Authors: Heart of the Storm
Rexanne Becnel (35 page)
“Cyprian.” Only that one word could she utter, yet he knew it for a yes. Later she would expound on it. Later she would explain that he did not have anything to prove, that their lives together would be all the confirmation she would ever need. For now, however, she needed to touch him and be closer to him. She clutched his lapels, raising up on tiptoe to kiss him, and he bent down to meet her half way. Their lips met and clung, and parted to fit better. Closer. Deeper.
When they drew apart for breath, Cyprian caught her up in his arms, pulling her fully against him, though layers of harrington, drill, and melton separated them from the embrace they both desired.
“We must set an early date,” she said, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his ear.
“Even tomorrow would be too long. Ah, my Eliza, how I have missed you.”
“And I you,” she answered, holding his face between her gloved hands. “Promise me we shall never be parted again.”
“I promise,” he vowed, taking her mouth in a devastating kiss that left her hot and breathless and more than a little disoriented. “Which room is yours?” he murmured hoarsely as he pressed kisses in her hair.
“Up above the—oh, Cyprian. You cannot mean to—”
“Oh, but I can. And I will.”
He ran a hand down her back and even through her petticoats and skirts and voluminous cloak, Eliza felt the steamy rise of passion begin way down low inside
her. Maybe he could, the wanton thought occurred to her.
her. Maybe he could, the wanton thought occurred to her.
“I’m at the corner that faces the stables. On the second floor.”
A light slanted across the yard as a door opened. “Eliza? Come in now. The storm is getting worse,” her father called.
The snowstorm
was
getting worse, she realized as they backed away from each other to a more circumspect distance. But the storm inside her … it was getting better and better. Perhaps later Cyprian would bring it to that shuddering crescendo he knew so well how to orchestrate.
was
getting worse, she realized as they backed away from each other to a more circumspect distance. But the storm inside her … it was getting better and better. Perhaps later Cyprian would bring it to that shuddering crescendo he knew so well how to orchestrate.
“Till later,” Cyprian murmured, giving her one last breath-stealing kiss.
“But not too much later,” she pleaded as she tucked her hand in his arm. They ran together toward the light, toward her father who waited for her.
“Good night, Cyprian,” she called as her father hustled her inside.
“Good night,” he replied, watching her until she disappeared into the posting house. Then he grinned and stared up at the second floor of the solid building.
It proved to be a very good night indeed.
MY GALLANT ENEMY
THIEF OF MY HEART
THE ROSE OF BLACKSWORD
A DOVE AT MIDNIGHT
WHERE MAGIC DWELLS
WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES
THIEF OF MY HEART
THE ROSE OF BLACKSWORD
A DOVE AT MIDNIGHT
WHERE MAGIC DWELLS
WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES
Where Magic Dwells
“An exciting, fast-paced medieval romance … The sparks that fly between the two lead characters are bright enough to light up Sherwood Forest. Readers will definitely feel like a winner after reading such an exciting tale about a Welsh witch.”
—
Affaire de Coeur
Affaire de Coeur
“Enthralling … Another irresistible medieval romance from one of the best.”
—
The Medieval Chronicle
The Medieval Chronicle
Dove at Midnight
“Ryland and Joanne stay one step ahead of trouble all the way through this dynamic, romantic adventure and it leaves us cheering for their happiness and wishing for more of this super story to read.”
—
Rendezvous
Rendezvous
“A non-stop read. Rexanne Becnel understands the medieval mind-set, and her beguiling characters’ passions and adventures will hold you enthralled. Once more, Ms. Becnel demonstrates that she is a master of her craft.”
—
Romantic Times
Romantic Times
My Gallant Enemy
“A love story of old to thrill and delight. Much intrigue and an awesome, arrogant, but lovable hero and the lady who turned his heart upside down.”
—
Affaire de Coeur
Affaire de Coeur
“Sensitive, realistic and passionate … A delicious love story. Rexanne Becnel is sure to take her place in the ranks of well-loved medieval romance writers.”
—
Romantic Times
Romantic Times
IF YOU ENJOYED
Heart of the Storm
, READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT OF REXANNE BECNEL’S PASSIONATE NEW ROMANCE,
A Kiss in the Storm:
Heart of the Storm
, READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT OF REXANNE BECNEL’S PASSIONATE NEW ROMANCE,
A Kiss in the Storm:
“Daphne Melerine. She’s his mistress, you know,” Darius Bellingham added when Adam asked who else they waited on.
Though he was careful to keep his expression bland, Adam felt an undeniable sense of anticipation. So that was her name. She’d piqued his curiosity at the cemetery, but knowing she would be joining the small group in the solicitor’s office sharpened his interest even more. Daphne Melerine. An exotic name for a most exotic woman. Though he’d actually seen little of her beyond her mourning costume, all the references Hef had made to her through the years began to come back now.
An exquisite woman.
A jewel beyond value.
More loving than a wife could ever hope to be.
Hef had often stated his belief that a mistress was more attentive to her man than a wife because of the uncertainty of the mistress’s position. But while that certainly made sense, Adam had never been inclined to keep a mistress of his own. He enjoyed, rather, the diversity that could be found all around him. Lusty serving wenches. Elegant widows. Other men’s wives. Even an occasional night in one of the better sporting houses. He wanted no commitments beyond the hours he spent with the various women. No emotional entanglements either. And though he intended someday to marry, he suspected that no single woman could satisfy him for long.
Of course, Hef had been an older man. As the years
went by, perhaps he too would one day prefer a regular mistress to the parade of women he now enjoyed. Regardless, however, he was more than a little intrigued by the solitary mourner he’d watched at graveside.
went by, perhaps he too would one day prefer a regular mistress to the parade of women he now enjoyed. Regardless, however, he was more than a little intrigued by the solitary mourner he’d watched at graveside.
A soft knock sounded and the door opened on silent hinges. One of the several clerks stepped back and when a woman moved forward, all the men in the office stood.
“Miss Melerine. Welcome. We’ve been expecting you,” Bellingham said. “Please. Sit here.” He indicated a dark upholstered chair adjacent to Adam’s. “I believe you are already acquainted with Mrs. Hollings, Mr. Filmore’s housekeeper.”
Adam watched as she smiled at the older woman who was to hear the bequeathals to all the household staff.
“Perhaps you also know Mr. Carroll, Vicar at St. Luke’s.”
The greeting there was cooler. But then a man of the cloth could not wholly approve of a woman of Daphne Melerine’s ilk, Adam thought. Further introductions were made to Hef’s three men of business, all of whom were obviously known to her, and she to them. Finally Bellingham gestured to him.
“This is Mr. Adam Slater. May I present Miss Daphne Melerine.”
Adam bowed and extended his hand to her, a gesture she’d plainly not anticipated. After a brief hesitation she placed her fingers in his. There was no assessing look on the pale face behind the veil, he noticed. No hint of curiosity about whether he might become a new protector for her. Considering his usual appeal to women, it caught him vaguely by surprise. Added to that, she pulled her hand away as soon as he let her.
The odd thing was, he hadn’t wanted to let that hand go. Within the soft, expensive gloves, her fingers were slender and strong. And warm. The thought of her, so young and alive, lying with an aging roué like Hef struck him suddenly as repulsive.
He peered at her, trying to understand how she could have done such a thing, but after meeting his gaze for only a moment, she turned her attention toward Mr. Bellingham.
He had been dismissed, Adam realized with another, stronger sense of surprise. She showed not the least sign of interest in him. He sat down, faintly taken aback, and yet he had enough of a sense of irony to find some humor in the situation. Maybe she preferred older men. Perhaps she’d truly cared for Hef.
Or perhaps she was the sort who played hard to get—not a game he’d ever particularly enjoyed.
But it was more likely, he realized, that her interest in the contents of the will on Mr. Bellingham’s desk precluded any other distractions.
He straightened his jacket and crossed one ankle over his knee. Enough of this perverse fascination with a woman whose face he’d not yet clearly seen, whose hair color was unknown to him, and whose taste in men meant nothing to him at all. He had other engagements later today. Time to learn why he’d been mentioned in Henry Filmore’s will.
A Kiss in the Storm—
coming from St.
Martin’s Paperbacks in 1996!
coming from St.
Martin’s Paperbacks in 1996!
HEART OF THE STORM
Copyright © 1995 by Rexanne Becnel.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eISBN 9781250011107
First eBook Edition : September 2011
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / November 1995
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