A Duke For All Seasons (17 page)

    
People shouted and shoved and more than one elbow connected with her ribs. Before she knew it, she was outside the theatre.

    
“Make way,” Lord Granger bellowed and four men pushed past, bearing the body of a fifth between them. Arabella was too far away to catch a glimpse, but they bundled the man into Sebastian’s elegant coach. Lady Moorcroft and Lady Hermione were handed in after him, their faces taut with concern. The driver snapped the ribbons over the backs of the matched bays and the brougham rattled away over the cobbles, dragging Bella’s heart behind it.

    
The long row of private carriages before the theatre meant Arabella had to make her way against the throng to a side street where a string of hackneys waited for fares. She gave the driver orders to take her to the duke’s townhouse, offering him one of her earrings as payment since she had no money with her, if he would only hurry.

    
Once she reached Sebastian’s townhouse, she was met at the door by the butler. She had no right to demand to be taken to His Grace, so she asked for his aunt, Lady Moorcroft. Instead she was ushered into the parlor where Lady Hermione received her.

    
“Oh, Miss St. George, you are kindness itself to come at this dark hour.” Sebastian’s sister greeted her with outstretched hands and led her to the sofa. Hermione plopped down, her angelic looks marred by weepy eyes and a reddened nose.

    
“What news of His Grace?”

    
“I know nothing. He was insensate during the ride home and the doctor hasn’t allowed me into his chamber since. He was so pale.” Her chin wobbled. “Isn’t it awful? Do you think Sebastian knew something like this was going to happen?”

    
“Why do you think he might have?”

    
“Well, he wouldn’t let me sit in his box with him. He insisted we join Lord Granger’s party instead,” she said. “And to be honest, I thought it was because . . . well, I thought he was ashamed to be seen in public with me.”

    
“I’m sure that’s not true.”

    
Despite her tears, she dimpled in a small smile. “My aunt has told you all, I understand.”

    
“Enough to know that His Grace cares about you, obviously enough to protect you,” Arabella assured her. “The duke has never spoken of you as his half-sister to me. Only as his sister.”

    
Hermione erupted in fresh tears at this as the butler entered the room.

    
“His Grace is asking for you, Miss St. George,” the man said. “Then he wishes to see Lady Hermione.”

    
Relief flooded through Arabella as she squeezed Hermione’s hand and followed the butler out of the parlor and up the long stairs to the ducal suite of rooms.
   

    
Sebastian was sitting up in his bed, pillows propped around him. As Hermione had said, his color was poor, but his eyes focused on Arabella with a reassuring sizzle.

    
“Out,” he said, his voice a rasping shadow of its former booming timbre. Bella didn’t care. He was alive. That was all that mattered. “Everyone but Miss St. George.”

    
After the door latch clicked behind the doctor, Lord Granger, and the rest of the people who’d crowded the space, Arabella didn’t wait for an invitation. She ran to the bed and climbed in beside him. Sebastian kissed her, on the mouth this time, a blessed rain after her heart’s long drought.

    
“Oh, Sebastian.” Bella pressed a string of feather-light kisses on the angry red ligature mark on his neck. “I love you so. If you still want me to sign your contract, I will.”

    
“Actually,” he said, “I’ve changed my thoughts about that. I have in mind a contract of a different sort. Marry me, Bella.”

    
The dizzying leap from commoner to duchess stole her breath, but the chasm from lover to wife seemed even farther. “The world will not understand. Are you sure?”
 

    
“The world can go chase itself. I didn’t give a damn what Society thought when I took four mistresses a year. I care even less what it thinks of my choice for a wife.” His fingertips traced the curve of her cheekbone. “Oh, Bella, I thought I had things figured out. My life was laid out in neat quarters, the whole lot ordered just so. But then you came along and upended everything.”

    
“Sound as if I’m not very good for you, then.” She kissed him, suckling his lower lip for a moment. “I’ve stolen your former life from you, Sebastian. Do you wish me to say I’m sorry?”

    
“Say whatever you like. Just don’t try to give my old life back to me. I love you.” He tugged her close and she felt his heart beating against her chest. “And I won’t be content until you’re mine.”

    
Tears of joy pressed against her eyes and threatened to spill over her lids. “Then my answer is yes. I am yours and you are mine, today, tomorrow . . . and for all seasons.”

Award-winning author Mia Marlowe learned much of what she knows about writing from singing. A classically trained soprano, she gleaned the elements of storytelling while performing operatic roles. She describes her stories as a cross between Grand Opera and Gilbert & Sullivan . . . with sex!

Mia's work was featured in PEOPLE magazine and one of her books is on display at the Museum of London Docklands. Her books have been translated into German, Dutch, Italian, Japanese, Polish, Russian and Spanish. She regularly receives fan mail from around the globe and loves to hear from readers. Connect with her via
www.Twitter.com/mia_marlowe
and
www.Facebook.com/MiaMarloweFanPage
or drop by
www.miamarlowe.com
and leave a comment on her very active blog. Mia Marlowe and her husband have lived in nine different states, but she now makes her home in the heart of New England.

Mia hopes you enjoyed
A Duke for all Seasons
and will look for her other titles. Happy Reading!

Also by Mia Marlowe:

Touch of a Thief

Improper Gentlemen

A Duke for All Seasons

Distracting the Duchess

Vintage Reads written as Emily Bryan:

Stroke of Genius

Vexing the Viscount

Pleasuring the Pirate

Coming soon from Mia Marlowe:

My Lady Below Stairs (November 2011)

Sins of the Highlander (January 2012)

Touch of a Rogue (March 2012)

Touch of a Scoundrel (July 2012)

Lord of Fire and Ice (August 2012)

Visit
http://www.miamarlowe.com
for Mia’s latest news!

Try a taste of…

By Mia Marlowe

Chapter 1

November, 1856

Amjerat, a principality of India

    
On any given day, someone writhed in exquisite pleasure at the home of the most sought-after courtesan in Amjerat. Unfortunately for Captain Greydon Quinn, on this day it wasn’t him.

    
“Very good, Quinn-sahib,” Padmaa cooed as he lowered his mouth to her neck. She smelled of jasmine and musk and warm, roused woman. “You are fast becoming a master of the teachings of Vatsyayana.”

    
He was fast becoming too much for his trousers, but this exercise was about giving bliss to the woman, so only Padmaa was gloriously naked. When Quinn set himself to learn the ancient pleasuring techniques from an obscure Sanskrit text called
Kama Sutra
, he realized there would be times during his sensual odyssey when sacrifice was required.

    
This was one of those times.

    
His groin ached in unrelenting need, but he concentrated on Padmaa’s hitched breathing, on every shivering muscle beneath her golden brown skin.

    
“You are the best student I have ever taught,” she said, her tone breathless. She took one of his hands and guided it over her belly to the soft, sweet delights between her legs.

    
By some oriental magic, Padmaa always removed all the small hairs on her body, even the ones covering her sex. Quinn found her smooth pudenda exotically erotic.

    
“Many of your countrymen come to me for training in the sensual arts, but so few complete the lessons.” She made a soft purring sound and tilted her pelvis into his questing fingers. “Why do you think that is so?”

    
The way his body throbbed for release, Quinn was having difficulty thinking much of anything.

    
“Attend, Quinn-sahib,” she said, when his fingertip slipped away from the spot Padmaa called her ‘little pearl.’ “You can do two things at once.”
  

    
He drew a deep cleansing breath and resumed his intimate caress. Padmaa gave a soft moan of approval.

    
“I think it’s a matter of time that keeps them from completing the training,” he said through clenched teeth as he struggled with control. Her skin flushed hotly, sending a message of desire straight to his groin. It was all he could do not to yank down his trousers and bury himself in her soft wetness.