“Good morning, Your Grace,” said the vicar cheerfully. “Glorious day for a wedding. Lord Tristan, how is your charge faring?”
“Quite satisfactory. One might even say eager,” said Tristan with a wink.
On another occasion he might have politely crushed his brother’s instep, but the sound of excited chatter reached him, and shortly afterward, his mother, Winslow, Miss Lacey, and Miss Kinloch entered the drawing room. The others took their seats, but Miss Lacey moved to the pianoforte and began to play a rather jaunty tune.
Jasper relaxed. This boded well for a bride still willing.
Then Ada walked toward him on Reverend Blair’s arm, looking nothing less than heavenly in a new white silk gown overlaid with cobweb-fine silver lace and tiny hand-stitched crystals. He’d taken her measurements with him when he’d travelled to London for the special license, promising a hefty purse and future patronage if the experienced Mayfair modiste and her apprentices performed an overnight miracle with the utmost discretion. They had eagerly accepted the challenge, and it had been worth every penny. The smile on Ada’s face…
He swallowed hard. Bloody damned misbehaving eyes.
Mr. Blair placed Ada’s hand in his with a frosty look to both him and Mr. Foulkes, obviously still aggrieved his wishes had been ignored. But as Jasper rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs, and looked into her sparkling brown eyes, the world narrowed to her, him, and the vicar about to join them together in holy matrimony.
After greeting the small audience, Mr. Foulkes delivered an uplifting sermon on the blessings of marriage. Then it came time to recite vows from the Book of Common Prayer.
“And you, Jasper Louis Benjamin Muir, Duke of Gilroy,” intoned the vicar, “wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” he said firmly.
The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass in a blur, although he distinctly recalled Ada’s wicked little smirk during the “with my body I thee worship” part as he slid a heavy gold band onto her third finger. Nor would he ever forget a cheer that nearly raised the roof when he turned back down the aisle, one beloved duchess on his arm.
Jasper and Ada, side by side as they would always be.
Now and forever.
The End.
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Also by Nicola Davidson
Wickedly Wed series
Duke in Darkness (#1)
The London Lords series
To Love a Hellion (#1)
Rake to Riches (#2)
Tempting the Marquess (#3)
Fallen trilogy
Surrender to Sin (#1)
The Devil's Submission (#2)
The Seduction of Viscount Vice (#3)
Surrey SFS quintet
My Lady's Lover (#1)
To Tame a Wicked Widow (#2)
My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman (#3)
At His Lady's Command (#4)
A Very Surrey SFS Christmas (#5)
Surrey SFS - The Complete Series boxset
Regency Standalones
Her Virgin Duke
Duke for Hire (in the anthology Duke I’d Like to F…)
Mistletoe Mistress
Joy to the Earl
Once Upon a Promise
Medieval Highland Menage series
Scandalous Passions (FFM)
Wicked Passions (MMF)
Tudor
His Forbidden Lady
One Forbidden Knight
Contemporary
Ladies First (erotic short stories)
About the Author
NICOLA DAVIDSON worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing erotic historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes dessert—even better!
Keep up with Nicola’s news on social media or her website www.nicola-davidson.com.
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An Education in Pleasure
Eva Leigh
Chapter One
Buckinghamshire, England, 1817
The stranger had the most magnificent arse—and his cock was even better.
It was wrong to spy on the unknown man swimming in the pond, yet for all of Cecilia Holme’s stern admonishments to herself, she couldn’t stop watching him from the bordering shrubbery. He possessed a rangy, muscular body, and sunlight gleamed in droplets that clung to his olive skin. Dark hair curled on his head, on his chest, and in a nest between his legs—surrounding that selfsame magnificent cock. At rest, his penis was already impressively thick and long. She could only fantasize what it might look like hard and eager.
She squeezed her thighs together in a vain attempt to stop the sudden ache within her. Five years. It had been a full five years since she’d had a lover, and the only pleasure she’d received had been from her own hand. As a governess to a ducal family, she had to be sure to keep her character spotless, which meant no dalliances, and though she had missed intimacy, no one had truly tempted her to forsake her reputation—until now.
Who was this man? No one she recognized from any of the scores of servants who attended the Duke of Tarrington and his family here at Tarrington House, and he wasn’t from the nearby village. He had the hard, muscular build of a working man, so perhaps he was an itinerant laborer who had snuck onto the estate to make use of its pond.
This place had always been Cecilia’s favorite spot to be alone, but she didn’t mind just now sharing it with him.
A mad impulse seized her—remove her own clothing and slip into the water, join the stranger in its depths, press her body to his in a wordless urging. She would be like a mermaid or an undine, twining her limbs with his and discovering the feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth. And he would fall under her spell, yielding to her demands. They would fuck feverishly on the pond’s bank, nothing but bodies and pleasure and wordless passion.
The man strode from the pond, carving trenches in the water with his taut calves as he climbed up the bank. Cecilia curled her hands at her sides, her fingers aching with the desire to glide over his sleek muscles, including his ridged abdomen and the sharp lines angling along his hips.
For all their devotion to the aesthetics of the classical world, none of her past lovers had ever looked like living statues. Not like this stranger.
She really should go. It wasn’t kind to spy on someone, even though he was technically trespassing. Yet her feet staunchly refused to move, as if they knew she’d never again have the opportunity to see another man as beautiful as this, and wanted her to paint a thousand mental portraits to keep her company over the solitary years ahead.