Midnight Bride
Authors: Barbara Allister
Tags: #Regency, #England, #historical romance, #General, #Romance, #Romance: historical, #Fiction - Romance, #Romance & Sagas, #Romance: Regency, #Fiction, #Romance - General
"You are no gentleman!" Elizabeth angrily accused the viscount.
"Oh, but I am, my dear," he answered. "If I were not a gentleman, I would not have listened to you when I awakened in your bed." He reached out with a long arm and drew her to him. "Now be quiet." He ensured her compliance by kissing her, softly at first. Then his tongue began to tease her lips, urging them to open, sending flashes of fire along her spine.
Startled, she tried to pull away. One hand on his chest slid inside his shirt to the warm, furry skin beneath. "Robert," she whispered, pulling him closer, her arm around his neck.
He pushed her back into the chaise, letting his body hold hers in place. "Ah, sweet," he breathed as he kissed her again.
By this time, Elizabeth was no longer thinking, only feeling . . . and what she was feeling was very dangerous. . . .
BARBARA
ALLISTER
is a native Texan who enjoys reading and traveling. An English teacher, Ms.
Allister
began writing as a hobby after experimenting with techniques to use in her creative writing class.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1989 by Barbara
Teer
All rights reserved
SIGNET TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES REGISTERED TRADEMARK—
MARCA REGISTRADA HECHO
EN DRESDEN.
TN. USA
Signet. Signet
Classic,
Mentor, Onyx, Plume,
Meridian
and
NAL
Books
are published by New American Library, a division
of
Penguin Books Inc.,
1633 Broadway, New York, New York 10019
First Printing, June, 1989
CLS
1
2 3 4 5
ó
7 8 9
Printed in the
United States of America
Thanks to the following people who convinced me I should try something new and kept encouraging me along the way:
Elaine S., Elaine C. and Walter, George Ann, Rosemary, and last but definitely not least, my mother, who tells all her friends about her daughter who writes.
The soft spring breeze stirred the early flowers near the recently planted fields, bringing their sweet scents to the lady who gazed wistfully out the carriage window. The first signs of green were beginning to show above the brown fields. Spring and another Season had arrived. Members of the ton had begun their pilgrimages to London. Eager young ladies dreamed of dashing, handsome young men. Mothers dreamed of distinguished matches while fathers opened their pocketbooks reluctantly.
Most carriages on the road were headed south. Just that morning the coachman had seen three men he knew headed toward the capital. He snapped his whip, wishing he were one of them. But he knew that London was the farthest thing from his mistress's mind. "She
don't
even go there for her clothes," he said under his breath. He remembered the way it used to be, longing for a chance to join his friends at the snug tavern they had discovered. "Wonder if Nell is as friendly as she used to be?" he asked the other coachman beside him. The young boy looked at him and shrugged. He had learned early on that most of the older man's questions did not need answers.
Inside the carriage his mistress took a deep breath and looked over the fields. The afternoon sunlight made everything sparkle. The small pools of water beside the road glittered. It was the type of day she had always loved. She stared at the fields today, however, as though she had never seen them before, their spring colors vaguely dissatisfying, disturbing.
Elizabeth
Beckworth
sighed and lowered the flap over the carriage window, creating a soft gray world inside the vehicle. She settled back into her seat and tried to drift back to sleep again, but her eyes refused to stay shut. She glanced over the other figures, her chaperon and their maids, and then reached for the flap again, dropping her hand only seconds before it completed its task. The restlessness and vague longing that had been her companion all winter had returned. Even Amelia, her best friend, had noticed it.
"You need a change of pace," Amelia had urged. "Come to London with me. Or go to your stepmother's. You cannot tell me she would not be glad to have you." Elizabeth had simply smiled and shaken her head just as she had done for the two previous years. "Come to London this year. I need someone to talk to. With John so involved in politics, he hardly has time for his family. You would save me from boredom on the evenings he cannot accompany me," her friend urged.
Elizabeth laughed. "Do you mean you will give up your admirers if I agree to spend the Season with you this year?" she asked teasingly. "I am certain John would be surprised and delighted."
She laughed softly once again. The yearly spring visit to
Ravenwood
had been enjoyable as always. But something had been missing this year.
Uncertain and uneasy, she had hugged her friends' children once more and set her maid to packing.
She was needed at home, she explained. But to herself she was more honest. The estate, as much as she loved it, was in capable hands. Her father had ensured that by installing
Carstairs
as its agent soon after he bought it. Maybe she should—