Brighton Road (24 page)

"Be quiet, Jack! I shall never confide in you
again as long as I live." Gwenda's tear-dampened lashes swept up
and for one moment Ravenel stared deep into her eyes so full of
despair, so full of yearning.

"Gwenda," he breathed.

But she was already fleeing from him, rushing
toward the door of the library. This time Skeffington had the wit
to dive for safety as Gwenda plunged past him.

Ravenel took several steps after her, then
stopped, judging it best to let her go for the moment His mind was
reeling, wondering if what he had thought he had seen shimmering in
her eyes could possibly be true. He turned back to confront her
brother.

Jack nervously straightened the hem of his
scarlet coat. "I think I'd just better be getting along myself." He
gave Ravenel a brief salute and tried to get past him.

But Ravenel caught him by the sleeve. "Not
just yet, my dear Colonel Adams. You and I needs must have a little
talk."

A heavy fog was rolling in from the sea,
seeming to bring the summer's day to an early close. As Gwenda took
Bertie for his evening walk along the beach, she wished she could
simply be swallowed by the mist forever.

Still reliving in her mind the whole
disastrous humiliating episode at Donaldson's that afternoon, she
could think of no better fate than to be buried in the sands and
have the tides wash over her head.

Jack had knelt outside her bedchamber door
begging for forgiveness through the keyhole until Mama had finally
made him go away and leave Gwenda alone. Gwenda tried to remind
herself that Jack had acted out of deep affection for her, but if
only he would stop to think before plunging into one of these
outrageous schemes.

His bungling had only made her life ten times
more miserable. Not only had he involved Lord Ravenel in the sort
of public scene that she knew so well he detested, but with half of
the ton looking on, Jack had blurted out to Ravenel that Gwenda was
in love with him. Although she would pen his lordship a note of
apology, she would never, never be able to face the man again.

Gwenda sniffed, then quickly wiped her eyes
on her sleeve. One would think she'd be cried out after the amount
of weeping she had done that afternoon. She took a deep breath and
tried to derive some pleasure from the walk with Bertie. But, at
the moment, even the sea looked cold and gray.

Bertie barked and leaped at her skirts as
though attempting to cheer her. She picked up a piece of driftwood
and flung it far down the beach for him to chase. He quickly
plunged after it and scooped it into his mouth. But while Bertie
might have learned to do that much, he could never quite grasp the
fact that he was supposed to bring the stick back.

He tore off with it, expecting Gwenda to
chase him. As her dog rapidly disappeared into the fog, Gwenda
began to fear that perhaps throwing the stick had not been such a
good idea. She was in no mood to play hide-and-seek.

"Bert!" she called. But the fog muffled her
voice and she heard no answering bark. The thick salt spray of the
sea seemed to hang in the air, chilling her. Gwenda wrapped her
arms about herself, wishing she had remembered to wear a shawl. She
walked on a little farther until she heard a noise. It was as
though pebbles on the beach had been dislodged.

"Bertie?" She squinted, peering along the
hazy shoreline. She thought she could just discern the outline of
someone approaching. Too big to be a dog. Gwenda tensed, her lips
parting in apprehension. It had to be a man.

Out of the mists he came, the sea breeze
ruffling his midnight-dark hair, a black cape flowing off his broad
shoulders.

Gwenda froze in her tracks, wondering if she
was dreaming. She pinched her arm until she knew a great bruise had
to be forming and yet the stalwart figure approached until he stood
within an arm's reach of her.

Ravenel. Gwenda could not even manage his
name. The only thing that prevented her from sinking to her knees
was her noticing that he looked as gruffly shy and embarrassed as
she.

"My dearest—" He broke off, ruefully raking
his hand back through his hair. "Damn it! I spent all afternoon
trying to memorize that passage, and I still cannot remember how it
goes."

"Passage?" Gwenda asked weakly, her mind
struggling to grasp the fact that he truly was here and wearing a
cape, a black cape with three tiers and a scarlet lining.

"The passage from your book. You see, Jack
wasn't able to give me enough details about how the dream was
supposed to proceed."

Gwenda wrenched her eyes from her wondering
inspection of Ravenel's new cape. She did not even need to ask what
dream. Jack might well be her favorite brother, but she was going
to kill him.

Gwenda backed away from Ravenel, her throat
constricting with misery. "Oh, no. You needn't try to be kind just
…because Jack told you .. . and now you feel s-sorry for me. That
entire ridiculous scene at Donaldson's—"

"Forget what happened at Donaldson's,"
Ravenel said, taking a step closer. "You need to tell me what
Roderigo usually says when he comes out of the mist"

"He—he never says anything. He just—"
Gwenda's voice faded and she was unable to continue.

"He does something. Something like this?"
Gwenda's heart pounded as Ravenel slipped his arms about her
waist.

"Yes," she whispered. Her gaze came slowly up
to meet his, the intensity in his dark eyes taking her breath away.
He gathered her closer, molding her against the hard plane of his
chest.

As Ravenel's mouth moved to claim her lips, a
familiar bark sounded out of the fog. Gwenda groaned softly as she
heard her dog come bounding along the beach. As Ravenel drew back,
hesitating, Bertie bounded forward, the driftwood in his mouth. For
the first time in his life, Spotted Bert had decided to come back
with the stick.

Why now, Bertie? Gwenda could have
groaned.

At the sight of Ravenel, the dog dropped the
wood and gave a joyful bark. Ravenel cursed under his breath as
Bertie launched himself at them, leaving a trail of wet sand along
Ravenel's cape.

Ravenel released Gwenda as he struggled to
restrain the exuberant dog. "Not now, Bertie. Sit, you accursed
hound!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Throw the stick and he'll chase it," Gwenda
advised.

Ravenel snatched up the driftwood and flung
it away with all his strength. Bertie gave another excited bark and
pelted after it, spraying pebbles as he disappeared back into the
haze.

But the romantic moment was entirely spoiled.
Gwenda shivered, rubbing her arms.

"Damnation, Gwenda," Ravenel scolded. "What
are you doing out here without a shawl? Do you want to catch your
death?"

He swept the magnificent cape off his own
broad shoulders and began to wrap it around her.

Gwenda tried to resist. She forced a
tremulous smile, saying, "No, Ravenel. You really must not go about
thinking it is your duty to look after every woman who falls in
love with you."

"My duty be damned!" He swept her up in the
cape and caught her hard against him, his lips crashing down upon
hers in a fiery kiss that left her mind reeling, her knees feeling
weak.

He drew back long enough to breath in a
fierce whisper, "1 love you, you little fool. Will you be my
wife?"

It was the most wonderful proposal that
Gwenda had ever heard. But she tried to retain enough good sense to
protest. "You couldn't possibly mean that."

He silenced her with another kiss, his lips
sending such a rush of heat through her veins that she had no more
need of the cloak.

It was several long, blissful moments before
he would permit her to speak again.

"Oh, Ravenel," she said, burying her face in
the lee of his shoulder. "Are you certain? After all the terrible
things I've done to you. The first day you ever met me, you lost
your most prized horses—"

"That was the most fortunate day of my life."
He pressed a number of kisses against her curls, the top of her
brow. "I wish Dalton much joy of the wretched beasts."

Gwenda clearly saw there was no reasoning
with a man whose mind was as far gone as that. She ceased to try,
merely turning her face up so that Ravenel's lips could continue
his feverish explorations. She waited breathlessly as he prepared
to kiss her again, but he suddenly became solemn.

His mouth quirked into a sad half-smile. "I
cannot entirely deceive you, Gwenda. I fear I will always be
something of a sobersides, tempted to make speeches and lecture
you."

"Just as I will always be a little
shatter-brained." She sighed. "And there is my family—"

"No. Your family is completely charming. I
was a pompous ass to ever say otherwise."

"You won't find Thorne charming," Gwenda
warned him, resting her forehead beneath Ravenel's chin. "Or the
rest of Papa's cousins who have just gotten out of debtor's prison
or the uncle who likes to keep his sheep in—"

But Ravenel laughed and embraced her again,
bringing an end to this daunting list. Locked in each other's arms,
they gave over trying to convince each other why they should not be
married. He cupped her chin between his fingers and fiercely
demanded her answer.

"So, will you marry me, or do you intend to
condemn Jarvis and me to a lifetime of utter propriety?"

"Oh, no, I would never do that. I mean, yes,
Ravenel, I will marry you."

The completely unrestrained smile of joy that
he gave her caused Gwenda's heart to ache with loving him.

"My darling," he said, crushing her tightly
against him, then added after a brief pause, "Under the
circumstances, could you not begin to call me Desmond?"

"I could never call you that under any
circumstances," Gwenda said firmly. Then she sighed.
"Roderigo."

"Oh, no!" Ravenel shuddered. "Absolutely
not."

"My love," Gwenda amended.

Since Lord Ravenel had no objection
whatsoever to this manner of address, the pact was sealed with a
kiss.

The moon rose slowly in the night sky, its
gentle white light parting the mists to shine softly upon three
figures silhouetted by the sea…the lady Gwenda strolling by the
side of her dark-haired lover. And, of course, her dog.

Author Susan Carroll began her career in
1986, writing historical romance and regencies, two of which were
honored by Romance Writers of America with the RITA award. She has
written twenty six novels to date. Her St. Leger series received
much acclaim. The Bride Finder was honored with a RITA for Best
Paranormal Romance in 1999. Ms. Carroll launched a new series with
the publication of The Dark Queenl set during the turbulent days of
the French Renaissance. Ms. Carroll was born in Latrobe, Pa. She
spent much of her childhood in South Jersey where she graduated
from Oakcrest High School in Mays Landing. She attended college at
Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where she earned a B.A. in
English with a minor in history. She currently resides in
Illinois.

Coming soon,
The Sugar Rose
---another
award winning Regency by Susan Carroll. Continue reading for a
sample chapter.

Chapter One

"Aurelia Sinclair loves Lord Justin
Spencer."

Aurelia's green eyes widened in mortification
when she realized she had absentmindedly scrawled those words onto
the flyleaf in her latest volume of Byron's poetry. Bad enough to
indulge in such romantic nonsense when she was only fifteen, but at
the sensible age of three and twenty, she ought to know better.

Justin, she reminded herself sternly, had not
ridden to Sinclair Manor this morning to propose marriage as a
result of any passionate devotion. No, he came only to do what had
been long expected of him by both the Sinclair and Spencer
families. If Aurelia looked for any warmer emotion from him other
than friendship, then she was a fool.

"Giddings will be showing Lord Spencer
upstairs at any moment now." The reedy voice of her elderly
companion, Mrs. Elfreda Perkins, startled Aurelia from her unhappy
thoughts. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Thrusting the book deep inside her
workbasket, Aurelia straightened, raising one hand to the back of
her head. Not so much as a strand of silken auburn hair escaped the
crown of tightly woven braids. She tugged at the high-standing
frills of her lace collar and shook out the folds of her saffron
morning dress, wishing she had worn her comfortable, plain gray
serge gown. The gossamer yards of clinging yellow furbelows did
little to enhance her figure. But then, Aurelia thought with a
grimace as she placed her hands upon her plump waistline, the
fabric had yet to be woven that could accomplish that feat.

"I suppose I am as ready as I ever shall be."
Her heart did a nervous flutter.

"Good. Then I shall whisk myself out of
here." Effie said, tittering. She raised her brows in a look that
was meant to be arch, but gave her more the appearance of a
surprised owl. "I should be infinitely
de trop
when Lord
Spencer drops to one knee and asks a certain question."

Effie stood on tiptoe to give Aurelia a swift
kiss before skipping out of the sunlit music room. Aurelia winced.
She thought it bad enough that Justin's mama had dropped "just a
hint" to Aurelia herself to expect his lordship's proposal directly
after breakfast, but it seemed that everyone from Effie down to the
lowliest cook-maid was also privy to the secret that his lordship
was finally coming to the point.

The sound of footsteps on the marble landing
outside the door alerted Aurelia to the nearness of Justin's
approach. Quickly she sat down upon the high-backed red velvet
sofa, dragging her embroidery frame from her workbasket in an
attempt to appear as if nothing occupied her mind except for the
altar cloth she stitched to donate to the church.