But she’d learned her lesson. She’d given her body and her heart and received nothing but a patronizing marriage proposal in return.
Some women might call a proposal from the earl of Huntington no small thing, but it wasn’t marriage she wanted from him. It was…everything. With a composure that was absolutely false, she walked toward him and extended her hand. “My lord, how good to see you.”
He dropped the flowers. He reached for her hand. And with a confidence that should have made her bristle, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her.
And she realized it wasn’t confidence, but need. An all-encompassing, desperate need to claim and taste and reaffirm.
She suffered the same compulsion and answered him with everything that was in her, her hands clutching him, exploring the outline of his shoulders and absorbing the warmth of his body…until they broke apart for lack of air.
“The flowers.” His heated blue eyes explored her face, seeking everything she’d refused him before. “I dropped the flowers.”
“I know.” She admired the passion that inspired such impetuosity.
“But I’m here to give you everything a woman wants.”
“Are you?” She smiled. She liked that, too.
“My governess says flowers are very important to women. Caroline.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m dying without you. You have to come home and marry me.”
“Do I?” She drew away a little. “I have to come home and marry you?”
“No. No, of course not.” He backtracked, a big, arrogant man who was far too sure of himself. “You’ll do as you like, as you have done for years because I know you can take care of yourself. But here’s the trouble.” He tried to look pathetic. “I can’t take care of myself.”
“Really?” She liked his bent.
Getting down on one knee, he picked up the scattered bouquet. “Yes. I can’t sleep. I’m not eating. I’m wasting away.”
“You look good to me.”
“Do I?” He looked up at her with a half smile, and she knew he realized how the sunshine caressed his hard features and how irresistible she found him.
“Tell me more about how you can’t take care of yourself.”
Still on bended knee, he offered her the flowers. “All your good work in rehabilitating me to be acceptable in society is for naught.”
“Why’s that?” She took the collect of broken daisies and battered chrysanthemums.
“I’ve developed bad habits. I don’t like to dance with any lady but you. I spend too much time at the zoo looking at the lioness.” He pasted an expression of sorrow on his silly, enticing face. “Worst of all, I talk to myself, because without you by my side, there’s no one who understands me.”
She was charmed. “Get up, you fool.”
He made an offering on the altar of her womanhood. “I beat up Freshie for you.”
She waited for the familiar rush of terror associated with Lord Freshfield’s name. But she felt nothing. Sometime during the last months, she’d grown to believe she could handle Lord Freshfield.
Well. It was clear why. If she could step into the middle of a battle and disarm a man of his sword, she could handle anything. “Did you hurt him?” she asked Jude.
“Both eyes were swollen shut and he lost a few teeth. His ear will never look the same…” Jude rose and dusted off his knees, and the expression in his eyes was deadly. “He should never have tried to fight back. That just made me mad. Or rather…madder.”
“Good.” Caroline offered no false charity to Lord Freshfield. “I hope his looks are ruined so he can never beguile another young lady.”
“Since the duke and duchess of Nevett have taken to cutting both Freshie and his ghastly wife, I think I can safely assure you his influence on the ton is over.” He glanced around. “Is there someone to whom I should apply for your hand in marriage?”
“My grandfather, and you’re assuming I’ll consent.”
Jude dropped to his knees again. “Please, Caroline, marry me. I can offer you nothing more than my fortune, my title, and my unworthy self, but—”
She started strolling back up the path toward the chateau.
He scrambled to his feet and charged after her, pulling to a halt directly in front of her so she had to stop and look at him. “—But I promise to be a good husband to you, and massage your charming feet and care for you in every manner.”
“What manner would that be?” His expression told her exactly in what manner he meant. She watched his hands open and slowly reach for her; she felt the slide of his arms across her back. He tilted her into the crook of his arm and kissed her. Once more the blossoms scattered at their feet.
This time the first frantic edge was gone from his need. He took his time, layering kiss after kiss on her lips and her cheeks, teasing her with his tongue, stroking her spine with his hand until she stretched onto her toes to push closer to him. She had missed him, dreamed of his warmth, his scent, his touch. Now she reveled in the pleasure of his proficiency and wondered at the slight tremor that shook him. He was like a starving man given the merest tidbit from the table; he wanted the whole feast.
His kiss deepened until she forgot the singing birds and the golden sunshine and knew nothing except the dark inner world swirling behind her closed eyes. All that existed was desire, his and hers, uniting them in one need. No matter how far apart they lived or how much she tried to deny it, they yearned to be one, and neither of them would be satisfied until they were joined.
Finally, he set her away from him and stood, chest heaving, eyes smoldering.
And she…she suspected she looked as maddened and as reckless. She looked down at the bright, beautiful flowers that had formed the carpet for their passion. She had to think. She had to be sensible now, or she would take his hand and lead him into the trees. “I will definitely take that into account when considering your suit,” she said breathlessly. She walked around him and down the path. He joined her, and they walked side by side, not looking at each other, but with awareness stretched tightly between them. When she could speak, she said, “I must warn you, my grandfather harbors no love for the English, and if I don’t insist on having you, he’ll refuse.”
“I beg your pardon. You’ve had your way with me. It would be unchivalrous of you to turn away from me now.” He gave a huge, phony sniff.
“I suppose that’s true.” She slid a glance toward him. “Are you increasing?”
“Are you?” he shot back.
“No.” She was delighted to see his face fall.
“I had hoped…” His teasing mien vanished.
“What had you hoped?” she asked curiously.
“I had hoped that, if I couldn’t prevail any other way, you would have to marry me.”
“I see.” She stopped walking. She faced him, and his seriousness brought a like response in her. “I’ve been thinking about what happened between us.”
“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one in constant torment.” He checked her expression. “You were in constant torment, weren’t you?”
“Not quite constant. But I wondered what it was about you that seduced me when no other man could interest me.”
“Did you discover the reason?” he asked with a very real curiosity.
“I decided I gave myself to you because I thought you were the most masculine man I’d ever met. You didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of you. You wore what you wanted. You adopted silly mannerisms and prattled on fashion and France. You ignored the people who laughed at you and behaved as you wished. I knew you weren’t stupid. But I didn’t realize you’d donned a mask. I thought you were simply your own man. So when I discovered the truth”—she squeezed her fingers together in remembered anguish—“I was the stupid one. All my life, I had been the pretty girl who was not too bright—then it seemed true.”
“Not too bright?” He separated her hands, opened them and stared down at the thin, white s
car where the sword had bitten into her palm. “We were together for a fortnight. My father, my stepmother, everyone in society had seen me for months and didn’t realize the truth.”
“When I’d been here for a while, when the hurt wasn’t quite so new, I thought of that. And besides, who would guess? What a stupid plan! Dress like an idiot, act like an idiot so the Moricadians would confide in you.”
“It was a stupid plan,” he said meekly.
Something—time, or just having him there with her—must have restored her lost sense of humor, for she shoved at him. “I suppose you’re going to point out it worked.”
“No. No, that I’m not, for it didn’t work. Not without a lot of help from a singer who paid with her life and another lady who damned near got herself killed.” For one moment, she glimpsed the bared teeth of a highly annoyed man. He looked rather like the lion at the London Zoo—ready to rend and tear. But when she looked again, he was merely a man, standing there accepting her scolding. “It occurred to me that you had no reason to accept my proposal, for I didn’t tell you the advantages of marriage for you. Stupidly, I thought you knew.”
“What would those be?” She found herself unable to look him in the eyes; the sparkle of his affection was too strong.
“Nothing more than a man who worships you for your courage, your intelligence, and your kindness. After I came back from Moricadia, I thought I’d never really see the sunlight again, never hope again, but you healed me. You made me look to the future. Caroline, you must marry me, live with me, bear my children.”
She couldn’t tease him anymore. There was only one place she longed to be, and that was with him. She slid her arms around his shoulders. She knew the answer, but still she asked, “Why must I marry you?”
He smiled at her, kissed her again, a warm, passionate, gratifying kiss. “Because, my darling, you’re my one true love.”
As the ship cruised close to its London dock, Jude watched Caroline lean over the rail and crow in delight. “Your parents came to meet us!” She waved vigorously at the couple standing so still and staring so hard. “What do you suppose they’ll say about us spending our honeymoon in France?” She pulled a long face as she said the word, knowing full well what Nevett’s father thought of everything to do with the French.
“Not a word.” Jude wrapped his arm around her waist and smiled into her eyes. “Especially when we tell him about the heir to his heir.”
Caroline’s cheeks blushed a lovely rose and her eyes shone. “We’ll tell Nevett that in honor of the place of the babe’s conception, we’re going to name him Pierre.”
She was beautiful, so beautiful, and Jude counted himself as the luckiest man in the world. “If it’s a girl, he’ll blame her gender on French drinking water.”
“So he will.” Caroline gurgled with amusement.
“I’m surprised they’re actually on the dock.” As the ship prepared to dock, Jude looked again at his parents and noticed their serious faces. “I would have thought that Father would wait in the ducal carriage.”
“Yes, I can see him doing that. It would be so much more suitable to his station,” Caroline said humorously. “But Nicolette probably insisted.” Her eyes narrowed against the sun. “Look! Over to the side. Isn’t that Mr. Throckmorton?”
Jude whipped his head around and stared. “Yes, it is.” Almost to himself, he said, “I wonder what he wants.”
And because Caroline was attuned to Jude’s moods, she sensed his tension. Putting her hand over his, she squeezed it. “Perhaps he wishes to give you the details of Bouchard’s hanging.”
“He’s a grim fellow, but not that grim.” Jude watched as the sailors placed the gangplank. He would be the first person off the ship.
Something was going on.
When the captain gave them the nod, Jude led Caroline down to his parents.
Yes, there was definitely something wrong, for although Nevett shook his hand and Nicolette exclaimed about Caroline’s glow, they weren’t smiling, and their eyes were anxious.
Jude’s gaze went to Throckmorton. “What is it?”
Throckmorton didn’t play games. “Do you remember the Moricadians’ valet?” With a glance at the ladies, he tactfully added, “The one who couldn’t speak?”
“Yes, of course.” Jude could scarcely forget the man whose tongue had been cut out.
Caroline moved close, and watched him with worried eyes.
“He located Comte de Guignard’s journal for us,” Throckmorton said.
Nevett and Mum clasped hands, and Mum had tears in her eyes.
Jude had imagined the details of Michael’s death. Were they now about to be revealed? “Tell me.”
“According to the journal,” Throckmorton said, “your brother Michael…is alive and imprisoned in Moricadia.”
About the Author
Christina Dodd’s novels have been translated into ten languages, have won Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart and RITA® awards, and have been called the year’s best by Library Journal. Christina is a regular on the USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and New York Times bestseller lists. She loves to hear from fans. Visit her website at www.christinadodd.com.
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Praise for the New York Times
bestselling romantic star
CHRISTINA
DODD
“Classics never go out of style.
A little black dress, a string of pearls, and a Christina Dodd romance.”
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“Nobody writes historical romance better.”
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“Treat yourself to a fabulous book—anything by Christina Dodd.”
Jill Barnett
“Dodd transports readers into another enticing place and time.”
Publishers Weekly
“Christina Dodd keeps getting better and better!”
Debbie Macomber
“She’s one of my all-time favorites.”
Teresa Medeiros
By Christina Dodd
MY FAIR TEMPTRESS
SOME ENCHANTED EVENING
ONE KISS FROM YOU
SCANDALOUS AGAIN
MY FAVORITE BRIDE
LOST IN YOUR ARMS
IN MY WILDEST DREAMS
RULES OF ATTRACTION
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
RULES OF SURRENDER
SOMEDAY MY PRINCE
SCOTTISH BRIDES
THE RUNAWAY PRINCESS
THAT SCANDALOUS EVENING
A WELL PLEASURED LADY
A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER
ONCE A KNIGHT
MOVE HEAVEN AND EARTH
THE GREATEST LOVER IN ALL ENGLAND
OUTRAGEOUS
CASTLES IN THE AIR
PRICELESS
TREASURE OF THE SUN
CANDLE IN THE WINDOW
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MY FAIR TEMPTRESs. Copyright © 2005 by Christina Dodd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Mobipocket Reader September 2005 ISBN 0-06-089561-6
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Christina Dodd, My Fair Temptress
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