Authors: Lynne Barron
Taming Beauty (19 page)
“You’ll likely invite my sisters, all five, soon to be six, to country house parties every autumn. Goodness, I’ll be tormented with pall-mall on the lawn and romps over the moors.”
“Say yes, and you’ll never see hide nor hair of the ladies, though I make no promises in regards to your grandmother.” And there it was, a full-fledged pout, lower lip pushed out and heavy brows drawn low over molten eyes. “Alabaster Sinclair is a feisty bit of muslin, same as her granddaughter.”
“And Dunaway—”
“For Christ sake, what will it take to make you say yes?” His deliciously gravelly voice echoed around the empty library, thrilling Lilith to the core and amusing her to no end. “Only tell me what you want and it is yours, if you will just say you will marry me!”
“I want all of it,” she replied on a gurgle of laughter. “A wedding in the little stone church with your Cornish brethren belting out hymns. A life in the country, chasing grasshoppers over our land, with sticky-fingered, grubby faced children clutching my skirts and chattering incessantly. House parties with your family and mine, including Dunaway, spending afternoons playing pall-mall and evenings trading bawdy stories across the dinner table. I even want a ready-made dress or two, though only day dresses. No evening gowns, as a baron’s wife must adhere to certain standards of elegance.”
“Lilith, my love,” Jasper murmured, his eyes going soft and a smile teasing his lips. “Are you saying yes?”
“I love you.” Lilith gave him the words he truly needed to hear, if not the ones he was after. “Quite madly, in fact.”
“And you’ll marry me?” Jasper hefted Lilith clear off the floor and pressed a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet and infinitely gentle.
“Yes, you daft man, I’ll marry you,” Lilith replied, smiling against his lips. “After all, I led you down the primrose path, didn’t I?”
“Which path shall we take?” Lilith raised one hand to shade her eyes as she looked up at the jagged line of the cliffs. “Meg said there are two, a short, easy path leading down to the beach and a long, difficult path climbing to the highest bluff.”
“Which would you prefer?” Jasper asked his bride of less than two hours, though he imagined he already knew the answer.
“Why, the tricky path that puts me on top of the world, of course.”
“Are you certain you want to traipse along the cliffs in your wedding finery?” Jasper reached for her hand, surprised when she met him halfway, lacing her fingers through his and giving him a little squeeze.
“I’m certain I want to steal a few moments alone with my husband,” the new Lady Malleville replied with a sultry laugh. “And Lord knows we aren’t likely to find much privacy in a house bursting at the seams with our various relations.”
“We might have freed up a chamber had we simply allowed your grandmother and her fellow to bunk down together.” He led her to the foot of the dirt trail, carefully maneuvering around a boulder and a patch of slippery marsh grass.
“Jasper, we have six innocent, unmarried girls under our roof. It is up to us to have a care for the proprieties.”
His heart gave an odd, almost painful extra thump only to speed up as if marking an altered tempo, an altogether new rhythm. We. Our. Us.
“In fact, I rather think Kate is enjoying sharing a chamber with Annalise, as they haven’t seen one another since the unfortunate tree climbing incident,” Lilith continued, blithely unaware she’d knocked his world askew yet again. “Honestly, I remember Miss Beaumont as having a bit more forbearance than to expel Kate and Harry simply for climbing out the window to rescue their sister from a marriage far, far better than she deserved.”
“I thought they climbed down the window to ride to your rescue,” he pointed out.
Lilith waved her free hand in a graceful arch. “La, it hardly matters which sister they intended to rescue. It’s all part and parcel of the same happily-ever-after.”
Jasper pondered her words as they made their way slowly up the steep incline hand in hand. He’d argued against Lilith staying on in London when he’d returned to Breckenridge to act as auctioneer to Cheltenham and his brother, known to the elderly contingent of London as Wherewithal. But it seemed as if the weeks she’d spent in London had softened her heart where her sisters were concerned. Even toward the prickly, haughty Harry, who’d returned from Scotland with Alabaster and her twin, the scandalous Bathsheba Sinclair, only just barely in time for the wedding.
“How did Dunaway manage to spirit the Ladies Priscilla, Annalise and Madeline from London?”
“I rather doubt the countess knows the girls have left Town, let alone journeyed to Cornwall,” Lilith replied. “Apparently, the countess has eyes and ears only for the long-awaited heir. Poor little William, he’s likely to be spoiled to the point of petulance. A terribly unattractive quality in a man, petulance.”
“But pouting isn’t?”
“Not the way you wear it, darling,” she drawled. “All masculine bluster and banked virility just primed to break free of all restraint. Why, it’s quite dastardly, how devastatingly handsome you are in the midst of a full-fledged tantrum.”
Jasper barked out a laugh, amused and not a little bit flattered by her words.
“Truly, Jasper, how you managed to roam wild until I had the good sense to tame you is one of life’s greatest mysteries.”
“Tamed me, have you?”
“Never fear, I shall allow you to run quite wild from time to time, even run amok on occasion.”
“As I did last night?” He paused a moment when they reached the top of the cliff, allowing her to come abreast of him. “I know I was a bit rough with you but, hell, it had been nearly a month.”
“You were quite the beast last night,” she agreed, peering at him from the corner of her eye. “I never knew two people could make love in such a position, let alone how positively divine it would feel. And here I thought my education well-rounded.”
“Your education, along with the rest of you, is wickedly well-rounded.” Turning to the left, he set off to take the well-trodden path running along the jagged bluff.
Lilith’s hand slipped from his and he spun around to find her standing as still as a marble statue but for the riot of short, spiky curls whipping on the wind and the skirts of her wedding gown, a confection of gossamer thin cream lace over palest green silk without a ruffle or bow, tangling around her legs.
“My God,” she whispered, and again, “My God.”
“Lilith?”
“It’s…I never…look at it…Jasper…it’s so…I can’t...”
“Have you never seen the ocean?” he asked, though the answer was all too obvious.
“I’ve seen rivers and ponds…but this…it’s so…vast…endless…I feel dizzy…or something rather like it.”
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked in alarm.
In answer, Lilith walked to the edge of the precipice and peered down at the waves lapping on the beach below. “I thought the water would be still and glassy. Why would I think such a thing when I’ve heard the waves crashing against the rocks?”
Jasper reclaimed her hand and held tight lest she lose her precarious balance on the rocky embankment. Positioning himself at her side to block the worst of the wind, he studied her profile as she looked out over the sea.
Thus, they stood for long minutes, Lilith entranced by the ocean, Jasper entranced by the woman.
Until a lone tear trickled down her cheek.
“Lilith, love?” Jasper whispered, undone by that single tear.
“It quite makes one feel inconsequential, doesn’t it?” Lilith’s voice was so soft he had to strain to hear the words over the crashing of the waves.
“There is nothing inconsequential about you, Lilith Eve Marie Grimley, Baroness Malleville,” Jasper replied around the lump in his throat. “Nor will there be anything inconsequential about our life together.”
“We’re going to be blissfully happy, aren’t we?” Lilith’s fingers tightened around his and her head came to rest on his upper arm as naturally as if she’d been placing it there, just so, for years.
Jasper Edward Grimley, the Beast of Breckenridge pressed a kiss to his bride’s wind-tousled, cropped curls. “Blissfully happy.”
And so they were.
Blissfully happy between bouts of sheer madness, what with Dunaway and his daughters forever embroiling them in one scheme or another.
All of them ending happily ever after.
The End
Lynne Barron always wanted to be a writer, if only she could decide what to write. Everyone told her write about what you know. It wasn’t until she married her wonderfully romantic husband that she was able to follow the advice. Lynne lives in Florida with her husband, son and a menagerie of rescued pets.
Lynne enjoys hearing from her readers. Please feel free to contact her at [email protected] or on her website
lynnebarron.com
.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for taking the time to read Taming Beauty. If you enjoyed Lilith and Jasper’s story, please take a moment to post a review. Even one or two sentences on Amazon, Goodreads or your favorite book review site can make a world of difference to an author, as well as to readers in search of their next great story.
If you enjoy Sensual Historical Romance, please read on for a sneak peek at Portrait of Passion, Idyllwild Book One.
Thank you,
Lynne Barron
Prologue
Chateau De Fontaine
On the outskirts of Paris
March 1827
Beatrice watched him from the shadowy alcove, half-hidden behind a leafy green fern in a tall gilded planter. The handsome young man in a peacock-blue waistcoat and fine gray breeches wandered around the room, stopping to flirt with a pretty young lady here, to chat with a dissolute poet there. His artfully tousled blond curls gleamed in the soft light from a hundred candles. His merry blue eyes twinkled when he laughed. He laughed often.
Just like his father. Everything about him reminded Beatrice of the father. From his tall, muscular frame to his rich voice with its clipped upper-crust English accent, he was his father’s son.
Only the eyes were different. The former Earl of Hastings had possessed the deepest, warmest brown eyes, eyes a sheltered and naïve girl could not help but trust. The young Earl of Hastings’ eyes were a vibrant blue, as blue as the English sky on a cloudless summer day.
Beatrice waited. She waited for her rapid heartbeat to slow, she waited for her sluggish brain to speed up, she waited for her limbs to cease trembling. If there was one thing Miss Beatrice Morgan excelled at, it was waiting. She had been waiting for nearly a decade for the chance to reclaim her life, the life only this young nobleman could return to her.
Suddenly the earl looked away from the evening’s hostess with whom he was conversing. He looked up and across the room. As if he sensed her presence in the shadows, his gaze found her across the room.
The earl’s eyes widened, drifted over her face, lingered for a moment on her lips, before dropping to sweep down her slender form adorned in flowing gold silk. He raised his gaze to hers, the merest hint of a smile upon his lips, his head tilted slightly, studying her as if she were an exotic creature, an angel dropped down from heaven to entertain him. How many times had Beatrice seen the very same expression on his father’s face?
Beatrice held her breath.
Would he recognize her?
But no. She did not exist in his world. The Earl of Hastings could no more recognize Beatrice than he could recognize a hard day’s work, an honest word, or a shilling well-earned. Foolish, naïve aristocrat. Just like his father.
The earl gave a small shake of his head and straightened. He puffed out his chest and pulled at his lace cuffs, his eyes fixed on her, his smile an invitation.
And just like that, Beatrice felt a blanket of calm descend over her. He was just a man. The thought warmed her, steadied her. He would be easily led, just like any other man. She had only to lead him where she wished him to go.
Beatrice stepped from the dim alcove into the soft yellow light of the candles. Her mind was amazingly clear. As she walked across the long marble floor, sweeping gracefully toward the Earl of Hastings, a plan was forming, taking shape. It was a plan born of the desperation and hope she had harbored in her heart for nine long years, born of the obsession that had colored every facet of her life during those lonely, lost years.
Beatrice smiled as she approached the young man, held the smile upon her lips as she dropped into a curtsy so low, so graceful, so perfectly deferential, she might have been bowing before King George himself.
