“I do love you, Owen. I love you beyond reason.”
He kissed her, fiercely, and she kissed him back, losing herself in the passion that rose so readily between them.
“That’s all that matters,” he rumbled when they broke apart to breathe. “Everything else are details we can overcome together. And I’ve already spoken to my mother.”
Aghast, Cecilia stared at him. “Why has she not run me off the estate?”
“Because she knows that where you go, I go.”
Wrapped around her, his arms were strong and secure and sheltering. They would hold her up when she needed support, and be there when she stood on her own.
“Your dream of the school belongs to you,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck, “but I would love to help transform it from a dream to a reality.”
“Oh, yes, Owen.” She pressed her lips to his, trembling with unbound joy. Still, she could not help but ask, “Are you certain? That it’s me you want for your wife?”
His smile flashed. “I didn’t want an education in pleasure for any other woman, Cecilia. I wanted to learn how to please you.”
She leaned close, breathing him in, this wondrous man who had, with his courage and passion, gifted her the world.
“You’ve done it.” She pressed her lips to his. “Never has a teacher been so pleased with their student.”
“They say that education is a lifelong process,” he said between hungry kisses. “I’m ready to learn everything you can teach me.”
She had never believed anyone could fully accept and celebrate who she truly was, or that she could find someone to believe in her dream as much as she did. Owen was all those things, and so much more. He was the finest person she knew. There was no one like him.
“We’ll teach each other,” she murmured. “Our first lesson as an engaged couple starts now.”
The End.
Looking for more appallingly hot Regency romance by Eva Leigh?
Check out Would I Lie to the Duke, featuring a dirty talking, sexually submissive duke and the woman who brings him to his knees…
Also by Eva Leigh
The Union of the Rakes:
My Fake Rake
Would I Lie to the Duke
Waiting For a Scot Like You
The London Underground:
From Duke Till Dawn
Counting on a Countess
Dare to Love a Duke
The Wicked Quills of London:
Forever Your Earl
Scandal Takes the Stage
Temptations of a Wallflower
About the Author
Eva Leigh is a romance author who writes novels chock-full of determined women and sexy men. She enjoys baking, spending too much time on the Internet, and listening to music from the '80s. Eva and her husband live in Central California.
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evaleighauthor.com
The Duke Makes Me Feel…
Adriana Herrera
Chapter One
London, 1879
“I need to speak to Marena Baine.” What was it about men who could not take no for an answer?
“Sir, I’ve already explained to your footman that the potency tinctures are back-ordered,” she informed the man who had entered her shop. The authority in his voice—and the immediate request to speak to the owner—told Marena he was probably the employer of the extremely persistent individual she’d just sent on his way. This was tiresome, and she was not in a mood to placate men with too much money and little manners.
It had all started when she’d given a sample of her tinctures to one of her most faithful patrons after she’d complained that her husband had been unusually deficient in their amorous pursuits. After a couple of tries, the earl in question had taken to the mixture of ginseng, ginger, and white oak bark. Within weeks, half of the ton was trampling into her little apothecary in the hither end of Haymarket, demanding she sell them the “miraculous elixir.” It had been a boon for business, but this level of demand had its drawbacks. Such as aristos interfering with her end-of-the-day routine.
“Potency tinctures?” the man finally asked, his voice hoarse with what sounded like suppressed humor. “I can assure you I don’t require any assistance with my stamina.” He said the last word with obvious amusement.
She almost blurted, “That’s what they all say,” but even if her current mood had her feeling uncharacteristically pugnacious, Marena was never reckless. Attending to the maladies of London society’s upper crust meant one had to cultivate a monastic level of patience and master absolute emotional disengagement. Marena had sturdy walls protecting her from the harsh words, condescension, and ludicrous requests tossed daily in her direction. A man trampling into her shop and making demands, unfortunately, did not even achieve the label of being remarkable.
She gathered the final reserves of her patience and turned around to explain one last time that she did not have tinctures to sell. But the words died in her throat. She recognized that mouth and those entrancing blue eyes.
“There you are,” he said pleasantly, his eyes fixed on her, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if they’d been playing a game of hide-and-seek.
What was the Duke of Linley doing in her shop?
“Could you fetch Ms. Baine for me, darling?” he asked idly, his gaze roaming over the shelves on the walls which were lined with neatly labeled ceramic canisters. He appeared to be completely unconcerned, as if he were guaranteed to get anything and everything he asked for.
This man was truly testing her restraint. The nerve. She was nobody’s darling. She didn’t care who he was. This was the plight of dealing with London’s high society—one could not toss them out on their ear for behaving insolently.
“Sir, I—”
“Tell her Arlo Kenworthy would like a word, won’t you?”
She felt unsettled by his presence, and not with the mix of irritation and exhaustion that seemed be an essential part of any visit from the nobility. No, this was a flutter in her belly and a warmth in her chest that truly had no place while she was alone with a duke. She was about to open her mouth to tell him she was aware of who he was, but the fact that he used his family name, and not his title, gave her pause. In her experience, dukes, did not miss an opportunity to assert their importance.
Well-bred in England meant specific things, and brawn and vitality were not typically what she associated with the expression. But this man was a presence. Even his hair was arresting. She’d never seen that particular shade of brown, almost like burnt copper, making for a striking contrast with his piercing blue eyes. A face that demanded a second glance, as her mother would say.
He was so tall his head almost reached the frame of the door. And he had the shoulders and chest of a man who worked with his hands, not one who spent his time in the House of Lords. But that was only one of the reasons that made Arlo Kenworthy one of the most talked-about peers. One could somehow resist falling under the spell of his presence, and perhaps even defend against the effects of his strapping physique. But that mouth was where the battle with all common sense was lost. Sinful. Absolutely sinful. He was almost too much to take in at once. And what could the man possibly want with her?