Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

No, Fenton was nearly past the brink and this vixen was about to make a fool out of a man known for his sexual endurance.

Cradling her shoulders, he lay her upon the hearthrug a

nd covered her fine-boned body with his, revelling in the moist warmth of her skin and the heart-rending way she looked up at him.

She smiled, her expression full of love and his heart answered, full to bursting with the need to honour her gift to him. She had forsaken her position in society to be with him and he intended that she should never regret her decision.

“Whatever happens, I shall keep you safe,” he promised hoarsely, closing his eyes and kissing her lips as he positioned himself at her wet, velvety entrance. Her response, eager and childlike as she dug her little fingers into his flesh and kissed him back, was like a spark to straw.

With a groan, he plunged deep within her, the roaring in his head competing with her cries and the fury of their mingled breathing. She was tight and smooth and slippery and her excitement was as great as his. Miss Fanny Brightwell was the consummate lover, rocking with him and arching against him in their race for the summit. At each thrust he felt he was burying himself ever deeper into her welcoming, molten core, branding her as his.

Forever.

Until at last he came with a gasp of rapture and triumph and love, because in this woman’s arms he’d finally found the fount of happiness.

For several minutes he was unable to move. It was the most stupendous love-making he’d ever experienced and he felt he’d run the race of his life. Exhausted, with eyes still closed, he lazily licked the salty sheen of sweat from her heated skin. Finally, he rolled off her and onto his side, resting his elbow on the rug and cushioning his head on his hand. She looked dazed when he drew her against him but she chuckled happily when he kissed her almost reverently on the forehead and whispered, “I do not take lightly the sacrifices you’ve made.” He looked wonderingly at her. “I am the happiest, most satiated man alive.”

With a languid stretch she sighed and snuggled closer, smiling and murmuring, “I’ve made no sacrifices, my Lord.”

He rose to help her dress, understanding her concern as she tensed when she heard the clock chime the hour. He knew what risks she had taken to be with him. She could have chosen respectability with a wealthy merchant. There were enough of them who’d have overlooked her lack of dowry and reputation to wed the bold and beautiful daughter of a disgraced baron. Instead, she’d followed her impulsive desires to be his mistress, to be with him.

The fire in the grate hissed and crackled. He could not bear to see her leave.

“I want to see you…be with you every moment of the day,” he whispered, securing the last hook beneath her chin which he cupped in his hands. He’d never wanted anything more. No woman had intrigued and excited him like Miss Brighwell. He could imagine them together until the end of their days. Clearing his throat he added, “But you must dictate the terms, for I know you have considerations other than me.” He adored the delicate blush that swept her cheeks.

When she lowered her face demurely he could not contain his excitement as he said in a rush, “Tomorrow I must show you the charming residence in Mayfair I have selected, which I’m sure you’ll adore—though I understand it is prudent to wait a while before you install yourself.” His impatience to set her up, permanently, as his was killing him.

She touched his cheek and his heart swelled at the tenderness in her eye as she murmured, “Mayfair? How…convenient.”

“And I shall provide you with a carriage,” he promised, his generosity fuelled by her kindling look.

“Oh, that will not be necessary, as I shall have my own.” Leaning in to him, she raised her hand to stroke the curls at the nape of his neck as he tied her bonnet. He was taken aback when, sighing, she added, “My love, I have much to organise during the next few days. I will send a note around when I’m free to see you again.”

Free to see you again?

He did not understand her meaning. “Of course we must be discreet but, my darling Fanny, I want to be with you every moment of the day.” He was surprised at how anxious he suddenly felt. Had she not considered their coupling the most extraordinarily exciting experience of her life?

He certainly had.

Rain slashed against the windowpanes. It was a fitting tribute to his mood. Like a caged beast, Fenton paced the hearthrug, his mind able to turn upon only one thing—Miss Fanny Brightwell. For three days she had been unobtainable, neither at any of the fashionable watering holes or even, when in desperation he’d begun calling in person, at her London lodgings. She’d even sent him a note to tell him she was too busy to see the lodgings he’d secured for her but that she looked forward to their next encounter.

Lord, what did that mean?

He turned, heart pumping in hope and expectation at the sound of crashing upon the front door, though it was not a ladylike entrance.

Instead, Bramley thundered past a clearly distressed Brimble and burst into the library. As he removed his hat a great torrent of water splashed from its brim and joined the droplets from his multi-layered coat in a puddle on the Wilton carpet.

“Perhaps, Brimble, you’d divest Mr Bramley of his sodden garments,” Fenton said with pointed disapproval to the hovering and clearly enraged butler. The fact that he had hoped it might be Fanny made him even more disinclined to entertain Bramley, who was obviously in one of his moods.

“No time.” Bramley sucked in a breath, running a hand through his rain-darkened hair as he fended off Brimble’s discreet ministrations. His eyes burned like coals in his pallid face, his agitation clear as he rasped, “You have to come quickly, Fenton. The news is all over town. I heard it just now at my club. Miss Brightwell is betrothed to the Earl of Quamby.”

Fenton could only blink. Stupidly, like an owl. Shock robbed him of an intelligent response and left him physically deflated, as if the air had been sucked right out of him. Not just the air but the bones and substance that enabled him to walk tall, like a man. He gripped the sideboard for support. His Fanny Brightwell? The woman who’d played his heartstrings not three afternoons before like a bewitching harpist before disappearing in a puff of enchanted smoke?

“I’ve come directly from my uncle’s house, where Quamby confirmed that he and Miss Brightwell are to be married without delay.” Bramley’s face contorted with malice as he paced. “I believe the betrothal took place three days ago.”

“Three days ago?” Fenton repeated. He shook his head. It could not be true. A powerful combination of disbelief, wounded pride and devastation swept out the thick, sluggish horror that slowed his responses.

No! This could not be. Miss Fanny Brightwell could not do this to him. She could not be allowed to shake up the happy, ordered world that revolved around her making him the most important man in her life.