He turned her hand, kissed the soft palm, and lifting his head revealed an expression that sent shivers up her spine, so that she murmured rather breathlessly, “It is most improper that you should … kiss my hand while we are all alone here, Mr. Hawkhurst.”
“Most. But no one need ever know of your lapse, Miss Buchanan.”
Despite the gravity of his words a quirk tugged at his mouth, seeing which she was emboldened to remark softly, “Once upon a time, you said you were becoming … selfish.”
“So I did.” He wound a gleaming ringlet around one finger with much concentration. “Because I was going to ask if you would sing that little Spanish ditty for us again.”
“Oh! What a whisker! You know perfectly well—” She broke off.
“What do I know, ma’am?” he asked, with difficulty suppressing a smile.
“Why,” she said, smoothing her gown with precision, “that I shall be three-and-twenty in March. I shall have to start wearing a cap.”
He gave a muffled snort. “I am sure it will become you delightfully.”
“Garret … Hawkhurst!” she bit out between white teeth.
“Miss … Buchanan…” he murmured, moving closer to her. “Have I not told you, many times, that I am not worthy?”
“Yes. But I am willing to overlook that fact.”
“Thank you. And that I am a quite notorious rake. And have even been named—libertine?”
“True. But even so, I wore all my jewels—and most of your family’s—to lure you. Was it all for nought, sir?”
He laughed. “Do I dare to think of it, I am lost! But you would be so much better served, my blessed candle, to wed good old Leith. Who is gallant, and honourable, and very handsome.”
But now, his every word was a caress, his eyes worshipping her so that she swayed to him yearningly. His arms went around her, and he kissed her until she lay lax and sighful and blissfully content, against his heart.
“I suppose,” she mused, “I shall have to consider Leith, then. For I do dislike caps.”
He tilted her chin a little, so that he could more easily kiss her left eyelid, and, with her shivers becoming ever more delicious, Euphemia heard that deep voice, so husky now, say, “In that case, perhaps it would be expedient to ask you, my dearest, darling girl, if you would be so incredibly foolish as to accept the hand and the heart … and the name of a completely unworthy ex-rake—but never, I do believe, libertine! Who will, as God be his judge, give you no cause to regret such a decision. Oh, Mia, my Unattainable love … Will you—”
She pulled down his head and silenced his words with her lips. And, when at last he straightened and murmurously demanded an answer to his unfinished question, she said only, “Odious man…”
“Because,” she sighed, “I shall quite miss being known as ‘The Unattainable.’”
He chuckled and bent lower. “Then I must strive to console you.”
“It may,” she warned, “take years.”
Curiously, Garret Thorndyke Hawkhurst did not appear to be put into a quake by such a prospect and did, in fact, commence his task at once.
About the Author
Patricia Veryan was born in England and moved to the United States following World War II. The author of several critically acclaimed Georgian and Regency series, including the Sanguinet Saga, she now lives in Kirkland, Washington. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 1981 by Patricia Veryan
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First Edition
eISBN 9781250108883
First eBook edition: November 2015