He could understand how his father had felt—he was, after all, a Cynster to the bone. Family, children, home and hearth—that was what mattered to Cynsters. Those were their quintessential warrior goals, for them the ultimate victories of life.
For long, silent minutes, he stood before the grave, until the cold finally penetrated his boots. With a sigh, he shifted, then straightened and, after one last, long look, turned and retraced his steps.
What was it his mother had left him? And why, having concealed her bequest all these years, had Seamus summoned him back now, after his own death? Richard rounded the kirk, his stride slow, the sound of his footfalls subsumed by the breeze softly whistling through snow-laden branches. He reached the main path and stepped onto it—and heard crisp, determined footsteps approaching from beyond the kirk. Halting, he turned and beheld...
A creature of magic and moonlight.
A woman, her dark cloak billowing about her, her head bare. Over her shoulders and down her back spread the most glorious mane of thick, rippling, silken hair, sheening copper-bright in the moonlight, a beacon against the wintering trees behind her. Her stride was definite, every footfall decisive; her eyes were cast down, but he would have sworn she wasn't watching her steps.
She came on without pause, heading directly for him. He couldn't see her face, or her figure beneath the full cloak, but well-honed instincts rarely lied. His senses stirred, stretched, then focused powerfully—a clear case of lust at first sight. Lips lifting in wolfish anticipation, Richard silently turned and prepared to make the lady's acquaintance.
Catriona strode briskly up the path, lips compressed, a frown knitting her brows. She'd been a disciple of The Lady too long not to know how to couch her requests for clarification; the question she'd asked had been succinct and to the point. She'd asked for the true significance of the man whose face haunted her. The Lady's reply, the words that had formed in her mind, had been brutally concise: He will father your children.
There were not, no matter how she twisted them, very many ways in which to interpret those words.
Which left her with a very large problem. Unprecedented though it might be, The Lady must have made a mistake. This man, whoever he was, was arrogant, ruthless—dominant. She needed a sweet, simple soul, one content to remain quietly supportive while she ruled their roost. She didn't need strength—she needed weakness. There was absolutely no point sending her a warrior without a cause.
Catriona humphed; her breath steamed before her face. Through the clearing wisps, she spied—the very last thing she expected to see—a pair of large, black, highly polished Hessians, directly in her path. She tried to stop; her soles found no grip on the icy path—her momentum sent her skidding on. She tried to flail her arms; they were trapped beneath her cloak. On a gasp, she looked up, just as she collided with the owner of the boots.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs; for one instant, she was sure she'd hit a tree. But her nose buried itself in a soft cravat, mid-chest, just above the V of a silk waistcoat. His chin passed above her head; her scalp prickled as long hairs were gently brushed. And arms like steel slowly closed about her.
Instinct awoke in a flustered rush; raising her hands, she pushed against his chest.
Her feet slipped, then slid.
She gasped again—and clutched wildly instead of pushing. The steely arms tightened, and suddenly only her toes touched the snow. Catriona dragged in a breath—one too shallow to steady her whirling head. Her lungs had seized; her senses skittered wildly, informing her, in breathless detail, that she was pressed, breast to thigh, against a man.
Not just any man—one with a body like warm, flexing steel. She had to lean back to look into his face.
Blue, blue eyes met hers.
Catriona stilled; she stared. Then she blinked. It took half a second to check—arrogant mein, decisive chin—it was him.
Narrowing her eyes, she fixed them on his; if The Lady had made no mistake, then it behoved her to begin as she meant to go on. "Put me down."
She'd learned the knack of commanding obedience at her mother's knee; her simple words held echoes of authority, undertones of compulsion.
He heard them; he angled his head, one black brow rising, then the ends of his long lips lifted. "In a minute."
It was her turn to listen, and hear the intent in his deep purr. Her eyes flew wide.
"But first..."
If she'd been able to think, she would have screamed, but the shock of his touch, the intimate warmth of his palm as he framed her face, distracted her. His lips completed the conquest—they swooped, arrogantly confident, and settled over hers.
The first contact stunned her; she ceased to breathe. The very concept of breathing drifted from her mind as his lips moved lazily on hers. They were neither warm nor cool, yet heat lingered in their touch. They pressed close, then eased, sipped, supped, then returned. Firm and demanding, they impinged on her senses, reaching deep, stirring her.
She stirred in his encircling arm; it locked tight about her. Heat surrounded her—even through her thick cloak, it reached for her, enveloped her, then sank into her flesh. And grew, built, a crescendo of warmth seeking release. His hot hunger had infected her. Utterly distracted, she tried to hold it back, tried to deny its existence, tried vainly to dampen it down.
And couldn't. She was facing ignominious defeat—with not a clue of what followed—when the hard hand tilting her face shifted. He altered his grip; one thumb pressed insistently in the centre of her chin.
Her jaw eased; her lips parted.
He entered.
The shock of the first touch of tongue against tongue literally curled her toes. She would have gasped, but that was impossible; all she could do was feel. Feel and follow, and sense the reality of that hot hunger, the surprisingly subtle, deeply evocative, seductively physical need. And hold hard against the temptation that streaked through her.
Even while he took arrogance to new heights.
She hadn't thought it possible, but he gathered her more closely, imprinting her soft flesh with the male hardness of his. Ruthlessly confident, he angled his head, and tasted her—languorously, unhurriedly—as if he had all the time in the world.
Then he settled to play.
To advance and retreat, to artfully entice her into joining the game. The very idea shocked her to her toes—and sent shards of excitement flying down her nerves. They stretched, tightened. His lips and tongue continued their tantalizing dance.
She responded—tentatively; instead of the aggressive response she expected, his lips softened fractionally, encouragingly. She dared more, returning the pressure of his lips, the sensuous caress of his tongue.
Without even knowing it, she sank into the kiss.
Triumph streaked through Richard; he mentally crowed. He'd laid waste her starchy resistance; she was soft and pliant, pure magic in his arms. She tasted like the sweetest summer wine. The heady sensation went straight to his head.
And straight to his loins.
Staving off the burgeoning ache, he feasted, careful not to startle her, to let her wits surface enough to recognize his liberties. He wasn't fool enough to think she wouldn't break away if he gave her sufficient cause. She was no simple country miss, no naive maid—her three words, her attitude, had reeked of authority. And she wasn't young; no young lady would have had the confidence to command him, of all men, to "Put me down." She was not girl, but woman—and she fitted very well, supple and curvaceous in his arms.
How well she was fitting, how tempting her curves were, locked hard against him, registered, and raised his lust to new heights. The soft, silken sway of her heavy hair, a warm, living veil drifting over the backs of his hands, and the perfume—wildflowers, the promise of spring and the fecundity of growing things—that rose from the silky locks, converted lust to pain.
It was he who pulled back and ended the kiss—it was that or suffer worse agony. For he would have to let her go, untouched, un
sampled, his lust unsated; a snow-bound church yard in the depths of a winter's night was a challenge even he balked at.
And, despite the intimate caresses they'd exchanged, he knew she wasn't that sort of lady. He'd breached her walls by sheer brazen recklessness, evoked by her haughty command to put her down. Right now, he'd like to lay her down, but that, he knew, was not to be.
He raised his head.
Her eyes flew wide; she looked at him as if he was a ghost.
"Lady preserve me."
Her words were a fervent whisper; condensed by the cold, they misted the air between them. She searched his face—for what, Richard could not guess; with his customary arrogance, he raised one brow.
Lips, soft and rosy—much rosier now than before—firmed. "By the Lady's veil! This is madness!"
She shook her head, and pushed against his chest; bemused, Richard set her down carefully, then released her. Frowning absentmindedly, she stepped around and past him, then whirled to face him. "Who are you?"
"Richard Cynster." He sketched her an elegant bow. Straightening, he trapped her gaze. "Entirely at your service."
Her eyes snapped. "Do you make a habit of accosting innocent women in graveyards?"
"Only when they walk into my arms."
"I requested you to put me down."
"You ordered me to put you down—and I did. Eventually."
"Yes. But..." Her tirade—he was sure it would have been a tirade—died on her lips. She blinked at him. "You're English!"
An accusation rather than an observation. Richard arched a brow. "Cynsters are."
Eyes narrowing, she studied his face. "Norman descent?"
He smiled, proudly arrogant. "We came over with the Conqueror." Smile deepening, he let his gaze sweep her. "We still like to dabble, of course." Looking up, he trapped her gaze. "To keep our hand in with the occasional conquest."
Even in the weak light, he saw her glare, saw the sparks that flared in her eyes.
"I'll have you know this is all a very big mistake!"
With that, she whirled away. Snow crunched, louder than before as, in a flurry of skirts and cloak, she stalked off. Brows rising, Richard watched her storm through the lych gate, saw the quick, frowning glance she threw him from the shadows beneath. Then, with a toss of her head, chin high, she marched up the road.
Toward the inn.
The ends of Richard's lips lifted. His brows rose another, more considering, notch. Mistake?
He watched until she disappeared from sight, then stirred, straightened his shoulders, and, lips curving in a wolfish smile, strolled unhurriedly in her wake.
BUY & READ SCANDAL’S BRIDE.
Other Titles from Stephanie Laurens
Cynster Series
Devil’s Bride
A Rake’s Vow
Scandal’s Bride
A Rogue’s Proposal
A Secret Love
All About Love
All About Passion
On A Wild Night
On A Wicked Dawn
The Perfect Lover
The Ideal Bride
The Truth About Love
What Price Love?
The Taste of Innocence
Temptation and Surrender
Cynster Sisters Trilogy
Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue
In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster
The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae
Cynster Sisters Duo
And Then She Fell
The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh
Cynster Special
The Promise in a Kiss
By Winter’s Light
Cynster Next Generation
The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
A Match for Marcus Cynster
The Casebook of Barnaby Adair Novels
Where the Heart Leads
The Peculiar Case of Lord Finsbury’s Diamonds
The Masterful Mr. Montague
The Curious Case of Lady Latimer’s Shoes
Loving Rose: The Redemption of Malcolm Sinclair
Bastion Club Series
Captain Jack’s Woman (Prequel)
The Lady Chosen
A Gentleman’s Honor
A Lady of His Own
A Fine Passion
To Distraction
Beyond Seduction
The Edge of Desire
Mastered by Love
Black Cobra Quartet Series
The Untamed Bride
The Elusive Bride
The Brazen Bride
The Reckless Bride
Other Novels
The Lady Risks All
Medieval
Desire’s Prize
Novellas
Melting Ice – from the anthologies Rough Around the Edges and Scandalous Brides
Rose in Bloom – from the anthology Scottish Brides
Scandalous Lord Dere – from the anthology Secrets of a Perfect Night
Lost and Found – from the anthology Hero, Come Back
The Fall of Rogue Gerrard – from the anthology It Happened One Night
The Seduction of Sebastian Trantor – from the anthology It Happened One Season
Short Stories
The Wedding Planner – from the anthology Royal Weddings
A Return Engagement – from the anthology Royal Bridesmaids
UK-Style Regency Romances
Tangled Reins
Four in Hand
Impetuous Innocent
Fair Juno
The Reasons for Marriage
A Lady of Expectations
An Unwilling Conquest
A Comfortable Wife
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
CAST OF CHARACTERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
EPILOGUE
Other Titles from Stephanie Laurens
About the Author
About the Author
#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens began writing romances as an escape from the dry world of professional science. Her hobby quickly became a career when her first novel was accepted for publication, and with entirely becoming alacrity, she gave up writing about facts in favor of writing fiction.
All Laurens’s works to date are historical romances, ranging from medieval times to the mid 1900s, and her settings range from Scotland to India. The majority of her works are set in the period of the British Regency. Laurens has published 60 works of historical romance, including 33 New York Times bestsellers. Laurens has sold more than 20 million print, audio, and e-books globally. All her works are continuously available in print and e-book formats in English worldwide, and have been translated into many other languages. An international bestseller, among other accolades, Laurens has received the Romance Writers of America® prestigious RITA® Award for Best Romance Novella 2008, for The Fall of Rogue Gerrard.
Laurens’s continuing novels featuring the Cynster family are widely regarded as classics of the historical romance genre. Other series include the Bastion Club Novels, the Black Cobra Quartet, and the Casebook of Barnaby Adair Novels. All of her previous works remain available in print and all e-book formats.
For information on all published novels, and on upcoming releases and updates on novels yet to come, visit Stephanie’s website at www.stephanielaurens.com
To sign up for Stephanie’s Email Newsletter (a private list) for heads-up alerts as new books are released, exclusive sneak peeks into upcoming books, and exclusive sweepstakes contests, follow the prompts at Stephanie’
s Email Newsletter Sign-up Page
Stephanie lives with her husband and two cats in the hills outside Melbourne, Australia. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading, and if she isn’t reading, she’ll be tending her garden.
Stephanie Laurens, The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
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