Maggie MacKeever (29 page)

“Thank you,” responded Sir Avery, much moved. “I do not mean to restrict your movements, Nikki, but I think I must ask you to eschew other laps once we are wed. As for the gentlemen who have taken to haunting your bedchamber—not that I think there is anything in it, of course—”

“I should hope you don’t!” With a futile and altogether enchanting attempt at severity, Lady Sweetbriar sat up. “You must not be jealous of Duke;
that
was done with a very long time ago. Not that I blame you for wondering if I still hankered after him; I did myself. But I knew when he kissed me—er.” She looked adorably guilty. “And so did he!”

“I am glad to hear it.” Sir Avery was wry. “Because I expect he is going to marry Clytie.”

Lady Sweetbriar’s dark eyes opened wide. “Marry— Then it is not a hopeless passion. I am so glad! Or perhaps I’m not. Have you thought that Duke may be on the dangle for a fortune? It is difficult to believe it of him, but the wretch did steal my purse right off my bed!” She realized the implications of that last remark. “You will be wondering what Duke was doing in my bedchamber, I daresay. You must not blame Duke; I invited him there.” That explanation was no better, she decided. “Oh, rats! I do not suppose you will believe that I was
not—”

“I know you were not,” interrupted Sir Avery, taking a firmer grip on Lady Sweetbriar, who in her agitation was bouncing about. “It is you who are the harsh judge, Nikki. I suspect Mr. Thorne relieved you of your purse only to prevent you taking French leave.”

Lady Sweetbriar snuggled very close to her fiancé, her arms around his neck, her breath warm on his cheek. “Why should Duke care if I left or not? He has no partiality for me. Moreover, that doesn’t explain why he took away my fur tippet, too. But if you say he is not on the dangle for a fortune—”

“He is not.” So unaverse was Sir Avery to Lady Sweetbriar’s snuggling that he held her closer yet, and turned his head so that their lips brushed. “I had investigations made. I suppose I had better confess, Nikki, that I also had investigations made when I met you.”

“Hmm?” How could she have been so shortsighted as to think Avery was not ardent? mused Nikki. If his current activities were any indication, he was wonderfully so. “Investigations?”

“Um.” Sir Avery’s mind was not on the conversation either. “So you see you did not bamboozle me.” And then he abandoned all further attempt at rational discourse and kissed Nikki’s pretty lips, and chin, and throat.

“Avery,” she murmured, some considerable time later. “I do not deserve you, and I know it, but I am determined to
try!
I shall not flirt with anyone but you ever again, and I am resolved to never fall into another scrape.” She nuzzled his neck. “I discover that I am grown prodigious fond of you! But that reminds me that you have never said why you wish to marry me.”

Sir Avery saluted her delicate earlobe. “Because I love you,” he said simply, before embracing her again.

“Avery,” whispered Lady Sweetbriar, later still, when his kisses had reached a point best left undisclosed. “Why the devil have you waited so long to do this?”

Sir Avery raised his head, his expression so extremely ardent that Nikki’s breath caught. “Because I knew that once I started, I wouldn’t wish to stop.”

Dimpling, Lady Sweetbriar tangled her fingers in her fiancé’s sandy hair, drew his head back down against her breast. “Then don’t stop!
Ever!”
she replied huskily.

In this highly satisfying manner, the dilemma of Lady Sweetbriar was at last resolved; and in years to come Nikki and Sir Avery did in fact devote a large proportion of their time to snuggling and related activities. Sir Avery did not give up all interest in other pursuits, and wisely diverted his wife’s excess energies—or what little excess energy was left after all their cuddling—to the British Museum. Nikki became a figure as familiar within those hallowed halls as Sir Avery himself, and only the most small-minded of the staff complained about their affectionate manner, which on one never-forgotten occasion inspired Sir Avery to kiss the tip of her nose in the presence of royalty.

A similar felicity was granted to the others involved in the last of her ladyship’s scrapes. No less affectionate toward one another were Sir Avery’s daughter and son-in-law, though less prone to public display. In years to come, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne traveled extensively, first of all to Russia, where they passed a winter enjoying the theater in St. Petersburg, the Convent of the Virgins, and the Polrovsky Cathedral and the Kremlin in Moscow, and somewhere between the two gave birth to their first son in a troika. So little overset were Mr. and Mrs. Thorne by this bizarre occurrence that scant days later they were engaged in a bear hunt, which both immensely enjoyed.

Lord Sweetbriar and his lady also snuggled frequently, which his lordship secretly suspected was why Regina turned into a remarkably biddable wife, even managing to be civil to Nikki, which was the one stipulation made by Sir Avery when he restored the Sweetbriar jewels. But even though she at last had possession of the gems she had so long coveted, Regina was the only participant in Nikki’s final scrape who was left less than content. Perhaps it was in her nature to be a teeny bit dissatisfied. Or perhaps Regina’s lingering chagrin was the fault of Sir Avery, who had a secret resolution that Regina’s jewels would never be so fine as those of her stepmama-in-law.

Writing has always been Maggie MacKeever's great love. Her first story, written in the third grade about a witch who lived in a tree, has perhaps fortunately been lost. A fascination with Georgette Heyer's Regency England led to her first book for Fawcett Crest, LORD FAIRCHILD'S DAUGHTER. Following that came numerous other Regencies for Fawcett, a couple of Regencies for Pocketbooks, three historical romances, a hardback romance for Doubleday, and a series starring an eccentric mystery-solving Baroness. A divorce melt-down left her in no mood to write romances, and she took a break. She swears procrastination had nothing to do with that break having lasted fifteen years. Now that she's finally returned to the romance field, and remembers how much she enjoyed it, she wonders why she ever left.

Visit Maggie MacKeever's website at: http://www.maggiemackeever.com

Copyright © 1982 by Maggie MacKeever

Originally published by Fawcett Coventyr (0449502708)

Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.