Read Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) Online
Authors: Shirl Henke
Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (53 page)
“Wanton,” he murmured when she wriggled her hips, and he was unable to stop himself from moving again.
“Tis the way I am,” she whispered as the contractions blissfully swept over her in slow undulating waves.
“Tis the way I want you,” he rasped out, his entire body stiffening as he poured his seed deep within her.
They lay on their sides after that, holding each other gently. She brushed the lock of hair from his sweat-dampened forehead and he caressed her jawline as they gazed into each other's eyes. There was no hiding the unconditional love that shone forth in those gazes.
She smiled, recalling their holiday feast downstairs. Vittoria had spilled her milk and her sister Connie, whom they had adopted, had drunk her soup directly from the bowl. Baby brother Quintin, the future tenth Earl of Lyn-den, named for his doting grandpa, had expressed his delight by rubbing mashed potatoes in his hair. And Percy had stolen a beef bone from Derrick's plate. All in all, not unusual events in the Jamison household. The revelry had been especially wonderful that season because her parents, as well as Piero and Vittoria and their son Aaron, had come to spend the holidays at the Hall.
For a man who had never been given love by his parents, Derrick had learned exceedingly well how to be a loving father. Perhaps part of that was because of the letter the servants had found stuffed in the back of a drawer in Annabella's city house while packing up her effects. It was written to his son by the old earl just before he died.
When word of Lynden's imminent death reached Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary had told the earl the truth about his son's gallant sacrifice. The old man had begged Derrick's forgiveness and told him how very proud he was of his second son, how much he wished that he, not Leighton, would inherit the title. And, most important of all, the old earl told his son that he loved him. His only mistake had been entrusting the poignant letter to his daughter-in-law, asking Bella to give it to Derrick when he returned.
As Beth looked down into his eyes, he studied her expression, reaching up and touching her cheek softly. “You seem suddenly subdued, puss. Sad thoughts on such a joyous day?”
She smiled. “No brown study at all, my love. I was remembering when you read your father's letter for the first time, how overjoyed you were. I believe it made you the wonderful father you are.”
“Not so, m'lady. You made me the wonderful father I am—if indeed I am so wonderful. If not for you, puss, I would have made one of those horrible dynastic matches such as my father did, with equally disastrous results.”
“All because of your sense of duty?”
“As a very wise woman once told me, ‘Bugger my duty!’ ”
They burst into laughter as the fire crackled its merry defiance at the icy wind howling outside Lynden Hall. In two weeks' time they would be off to Naples to spend the rest of the winter while Derrick looked after their children and Beth painted.
About the Author
SHIRL HENKE lives in St. Louis, where she enjoys gardening in her yard and greenhouse, cooking holiday dinners for her family and listening to jazz. In addition to helping brainstorm and research her books, her husband Jim is “lion tamer” for their two wild young tomcats, Pewter and Sooty, geniuses at pillage and destruction.
Shirl has been a RITA finalist twice, and has won three Career Achievement Awards, an Industry Award and three Reviewer’s Choice Awards from
Romantic Times
“I wrote my first twenty-two novels in longhand with a ballpoint pen—it’s hard to get good quills these days,” she says. Dragged into the twenty-first century by her son Matt, a telecommunication specialist, Shirl now uses two of those “devil machines.” Another troglodyte bites the dust. Please visit her at
www.shirlhenke.com
.
