“Shh.” Michael began to massage her, his fingers digging deeply. Despite herself, she felt her muscles unwind. “Wherever she’s gone, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down a redhead the height of a man. The police will make quick work of it.”
She bit her lip. “You don’t understand. I’m not . . . angry with her so much as concerned. That is—yes, this was quite wrong of her . . . and I’d never have expected—that is, she gave absolutely no sign—” But that wasn’t quite true, was it? Now that she thought on it, Mather had hinted at her plan during that last conversation they’d had at Bosbrea. She’d asked, What if somebody else were to employ the letters for your sake?
“No police,” Liza said decisively. Something was awry with Mather. These mysterious circumstances that compelled her to flee—they suggested she required help. “We’ll find her ourselves.”
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll find her.”
“If we can,” she fretted.
He turned her to face him, dipping his head to look into her eyes. “We’ll find her,” he said. “That is a promise.”
She took a great breath, and then felt a smile come over her. “Why is it,” she said, “that you can make me believe anything?”
“Because I would give you anything.” His manner had suddenly grown serious.
She started to lean into him—and the letter, forgotten in her hand, crumpled between them. Michael blinked down at it. “Is that writing on the other side of the page?” he asked.
She turned over the note—and frowned in befuddlement. “It’s a copy of the rules! The ones we concocted for suitors.” A little laugh slipped from her. “She kept this? But—how absurd; she edited it!”
He was studying it upside down. “What did she strike out, there?”
“That business about words matching actions.”
“Ah, yes. She never liked it, if I recall.”
“Objected most strenuously,” Liza said. “In retrospect, that should have given me pause.”
He laughed softly. “She was most worried, I believe, about the potential harm to gentlemen’s dogs . . . My God.” He gave her an astonished look.
Her heart quickened, panic touching her. “What is it now?” she asked. Too many more revelations, and she feared she’d become apoplectic.
“Only that I’ve realized I never poured your tea for you.”
She blinked. “Oh. That’s all right. Wait—where are you going?”
For he had turned on his heel to cross the room. Over his shoulder he said, “To ring for tea. Must mend my ways quickly, lest you change your mind and decide I’m not eligible.”
Silly man! She lunged after him, catching his wrist to tug it away from the rope. “No need for tea right now.” Dropping her voice, she murmured, “You can . . . prove yourself in a different way.”
He followed her nod toward the bedroom and a new light kindled in his eye. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her toward him. “My pleasure,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.
She looped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss eagerly. With her skin against his, their lips pressed together, the worries slipped away from her like raindrops off a pane. For a long moment she luxuriated in the feel of him, his broad hands firm on her spine. Hers, hers to keep—to have here, and in Bosbrea, and anywhere else she liked; but above all, to have now, for desire was quick to rise, leaping through her and brightening all her senses. The sweetness of the moment expanded; she felt the afternoon light from the window behind her like a warm caress on her nape, and smelled the roses in the vase atop the coffee table, and heard the distant rattle and hum of the city, the busy crowds passing on the road without, oblivious to the perfection unfolding here.
The whole world was theirs now.
And then he ruined it by lifting away his mouth. When she tried to pull him back, he shook his head.
“Something more I need to say.”
“Now? Can’t we—”
“Next time someone attempts to blackmail you, you come to me. You do not attempt to handle it alone.”
She sighed. “Oh, very well. You may add that to our vows as well, if you like.”
But his mouth had flattened, and his gaze had unfocused. “And that’s something else I must do: hunt Nelson down and make him pay for threats to you.”
“I don’t think you’ll need to,” she said. “You didn’t see your brother’s face when he heard my tale. In fact, I believe he will seem to you like a man reborn in the next few days, for I’ve never seen anyone so instantly transformed by the mere act of learning his enemies’ names.”
He focused on her. “Do you really think so?”
Ah, but he loved his brother. It made her heart clutch to behold the hope in his face, so fragile, so precious. And he was trying so hard to check it, to conceal it from her.
She touched his cheek. “I want your brother to be well,” she said gently. “For your sake.” She could not like Alastair, but for Michael’s sake, she would hope the best for him. “And I believe he will be well, with time.”
Slowly he smiled down at her. “If he does recover, it’s by your doing, then.”
The notion pleased her. “So you aren’t the only healer here.”
Lifting her hand, he kissed her palm. “Indeed not. One day I’ll tell you all the ways you’ve healed me. For now, let me say only that I’ve chosen to marry a very clever woman.”
“And I’ll add that you’re a very lucky man to have gotten me,” she laughed. Then, sobering, she brought his hand to her own mouth, kissing his palm in turn. “And what a fortune beyond compare it is, to have you.”
For a moment they stared at each other raptly. And then, at the same time, they both pulled a face.
“Terribly sentimental,” she said.
“Pure mush,” he agreed.
“At this rate, we’ll be as bad as Lydia and James. Or perhaps worse—for Lydia does not incline to public displays, you know.”
His brow cocked. “And you do? How intriguing.” The slow survey he gave her was distinctly lecherous, and made her pulse trip.
But two could play that game. “So many things you don’t know about me yet,” she said. “However, I know a place where you may begin to learn. It’s conveniently near, and quite comfortable.”
He tracked her thoughts exactly. “Then with all due haste,” he said, and bent, scooping her up in his arms so suddenly that she shrieked and grabbed onto him. “To the bedroom, my love.”
She sighed. “And afterward, to the chaise.”
“And eventually,” he said, shoving the door open with his shoulder, “the lake?”
“Everywhere,” she said, and kissed him.
Rules for Reckless Ladies, to Distinguish Eligible Gentlemen from Cads, Blackguards, and All Other Breeds of Ruffian
1. The eligible bachelor must be handsome, but must never believe that he is handsomer than you.
2. The eligible bachelor is charming without being insincere. His blandishments are never guided by ulterior motives or self-interest.
3. That said, he also knows how to put his tongue to purposes more varied and rewarding than speech.
4. He has no debts, is generous but not too generous! with his friends, and does not begrudge a lady her fripperies, even if said fripperies have too many ribbons for his liking. Beware he does not prove overly fond of your ribbons, either!
5. The eligible bachelor makes himself useful in unexpected ways: Pouring a lady’s tea, for example. For example, by providing an ingenious solution for headaches. For example, by never inspiring a headache to begin with! For example, a cloak for every puddle.
6. He is dapper without being a dandy; his suit fits him properly and he looks all the better once his suit is removed.
7. The eligible gentleman is a crack hand at apologies. He confesses his mistakes and begs very earnestly for forgiveness, for which he is willing to wait at least a day or two, during which, if he is wise, he acquires a very nice piece of
jewelry for you!
8. The eligible bachelor gazes at his lady with admiration, but recognizes that her other talents somehow—nearly inconceivably—manage to outstrip her remarkable loveliness.
9. The eligible bachelor’s words must be matched at all times to actions. He makes no empty promises, as there is little worse than an empty promise (save, perhaps, an empty head or an empty pocket!).
Addendum! The eligible gentleman will treat his dogs very well, but no better than his staff, whom he will treat very well, indeed.
10. Above all, the eligible bachelor is fearless and faithful in his love, but never idly sentimental. The eligible gentleman is capable of making love, that softest of sentiments, have a hard dimension indeed.
© Shelley McGuire
MEREDITH DURAN blames Anne Boleyn for sparking her lifelong obsession with British history (and for convincing her that princely love is no prize if it doesn’t come with a happily-ever-after). She spends her free time collecting old etiquette manuals, guidebooks to nineteenth-century London, and travelogues by intrepid Victorian women. Her six previous novels are published by Pocket Books: The Duke of Shadows, which has reached a worldwide audience by being translated into eleven languages and was the winner of the Gather.com First Chapters Romance Writing Competition; Bound by Your Touch and its sequel, Written on Your Skin, chosen by All About Romance for its first inaugural book club meeting on Twitter; Wicked Becomes You, an RT Book Reviews Top Pick included on the Woman’s World list of Best Beach Reads for Summer 2010; A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal, also an RT Book Reviews Top Pick as well as a Desert Isle Keeper for All About Romance; and At Your Pleasure, an RT Book Reviews Top Pick hailed as “unforgettable romance.”
Visit www.meredithduran.com or catch up with her on Twitter and Facebook.
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The Duke of Shadows
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Written on Your Skin
Wicked Becomes You
A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal
At Your Pleasure
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Meredith Duran
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First Pocket Books paperback edition February 2013
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ISBN: 978-1-4516-0696-6
ISBN: 978-1-4516-0702-4 (eBook)
Meredith Duran, That Scandalous Summer
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