Duke of Storm by Gaelen Foley

Author:Gaelen Foley [Foley, Gaelen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Gaelen Foley
Published: 2017-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

The Coach House

As Maggie ventured into the cool, quiet, expansive space of the carriage house, she gazed with pleasure at her future husband.

It was risky of her to sneak in like this unchaperoned, but she could not deny that her heart welled up with champagne bubbles of delight at the mere sight of him: tall and powerful, elegantly dressed for the day in a smoke-gray tailcoat with a steel-blue paisley waistcoat. Exquisitely well-fitted ivory breeches hugged his legs, disappearing into shiny black boots.

He was indeed a specimen to behold, and Maggie couldn’t help thinking as she drifted toward him that such a husband could make even the most mild-mannered woman viciously possessive.

“You, sir,” she said, “are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Pshaw,” he teased, taking her hands and drawing her into his embrace.

She went without the slightest thought of protest, and as his strong arms encircled her, she smiled up at him, thinking how wonderful it was that she could say to him whatever popped into her mind.

It was how they had begun their strange acquaintance, and how they would always continue, she vowed.

Then he bent his head and brushed her lips softly with his own. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Good afternoon to you.” She smiled, gazing into his eyes, then she pulled him down by his nape to kiss her once more.

Closing her eyes, she reveled in his eager response. Connor deepened the kiss, tightening his embrace. They both ignored the sound of the man-door clicking closed several feet away, as some discreet soul outside—probably Will—gave the two of them their privacy.

Maggie wondered if the major had told his trusty followers yet that they were now engaged. But her musings dissolved as his mouth slanted over hers and his hands molded the curve of her waist, soundly claiming her anew.

As his firm hold inched down to her hips, his delicious tongue swirling against hers, Maggie could not stop herself from pressing her entire body flush against his. She could feel the stirring in his trousers against her belly.

He left her breathless several moments later, when he ended the kiss. He stood in silence for a moment, still holding her, as though he needed to collect his thoughts.

“Now that,” Maggie panted, “is what I’d call a proper greeting.”

He nodded with a low, charming laugh, then met her gaze with a roguish smile. “Aye.”

He took a deep breath and stepped back from her. He looked away, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Right. What was I doing, then?”

She laughed, feeling the glow of a blush in her cheeks. “That’s what I was wondering.”

“Well, it’s gone, whatever it was. You’ve stolen my wits again, dash you.”

“And I’m not giving them back.” She smiled like a troublemaker and wandered off to admire his luxurious coach house and all its fine vehicles, giving her wondrous fiancé a moment to compose himself.

Mellow wood-polish smells infused the coach house. As Maggie ambled by an opulent mahogany barouche with the top folded down, she could not resist a peek inside the gorgeous vehicle.

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