Rogues Like It Hot Page 9

  She started, her eyes wide with shock. “You didn’t?”

  “I did not,” he said, shaking his head. “I sent it all back, every penny. You are worth more to me than any blunt that was owed, and the thought of taking payment in lieu of having you made me ill.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “I love you Arabella.”

  She hugged him about his neck and he could hear her smile in her words. “You love me? Is that all?”

  “Greedy minx.” He raised his brow. “What else would you like for me to say? Maybe…” he paused, grinning. “Will you marry me?” A light blush stole over her cheeks and Stephen had never seen anyone more beautiful.

  “Yes. I will marry you, my gentleman pirate. And I will love you forever.”

  Stephen kissed her hard, reveled in the feel of her body against his chest, the only woman he ever wanted to feel again. He stood and lifted her onto the desk, quickly hiking up her traveling gown skirts. He had to have her. Here. Now. Later he would lay her down on his bed, pay homage to her delectable body, but right now, after weeks apart, his desire was too great.

  She ripped at his frontfalls and Stephen gritted his teeth as her touch swept over his engorged cock. Damn it. He was so hard for her it hurt. He thrust into her waiting palm when she freed him and it was heaven on earth.

  Cool air kissed his buttocks as his breeches fell to the floor. Stephen nibbled her chin as he slid her toward the edge of the desk. She laughed and wrapped her legs about his waist. “Damn, I want you. I don’t know how gentle I’ll be.”

  She clasped his back, her nails scoring his skin as she held him close. “I don’t care. Do as you will.”

  Stephen positioned himself at her core, her heat, her readiness for him beyond his imaginings. What a marvelous woman and now she was his. Possession took hold and he slid easily and fully into her. Her body clasped him tight, drawing him toward a blissful end that he was determined she too would reach. Today was just the beginning of many tomorrows.

  How lucky he was.

  * * *

  Arabella moaned as Stephen finally claimed her. Their time a part felt like years. Had it really only been weeks? He thrust into her, his body a perfect fit. God she had missed him. Had missed the adventure he had wrapped around his soul.

  And his love making was no different. Hot, hard and fulfilling seemed to be the man’s motto. How lucky was she to have been kidnapped by him.

  She played with his buttocks and forced him to take her just as she liked. Stephen’s bed sport had always been exciting, but today it was different. There was an edge of possession mixed with desperation. A desperation born out of love and the thought that what one had and adored would never be theirs again. Arabella knew the emotion well, having lived the hell during their weeks apart. “Yes,” she gasped as with each stroke he pushed her toward a pinnacle she longed to reach. He clasped her leg and changed the pace of their lovemaking, going slower but deeper each time.

  Arabella threw her head back, her body coiling tight with impending release. There was something arousing being dressed but taken in full daylight and on a desk. Memories of such an escapade on Stephen’s ship slipped through her mind and she smiled. What a fabulous life she was about to begin.

  “Come for me, darling.” He continued to take her, his strong, capable hands biting in to her buttocks. “Let me feel you shatter around me.”

  His dirty talk inflamed her more. She held onto him, urged him to take her harder, faster. He did and within moments, the sensation of absolute bliss thrummed throughout her body. Arabella screamed his name, pulled him to her until he too exclaimed an echoing release.

  They collapsed on his desk, both breathing hard as if they had run a thousand miles. Arabella smiled. “I’m going to enjoy being your wife. I think I will enjoy it very much.” She met his gaze and read amusement in his blue eyes.

  “That’s just as it should be. I wouldn’t have anything less for my bonny English lass,” he said, teasing her with his Scottish brogue.

  “And that’s exactly why I’m yours. Forever.”

  He nodded, his face becoming serious. “Yes. Forever, and then some.”

  THE END

  Tamara Gill is an Australian author who grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of history was founded. So much so, she made her darling husband travel to the UK for their honeymoon, where she dragged him from one historical monument and castle to another.

  A mother of three, her two little gentleman in the making, a future lady (she hopes) and a part-time job keep her busy in the real world, but whenever she gets a moment's peace she loves to write romance novels in an array of genres, including regency, medieval and time travel.

  www.tamaragill.com

  amazon.com/author/tamara_gill

  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tamara-gill

  https://www.facebook.com/tamaragillromance/

  A REVERSAL OF FORTUNE

  Rose Pearson

  Chapter One

  “Come back here, you insolent chit!”

  She did not stop. She kept running as fast as she could. The shrill shrieks of the rotund woman, who yelled and waved her arms in a fit of angst, followed the young woman as she ran down the hill and across the meadow. She did not know where she was going. She did not care. She just knew that she could not bear one more minute under the care of the cruel Lady Dankerson.

  Finally, the sound of the woman behind her faded off into the distance, and the girl realised that her legs were burning from the exertion she was not used to. She slowed to a walk and then stopped completely. Her breath was coming in great heaving gasps. She leaned forward and rested her hands on her hips, working to slow her breathing and make the spinning in her head stop.

  After a few minutes, she finally felt as though she could stand up straight. She did and looked about. The fog from the ocean created a mist all around her. The fog was a thick blanket that blocked the way she had come and the different ways she could go. Had she not grown up on those moors, she would have been afraid, but she knew every hill and valley, and she confidently set off in the direction of Mirkshire, the town farthest from Lady Dankerson. It was still within an easy day’s walk.

  She tugged at her dress and wished again that she were a little taller and not so skinny. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out the only food she had been able to grab on her dash out of the manor, a hard crust of bread that the old cook had left abandoned on the table. She nibbled at it as she walked. The fog swirled all around her, and she smiled into it. She enjoyed the smell of the moors, which was made heavier in the damp fog. She loved the feel of the water droplets on her face, and the gentle chill it left on her skin.

  She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to realise that she was standing in the middle of a wide lane until she heard the heavy tread of a large horse moving fast. She turned to see the horse materialise out of the fog, immediately before her, a tall figure on its back. Stunned into immobility, she watched in horror as the horse reared up on its hind legs, the shadowy figure swearing as he tried to keep control of it.

  Finally, energy rushed through her body, and she threw herself to the side of the lane just as the horse landed on its front feet, right where she had been standing. She landed on her stomach and rolled over to watch as the man struggled to calm his horse. Once he had the horse under control, he swung down from the saddle and quickly checked the horse for any injuries.

  Then he turned to face her and her heart jumped in her throat. It was none other than Nathaniel Dellwood, the Duke of Derhamshire. She immediately threw herself to her knees and bowed her head before him.

  “Your Grace…” she stammered.

  “Are you alright, Miss?”

  The Duke’s deep voice resonated through her. She would have known him anywhere. She often watched him ride by Lady Dankerson’s. He was not that much older than she, but he was a world apart. He was tall and handsome, confident, and sometimes arrogant. She lifted her ey
es to his face and wondered if he even knew who she was.

  Fear rippled through her as recognition flashed in his eyes.

  “Penelope? I… I mean, Miss Jameson?” He knelt on the ground in front of her, his gloved hands reaching for her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. No, Your Grace. I… I am sorry.”

  The Duke held out his hand to Penelope and helped her to her feet. Colour flooded her cheeks at the nearness of him, so she bowed her head and pretended to straighten the apron over her dress.

  “What on earth are you doing all the way out here? It is frightfully cold! You will catch your death. Come along, I will get you back home.”

  Penelope leapt out of the Duke’s reach, fear evident in her eyes and her posture. Immediately, he recognised that something was wrong. He put his hands out and stepped away from the young woman, hoping to make her feel more safe and calm.

  “Are you running away?” he asked her gently.

  Penelope brushed a strand of her deep brown hair out of her face and lowered her gaze.

  “I just can’t stay there another minute.”

  The Duke was silent for a short while and Penelope waited in fear. Was he going to take her back? Would he let her continue on her way? What was he going to do?

  Finally, the Duke stepped toward her and reached out a hand.

  “You are not dressed for travel. Come. I will take you to Derham Park. I am certain that Abigail will have something you can wear for your journey. I will see that you have a place to stay tonight before you begin your journey in the morning.”

  Penelope met his piercing blue eyes in shock.

  “Do you mean that you are not going to force me to go back?”

  The Duke shook his head.

  “I do believe that you are the same age as my sister, are you not?”

  Penelope peered up at him, confused.

  “I think that we are a couple of months apart…”

  “Right. You are of an age to make your own decisions now. Am I right?”

  Penelope let a smile touch her lips, and the Duke watched the young woman’s face transform before his eyes. He could see that she could be a truly beautiful woman, if she were not hidden under the dirt and grime from the life that she lived under Lady Dankerson’s care. Lady Dankerson was not very well regarded – she seemed to have become a very bitter and nasty woman in recent years. He suddenly felt great pity for Penelope.

  “Never mind. We can sort it all out after you have been taken care of. Now come along. The longer you are out here, the more likely you will catch cold.”

  Penelope nodded in agreement, and the next thing she knew the Duke’s strong hands were on her waist lifting her up onto the saddle. A moment after that, he was seated behind her with one arm firmly around her waist and the other holding the reins, while the horse trotted through the fog in the direction of Derham Park.

  By the time the Duke halted his horse outside the double doors of the great House of Derhamshire, Penelope was wet through and through. Her hair was matted to her head and neck, rivulets of water catching at the neckline of her dress. She was pale and shivering despite the warmth of the man behind her. She clung to the saddle as he swung to the ground, but then all of her strength left her, and she slipped off the horse and into the Duke’s outstretched arms. He lifted her, she felt him running to the doors and she heard him calling out, but she could not make sense of who he was calling to. The doors opened and warm light flooded her face, just before she passed out.

  ***

  “The lass has quite the chill, Your Grace. Shall I fetch her ‘nother cover?”

  “Thank you, Maribel. Once the physician has come and seen to her, I would like her moved up to the suite next to Lady Abigail’s.”

  “Why next to me, brother? I can smell her from here. She would be best served to sleep in the servant’s wing.”

  “Abi, hush. Miss Jameson is not our servant. Until she is recovered, she is our guest.”

  “Nat…”

  “I told you how it will be. Don’t argue with me.”

  Penelope heard the exchange, but the voices were disconnected, and she felt that she had to be dreaming. Only in her dreams would she be hearing the Duke’s voice so close to her. She did not recall the incident on the lane, just hours before – did not recall anything clearly, at all. As the voices faded, she fell back into sleep.

  She woke up when a gentle shake drew her from her slumber. She opened her eyes to find the physician staring down at her through his thick spectacles. He smiled kindly at her, but she drew back into the cushions of the chaise she was lying on.

  “Where am I?” she asked, confused by the plush surroundings all about her.

  “It is alright, my dear. You are quite safe. Do you remember His Grace finding you on the lane?”

  Penelope pressed a hand to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. She thought back and, in horror, remembered running away and nearly getting trampled by the Duke’s horse. She opened her eyes, her lips trembling.

  She nodded her head at the physician.

  “Never fear, young lady. The Duke brought you to his home and sent for me straight away. He said that you had passed out on his horse, while he carried you, and that you had caught quite the chill.” He sat back and took off his glasses. Carefully, he placed them in his satchel, before standing. He looked across the room. “Your Grace, she should remain here, at least overnight. I will leave orders with your kitchen staff with respect to what she should eat tonight, and in the morning.”

  The Duke stepped out of the shadows, where he had been leaning against the wall. His face was dark. Penelope wondered, was the expression on his face one of loathing? Or was it one of concern? She dared not hope for the latter. She turned and stared at the physician.

  “I am to remain here? But…”

  The physician patted her on her shoulder.

  “Yes, young lady. There is no point in trying to get you back where you belong tonight. But you are in good health. I think that you simply over-exerted yourself in all of the excitement.” He looked back at the Duke. “Your Grace, might I have a word?”

  The Duke’s blue eyes ran over Penelope’s face. He noted her apprehension and the tension in her expression, in the way that she clutched the blanket to her neck. He tried to smile, but it felt forced, so he followed the physician out of the room in silence.

  Penelope remained still on the chaise and listened to the lowered voices of the two men. Suddenly, the door swung inward and Penelope gasped as the Duke’s sister, Lady Abigail, entered the room with a servant in her wake.

  Lady Abigail was the most beautiful person Penelope had ever seen, at least after her brother, in Penelope’s opinion. Her golden hair was piled on her head in the most elaborate fashion, dotted with gems and pins, emphasizing the great wealth she was born to. Her dress was also of the most fashionable cut, a softly fitted dress with a scooped neckline that highlighted her slender waist but curvy bosom. The white gauzy overlay on top of the pale blue satin underneath made it appear as though she were walking through clouds. But her outward beauty stopped there, for her eyes were cold and accusing as they bore into Penelope.

  “I cannot believe that he is putting you in my care.” Lady Abigail pouted at Penelope. “I have sent word to Lady Dankerson, letting her know that you are here.” She smiled arrogantly at Penelope as she tapped her fan against her thigh. “I imagine that she will have a carriage here for you at first light. I do hope that you have enjoyed your little interlude.”

  The door creaked behind Lady Abigail and she turned, her face suddenly taking on the expression of a loving friend as she looked back at Penelope.

  “Come, my dear,” she said, the warmth of her voice not matching the ice in her eyes as she stretched out a gloved hand. “I will take you to your room for the night. It is right next to mine. Won’t that be nice?”

  Penelope’s gaze flashed from the Duke to Lady Abigail. What game were
these two playing, she wondered. She bit her lip and rose slowly, her head throbbing. She tried not to lean on Lady Abigail, but at her first step, she stumbled. The Duke was fast on his feet and he caught her before she hit the floor.

  “Steady there, Miss Jameson. Come. Hang on to my arm to balance yourself. I will take you to your room, and Lady Abigail can see you settled in.”

  Penelope felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she once again found herself touching the Duke. Had she died and gone to heaven? Or was this hell? She could not stop the pounding in her veins and she was certain that he could hear the blood thundering in her ears. She kept her eyes lowered and allowed him to lead her out of the study, up the staircase, and to the room that had been prepared for her. He opened the door and carefully took Penelope’s arm from his, allowing her to stand on her own.

  “Can you make it from here?”

  The tenderness in his voice made her pause, her eyes flying to his and then quickly away. Not trusting her voice, she nodded and moved into the candlelit room. Lady Abigail followed her in and moved to the bed where the covers had been turned down for her.

  Penelope was aware of the Duke standing still in the doorway, and also aware of how ugly she was in comparison to his sister, which made her feel angry and ashamed. When she reached the side of the bed, she saw that a gauzy nightgown had been laid out for her. She reached out to touch it and saw Lady Abigail wince. Lifting her head, she found her voice.

  “Might I have bathwater sent up, Your Grace? I fear I will sully these beautiful things.”

  She saw Lady Abigail smirk out of the corner of her eyes, but she heard the Duke clear his throat and Lady Abigail’s face went blank.

  “I will have the servants bring you water,” Lady Abigail said quickly. She turned to leave, and then, standing in the door with her brother, she called over her shoulder. “Be sure you lock your door tonight, my dear. My brother has been known to…”