The Regency Season Collection: Part Two. Кэрол Мортимер
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course not. Jane has far more sense,’ she told him as if he was an idiot to even mention it.
‘Silly me,’ he said with a predator’s grin and shut the door behind them with a contented sigh. ‘Alone at last, my love,’ he whispered and set about the laces of her gown with hands clumsy with too much haste even as he devoured her temptation of a mouth with a driven groan.
‘Ah, love, quiet,’ she soothed even as her still slightly calloused fingers raced to undo as much of Lord Mantaigne as she could while he was doing the same for Lady Mantaigne in his ham-fisted fashion. ‘We have all night,’ she promised even as she hastily shrugged out of her loosened gown and gave a crow of triumph as she pushed his roughly unbuttoned waistcoat and tightly fitting evening coat off his shoulders.
He dipped his head to feast on her roused nipples even as she moaned with pent-up need and haste and caressed his wildly disordered locks with such tenderness he raised his head and snatched another of those hasty, open-mouthed kisses before pulling far enough away to fumble off his cravat and tug his shirt over his head. Any last trace of ladylike restraint vanished as she eyed his hard-muscled torso and lean waist with a heavy-eyed smile.
‘Evening breeches are a cursed nuisance,’ she informed him as he bent to unbutton them at the knee and heel off his elegant shoes before impatiently stripping away his stockings.
‘Oh, I don’t know, they have their uses,’ he said huskily as she attacked the buttons at his waist with more haste than skill.
‘Not for hiding this,’ she told him with would-be severity, but her eyes glittered hotly in the light of the candle Jane had left on the nightstand, so they might at least try not to ruin another set of expensive raiment and cause her and his lordship’s valet even more trouble.
‘Did you want to?’ he asked with a wicked grin.
‘Not from us, from all those other women,’ she admitted rather painfully.
‘None of them matter. I didn’t love anyone until I met you, remember?’
‘Oh, you man, you. You have always had it there deep within you, Tom, but you wouldn’t let yourself know it. How else could you have made a family of the heart when your real one faded? How did you win a legion of friends and lovers who put you at the centre of their circle and had the sense to know you made them more than they were without you? You are so much more than you ever let yourself know, but what if you learn that for yourself one day and don’t need me any more?’
‘Now who’s the idiot?’ he asked with a catch in his deep voice. ‘I will never not need you, Polly. I found pleasure with other women before I met you and if that makes you sad and uncertain of me, I’m sorry for it and wish it otherwise, but it was nothing like this. I’ve never needed to make love to another woman so desperately it feels as if I might expire of sheer need without you. Does it look as if I could ever stop wanting you, my love? Because if it does, I think we’d better get you fitted for some eyeglasses as soon as the spectacle makers are open in the morning.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my eyesight,’ she said with a hiccup of laughter as she let her gaze linger on the very evident need he had of her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she told him, quite forgetting to be insecure at the sight of him so openly and proudly wanting her to the finest fibre of his being.
‘Ah, love, come here and let me show you how breathtakingly lovely you are,’ he said in reply and he actually blushed at her wide-eyed appreciation of his muscular body and rampantly aroused manhood. ‘I love you, Polly Trethayne,’ he told her as he held her eyes and parted her legs so he could thrust into the hot wet heat of her and unite them once more.
‘Polly Banburgh,’ she corrected breathlessly and opened wholeheartedly to him, sparing a moment to marvel anew that Polly Trethayne had found herself a husband, and such a fine and rampant husband as the Marquis of Mantaigne as well. ‘I love you, Tom. With every last inconvenient inch of me, I love you.’
‘Every last magnificent and delightful inch of you I hope you mean. Every bit of you is precious to me,’ he said as he met her dazed eyes with his blazing hot, blue gaze so full of conviction she had to believe him. ‘I wouldn’t have you an inch less, my Polly, and don’t let anyone make you feel awkward or overgrown ever again.’
‘Very well, I won’t,’ she said meekly and let her inner muscles ripple around his hard member in delighted encouragement. ‘There are so many parts of me in need of reassurance that you love right now, husband,’ she murmured with wanton encouragement as she sneaked a suggestive hand over her own hard-peaked nipples and down the smooth line of her narrow waist and the curve of her hips before she reached their joined bodies and found his more fascinating than her own.
‘Oh, I love you all right, so get ready to be reassured to your heart’s content, Lady Mantaigne,’ he said huskily as he silenced her with a long, hard kiss as if they’d been parted for weeks instead of hours and proceeded to show his wife he loved and appreciated and wanted every last fine inch of silky skin and every hair on her head.
* * * * *
SOPHIA JAMES lives in Chelsea Bay, on Auckland, New Zealand’s North Shore, with her husband who is an artist. She has a degree in English and History from Auckland University and believes her love of writing was formed by reading Georgette Heyer in the holidays at her grandmother’s house.
Sophia enjoys getting feedback at www.sophiajames.net
Sophia James
To have and to hold…
After her first disastrous marriage, wealthy heiress Amethyst Cameron swore she’d never take a husband again. Yet her beloved father’s deepest wish is for her to wed an aristocrat to protect her life and reputation.
Until the debts are paid!
Lord Montcliffe must marry into money to save his debt-ridden estate, but he doesn’t have to like it—or his bewitching future bride. So he’s stunned by the feelings stirred up by one scorching kiss! But when Daniel uncovers the truth, can he accept the real Amethyst and help to banish the ghost of her past forever?
This book is dedicated to my writing friend, Lizzie Tremayne, who helped me to understand the anatomy of horses and the joy of working with them.
London—June 1810
Amethyst Amelia Cameron’s father loved all horses, but he especially loved his matching pair of greys.
‘I doubt you will ever see others as fine, Papa, if you do indeed intend to sell them.’ Amethyst tried to keep the worry from her voice as the carriage drew to a halt in the narrow lane outside number ten, Grosvenor Place. Things were changing without reason and she didn’t like it.
‘Well, there’s the problem, my dear,’ Robert Cameron replied. ‘I had the best and now I want for nothing more. Take your mother, for instance. Never found another like her. Would not even have tried to.’
Amethyst smiled. Her parents’ marriage had been a love match until the day her mother had died of some undefined and quick illness, seven hours short of her thirty-second birthday. Amethyst had been all of eight and she remembered the day distinctly, the low whispers and the tears; storm clouds sweeping across the Thames.
‘I