One Wedding and an Earl (The Duchess Society Book 4) by Tracy Sumner

Author:Tracy Sumner [Sumner, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WOLF Publishing
Published: 2023-01-18T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

WHERE AN EARL SEEKS A COMPROMISE

A roaring fire blazed in the hearth. Crisp silk covered a feather mattress he’d plumped himself. Lit tallows on every surface until the chamber was bathed in balmy illumination. Champagne for her, tea for him. Fresh wheat bread from the village baker, and the best Stilton in Derbyshire, should they need sustenance. He’d even placed some blooming flower he’d snipped from the garden in his mother’s favorite vase.

A ghost of a smile curved Stanford’s lips as he glanced around what was undeniably a romantic presentation. Wooing when wooing wasn’t required.

Not when the chit in question had already said yes.

He tapped his knuckle on the rain-streaked windowpane, searching the murky darkness. He thought she had, anyway. To the west, the last vestiges of a dazzling sunset gilded the sky burnt orange and blue. The rolling hills and valleys he cherished spread beneath it. Another ten minutes, and he was going to the house to find her. If she’d decided against this gambit, which was her prerogative, he wanted to know. Blow out the damned candles and be done with this haunted place.

He was restless, like his lone thoroughbred, Mathis, before stud sessions. Stanford laughed, his breath fogging the glass. Necessity was a bit like an undomesticated filly—when he’d never had a gift with horses. Galloping across the meadows until his blood cooled, maybe, but never with taming. He’d never cared enough to try. When this woman made him desperately want to.

The comparison to his favored mount would have enraged her, which pleased him.

A blast of frenzied anticipation hit him when he saw her striding through the milky mist, a cloak of uncertain color whipping her ankles. She’d shoved a hat, an ugly, crumpled piece in her morose style, atop her head, an effort to control her mass of riotous curls.

Her hair, the color of every shade of honey, was his favorite thing about her. Aside from her wit. Her intelligence. Her temper. The sleek curve of her hip. Her smile. Her breasts. He released a tense breath and leveled his hand through his hair. Her breasts were spectacular.

He stared, his desire increasing a notch with each step she took. Fortunately, he held back when he felt like flinging the door open and yanking her into his arms. Into a dwelling he hadn’t imagined inhabiting ever again. Seizing her mouth, swallowing whatever stinging comments she’d think to make, toss her on the bed and… oh, so many things filled his mind. An exhaustive series of lewd images. His body braced for the passionate onslaught.

She brought out sentiments long departed, a flicker of what felt like happiness. A nagging, foreign sensation in the region of his heart.

He gripped the windowpane until his knuckles paled, forcing emotion deep. Too much enthusiasm would spook the filly. And happiness with a woman hell-bent on returning to a city he no longer had any use for—that was, in fact, lethal for him—would never work.

Notwithstanding the earl-gardener-rank issue, which he truly didn’t give a fig about.

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