Huntford and Ben glared at each other; they were fairly well matched at issuing withering looks. “You know my intentions are honorable.”
“Do I, Foxburn?”
“Of course. But I require some time with Daphne. Alone.”
“Be careful. Or the next time you and I meet we’ll both be holding dueling pistols.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Huntford guided Anabelle and the rest of the women—except for Daphne—into his carriages. “We’ll see.”
Ben took Daphne’s hand in his. “Will you ride with me?”
She smiled and stepped up into the cab of his coach.
He instructed the driver to take the circuitous route through the park, climbed in, and sat on the seat beside Daphne. Even in the relative darkness, she shimmered softly, glowing like the goddess of the moon.
“I’m so glad that ordeal is over.” She sank into the velvet squabs and sighed happily. “And I’m glad to be here with you.”
He took her hand in his and gently tugged at the fingers of her glove. “I suspect anywhere would be preferable to that scandal-hungry ballroom.”
“How did you do it?”
“The painting?”
She nodded.
“Thomas is back in town. Rose snuck the dress out of your room.”
“
Rose
?”
“She modeled it for Thomas at the frame shop, which we broke in—”
Daphne shook her head. “Maybe you’d better spare me the details.”
Slowly, he pulled at her glove, revealing the creamy skin of her forearms, inch by delectable inch. He lowered his head, kissing and lightly nibbling a trail from her elbow to her wrist. She moaned, making his cock go hard.
“Yes, this is definitely preferable to Lord Foley’s ball,” she breathed.
But seduction was not the first order of business—damn it to hell.
“Daphne… I missed you.”
She sat up and smiled shyly. “You did?”
“I missed the way you laugh and the way you brighten every room you set foot in. And the way you fuss over me.”
“I thought you didn’t like me playing nurse.”
He grinned wickedly. “I lied.”
“Oh.”
“That night we spent together at Biltmore Manor… I know I shouldn’t have…”
“Do you regret that night?” Daphne asked.
“God no. Do you?”
She was silent for the space of several heartbeats. “No.”
Ben exhaled. “That’s good. If you’d said yes, this next part would be very awkward.”
“Which part?”
“The part where I tell you that earlier tonight I asked your brother-in-law for your hand in marriage.”
Daphne made a sound that was half squeak, half cry. “Wait. You asked Owen if you could—”
“Marry you.”
She swallowed. “And he said…?”
“That it was up to you. And your mother, of course. And he told me that if you said yes, I was one lucky bastard. Which I already knew.”
“I’m lucky, too.” Daphne sniffled. “Ben, you saved me—and more importantly, my family and friends—from top billing in the scandal sheets. You bid on the painting and donated more money to the orphanage—you knew I’d say the orphanage, didn’t you?”
“I had an inkling.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a soft spot for the girls.”
He scoffed at the suggestion. “I don’t want to talk about the blasted orphanage.”
“All right, then.” She pulled him closer, touching her nose to his. “What would you like to talk about?”
He swallowed the knot in his throat. There were very few things he couldn’t be glib about. This was one of them. “Our future. Us. Together. That’s what I want… because… I love you.”
He waited for her to say something. Anything.
Her lips parted and her eyes turned watery. And then she took his face in her hands and kissed him like maybe she loved him, too. That’s what he would have liked to think, anyway.
They kissed like lovers who’d been reunited after a decade. She was all light and goodness; he was darkness and pain. And yet, they were so right together. Being with her was like coming home.
Her tongue tangled sweetly with his and he pulled her closer, wanting the moment to last, trying to imprint it upon his soul.
“You haven’t answered, Daphne. I know you deserve a hell of a lot better than me. But I love you and
will
love you with every corner of my black heart for the rest of my days. I’ll spend every hour trying to be a better man. Please… say you’ll marry me.”
She swiped at her eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Of course I will. I love you, Ben. Not because of your injury or what you did for me or the orphanage, but because of who you are. You challenge me to grow, make me laugh, and make me feel… incredible. I don’t want you to change.”
Joy flooded his chest. “I’m going to make you so happy.”
“I’m counting on it,” she said seductively. “You know, you’re saddling yourself with a woman with a rather wanton past.”
“If I have anything to say about it, your future will be wanton, too. Can we make a brief detour to my house? There’s something I want to show you.”
She arched a brow wickedly. “Is there?”
“Not
that
. Well, yes, that.” He banged on the roof of the coach. “You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, they rolled up in front of his town house. He pulled a cloak from beneath the seat and wrapped it around her shoulders so she wouldn’t be recognized if someone rode by as they walked to the door. Once they were inside, he dismissed the butler and led Daphne to his bedchamber, whispering naughty things in her ear all the way up the stairs. They arrived at his room, breathless from running and laughing.
He backed her against a wall and kissed her soundly in the hallway before swinging open the door. “This,” he said, gesturing to the wall opposite the bed, “is what I wanted to show you.”
Daphne froze. There was her portrait—the one on the sapphire chaise. The one she’d posed for in a chilly, abandoned factory. The one that had earned her a few coins to help her family. The one that had brought her and Ben together.
“It’s yours,” he said. “We had a deal. If you could cure me, it was to be yours.”
“But I haven’t cured you.” Her brow furrowed adorably. “Have I?”
“Not completely. I’ll probably always be an ass. But I’d like to think I’ve made strides. The point is, the portrait
belongs to you. No one can ever hold it over your head again. If you want to destroy it, you may. The decision is entirely yours.”
Hers. Two months ago, she’d have given anything to hear him say that. And she would have jumped at the chance to erase the evidence of her wanton past. But now… she was rather proud of it. “I don’t think we need to destroy it, although, I would prefer to keep it in a private room.”
“Here?” he asked, hope evident in his clear blue eyes.
“If it pleases you.”
“It does.
Everything
about you does.”
“How about this?” She shrugged the cape off her shoulders and let it pool at her feet.
“Definitely.”
Slowly, she slid off her remaining glove, removed the pins from her hair, and glided to the bed.
“How shall I please
you
?” he said, laying her across the soft counterpane. He plucked her slippers from her feet and caressed a path from her ankle, to her knee, and up her thigh. Her skin tingled deliciously.
“This is a very good start.”
After that, there was very little talking.
Ben removed every stitch of her clothing, and she removed his. He kissed her everywhere. Likewise, he let her explore to her heart’s content. He didn’t flinch when she lightly traced the scars on his leg and the twisted muscles of his thigh.
They made love slowly at first, but then neither of them was content with the leisurely pace. She arched her back and pulled him closer with her legs. Ben groaned and rocked against her faster, in a rhythm that took over her
body like the graceful yet powerful crest of a wave. It carried her higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go and she shattered into beautiful bits of light.
Ben did, too. He held her close and she savored the feel and smell of his skin against hers as the glorious tremors subsided, leaving her content, happy… and rather famished.
Daphne wished they could stay like this all night—assuming a tray was brought up, of course—with their legs entwined and their foreheads touching. Soon, they would be able to spend
every
night like this. She couldn’t wait.
“I forgot to tell you,” Ben said. “Lord Charlton wrote me. He’s much improved and is indebted to you for your kind concern and the herbs you left. He says his memory improves every day.”
Daphne preened. She couldn’t help it.
“He thinks the English Beauty and I would make a lovely couple.”
“I’d have to agree.”
“Do you know what I wish?”
“What?”
“That I could paint you just as you are… right now.”
Oh no. “I’m done with posing for paintings.” Her stomach growled, however, and a thought occurred to her. “We might do a little painting of our own. With melted chocolate perhaps? And strawberries?”
Not surprisingly, Ben was in favor of the suggestion.
Indeed, he showed promising signs of being a
most
indulging husband.
“Sensual and solid, this debut is a story demanding to be read. The characters are believable and relatable, and Barton smartly blends issues of morality and Regency era social class with passion and excitement.”
—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“Delightfully smart, fun, fast-paced and just different enough for readers to take note of Barton’s charming voice, this novel is filled with wry humor, and compassion intrigues readers. The intrepid heroine, arrogant hero, memorable secondary characters and the colorful depiction of the era add to the reading enjoyment.”
—
RT Book Reviews
“Break out the bubbly for Anne Barton’s delightful debut!”
—Vicky Dreiling, bestselling author of
How to Ravish a Rake
“
When She Was Wicked
is a delightful debut! Anne Barton’s cast of characters is charming and witty. Owen is the type of hero that readers fall in love with from the very first introduction, and Anabelle is ingenious and resourcefully cunning—a girl after my own heart.”
—Tiffany Clare, author of
Midnight
Temptations with a Forbidden Lord
“5 stars! I predict great things from this author. Anne Barton will become an author to watch. Her voice is strong and unique. Her writing is reminiscent of historical heavy-hitters such as Julia Quinn, Tessa Dare and Lorraine Heath. Her endearing characters and eloquent writing make her one of the most promising new authors in this genre… I can’t wait to read her next book.”
—LongandShortReviews.com
Don’t miss
from award-winning author Anne Barton
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London, 1817
A
ny girl with a smidgen of good sense would have given up on James Averill years ago.
Olivia Sherbourne’s problem was not so much a lack of good sense as it was an abundance of stubbornness. She’d pined after James for ten long years. No matter that he gave her scarce little encouragement; her patience was born out of a love that was deep, abiding, and true.
Also, she’d once seen his naked chest.
It was magnificent. And it had sustained her for the better part of a decade.
The mere memory of his bare, muscled torso glistening in the afternoon haze turned her bones to jelly, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.
“It’s your move.” Rose, Olivia’s younger sister, serenely inclined her head toward the chess board between them.
As Olivia frowned at her precariously positioned rook, the truth of Rose’s words struck her. It
was
her move.
And time was running out.
“I was thinking about James,” Olivia admitted.
Rose had suffered through scores of one-sided conversations about the handsome solicitor that had begun in precisely this manner. To her credit, however, she didn’t roll her eyes or throw up her hands in exasperation. She deserved some sort of sisterly award.
“About his expedition?”
Olivia nodded. At dinner last evening, their brother, Owen, the Duke of Huntford, had casually mentioned that James would travel to Egypt where he’d participate in an archaeological dig—for two years.
Two years.
Which meant Olivia would be four and twenty when he returned. It was too long to wait—even if James did have a chest that rivaled Apollo’s.
Olivia looked around the elegant sea-green drawing room to make sure she and Rose were quite alone. “He leaves in three months. That’s all the time I have.”
“For what?”
“To make him fall in love with me.” Of course, she would first have to make him notice her. And treat her as something other than a piece of furniture that one avoided so as not to stub a toe.
Rose’s brow furrowed with sympathy. “I know how fond you are of Mr. Averill, but I’m not certain it’s possible to
make
someone fall in love.”
Blast Rose’s inclination toward logic and reason.
“I must try.” Olivia sprang to her feet and the skirt of her dress caught the corner of the chessboard, toppling
most of the pieces, which was just as well. Rose had been two moves away from trouncing her.
Olivia paced before the dormant fireplace, hands propped on her hips. “If he knew his attentions would not be unwelcome, perhaps he would dare to court me. Is it possible I’ve been too coy where he’s concerned?”
Rose blinked, swallowed and opened her mouth to reply.
“Don’t answer that.” Hearing Rose recount each time Olivia had worn a daring gown or turned her ankle or read a bit of moving poetry solely with the purpose of capturing James’s fancy would only humiliate her further. Because none of her ploys had worked.
“You must remember,” Rose said smoothly, “that Mr. Averill is a close friend of Owen’s. Our brother can be terribly intimidating.”