His For The Taking by Harris Channing

His For The Taking
    By
Harris Channing
    Copyright
2012 Harris Channing
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    His For The Taking
    A
novella by
    Harris
Channing

 
    Chapter One

 
    Surrey , England
    1816
    "Julianna, how does it feel to
be the spinster sister of England's
most beautiful bride?" Jonathan asked, leaning back against the creamy
yellow cushion of the settee.
    "I rather think I’m the lucky
one," Julianna replied, hoping she kept the bitterness from her tone. But
it was hard, for Jonathan had a way of bringing a pot of water to a boil with a
single word.
    "How so?" he queried, his
brow lifted in question.
    My, he was a handsome devil. She
longed to slap the smirk from his perfectly glorious lips. How she hated and
loved him. The bane of her existence and the joy of her life.
    She looked at her younger sister,
her pale cheeks aglow with happiness as she and her new husband spoke in hushed
tones in the corner of the parlor. Abby and Michael would soon be leaving to
visit Italy. A
trip she had always longed to make and never had.
    "Well? I'm waiting,"
Jonathan said, giving the back of her arm a pinch.
    "Stop that," she scolded,
smacking at his hands to cease his painful pressure. "If you must know, I
wouldn't wish to marry into your family, Jonathan." She lied. "Being
bound to you by friendship is enough, thank you."
    "You wound me, dear Julianna.
Do you hold my brother in such low esteem that you would wish he didn't love
your sister?"
    She rolled her eyes. "Please,
I wish Abby and Michael nothing but happiness."
    "Still my sweet, your words
crush my tender heart. I thought you loved me." He pouted, his words in
jest. A joke that left her aching.
    If he only knew the truth, for love
and hate battled for dominance in the darkest part of her heart, at least where
Jonathan Denbigh was concerned. How could he not realize just how much he meant
to her? Just how much he had meant to her since she met him at the age of
thirteen. That she dreamt of him at night and now, sitting next to him, the
musky scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body…well, damn it all, it was
too much.
    Standing, she smoothed the skirt of
her azure gown and lifted her chin. "You don't need me to love you. I
think you love yourself well enough."
    "Touché," he said leaning
forward, his elbows on his knees. "But you have to admit, I'm a little
lovable."
    She smiled down at him and crossed
her arms over her chest. "Yes, I love you like a chicken loves a
fox."
    He bared his teeth and growled.
"Be careful little chicken, or I'm apt to gobble you up."
    "Oh really Lord Denbigh, I’m
not one of your silly little half wits. Does that charm truly work on
anyone?" But she had to admit, the idea of his nibbling on her had chills
racing across her flesh.
    "Too well sometimes," he
admitted leaning back once again with an elegant ease. Lifting a long finger he
motioned toward Constance Whitcomb.
    Dressed in a fluid gown of saffron,
Lady Constance demanded more attention than the bride herself. Long, flowing
locks of gold cascaded over her creamy white shoulders. She was beautiful and
she now garnered Jonathan’s full attention. Oh, to have him look at her that
way. As if she was the only woman in the room.
    "In fact, Miss Whitcomb has
grown quite fond of the idea of matrimony," Jonathan explained, his gaze
pinned to the golden beauty.
    Julianna stared at the woman, just
the sound of her name rankled her and sent currents of jealousy racing through
her veins. She was ever so graceful and the