Hearing “we” cheered Darius enormously. Andrew was at least thinking about his proposition. He tightened his grip. “Andrew, I can’t ask you to marry me. If I could, I would do that. I cannot imagine anyone else in my life, anyone but you. I don’t want our affair to become casual, with us fitting the other into our lives when we can, so I set about making it possible. We can live here and make our work here. We can be a couple. My family will help to shelter us, but I no longer ask for that. I want to create my own fortifications. I want to add to the Emperors’ strengths, not detract from them. But most of all, I love you. I never want us to be apart.”
Andrew leaned forward, his lips opening as he reached out. Darius let his hands slide from Andrew’s elbows, to grip his waist and pull him in.
Just before their lips met, Andrew said, “I love you too. You should have started with that.”
Meet the Author
Lynne Connolly was born in Leicester, England, and lived in her family’s cobbler’s shop with her parents and sister. She loves all periods of history, but her favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. She loves doing research and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages. In addition to her Emperors of London series and The Shaws series, she writes several historical, contemporary and paranormal romance series.
Visit her on the web at lynneconnolly.com, read her blog at lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @lynneconnolly.
Fearless
Discover where The Shaws began . . .
Scandal is his chosen path—until this infamous Shaw surrenders to love . . .
When Lady Charlotte Engles receives an offer of marriage from an eligible suitor, she’s finally ready to let go of her long-held hope that her engagement to Lord Valentinian Shaw will result in marriage. For despite the betrothal their families made between them, Val shows no interest in leaving his reckless life behind in favor of one with Charlotte. But when her plea to end their arrangement ends in a heated embrace, suddenly Val seems reluctant to let her go . . .
The last thing Val wants is a wife, despite how desirous his lovely bride-to-be has become. But when he discovers sweet Charlotte is planning to marry a dastardly man, he feels duty bound to keep her safe, even if that means making good on his marriage pledge. Then Charlotte is taken hostage by her dangerous suitor and suddenly Val is ready to risk everything for the woman who has won his heart . . .
Chapter 1
Charlotte spared her betrothed a glance but took care not to linger. People might notice her looking. Val was talking animatedly to a group of friends, standing at the rear of the garden. As if he felt her regard, he turned his attention to her and returned her look, the corner of his mouth tilting so slightly she wasn’t sure she’d seen it.
Then he returned his attention to his friends.
Of course he did, because that was what he always did. Indeed, why should he not? They might be affianced, but their attachment was not a romantic one. At least, it was not supposed to be.
Lord Valentinian Shaw and Lady Charlotte Engles had entered into an arranged marriage, brokered by their parents. What was so unusual about that?
Only the secret Charlotte held closely to her heart. Fortunately she had practiced at hiding her emotions, so only she knew the truth.
Charlotte gave the lady chatting to her a broad smile, not at all sure what she was talking about. Lady Duckworth had the proud reputation of boring for England, as Val had said once, but she meant well. Fortunately, all she required was an audience. Responses were optional.
She shuffled her toe in the gravel but kept the smile in place, listening to Lady Duckworth’s conversation long enough to agree with her proposition that all satirical poets should be forced to debate their absurd propositions. Then she returned to her private thoughts.
She should be grateful for the brilliant match her father had contrived. People kept telling her, therefore it must be true. When Val had asked her to marry him, he’d done it formally, with a kiss on the back of her hand when she duly accepted. The betrothal was perfectly conventional. Nobody had asked for Charlotte’s opinion. If they had, she might have begged for him. She had fallen deeply in love with her betrothed.
Her guilty secret accompanied her everywhere. She had agreed to the proposal as a way of getting away from her home, a way her father had agreed upon, but once she’d met Val, her opinions had changed. She wanted Lord Valentinian Shaw so badly, she’d even become his respectable companion while he roistered and scandalized society. She had continued with the arrangement as a way of providing a new home for herself and her sister, but after an inordinately long betrothal, she was forced to think again. She had to get away from her father’s house and provide a place for herself and her younger sister.
A masculine voice broke into her thoughts. “Lady Charlotte.”
She tilted her head, which would have meant she was staring directly into the sun, but someone was shielding her from it. The sun blazed on either side of him, leaving the man in darkness, as if he were a visitor from the heavens.
After bowing over Lady Duckworth’s hand, the man begged her to grant him the favor of allowing him a few moments of her company.
Charming, elegant and smooth, Lord Kellett had shown her flattering attention of late, but Charlotte found him less daunting, more approachable than her future husband. He listened to her conversation, he sought her company at balls, and if she had not been spoken for, she would have given him even more attention. However, he had never stepped over the rules of propriety. He behaved to her like a friend, as he was doing now.
Having seen Lady Duckworth to another group of people she could bore, Lord Kellett offered his arm. Charlotte took it with a smile.
“You should smile more often,” he said. “It suits you.” He led her on a gentle stroll across the width of the terrace and then down the stairs at the end. The stone staircase led to the main part of the garden.
Rosebushes massed in pleasing abundance, trained well away from the paths. The fragrance surrounded them, perhaps a little too sweet for Charlotte’s taste, but the effect was heavenly. “Whoever the gardener is, he deserves a medal for pruning the bushes so carefully.”
“Hmm?”
Lord Kellett didn’t sound interested, but Charlotte plowed on. “Sometimes negotiating a rose garden is more like fighting through a thicket.”
He frowned, but gave her no response.
Charlotte sighed. “Never mind.”
“You have a droll sense of humor, my lady,” he said then, and laughed.
She hadn’t meant her comment humorously. The gardener really had considered the width of ladies’ hoops and taken the full skirts of a gentleman’s coat into consideration too. The thorns did not discommode her wide skirts at all.
“Thank you.” She consoled herself with the knowledge that he meant well.
They moved along the path that led to the next part of the garden, still well in view of the house. Her aunt, who acted as her chaperone, was somewhere indoors, so Charlotte had relative freedom. One would have thought that at her age her father would have allowed her more discretion, but they did not. Not many people had a father like hers, though. They should thank heaven every day for that.