Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) (9 page)

She could not look at Lyan. She had never
given him an answer to his proposal. But after what she had done,
surely he wished he had never made it.

Lyan’s deep, soft voice cut through the
sudden silence. “Laura, I have no intention of going to Gretna
Green.”

* * *

A fortnight had passed, and Estelle had
accepted the truth. Lyan could not forgive her. He would not come
and ask for her answer to his proposal. He didn’t want to marry her
now.And the truth was, it was madness that he’d ever asked her. Her
business was booming, her seasmstresses had done well while she was
away, and all was going well with her shop. She had gotten what she
wanted after all. An independent life.

But now it felt utterly empty.

At least Lady Maryanne—now Mrs. Peabody—was
free of Cavell. He had faced ruin, for he’d needed Maryanne’s money
to cover his gaming debts. His body had been found in the Thames.
But whether he’d jumped in or had fallen in drunk, no one knew.

The bell tinkled above her shop door. Estelle
frowned. It was after hours. No one should be coming in now. She
stood, set down her patterns, and opened the workroom curtain.

Lyan stood in the doorway, just as he had
done two weeks ago. But this time, an enormous bouquet of red roses
overflowed his arms. There were so many, the red blossoms almost
hid his handsome face. “For my beautiful Star of the Gardens,” he
said softly. Then he tossed them, this token that must have cost a
fortune, onto one of the chairs.

“Lyan—” But her voice died as he dropped to
one knee, and a shy smile touched his lips.

He held up something that sparkled, something
that caught the candlelight and flashed it around the room. “I
didn’t want to whisk you away to Gretna Green, Estelle. I wanted to
marry you here, properly. If you wish, we can marry at St. George’s
as soon as I get a special license.” He raked back his dark hair.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for…for as long as I can remember. When
I realized I could have lost you in that inn…you have to say yes,
Estelle. Here, now, you have to say yes to me. If you don’t, I’m
going to stay here, down on one knee, until you do. And with me
filling your doorway, no one can get into your shop.”

She almost laughed. The very first time he
had asked her, ten years ago, she had said yes. She’d agreed then,
before she had grown afraid and had run, because she had thought
she could never love anyone more than she had loved Lyan then.

She had been wrong. She loved him even more
now
.

At her silence, his face dropped. “Love, it
can’t be ‘no’ again, can it?”

“There are more reasons why I can’t marry you
than I can count. For one, you will soon become an earl. Earls do
not marry simple seamstresses—”

“You are anything but a simple
seamstress.”

“I am a shopkeeper, Lyan. Earls do not marry
shopkeepers. Unless the earls are very, very poor and the
shopkeepers are very rich.”

His lips twitched. “I was a Bow Street
Runner. My upbringing was no different than yours, and I have a
profession, as you have.”

“I ran away the first time because I was
afraid of being trapped. When we were young and you asked me to
marry you, I wanted you more than life itself. That was why I said
yes. But then I became afraid. You know my mother had been treated
so badly by men. She hoped to find one who would keep us safe, but
she always chose men who drank too much or hit her. She began to
tell me that all men were like that. I didn’t believe it of you,
but she told me I was being naïve—”

“Your mother convinced you that I could turn
abusive. That I could hurt you.”

“I’m sorry. I should never have listened, but
I had seen so few examples of good and noble men, I was too afraid
not to listen. In the end, my mother died just before you asked me
to marry you. She died because a man beat her, and she fell and
struck her head.”

“Estelle, I’m sorry. I knew she had died, but
I didn’t know how.”

“Of course you didn’t, for I didn’t tell you.
I never thought to share my fears. I thought I had to keep
everything bottled up inside me and face everything alone.” She
swallowed hard. “I was afraid of love, Lyan. I was afraid of losing
control of my life. I thought what I wanted most was to be in
charge of my own destiny. But when we were attacked in the inn, I
realized that having love and family is far more important than
fighting to always be in control.”

She threw up her hands. “It doesn’t matter
what I want. Society would never accept me as a countess. You
wanted to clear Laura’s way to a better life, not throw more
obstacles in her path. I would be an insurmountable obstacle.” At
least they had managed to cover up Laura’s flight to Gretna with
Nick Swan. It had been explained that worry for her brother’s
safety had been the reason for her impetuous trip. Swan had kept
silent about it—he was too afraid Lyan would hurt him if he ruined
Laura.

“Laura has found the man she wants to
marry.”

Thank heavens they had avoided scandal for
Laura. “Goodness, already? Who?”

“The young Viscount Norbury. I’d employed
Mrs. Fennings, an earl’s sister-in-law, to help ease Laura’s way
into Society. Mrs. Fennings introduced the two, and once Laura no
longer had Swan in pursuit of her and blinding her to other men,
she saw Norbury’s good qualities. But I told Laura she can’t
encourage him until you complete an investigation of him,
Estelle.”

Her nervous laughter bubbled up.

He clasped her hand, and just that simple
contact sent a sizzle to her toes. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want
to marry me because I was a Bow Street Runner,” he said, his eyes
serious. “The
ton
isn’t going to be eager to accept me as an
earl. But if I’m going to face whispers and sneers, I need you at
my side to give me strength. I’ve always needed you at my
side.”

She took a deep breath and tried to speak.
But tears got in the way.

“I want a home with you, Estelle. I want to
have more children with you—many brothers and sisters for Rose. But
more than anything, I want you, and that will never change. I don’t
care what the
ton
says about us. If I have you, I can look
any peer in the eye and tell him I’m the luckiest man in England.
For I’d have the two most precious things in the world. Love. And
you.”

Her tears broke free. They ran down her
cheeks. Lyan looked nervous and got to his feet, jerking a linen
handkerchief from his pocket

She took it and tried to wipe delicately,
then gave up and rubbed her cheeks. She couldn’t remember when she
had last cried. But no longer did she have to bear everything
alone. “Yes.
Yes
, I will marry you.”

He grinned.

She put her hand on his. “I want you to meet
Rose. I will break the truth to her, and make certain she
understands that
I
am the reason she didn’t know her
father.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I understand what you
were afraid of.”

“I was afraid of happiness; I didn’t believe
it was possible. I do now.” Estelle gave a soft sob of joy as Lyan
wrapped his arms around her. “And Lyan—” She gazed up into his
stunning green eyes. “We don’t need a special license to have a
wedding night again.”

“Then let’s begin now.” He glanced at the
roses. “I’ve always fancied making love to you on a bed of rose
petals.”

“All right.” She giggled, though tears of joy
still sprang to her eyes. “But then I want to coax you to lie down
on the petals, and I will make love to you.”

“Wanting to fight for control?” he
teased.

“No. Sometimes I’ll want you on top, and
sometimes I plan to be there. But we will always be together.”

“Indeed.” Lyan’s eyes sparkled, and he began
to undo the fastenings of her dress. “Now, let’s begin the rest of
our lives with something sinful…”

###

Read on for an excerpt of the newest mass
market romance from

SHARON PAGE

USA Today Bestselling, Award-winning author

Anne Beddington is in a desperate situation:
on the run for a crime she didn’t commit. Had she sufficiently
mastered the art of seduction to become the mistress of the
notorious Duke of March, Devon Audley? War has left Devon a
recluse, but Anne is penniless, alone, and in need of a powerful
gentleman’s protection. She has learned how to pleasure a man, yet
when this sinfully handsome duke insists that intimate delights
must be a two-way street, Anne cannot deny his sensual promise.

Chapter One

August 1815

The first time she’d tried to sell her body
outside the Drury Lane theatre, Anne Beddington approached a
handsome black-haired gentleman, without knowing whom he truly
was.

He had been gentle and kind. And
young—perhaps only a few years her senior. Twenty-one to her
seventeen, she guessed. He smiled patiently at her even as he
refused her offer. Somehow he’d known at once that she was a
virgin, that she had never prostituted herself before. He pressed a
few coins into her shaking hands, then he tipped up her chin to
look at her.

She’d never gazed directly into a gentleman’s
eyes. He had violet irises—a color so unearthly it gave him a fey
air—and thick black lashes. One look and she was bewitched.

“Angel, this is not a thing you want to do,”
he’d said grimly. “You are an innocent and pretty despite all that
grime. Take the money and use it to go home to your family.”

He assumed she’d left her country family and
run away to London, or she had come to Town to find work, as so
many girls had to do. Nothing could have been further from the
truth for her.

She had clutched the coins in her palm—two
gold sovereigns—embarrassed to be given his charity when she’d been
quite prepared to earn her money, but she had swallowed her pride,
lifted the hems of her threadbare skirts, and scurried back to her
mother’s bedside.

The money had not lasted long. Her mother had
needed so much laudanum for her pain. Eventually Anne had been
forced to do what the gentleman had warned her not to.

Now, five years later, she was about to do
the very thing she had failed to do that first night outside the
theatre. She was going to convince the Duke of March to bed
her.

This time she was not in London. And this
time the duke was her captive quarry. She stood in his study in his
hunting box—a manor house in Leicestershire—with her hand still on
the door handle. He was sprawled out in front of her on the carpet,
more than six feet of brawny, tanned,
naked
male. His long
legs were splayed apart, his bare buttocks relaxed. His black hair
fell in a mess of waves to his shoulders. An empty brandy decanter
lay by his outstretched hand.

He appeared to be dead to the world.

Anne’s heart tripped in her chest.
Was
he only unconscious? With his chest squashed against the rug, and
his mouth turned away from her, she couldn’t tell if he was
breathing.

If he had polished off an entire decanter of
brandy, could he have drunk himself to death? She didn’t know. In
the slums she’d seen men drink quite a bit, but could a man stomach
that much?

She glanced to the study door. For privacy,
she had closed it behind her. Should she summon the odd, terrifying
butler who had met her at the door? The stooped man had a hump on
his back, tufts of yellow-gray hair at his ears, and a large gap
where his front teeth should have been. He’d tried to shoo her
away. She had been firm, though he’d cackled in the most revolting
way when she informed him she was a gift from the Earl of Ashton
and must see the duke at once.

She really did not wish to deal with the
butler again.

Lifting her hems, Anne hurried to the naked
duke and crouched beside him. Her body cast a shadow over his face,
but she could see scars on his cheeks above the haze of thick black
stubble. His lips were full and soft. They appeared completely
motionless.

Her throat dried. She bent close and felt his
breath whisper over her cheek. Then he gave a low, rasping snore,
and Anne choked on a relieved giggle.

Should she shake him awake? She had been a
whore for so long it meant nothing to touch a masculine body, but
she didn’t know quite what to do with an unconscious duke who had
no idea she’d invaded his home.

Would summoning help end with her tossed out
on her rump? What if the butler suspected she’d knocked the duke
over the head? She shivered. The room was damp and chilly even
though it was late August. Drawing off her gloves, she brushed her
fingertips over the bronzed shoulder in front of her. His skin was
cool. A silk throw lay across a wing chair. She plucked it up. The
chill of his skin made her feel cold; it made her shiver once more,
just for him.

Gently, she arranged the blanket over his
smooth, muscled back. She tugged it down to his slim waist, to
cover his hips, buttocks, and legs. His bottom proved tighter,
rounder, than any she’d ever seen, his legs long and powerfully
built.

Any woman would quiver, faced with such male
beauty, but she knew there was fear beneath the tremble of her
shoulders. A man this strong could easily hurt her. He had been
kind to her once, so long ago, but she now intended to lie her way
into his bed.

First she had to wake him. She gently touched
his forehead to brush back his hair. A thick lock had fallen into
his eye—

His hand shot out and clamped onto her wrist.
A scream flew out into the room. Hers.

The duke moved so fast, she couldn’t think.
He pushed her down to the floor. His big hands pinned her shoulders
and he was braced over her, his legs on either side of her hips.
His knees pressed into her skirts. She stared up into his eyes.
Still violet and every bit as astonishing as they’d been five years
before.