The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance (96 page)

“No more than you.”

“I don’t know her.”

Ambrose laughed and leaned forwards. “Of course you do, old boy. She’s the Jewel of London.”

“I need to see her now!”

Harteley didn’t bother to rein in his temper or to keep his voice down, which was probably the reason the butler said, “She’s abed.”

“With whom?”

The old man’s face hardened. “Watch your mouth, lad.”

Harteley made a move to go around him, and two footmen stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.

“You’ll not stop me. Now step aside.”

“You’ve been drinking, lad. I can smell it on you,” Jones said. “Return in the morning when you’re sober.”

But he was beyond listening to reason. “Arianna!”

He shouted her name twice more, but she didn’t appear.

“I need to see her now!” he yelled, again.

“Over my dead body,” Jones said. “She’s retired for the evening—”

“Hardly,” she interrupted, and Harteley jerked his gaze up. She wore her nightdress and night wrapper. Her braided hair swung over her shoulder as she began her descent. “Unhand him.”

With a nod from Jones, the footmen stepped aside. With deliberate slowness, Harteley straightened his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. “I know who you are,” he finally said and, while he didn’t shout, the words still echoed up the stairs.

She staggered to a stop. “I told you who I was.”

“Your name, yes, but not who you are. Who your mother is — the Jewel of London. A whore. You expected me to marry the daughter of a whore.”

All blood drained from her face. She staggered forwards and sat on the stairs. “Don’t call her that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shook her head, but he heard the truth in her silence. She’d known he’d not accept her offer. He’d be the laughing stock of London. The shame he’d thought his impoverished state would bring him was nothing compared with the shame that marriage to her would bring.

“What is all the frightful commotion?” a faint voice asked from the top of the stairs.

He lifted his gaze and saw her — the Jewel of London. By the time he was ready to make sport with the ladies he’d considered her too old. But even now, with death hovering, he couldn’t deny her regal beauty.

And as his gaze shifted back down to Arianna, an image filled his mind of a young girl sitting on the stairs …

He remembered her now. Her innocence, so out of place in the bordello, as she’d waited there.

“Will you wait for me to grow up?” she’d asked as he’d headed up the stairs with some woman whose name he could no longer remember.

“Absolutely,” he’d called down, laughing.

She sat there on the steps now, looking diminished and broken. There was no one to stop him from going to her.

Instead, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Arianna wept while her mother held her. This was not how it was supposed to end. She’d known that, sooner or later, he would remember her but she had hoped it would be after they’d spent time together, after he’d come to care for her, when her origins were no longer a concern. Now her mother had learned of her deception.

“It was a lovely thought, Arianna,” her mother said quietly. “But you should know that I care not who you marry. I care only that you’re happy.”

“I thought he’d make me happy.”

“Instead he’s broken your heart. I could kill him for that.”

How could she have misjudged him so poorly? How could she have thought he was her destiny?

The house still echoed, for he’d not replaced much of what he’d sold. But it was clean. Servants ushered about quietly to see to all the tasks that needed their attention, while he brooded in his library and downed the whisky until his mouth was numb and he no longer tasted it.

Good God, he’d almost married an infamous madam’s daughter. Her mother was a trollop and she had no father to speak for her. If Arianna lived by example …

She would never be unfaithful. In spite of Ambrose’s words, Harteley knew she would never cuckold him. She was not adept at seduction. She could have seduced him without money. She could have swayed her hips and pouted her lips. Instead she’d provided him with an honourable way to alleviate his debts.

For the love of her mother.

He bolted from his chair and strode to the window. The moonlight was less than it had been two nights before, but he could see the beginnings of the gardener’s work. All would be restored. He would be restored. She’d given him back his pride. She’d given him reason to smile.

She’d asked nothing of him except that he pretend to love her. Pretend to love her smile, her laughter, her joy. He enjoyed her company more than he had any woman’s in a good long while. The depth of love she gave her mother … he’d seen the bond as mother and daughter stood on the stairs. A woman with the determination to do what she needed to survive and provide for her daughter. A young woman with the courage to reach for a dream of happiness.

She’d been a child sitting on those stairs at the brothel. “Who is she?” he’d asked the woman leading him into a bedchamber.

“Jewel’s daughter.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Waitin’ for ’er mother to finish up with bus’ness so she can take ’er to the theatre.”

He’d known even then that she was remarkable. That hadn’t changed.

He couldn’t say that he loved her, but he couldn’t deny that she intrigued him. Raising his arm, he pressed it to the glass and peered intently into the night. To continue on the path she’d set for them would be scandalous.

All she asked of him was that he champion her.

Such a small request for a lady who deserved so much more.

Arianna strolled through her garden. She thought it far lovelier than Hyde Park, but then her mother had always paid the gardeners well to ensure that her daughter had the finest of everything. Paid the servants with money that men had paid her.

She told herself that it was better that Harteley had learned the truth before they were married because she might not have been able to survive his turning away from her after they’d shared an intimacy. His kiss had been so very wonderful, and to contemplate losing more than that—

“There you are.”

She swung around, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. “Harteley.”

He appeared so handsome, more so than ever. His clothes were the finest in which she’d ever seen him. His burgundy jacket set off his swarthy looks. His white cravat was tied to perfection.

“I’ve been searching for you for some time,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it’s easy to lose people here in the gardens. They go on forever.”

“No.” He stepped towards her. “I didn’t mean here in the gardens. I meant … I’ve been searching for someone who makes me grateful to get up in the morning. I didn’t realize it was you until I found myself unable to think of anything else.”

“You called my mother a whore.”

“I’ve already apologised to her for that. Now I must apologise to you. I have no excuse for the words. I was wondering, however, if you might find it within you to forgive me.”

“Did my mother forgive you?”

“She did.”

“Then I suppose I can do no less.”

“Well, you could do more.” He took another step nearer. “I’ve obtained the special licence. And I’ve brought a vicar.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to marry me?”

“I do.”

She angled her chin haughtily and lied. “Unfortunately, I no longer want to marry you. It was a foolish bargain on my part, to be willing to give you every—”

“I don’t want everything. I only want you.” He reached into his pocket and removed a folded parchment. “A letter from your solicitor, confirming that I have signed settlement papers that prevent me from taking any of your property or money.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I need a champion. Someone who believes in me when I fail to believe in myself.”

“You will be ostracized for marrying me. You must know that.”

“At first, certainly. But you will be my countess and, in time, I think you will charm society until they no longer care about your origins.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice breaking. “What changed your mind?”

“I’m not sure. I only know that I want you to be my wife, that someone who has overcome her past as you have can help me overcome mine.”

“Yours is not nearly so ruinous.”

“Then it should be easy enough for us to conquer it.”

They were married in the gardens. Her mother was able to stand at her side and Jones stood beside Harteley. The ceremony, although brief, was almost too much for her mother. When she began to sway, Jones was the first to reach her and sweep her up into his arms.

“We’ll need one more ceremony before you go, vicar,” Jones said.

“We don’t have a licence,” her mother muttered.

“Doesn’t matter. I want the words between us if nothing else,” Jones said.

Her mother had merely nodded and there in the garden she married the butler.

Arianna and Harteley travelled to London for the night. His residence was far from what it would become, but that night she was only interested in sharing his bedchamber.

Wearing only her nightdress, she waited expectantly for him. Strange, considering her mother’s occupation, that she was so nervous.

“Tell me what I should do,” she’d urged her mother.

All her mother had given her was a smile and the soft words: “Enjoy him.”

Enjoy him. How could she when she could barely draw in a breath?

The door opened. He walked in wearing only trousers and a silk dressing robe. Before she could utter a word, he took her into his arms and began to plunder her mouth. Then he gentled the kiss and she swayed into him.

Heat surged through her. She was barely aware that he’d unbuttoned her gown until it slithered along her body to land on the floor.

“My God, but you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, held his gaze. “So are you.”

He cradled her face. “How can you be so innocent?”

“Perhaps because my mother wasn’t. She protected me.”

He lifted her into his arms. “I shall strive to do the same.”

He laid her gently on the bed. He discarded his dressing gown and began to work on the fastenings of his trousers. “Would you rather I douse the lamps?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I want to see you.”

And she was grateful that he allowed her request. She knew the human form was beautiful, but she thought he was magnificent as he shoved down his trousers and joined her on the bed. She touched his shoulders, toyed with the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. “I’ve so often dreamed of this.”

“I suspect I shall lie on my deathbed still wondering why you chose me,” he said.

“And I shall always wonder why you came back.”

He shook his head, a smile playing over his lips. “Because for once in my life, I listened to my heart.”

Her heart soared, swelled to such an extent that she was surprised her chest could contain it.

Then his hands and mouth were exploring every inch of her, with tenderness and deliberation. Pleasure ebbed and flowed through her. Each caress brought her closer to the edge of something she couldn’t quite fathom. Each stroke urged her to touch him as well.

She loved the texture of his body. Firm, strong muscles undulating beneath her fingers.

Then he rose above her and gazed down on her. His mouth covered hers. His body plunged into hers. His cries mingled with hers.

He rocked against her and the pressure built. Sensations she could have never imagined travelled through her. He was hers now, just as she’d always dreamed.

She was his, just as she’d always wanted.

The pleasure spiralled through her until it burst forth into a conflagration that had her calling out his name. She was aware of her name escaping through his clenched jaw as he thrust into her one last time, his body taut, his muscles quivering.

He lowered himself to her, buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. He pressed his lips to her dew-covered neck. “Arianna.”

Her name was a whispered benediction.

And she knew that love wouldn’t be far behind.

Mammoth debut author and second-prize winner in the R.W.A. Royal Ascot’s Hot & Wild Regency category, her first novel,
Secret Possessions
, is currently on submission.

Bestselling author of historical romance for Avon, she writes passionate Victorian- and Regency-set romances. She has just finished the second book in her latest series, The Husband Hunters Club, and also writes paranormals as Sara Mackenzie.

New York Times
bestselling author of fifteen Regency-set historical romances, including the popular Bachelor Chronicles series, she is also the winner of the R.W.A.’s RITA award, a voracious knitter and an occasional seamstress.

Multi-award-winning author writing passionate, emotional Regency-set historical romance for Avon, she lives in Australia and loves to travel, especially to the United Kingdom.

Three-time
Romantic Times
Reviewers’ Choice award nominee, her Legend Hunters series is a favourite among reviewers and fans alike.

Bestselling author of
Mr Darcy’s Diary
, she has written seventeen Regency-set novels including her popular series of Jane Austen retellings.