At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Greystone tucked his watch away, brushed the lock of dark hair from his brow and met her gaze. His emerald eyes glistened in the darkness, held a wicked glint that robbed her lungs of air. Lord, he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. She scanned the breadth of his broad chest encased in a midnight blue coat, pictured the warm, bronzed skin beneath.

“No, for once you’re on time.” He rubbed his chin and moistened his lips as his gaze drifted over the lilac muslin dress beneath her cloak, drifted up to the bunch of cherries on her bonnet.

For a moment, Lydia forgot that Mr Drake stood watching them, until he said, “The hour is late. We should not delay. Lord knows who is lingering in the woods ready to cause havoc with your plans.”

While Mr Drake spoke in jest, his stone-like expression never faltered.

“Will you be riding with us, Mr Drake?” Lydia asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of spending hours seated across from this dark devil.

“No, Miss Lovell.” Mr Drake inclined his head respectfully. “I shall ride alongside the carriage.”

Greystone raised a brow. “Besides the fact that riding in close quarters with Drake can be suffocating,” he said, “I’ll not share your company with anyone.”

“Oh, I see.” Nerves pushed to the fore. It was ridiculous when one considered what they meant to each other, what they had shared. “Then perhaps Mr Drake is right and we should make haste.”

“You have your brother’s written consent?”

“I do.” Lydia patted her reticule. She glanced at the mismatched horses pulling the Greystone carriage. She loved that it mattered not to him, that he had the strength of character to rise above Society’s snobbish expectations. “Shall we go?”

With the absence of a groom, Greystone opened the door and lowered the steps. Hot hands settled on her hips as he assisted her ascent. Lust shot through her body like a lightning bolt. Her need for him grew when he settled back into the seat opposite, leant forward, closed the door and plunged them into darkness.

The carriage rattled along the drive and out onto the country lane.

The tension inside the conveyance was palpable.

She could feel Greystone’s gaze devouring every inch of her body.

“You’re certain you can obtain a special licence from the archbishop?” she said in a bid to quell the desire that burned in her veins.

“Love, I’m a man who gets anything he wants,” he replied in a low, husky drawl.

“Anything?”

“Anything.” He inhaled deeply. “This time tomorrow you will be my wife.”

A delicious shiver rippled through her body at the thought. “We will need witnesses.”

“Drake will stand as a witness, as will my friend Valentine.” Through the darkness she noted the sinful smile touching his lips—full lips made for kissing. “Everything is in hand. Once we reach town, I shall escort you to your house in Queen Street. I shall spend the night at Drake?

?s townhouse once I’ve made the necessary arrangements for us to wed.”

Disappointment surfaced for she wanted to spend the night with him, to love him, sleep in his arms. She wondered if he wanted the same, too. “Then you have thought of everything.”

“Indeed,” he said confidently, “which is why Drake is riding alone and we are sitting together in the dark.”

She suddenly felt hot, too hot. “I thought it was dark because you intended to sleep.”

“Sleep?” He scoffed. “When I might have the pleasure of your naked body sitting astride me?”

Lydia swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “But Mr Drake is outside.”

“Don’t mind him. He has enough on his mind to keep him occupied.”

Greystone told her about Baron Bromfield’s daughter and the high-stakes game of hazard. Lydia wondered at his motive for telling her. Yes, his concern for his friend was evident, but she suspected the conversation had something to do with settling her nerves.

“Oh, but we cannot let him marry that dreadful woman.”

“What else can we do?” Greystone sighed. “There’s not a man alive who can change Drake’s mind when it’s made up.”