The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(82)
She was in his arms then and he was kissing her, lifting her, carrying her across the terrace. ‘Your arm,’ she managed.
‘I can carry you up to bed, my love. I could carry you to York and the Archbishop and a licence, if I had to.’
There was a muffled shriek as he shouldered through the door into the hall, then a giggle and a flap of skirts, the crash of a dropped dustpan, the sound of servants scattering before the sight of the new-found heir carrying Lady Northam up stairs with obvious, wicked, intent.
Jared stopped kissing her only when he dropped her on his bed. She looked up at him standing over her, possessive, frowning.
‘What is wrong?’
‘Damn it. We will cause a scandal if we marry so soon after Northam’s death.’
‘There is going to be a monumental scandal once the trial begins. You will be marrying me to protect me, everyone will believe it. Augustus…’ Guin blinked. She was not going to start weeping now. She knew what the poor, darling man would have said. Don’t be a goose, Guinnie. Marry the man. ‘Augustus would have given us his blessing, you know that.’
‘In that case I will ride to York for a special licence tomorrow. I would go today.’
‘But your father needs you here, I know. I need you here, just for one more day, Jared.’ She untied the strings of her cloak, the ribbons at the neck of her nightgown.
‘I won’t be long.’ His sword belt and scabbard hit the floor with a clatter and he pulled his shirt over his head. ‘Two days, perhaps three. Then we can be married here, Theo can give you away,’ he added as he unfastened his falls, pushed off his breeches.
‘Theo can believe that, but I gave myself away to you a long time ago.’
‘Twenty one days, to be precise,’ Jared said as he knelt on the bed and dealt with her nightgown by the simple expedient of tearing it from neck to hem.
It was an outrageous thing to do, as bad as carrying her upstairs in front of half the staff, and they were both ridiculously romantic things and she loved them for it.
‘Three weeks? Is that all?’
‘That is all,’ he said as he came down over her, his body warm and hard and demanding.
Guin curled her legs around the narrow hips and her arms around the strong shoulders. ‘I need you inside me now, fast,’ she said.
‘Fast,’ Jared agreed as he slid home, his forehead resting against hers. ‘And then slow. We have the rest of our lives, Guinevere. Thousands of days, who knows how many thousands of minutes, of seconds, of breaths to share. And a million kisses, my love.’
And then there was no more need for words.
About the Author
Louise Allen lives on the North Norfolk coast close to the 18th century seaside town of Cromer. She is a passionate collector of late Georgian and Regency ephemera and prints and is the author of over fifty historical romances and non-fiction works, mainly set in the Georgian and Regency period. She also blogs about Georgian life at http://janeaustenslondon.com/
Full details of all her books, including extracts and buy-links, can be found at www.louiseallenregency.com
I do hope you have enjoyed this book – and I would be very pleased if you would leave a review. Every review helps me connect with readers and make the next book just that bit better.
Thank you.
Read on for an extract from Loving the Lost Duke – Dangerous Deceptions: Book One
Loving the Lost Duke
‘Mama is a positive menace to impressionable young ladies.’ Sophie Wilmott leaned on the balcony rail and sighed. Below her the ballroom floor swirled with colour and movement and, right in the centre, a handsome middle-aged couple gazed into each other’s eyes as they danced far too close for decency.
‘It is romantic, their being so unfashionably in love.’ Toby, her dear friend since childhood, leaned on the polished walnut balcony rail, his elbow nudging companionably against hers. ‘Everyone knows the story of how Lord Elmham came back to England after eighteen years abroad and tumbled into love all over again with his childhood sweetheart.’
‘They weren’t childhood sweethearts. They met when Mama was making her come-out and it was all terribly proper and repressed – secret glances, heavy sighing, soulful yearnings, I imagine, from what Mama has let slip. And then she did the dutiful thing and married a man old enough to be her father and had me and never stopped loving Lucas Randall. And Step Papa did what all impoverished younger sons are supposed to do, he went abroad and made his fortune and pined for her. Then he came back with a title and wealth and found Mama was a widow and swept her off her feet and now even the starchiest old dowager whips out a handkerchief and sheds sentimental tears over them.’
‘Whichever it was, they have been a bye-word for romantic love for, what? Six years? What is so wrong with that?’
‘Because they are the exception that proves the rule. Why do you think people sigh and smile over them? Because true love like that is as rare as hens’ teeth. But seeing them makes every foolish girl believe that a young man who gazes deep into her eyes and whispers sweet nothings in the moonlight loves her heart and soul, when in fact all they want to do is get under their petticoats or into their trust funds.’
She had certainly fallen for that fairy tale. Head over heels into the romance woman-trap with eyes blinded by star dust, until the reality of male desire blew away every glimmer of magic. Foolish, innocent, gullible girl that she had been.