The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

With a moan of intense pleasure, she took him into her core, deep inside her, as deep as their position allowed.

Ross lay back on the sand. “Oh, God, Estelle. You don’t know what it’s been like for me these last twelve days.”

She clasped his hands and held them above his head, sheathed his solid shaft, rode him as if her life depended upon it, until her ragged breathing obliterated the sound of the wind.

It was rough, heart-stoppingly wonderful. He was so hard she could feel him swelling inside her. She enjoyed playing the temptress, and so she clutched his waistcoat in her fists and ground against him again and again.

“We need to share a bed tonight,” he said between short gasps of breath. “I don’t care if it’s in the blasted stable.” He closed his eyes. “Lord above.”

He came apart, groaning her name, flooding her body.

Estelle stilled and waited for Ross’ breathing to settle.

But without warning he flipped her onto her back. “I’ll not leave you unsatisfied.”

She did not need to reach the dizzying heights of release, just being close to him was enough for now, but he moved to kneel between her legs and buried his head between her thighs.

“No, Ross. No.”

He gripped her thighs as his wicked tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive bud. The mounting pressure banished all embarrassment. She thrust her hands into his hair, tugged and pulled at the roots, wanted to shout a host of licentious things as the world fractured into hundreds of glittering pieces.

Ross rolled onto his back, and they both lay there panting, looking up at the sky.

“Well, that was a rather nice homecoming,” he said, catching his breath. “Perhaps regular trips to France might be in order.” He tucked his manhood away and came up on his elbow. “Marry me, Estelle.”

“You know I will.”

“At this rate, there will surely be a child, and so I want us to wed soon. Let us have a lavish celebration. Let us marry in St George’s. Would you like that?”

Estelle sighed. “Ross, such extravagance is unnecessary.” She did not want to disappoint him, but clearly, he had not thought this through. “We cannot afford to draw attention to the event. People will ask questions. How will I explain where I’ve been these last eight years?”

“Reach into the pocket of my coat and remove the letter.”

Intrigued, she sat up and did as he asked.

“Open it,” he said, “the seal is already broken.”

Estelle peeled back the folds and read the letter. Her gaze drifted to the embossed mark at the top. She shook her head. “How on earth did you come by this?”

The letter was written by the Reverend Mother of a convent in Brittany. It stated that a lady had been brought to them having been found unconscious on the beach. Due to the trauma, she suffered memory loss, and she remained with them until snippets of her memory returned some eight years later. At the bottom of the page she saw her name written in ink.

“The convent is crumbling down around them, and they are in dire need of funds. I happened to have the finances available to pay for a new roof, a new prayer room and for other things besides.”

Estelle looked at him and then looked at the Reverend Mother’s signature. “You bribed a servant of God?”

“Not bribed exactly but suggested they offer a helping hand to an innocent woman forced to act against her will. When she heard your story, she wanted to help.”

“Is this true?” She waved the letter at him. “Did you really speak to the Reverend Mother, because I find it hard to believe a woman of such grace would lie.”

A smile touched Ross’ lips. “Does it matter? Someone as holy as the Reverend Mother would never disclose the personal information of those given sanctuary. And should anyone search for proof, I have the receipt to show I donated a substantial amount of money out of gratitude.”

Estelle shook her head. “Your cunning astounds me.”

“I would do anything for you, and to secure the future of any children we may have.”

Estelle put her hand on her stomach. The thought of carrying his child brought a lump to her throat. “Then I shall treasure this letter because it shows the lengths you will go to for those you love.”

“So will you choose St George’s?”