to whisper in Electra’s ear. “I only came to make sure she left. But don’t tell Isabele.”

They both turned to look at the child who swallowed her tears and made a brave face.

Lord Baine’s marriage proposal was conditional on Charlotte being unencumbered. Charlotte did not hesitate to accept. After all, he was a marquesse and extremely wealthy. William had made it easy for her by offering to raise their daughter at Riverside.

A small hand slipped into Electra’s and she looked down at the top of Isabele’s silky black hair. Her heart contracted at the love she already felt for this child she had agreed to raise as her own. Charlotte had unknowingly given them the greatest gift possible.

Electra took a deep breath of the salty, pungent air. The last time she had stood on this dock she had been in chains, a convicted felon; her past in tatters and seven years of misery and hardship before her. At last, she was cleared of all charges and her uncle languished in Newgate Prison. So much had changed, most of it due to the man standing beside her. And now, even seventy-seven years would not be enough time.

William, sensing her attention, reached over to touch her arm, then lingered for the briefest of moments on the round protrusion under her skirt.

Isabele reached over to place her hand on top of his. “Papa? I can’t wait for our baby to come.”

William smiled at them both. “No, little wombat, neither can I.”

About the Author

Joanna Lloyd was born in Papua New Guinea, moving to Sydney, Australia to attend high school. After thirteen years in Sydney, she gravitated to the tropics of Far North Queensland where she studied psychology, trained as a mediator and spent many years conducting workplace and family law mediations. She writes historical and contemporary fiction.

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