Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) by Lucinda Brant
Authors: Lucinda Brant
Ads: Link
never been more so.”
Deb colored painfully. “And what of the loaded pistol?”
“Ah. Two snags. No loaded pistols. If you’ve a taste for shooting, by all means take to my pheasants, but no pistols.”
She swallowed and made one last halfhearted attempt to turn him away by admitting, “I am under my brother’s guardianship until my twenty-first birthday. He would never agree to-to…”
“Have I been mistaken in you, Miss Cavendish?” he murmured as he brought her back into the circle of his embrace and this time kissed her very gently. His mouth barely brushed against her slightly parted lips. “I thought you and I were like-minded souls. That you too believed in love at first sight…”
His words registered somewhere at the back of her mind as she craved another kiss, a proper kiss: the promise in the light, feathery touch of his salty mouth on hers so deliciously wicked that she felt strangely exhilarated, as if he had heightened all her senses at once. But it was the warm, tingling feeling from somewhere deep within her that was the real surprise. That and the knotted feeling in her chest that threatened to choke the life out of her.
“Damn your conceit, sir,” she murmured as her arms went up about his neck and her mouth hungrily met his.
The shadows cast in the moonlight were no protection against the inquisitive patrons taking their leave of the Assembly Rooms. Half a dozen pairs of eyes had riveted themselves to the stooped broad back of the Marquis of Alston. To enable a better view of the embracing couple, a gentleman dressed in puce velvet waved his Malacca cane about at two linkboys and ordered them to shine light upon that side of the building. Movement and sound ceased under the portico. Shocked and outraged to find an embracing couple kissing in the shadows, several matrons put up their fans at the sight; such licentious behavior was not to be tolerated at an Assembly Ball. One titled lady, a Methodist with two eligible daughters in tow, went so far as to loudly voice her opinion so that even those standing in the street could hear her venomous tongue.
“Yes, you may blush, Rachel, as every female in Bath must blush at such wantonness! I thought we were at the Upper Assembly Rooms, but it is obvious we have strayed into a bordello!”
There was a snort of laughter from a nondescript gentleman closest the doors and a nervous giggle from one of the ladies. Then all at once farewells were picked up where they had left off because the Marquis had turned a broad shoulder, careful to keep Deb shielded from curious glances, and glared at the onlookers in speechless fury. He fixed a disdainful gaze on the titled Methodist lady.
Lady Reigate noticed that the group on the portico had fallen silent and that all veiled eyes were turned in her direction. She wondered why and glanced back at the couple half in shadow. She received a momentous shock. She was sure it had to be a trick of the light, for the gentleman’s angular features and tall wide frame so reminded her of the Marquis of Alston that this gentleman could very well be his twin. But everyone knew the Marquis lived in Paris… Or did he?
Lady Reigate had another look at the immobile gentleman. He was regarding her with such an expression of haughty contempt that instinctively she dropped into a respectful curtsy, not willing to chance that he wasn’t the Duke of Roxton’s heir. When she straightened his broad back was to her. Outrageous expectations of her eldest daughter one day becoming a duchess came to a crashing end.
Deb was fussing with her mussed hair and pinning up a few stray curls, and although she had heard Lady Reigate’s spiteful remarks she missed the woman’s curtsy to rank because the Marquis’s tall frame had shielded her from the curious onlookers spilling out onto the portico. With her hair pinned up again, she stepped out from behind him, grateful the crowd was dispersing, and in time to see Lady Reigate’s
Deb colored painfully. “And what of the loaded pistol?”
“Ah. Two snags. No loaded pistols. If you’ve a taste for shooting, by all means take to my pheasants, but no pistols.”
She swallowed and made one last halfhearted attempt to turn him away by admitting, “I am under my brother’s guardianship until my twenty-first birthday. He would never agree to-to…”
“Have I been mistaken in you, Miss Cavendish?” he murmured as he brought her back into the circle of his embrace and this time kissed her very gently. His mouth barely brushed against her slightly parted lips. “I thought you and I were like-minded souls. That you too believed in love at first sight…”
His words registered somewhere at the back of her mind as she craved another kiss, a proper kiss: the promise in the light, feathery touch of his salty mouth on hers so deliciously wicked that she felt strangely exhilarated, as if he had heightened all her senses at once. But it was the warm, tingling feeling from somewhere deep within her that was the real surprise. That and the knotted feeling in her chest that threatened to choke the life out of her.
“Damn your conceit, sir,” she murmured as her arms went up about his neck and her mouth hungrily met his.
The shadows cast in the moonlight were no protection against the inquisitive patrons taking their leave of the Assembly Rooms. Half a dozen pairs of eyes had riveted themselves to the stooped broad back of the Marquis of Alston. To enable a better view of the embracing couple, a gentleman dressed in puce velvet waved his Malacca cane about at two linkboys and ordered them to shine light upon that side of the building. Movement and sound ceased under the portico. Shocked and outraged to find an embracing couple kissing in the shadows, several matrons put up their fans at the sight; such licentious behavior was not to be tolerated at an Assembly Ball. One titled lady, a Methodist with two eligible daughters in tow, went so far as to loudly voice her opinion so that even those standing in the street could hear her venomous tongue.
“Yes, you may blush, Rachel, as every female in Bath must blush at such wantonness! I thought we were at the Upper Assembly Rooms, but it is obvious we have strayed into a bordello!”
There was a snort of laughter from a nondescript gentleman closest the doors and a nervous giggle from one of the ladies. Then all at once farewells were picked up where they had left off because the Marquis had turned a broad shoulder, careful to keep Deb shielded from curious glances, and glared at the onlookers in speechless fury. He fixed a disdainful gaze on the titled Methodist lady.
Lady Reigate noticed that the group on the portico had fallen silent and that all veiled eyes were turned in her direction. She wondered why and glanced back at the couple half in shadow. She received a momentous shock. She was sure it had to be a trick of the light, for the gentleman’s angular features and tall wide frame so reminded her of the Marquis of Alston that this gentleman could very well be his twin. But everyone knew the Marquis lived in Paris… Or did he?
Lady Reigate had another look at the immobile gentleman. He was regarding her with such an expression of haughty contempt that instinctively she dropped into a respectful curtsy, not willing to chance that he wasn’t the Duke of Roxton’s heir. When she straightened his broad back was to her. Outrageous expectations of her eldest daughter one day becoming a duchess came to a crashing end.
Deb was fussing with her mussed hair and pinning up a few stray curls, and although she had heard Lady Reigate’s spiteful remarks she missed the woman’s curtsy to rank because the Marquis’s tall frame had shielded her from the curious onlookers spilling out onto the portico. With her hair pinned up again, she stepped out from behind him, grateful the crowd was dispersing, and in time to see Lady Reigate’s
Similar Books
