Miss Foxworth's Fate Page 9

  Abby chuckled and bit his chest gently, licking the small marks left by her teeth. “You’re a dreadful tease, Philip Ashton.”

  “Yes. Aren’t I, though?” He was too content to protest.

  Abby sighed.

  “Tell me, love. Tell me what made you throw yourself at me when I clambered, at great personal risk I might add, over your windowsill.” Philip eased back a little, trying to see what he could of her face in the shadows.

  Abby was silent for a moment and then began to talk.

  She told him the story she’d learned that day, and her tale bore out all the information his sister Rachel had given him, over which he’d struggled ever since. He needed to find the key, the right way to help her overcome all her worries and fears and realize that loving him was the only thing she could possibly do.

  Philip listened quietly as her words painted all kinds of pictures for him. A picture of a lonely young girl hearing things about her mother that had no business soiling such tender ears. A picture of a child growing up with a fear rooted deep in her soul that she would turn into a woman capable of deserting her family. A picture of a daughter struggling to make herself a place within the less-than-affectionate hearts of her parents.

  He grimaced, putting the pictures together and finally understanding her fear of such a deep commitment as marriage.

  He pulled her closer and dropped a light kiss on her head as her voice trailed off at the end of her sad tale, and he let the comfortable silence between them grow as he wondered how best to approach the situation. He knew, more than ever, that Abby was his. That they could share a wonderful life together.

  More than their bodies fit. Their minds fit. Their hearts fit. Their very souls were matched like identical peas in a pod.

  All he had to do was convince Abby.

  And that was going to take some careful thought.

  Chapter 11

  “Abby, how old are you?”

  Abby turned her head, surprised at the question. “I’m almost twenty-three. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  She felt his nod. “Yes. But did you?”

  She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  Philip drew a breath, making her head rise a little as his chest expanded. “I’m twenty-nine, sweetheart. We’re both adults. Grown-ups. Neither of us is an innocent sheltered seventeen-year-old, going into an arranged marriage. We’ve lived, Abby.”

  He stroked her arm and she wanted to purr at the sensation.

  “You have a mind that can outthink many of the scientists I’ve met. I’ve spent most of my life buried in the country, ignoring my sister’s urging to find a bride. We were both looking for something, someone, that special person who could make us feel complete in so many more ways than this...”

  His leg slid between hers, melding them even closer. “Although this is good too,” he chuckled.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a quick kiss. “Let me finish, love. Your mother found herself in an impossible situation at an unconscionably young age. Do you think for a moment that if you’d been born after she married her Count whatever-his-name-is, she’d have ever given you up?”

  Abby thought back to her impressions of the elegant woman who she’d met for the first time that day. She recalled the warmth and pain in her mother’s eyes as she’d related her story to her daughter.

  “Um. No, I suppose not.”

  Philip’s leg moved upwards, slipping into the notch between her thighs and settling itself comfortably against her tender folds. He sighed again, and she couldn’t stop a little smile from crossing her lips at the sound.

  “That’s the difference, Abby. She ended up in a marriage where there was no love, no sharing, no caring. Not like us.”

  He smoothed her body once more. He seemed to enjoy stroking her, and God knew she wasn’t about to object.

  “We have everything your mother didn’t. We love each other, Abby.” He pulled back slightly. “You do love me, don’t you?”

  Abby thought about that question.

  Her mind was as full of him as her body. Her heart whispered to her that she’d never find another who matched her so perfectly. And then she asked herself what her life would be like if he went back to his country home and she never saw him again.

  The bolt of pain that idea sent through her made her shiver with its intensity. “Oh yes, Philip. I truly believe that I do love you.”

  “Well, damn, woman. Don’t ever make me wait so long for an answer to that question. I swear I could hear my hair turning gray.”

  His laughter made her smile.

  And that was the secret. He could make her laugh. He could make her body sing, her soul fly, and within moments bring the joy of a shared joke to her heart. She wanted to be with him, to share with him, to...yes, to love him, for the rest of her life.

  “I do love you. I’ve been so scared to love anyone...”

  Philip snorted. “I doubt that, Abby. You’ve been scared of the idea of marriage. Of bearing a child and then deserting it, the way you thought your mother had deserted you. As far as loving anyone goes, well...” He grunted in disdain. “You just hadn’t met the right man. Me.”

  Abby grinned. He was such a typical male in so many respects, and so unique in others. Perhaps that was why she loved him. A soft warmth spread through Abby as her fears fled before his words, and a weight lifted from her shoulders. One she never even realized she was carrying.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed quietly. “I was so scared of being caught in a marriage with any one of the endless stream of buffoons Aunt Eugenia encouraged, and then meeting someone who could seduce me with a look, and...” She swallowed, trying to find the words.

  His arm tightened, giving her strength to go on. “And then leaving everything and everyone behind. Just like my mother had done to me.” Tears stung her eyelids as she let it out.

  “Now you know she had no choice, Abby,” said Philip. “No choice at all. And much as I hate to speak ill of your father, it was an untenable situation. He should never have made those stipulations.”

  Abby swallowed back her emotions, and nodded. “I know. Although it doesn’t surprise me now. He has always been...distant, I suppose would be the best way to describe it. Fair, and attentive on occasions when he wasn’t involved in some experiment or other. But not really seeing me, if you know what I mean?”

  “How about your step-mother? Was she kind to you?”

  Abby considered the question. “Yes, all things considered, she was. She had no children of her own with Papa, and I think she genuinely cared about me. I was so young when they married, of course, that I knew no other mother. I only learned of these things as I grew old enough to ask questions about what I heard. I was told simply that my mother had died, and that Laura was my mama now.”

  Abby thought back to her childhood years, remembering the soft, comfortable woman who had become Lady Foxworth. “She certainly did all that was appropriate in raising me. I had plenty of governesses, books, clothes, all the things I needed.”

  “Except for one, sweetheart.”

  She turned her head again and looked at him through the shadows, her eyebrows lifted with the unvoiced question.

  “You were missing out on love.”

  She wished she could see his eyes in the darkness and read the emotions she heard in his voice. They would flicker with heat and warmth and put her under his spell once more.

  She snorted to herself. As if she needed any help on that particular feeling.

  He cuddled her, stroking, soothing, murmuring how much he loved her and all the wonderful things they could spend the rest of their lives doing. And it would probably take that long, because the man certainly seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of wickedly wonderful suggestions.

  She squirmed as he breathed a particularly delicious thought into her ear. She blushed. “Philip. Is such a thing truly possible?”

  He laughed. “Abby, for us, all things
are possible.”

  She couldn’t help an answering grin. “Oh good.” She spread her arms and hugged him, taking enormous comfort from the steady beat of his heart as it quietly thumped beneath her head.

  “But you’ll have to agree to marry me, first, of course.”

  She stilled.

  “Face facts, Abby. You’ve compromised me quite dreadfully. If you don’t make an honest man of me, what the devil will our children think?”

  “They’ll think...” She smiled. “They’ll think that their father is a wicked, wicked man who can’t keep his hands off their mother.”

  Philip’s arms tightened. “And they’ll be absolutely right.”

  “Or, they might just believe that I was mesmerized. And I was.”

  He yawned. “I never mesmerized you, darling. You mesmerized me.”

  She smiled and settled herself comfortably. She’d surrendered to love. A new life was starting for her. A life filled with laughter and joy.

  She’d been mesmerized all right. One glance at Philip Ashton had been all it took for her to know, deep in her heart, where her future lay.

  In his eyes.

  *~~*~~*

  In the dark corridors of Foxworth house, an elderly figure moved quietly away down the dimly lit passage to her suite of rooms.

  The murmur of voices had ceased behind the door to which she quite shamelessly had been pressing her ear. A grin curled her wrinkled lips, and her cane made little sound on the carpeted floor.

  The Dowager Countess of Wexford was pleased. Her granddaughter had finally found a man she could love.

  The wrongs of the past, for which she felt horribly responsible, were on their way to being righted.

  And if they kept that sort of behavior up, she might just live to dandle her first great-grandchild on her knee.

  Now, the most important question remained.

  What the devil was she going to wear to the wedding?

  THE END

  About the Author

  Sahara Kelly is always happy to explain that her spelling errors aren’t really errors, since she was born and raised in England, where an extra “u” is quite in order. She likes to think it adds colour to her writing. Sadly, it’s not a widely held belief in the United States, so she’d like you to know she still retains a lot from her English childhood even though you won’t see much of it in her spelling.

  Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings. (She still cherishes that extra ”u” though.)

  After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding independent publishing scene. Being freed of restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time...” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)

  To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by and visit her website .

  This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life, but will present you with a list of books she'd like you to buy so that she can go do research on a beach in Aruba and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.

  When not dreaming of lazing on tropical beaches, Sahara has a relatively active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:

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  And if all that isn’t enough, you can stay on top of what’s on the way from Sahara’s fertile imagination by subscribing to her newsletter and keeping up to date with everything going on by clicking here. She doesn’t send them out too often, so you won’t be swamped with unwanted mail. Sahara loathes that and refuses to inflict it on anyone else so you can go ahead and subscribe without worrying about it.

  Also by Sahara Kelly: (*- co-written with S.L. Carpenter)

  Discreet Madness §

  The Viscount and the Witch

  My Lady Vampire (Anthology)

  Madam Charlie

  The Gypsy Lovers

  Letting Off Steam

  Winding Her Up

  Stripping Her Gears

  My Renaissance Romance

  Hired Help*

  Open House

  Suite 69*

  An Unkindness of Ravens

  A Watch of Nightingales

  A Siege of Herons

  My Wish

  My Prize

  My Hero

  Faerieland Needs YOU

  Sally Ann

  Suliana

  Thanael

  So Into You*

  And many more…

  *~~*~~*

  § = Amazon Kindle Best Seller, Spring 2015

  *Several of the above titles were co-written with friend and writing partner S.L. Carpenter. Together, they have a dozen or so books available, each featuring their trademark touches of humor and heat. Their most recent release is a brand new stand-alone story titled So Into You.

  This, and a whole bunch of Sahara Kelly’s other books, can be found online for your eReader at your favorite vendor. Quite a few are also in print. No excuses, people. You can add her stories to your bookshelves physically or digitally. Go get ‘em.

  *~~*~~*

  Sahara would like to mention that she’s recently initiated a new collaboration with her writing partner, S.L. Carpenter. They have blended another of their shared passions — art — and formed an online graphics business focusing on the complicated world of writers. If you’re interested in seeing what they get up to when they’re not writing something twistedly hot and sexy, they’d like to invite you to come visit their business at the link below and check out some of the amazing cover art currently being created by S.L. Carpenter. They’re certainly never bored…

  P and N Graphics, LLC

  Keep reading for a brief glimpse into the exciting Regency erotic romance that has stirred up Amazon readers…

  Discreet Madness

  By Sahara Kelly

  EXCERPT

  Chapter 1

  Looking at her reflection in the tall mirror, Miranda Montvale realized that this scheme was complete and utter madness.

  The neckline of her dress was definitely too low. She tugged, but nothing would make it rise more than a fraction of an inch and she was desperately afraid that if she sneezed her nipples would make their debut.

  It had to be one of the worst ideas she’d ever had. She turned to the woman seated behind her. “Are you sure about this dress, Letty?”

  Letitia Randolph stood and stretched, pushing her hand to her lower back to ease the ache.

  “I mean, being enceinte, you might be prey to some odd fancies, you know...”

  “Miranda, this is not an odd fancy. Nor is it actually my idea. Nor do I get ‘odd fancies’. I am expecting a child, not insane. Although I must admit there have been times when I’ve wondered if they were one and the same...” she sighed and eased her bulky body back onto the chair.

  Miranda turned back to the looking glass. “Well, it still looks indecent,” she complained, twisting this way and that to see her reflection.

  Letty sighed. “It’s supposed to look indecent. How are you going to catch Nicholas Barbour’s attention, let alone seduce him into bed, if you don’t look indecent?”

  Miranda bit her lip.

  “Look, ‘Randa, if you don’t want to go through w
ith this, I’ve told you that John and I will raise the money for you somehow...”

  Miranda immediately shook her head, sending fiery curls shimmering around her neck and shoulders. “You and John are the closest thing to family I have. You have your own responsibilities and problems, and I’ll not be the one to add to them. This plan will work. I know it...”

  “I hope you’re right. I still think that attempting to win ‘The Barb’s’ bet is a dangerous and silly plan. But I understand.” Letty looked down and smoothed her hand over her belly. “In fact, I have to confess that if it hadn’t been for John, well...I might have thought about...just thought about, you understand...”

  Miranda turned smiling eyes on her friend. “You mean you’d have joined the eager throng of women determined to satisfy Nicholas Barbour?”

  “Well, he is rather delicious-looking, all that hard muscle under those exquisitely cut jackets, and his thighs...Mmm.”

  “Letty.” admonished Miranda. “You’re a married woman.”

  “Yes, I know,” grinned Letty. “That’s a rather obvious fact right now,” she glanced down at the next generation of Randolphs. “And I’d never consider doing anything at all with anyone other than John, but let’s be honest, Nick Barbour is one glorious specimen of manhood.” She licked her lips.

  “A specimen who, apparently, is unable to reach his own satisfaction.” Miranda gazed at her reflection.

  “So ‘tis said. Have you seen him?”

  A brief impression of midnight blue eyes, wind tossed hair and an arrogant air flashed through Miranda’s mind. “Only once—while riding. He galloped past at a furious pace. And oh my, he did have very strong thighs...” She blushed.

  “That’s not the only thing that is supposed to be strong. You know why they call him ‘the Barb’?”