Leslie Lafoy (36 page)

“Cádiz?”

“According to Noland’s men, it was the first outbound ship she could find after we got away from Lucinda. She was
supposed
to come here and tell you that we’d gotten away and not to go when Lucinda sent for you.”

“Yes, well,” he said dryly, “she was supposed to marry George, too.”

Simone softly cleared her throat and then slowly said, “Speaking of marriage…”

Which she was clearly reluctant to do. “Yes?” he pressed.

“We have a bit of a problem,” she replied on a single rush of air. “Nothing,” she hurried to add, “that we can’t figure a way out of, I’m sure.”

“What sort of problem?”

“I have no idea of how it happened or why he thinks so,” she began. “But Drayton seems to be under the impression that we’re going to marry each other.”

It wasn’t how he’d intended to go about it all, but since the duke had let the proverbial cat out of the bag.… “He thinks we’re marrying, darling, because I asked him for his blessing.”

She blinked and he felt her pulse quicken. “You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” he assured her. “It was amid the running about right after you were kidnapped, but I distinctly remember the conversation. He felt compelled to warn me that you’re a terrible cook and that you have a tendency to graze about the kitchen and call it a meal. After which he said he doubted that we gave a flying rat’s ass what he thought and so he wouldn’t waste his time opposing us.”

Simone grinned, her heart soaring. Oh, life was good. Very, very good. And it was going to get even better. Not that she wanted to hurry through the process of getting there. “Drayton didn’t say ‘flying rat’s ass.’”

“No, I was embellishing.”

She smiled patiently, nodded, and then squeezed his hand. “Well, I’m sure that he won’t hold you to it,” she said softly. “That you can plead the strain of the crisis and all that.”

She was playing at reluctance. But because the games with her always ended with her in his arms, he was perfectly willing to go along. “And why would I want to beg out?”

“Why would you want to marry me?” she countered. “Drayton’s right. I’m the worst cook in the world.”

“I have a cook and don’t need another one.”

“I can’t sew or knit or embroider.”

“So? I have a tailor and if I want knitted or embroidered goods, I go to a haberdashery.”

“I’m a walking scandal, Tristan,” she countered, a hint of true concern eddying beneath the lightly spoken words. London’s already abuzz with the news that I stabbed you in the back. Literally.”

He cocked a brow and grinned through a wince. “I hardly think they’re terribly worked up over that. Not when they have the Lunatic Lockwoods’ latest—and decidedly greatest—debacle to discuss and dissect. Darling, I’m sorry, but a crazy sister, a murdered stepmother and coachman, two kidnappings, and an assault on an officer of Scotland Yard outdoes a slight knife wound. By at least a league.”

Ah, if ever there was a match made in heaven.… “Well, when you put it that way.… Why would I want to marry you?”

His grin went wicked. “I have steely muscles.” He pushed the bedcoverings lower on his hips, asking, “Would you like to see them?”

It was done, and they both knew it. Still … she undid the uppermost button of her blouse while saying, “You’re not the only man in the world with marvelous muscles and imperfections, you know.”

“True,” he allowed, reaching out to take care of the buttons on her skirt. “Would it give me a leg up on the others to know that I love you?”

“It would,” she admitted, softly, sincerely. She grinned. “But you have taken a blow to your head. Decency demands that you be given some time to regain your senses.”

He hooked his fingers in her waistband and hauled her closer. She went without resisting, her heart singing, and let him wrap her in his arms. “You can give me forever and a day,” he whispered, brushing his lips across hers, “and it’s not going to make any difference, Simone. I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you sat on that windowsill and dared me to chase you.”

“And now that you’ve caught me?”

“Are you? Caught?”

“Well and truly, Tristan. Happily. And I have been from the beginning. I’ve loved you since that moment you grinned and ever-so-efficiently cut my dress off me.”

“Really,” he murmured, clearly pleased with himself.

“And your bowline knot … I almost swooned.”

He laughed and eased his arms from around her. “It would appear that we’ve wasted a great deal of time,” he said, nimbly opening the upper buttons on her shirt. “What do you say to not wasting any more?”

She leaned beyond his easy reach, countering, “I’d say that physically taxing yourself isn’t a particularly good idea right this moment.”

He smiled, slowly, knowingly, fully aware of the effect on her. “Happy men heal quicker, you know.”

The breath she drew was a shallow one, but she held to her resolve and lightly replied, “Not if they tear open their wounds and bleed to death.”

Bleed to death? Not likely
. “I’m not going to tear anything open. Well, maybe the front of your shirt if you don’t move back here so I can undo the buttons.” She didn’t move. “You’re not going to be one of those worrying, always fussing and doting wives, are you?”

“If that’s what you’re hoping for,” she answered, chuckling and easing off the bed, “you’re in for a bitter disappointment.”

He wasn’t bitter, but he was definitely heading toward disappointed. “Where are you going?”

“Over here,” she answered, moving toward the skirted side table. “But I really ought to be going home. You know, reserve what’s left of the illusions of propriety and all.”

Propriety?
If that mattered to anyone at this point, Haywood would be standing at the foot of the bed, a disapproving frown firmly in place. Tristan reined in his smile and asked, “Is your brother-in-law’s faithful toady downstairs waiting to collect you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Darling, if Haywood doesn’t care, no one does. Besides, it’s way too late for us to even pretend that we care about propriety. As they say, that ship has sailed.”

She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. “Are you hungry?”

“Not for food.”

Her eyes sparkling, she countered, “Would you like something to drink? Mrs. Davis brought up a pot of tea.”

“Not tea,” he answered, a brilliant plan unfolding in his brain. “In my writing desk is a bottle of brandy.”

She crossed over to the ornately carved piece of mahogany and lowered the front. “With two glasses,” she said, taking the flask and the small snifters from their slots. “How very forward-thinking of you.”

She poured a generous amount into each glass and then put the stopper back. Leaving the flask on the desk, she brought him his drink, saying, “This is likely to make your head hurt worse, you know.”

He lifted his glass in salute. “Or it could make me forget all about the pain.”

The smile she gave him suggested that she was anticipating an “I told you so” opportunity in the very near future. “What else can I get for you?” she asked. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“I’m sure. In my armoire,” he said, deliberately, patiently working through his scheme, “are my sketch pad and charcoals. Bottom drawer, right-hand side.”

She considered him, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He met her gaze squarely and silently dared her to refuse. And then, because she was Simone, she chuckled softly, took a sip of her brandy, set the snifter on the desk, and then walked over to the armoire. Tristan watched as she bent over and retrieved his supplies, his smile broadening and his blood warming in appreciation.

“And what is it you intend to draw?” she asked, heading back to him.

“You.”

“Really,” she drawled, arching a raven brow and handing him the pad and pencils.

“I promised that I would. Remember?”

“I do indeed.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, her eyes sparkling. Slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt front, she asked, “Where would you like me?”

Tristan grinned, victorious. Setting his brandy on the side table, he patted the empty space beside him on the bed.

Incorrigible. Persistent and reckless. The light of her life. “You are a rogue,” Simone laughingly accused, accepting his hand and letting him help her climb onto the mattress.

“If you want, I could try to reform.”

“Don’t you dare,” she countered, leaning across his lap and smiling at him. “Ever. I love you just the way you are.”

He slowly trailed his fingertips down the length of her throat. “Your heart is going pitter-pat.”

Yes, it was. In the most delightful way. “Should I go lock the door?”

He smoothed the linen off her breasts, his smile sinful and irresistible. “Let’s be scandalous.”

“All right,” she agreed, shivering with anticipation. “But just this once.”

“Of course,” he offered, chuckling as he wrapped her in his arms and drew her close against him. “Just this once and then we’ll be respectable for the rest of our lives.”

She laughed and his heart soared, borne on the pureness of love and boundless hope, on the absolute certainty that he was the luckiest man who had ever lived.

St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles
by
LESLIE LaFOY

Her Scandalous Marriage

The Perfect Desire

The Perfect Temptation

The Perfect Seduction

P
RAISE FOR
Leslie LaFoy’
s
DELICIOUS HISTORICAL ROMANCES

“The lures of LaFoy’s writing are not just great characters, fantastic storytelling, and heightened sexual tension, but also the subtle ways she plays on your emotions so that you are completely invested in the book. No reader … can ignore the deep and intense emotions that emanate from the pages of this masterful romance.”

—
Romantic Times
, 4 1/2 stars, Top Pick

“Leslie LaFoy delivers wonderful, witty characters, and breathless romance.”

—Celeste Bradley, author of
The Charmer

T
HE
P
ERFECT
D
ESIRE

“So exciting I could not put it down.”

—
Fallen Angel Reviews

“Leslie LaFoy wraps up her
Perfect
trilogy in winning style.”

—
likesbooks.com

“As always, LaFoy’s absorbing plots and multifaceted characters and their sexual chemistry will please fans of romantic historicals.”

—
Booklist

“Grand mistress of adventure LaFoy delivers a fast-paced read with a luscious love story.”

—
Romantic Times
, 4 1/2 stars, Top Pick

T
HE
P
ERFECT
S
EDUCTION

“
The Perfect Seduction
is incredibly delectable and satisfying!”

—Celeste Bradley, author of
The Spy

“Romance, emotion, marvelous characters—no one does it better than Leslie LaFoy!”

—Maggie Osborne, award-winning author of
Shotgun Wedding

“
The Perfect Seduction
is a perfect blend of heart and soul and wit.”

—Mary McBride, author of
My Hero

“I was seduced by the first page.”

—Marianne Willman, author of
Mistress of Rossmor

“LaFoy’s remarkable characters utterly seduce the reader.”

—
Booklist

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE ROGUE’S BRIDE

Copyright © 2006 by Leslie LaFoy.

Cover photo © Shirley Greene

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 0-312-34771-5

EAN: 978-0312-34771-0

St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / November 2006

St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

eISBN 9781466829763

First eBook edition: September 2012