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She began to feel a little less uneasy. There was no sound of discomfort in his voice, as if her words were not really welcome. Indeed, he sounded positively jovial. While she might not get the full return of her feelings she so craved, she began to feel certain she would not face the rejection of them. Tentatively she looked at him and received a gentle kiss on the mouth.
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “You look almost scared.”
“You really weren’t supposed to hear me.”
“Why say it then?”
“This may sound silly.” She grimaced. “No, this will sound very silly. I was sort of practicing. I thought that if I said it a few times when you didn’t hear me, I could eventually look you straight in the eye and say it knowing you could hear every word.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he urged, “So, look me straight in the eyes and say it.”
She stared at his mouth. “I haven’t practiced enough yet.” She heard his soft laughter and winced. “Please, Hunter. Please don’t laugh at me. I can’t bear it.”
“Leanne, my purple-eyed beauty, I’m not laughing at you. I would never laugh at you. It’s our Godawful cowardice I’m laughing at.”
“Our cowardice? You’re no coward, Hunter.” She frowned at him, not sure she understood what he was talking about.
“Oh, yes I am. I couldn’t even bring myself to whisper when I thought you might not hear me.” He almost laughed again at how huge her eyes grew. “You can give me a lot of courage, pet.”
“I can?” She wondered a little wildly if the swift pace of her heart was particularly healthy.
After briefly kissing her, he urged in a soft hoarse voice, “Look me straight in the eyes and say it.”
Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and said, in what seemed to her a rather weak, unsteady little voice, “I love you.”
Hunter pulled her tightly into his arms. He could not believe the wealth of emotion those three little words produced. Although he had not found out all that much about the various twists and turns of her feelings, he knew that would come easier now—for both of them.
“When did you figure that out?”
That he had not immediately responded in kind stung, but the sting was greatly eased by his obvious delight. She decided she must have misunderstood what he had meant about cowardice. He could not be without some deep feeling for her if knowing she loved him could please him so. For the first time she could see what she so desired within her grasp.
“Oh, by—well, the first time we made love.”
“Yes, I should have seen it. A girl like you would have to be sure.”
“I hope you mean that in a flattering way.”
“Only in the most flattering way. It should have told me how you felt. In all, I have been somewhat insensitive.”
“No. No, you haven’t.”
“Young lady, if I’m going to humble myself, you could have the courtesy not to disagree with me.”
“I beg your pardon. Do continue.” She had to bite back a smile, noticing he did as well.
“Well, if I hadn’t been so complaisant, you might not have fallen victim to my mother’s tricks. I never really said more to you than how I wanted you to stay with me so I’d marry you. That wasn’t too damn much to hold onto when given evidence to the contrary.”
“It was pretty strong evidence, Hunter. I’m not sure there’s much that would’ve fought that except, perhaps, you there in person proclaiming it to be a lie. Even then I might well have given you a bad time or two. That letter was in your handwriting and it spoke of your love for Patricia and how you’d marry her when—”
“I know what it said. I don’t know why the fool woman kept such nonsense.”
“Women like to save love letters.”
“That particular love letter was old news by the time she married Spotford. After looking closely at how I felt about that, I realized that what I felt was infatuation with a pretty face. I soon viewed it all as a very lucky escape. I was only twenty-two.”
“A mere babe.”
She had to restrain the urge to hug him for his obvious lack of feeling for Patricia Spotford. His opinion of how he had felt upon her marriage to someone else might not be the whole truth, but she did not care. Her fear had been that the love he had written of in that letter might still lurk in his heart. In his voice was the proof that it did not.
“Perhaps a bit naive.”
“Hunter, I don’t think you can blame yourself for my believing your mother. It seemed worse than it was, perhaps, because of the trouble with Watkins. He made a life-and-death situation out of a simple misunderstanding. I was—well, weak then. I still thought my father had cast me aside the way Charity did. I think I was prepared to believe you’d reject me too, no matter what you’d said to me before leaving. I was scared and that letter seemed the justification of my fears.”
He held her close for a while, saying nothing. Her fears were easy to understand. He had suffered similar ones and with far less justification than she had. Despite being reunited with her father and learning the reasons for his actions, he suspected that fear of rejection still lingered, would remain a part of her for a long while. He swore to himself that he would do his best never to feed those fears.
“There are a lot of other things I should have seen, should have taken a minute to really look at.” He grimaced. “For a while, though, I made a real effort not to see.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was neck-deep in trouble, wasn’t I? I looked at you and saw even more.”
“Trouble, was I?”
“More trouble than you know.”
She began to get the feeling that he was working his way around to saying some things she was very eager to hear. Propping herself up on one elbow and cupping her chin in her hand, she studied his face, wondering if there was any way to make him get to the crux of the matter just a little faster.
“All things considered, I thought I behaved very well. Can’t see where I was much trouble.”
“No? I was supposed to be after Watkins. That required my full attention and every ounce of guile and wit I could muster. The minute you burst into that bank, I started getting diverted. I spent far too much time thinking about making love to you, then doing so. Then I worried—worried about keeping you safe from the law and bounty hunters, safe from all the unseen dangers of the places we traveled through, safe from Watkins or safe from Luke.”
Shaking his head, he marveled at his own obtuseness. “The way you tied me up in knots should’ve told me I loved you.”
Blinking rapidly, she stared at him. Never had she imagined he would say something so important in such an offhand way. Even after saying the words she had been praying so long to hear he lay there frowning, mulling over the past. She gave some serious thought to hitting him.
“You love me?”
Hunter looked at her in surprise. “Of course. I said that. That’s what all this is about.”
“No, you didn’t say it. You said I had to give you courage by saying it, so I did. Then you went on to ask when did I know and go into a general conversation about feelings.” She frowned. “Mostly mine.” When he started to laugh, she swore.
Pulling her into his arms he held her tightly as he laughed. “I’m an idiot.”
“The possibility was considered.”
“Ah, Leanne, my sharp-tongued pixie, I love you.”
She clung to him as she let the words soak through her mind and heart. Hearing him say that was not the cure-all for her every doubt and fear, but she knew a lot of them would vanish because they had come from the fear that he could not love her. It made what they had seem so much more secure, gave it some underpinnings.
“That’s what I was rambling on about, how I should have seen it. The few times I sort of considered what I was feeling, it was to think about how much trouble that would bring and decide I would put a stop to it.”
“And when did you realize you hadn’t—er, put a stop to it?”
“The first night after I left to go to Watkins’s trial. I got to thinking about you, then realized how often I did that. One thing led to another and it was suddenly all very clear to me. That’s when I started suffering that lack of courage I mentioned. Suddenly I had a whole new set of worries.”
“No need to list them.” She grimaced. “I am painfully aware of what those are.”
“Then, when I thought I might not reach you in time to keep Watkins from getting you . . .” he faltered and briefly tightened his hold on her. “I’m not good at this, darlin’. The words don’t come easy for me.”
“If there even are words for such feelings,” she murmured. “You’ve said the ones I need, Hunter.”
“I was hoping for a little eloquence,” he said and smiled wryly when she gave him a look full of amused understanding, then grew serious as he studied her. “You’re the other half of me, Leanne. I knew when I was riding hellbent for leather to keep you from Watkins that I was riding to save the only future that held any meaning for me.”
“I know that feeling very well,” she whispered. “When I thought you had chosen Patricia, I knew I’d lost the chance to be really happy. The only thing that kept me from true despair was the child I carried—our child. He gave me a reason to be strong. While it would never be all I needed, I knew I could find at least some contentment in being the mother of your child. I do so need you, Hunter.” She ran a finger slowly over his lips. “I do so love you.”
He kissed her deeply, then held her close. Emotion held them silent for a moment. It was going to be all right now, he thought. While he was not fool enough to think the future would be all smiles and happiness, he knew they would overcome the inevitable bad times. No matter what they lost or gained, they would have each other.
His emotions settling a little, he looked at her and smiled, thinking of what had spurred on this mutual outpouring of feeling. “I suppose you won’t need to practice saying it anymore.” He put what he felt was the appropriate tone of regret in his voice. “Of course,” he mused aloud when she looked at him, a slow smile curving her mouth, “I might still find myself tongue-tied on occasion.”
“Blackmail.”
“Quite possibly. You never know what heights of eloquence one can achieve while in a frenzy.”
“Frenzies can be very inspiring,” she agreed.
Rolling over so that she was beneath him, he gave her a grin that held both love and anticipation. “I believe this is a matter that should be thoroughly looked into.”
“I concur, husband. We must have an hour or so left.”
“No,” he murmured, growing serious again for a moment, “a lifetime.”
“Yes,” she agreed softly as she tugged on his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers, “a long and beautiful lifetime.”
New York Times
bestseller Hannah Howell’s extraordinary Wherlocke family returns with the story of a passion that will heed no resistance, no matter how deadly . . .
 
When Lorelei Sundun first finds Sir Argus Wherlocke in her garden, she’s never heard of the mysterious Wherlocke clan—or their otherworldly abilities. That changes the moment she watches Argus—the most tantalizing man she’s ever seen—disappear before her very eyes. What she’s witnessed should be impossible. But so should falling in love with a man she’s only just met . . .
 
Pursued by a madman intent on harnessing the Wherlockes’ talents as weapons, Argus meant to seek help from his family, not to involve a duke’s lovely daughter in the struggle. But now, the enchanting Lorelei is his only hope for salvation—and the greatest temptation he’s ever faced . . .
 
 
Please read on for an exciting sneak peek of
Hannah Howell’s
IF HE’S DANGEROUS,
coming in June 2011
!
 
 
 
 
England—summer, 1790
 
T
HERE WAS A NAKED MAN IN HER FATHER’S ROSE
garden.
Lorelei Sundun blinked her eyes several times but the man was still there. She wondered why he was staring at her in astonishment. She was not the one standing naked in a garden, a fat white rose the only thing protecting her modesty. Lorelei was certain she should be the one doing the gaping. In fact, she mused as she allowed her gaze to travel the long length of his lean body, she should be on her feet and racing toward the manor, perhaps even screaming for help. Loudly. Instead, she was utterly fascinated.
For a moment she wondered if she had been sitting in the sun contemplating her lack of a husband for too long. She was not wearing a hat. Could one get a brain fever from sitting hatless in the sun? Lorelei was not sure that even a brain fever would cause her to see a naked man. Certainly not one with a big, fat white rose hiding his manly parts, the part of a man she was most curious about. Lorelei was certain that the drawings in a book she had found hidden in her father’s massive library could not be accurate concerning those parts of a man. A man could never hide something that large in his breeches. She doubted a man could even walk properly with such an appendage and suspected the looks on the faces of the women in those drawings were not ones of ecstasy but excruciating pain.
He was, she decided, a very handsome man. It might be why she found it impossible to look away as any woman of sense would do. His hair was thick, hanging far past his broad shoulders and a black so deep and true the sunlight caused it to glint with faintly blue highlights. His features were harsh, almost predatory, but there was no fear in her heart. His eyes were dark and she was tempted to move closer to see what color they really were. He was tall and lean but she could see the firm muscles beneath his smooth, swarthy skin. There appeared to be the remnants of bruises marring his fine body. Lorelei clasped her hands together in her lap to quell the sudden, and startling, urge to touch that sun-kissed skin, to soothe those hurts. He had good teeth, straight and white, she mused even as he shut his mouth and revealed lips that had a seductive hint of fullness to them. Those lips and his enviably long lashes were the only soft features on his hard face.
“Who are you?” he asked, his deep voice holding such a strong note of command she could feel it tug at her mind, and had to quell the instinctive urge to immediately refuse to answer him.
“Lady Lorelei Sundun, seventh child of the duke of Sundunmoor,” she replied, thinking that she ought to be the one making demands. “And you are?”
“Sir Argus Wherlocke.” He scowled at her. “This is not where I wished to be.”
“I suppose it is somewhat awkward to find oneself standing unclothed in a duke’s garden.”
“And you should not be able to see me.”
“Why not?”
“You have no Wherlocke or Vaughn blood, do you?”
That was no answer to her question, she thought, but swallowed a flare of annoyance. “Neither name appears in the family lineage.”
Lorelei decided she could not leave the man unclothed any longer. His state of undress was stirring an unwelcome curiosity within her. She stood up, walked over to him, and handed him her fine shawl made of Italian lace. His eyes widened as he took it in his hand and she could see that those eyes were the dark blue of the night sky When she realized how close she stood to him, how her palm itched to touch his skin, she took a step back. She briefly averted her eyes as he tied her shawl around his waist for he had to step back from the shelter of the rose. Before looking away, however, she had noticed that the look of utter astonishment on his face had begun to lessen.
“This is most strange,” he muttered and frowned at her. “You should not be seeing me. You most assuredly should not be able to hand me this shawl nor should I be able to hold it.”
“And you should not be standing unclothed in my father’s rose garden,” she said. “Yet here you are. Where did you wish to find yourself?”
“I sought out one of my family.” He cursed softly. “I am being pulled back.”
“Pulled back where?” Lorelei knew her eyes were widening as the man appeared to be slowly losing all substance, the roses behind him beginning to show through his body. “You appear to be fading away, sir. Are you a ghost then?”
“No, not a ghost. Heed me now for I have little time left. You must find someone in my family, a Wherlocke or a Vaughn. Tell them that I am in need of help. A man who calls himself Charles Cornick is holding me captive. He seeks knowledge of our gifts.”
“Your gifts?” The man was so faded now that she could see right through him and had to clench her hands tightly against the urge to grab hold of him and try to hold him in place.

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