how apprehensive his beloved still looked. “Please say you will marry me, Angel. I cannot bear even the thought of living another day without knowing you are to be mine forever!” he admitted gruffly.
Could she? Could Angelina Hawkins, the illegitimate daughter of an actress and a lord, really marry a duke? No, that was not the question. The question was, how could she not marry Alexander, duke or otherwise, when he asked her, when he proclaimed his love for her, when he said he adored her and could not bear to live without her?
Her eyes glowed and her cheeks felt warm. “I do love you so very much, Xander.”
“And …?”
She smiled up at him lovingly. “And I did so enjoy our lovemaking yesterday evening.”
His eyes glittered with the same remembered enjoyment. “And …?”
“And if you are really sure that you want me—”
“Angel, I have never been surer of anything in my so-far jaded existence!” he vowed fiercely.
“Then, my love, my darling Xander, I wholeheartedly accept your proposal of marriage!”
“Angel!” Alexander drew her into his arms and pulled her down onto the chaise beside him before his mouth claimed hers.
“Your aunt …?” Angelina reminded worriedly as those kisses threatened to spiral into another bout of lovemaking.
Alexander stood to cross the room and turn the key in the lock. “Has plenty of other salons in which she might receive her afternoon guests,” he assured dismissively as he returned to her side.
Clothes were discarded. Murmurs and ecstatic sighs followed. A gasp as Alexander thrust into Angel to claim her. A soft and muffled scream minutes later as Angel’s pleasure reached its satisfying peak. Quickly followed by Alexander’s own achingly ecstatic groans as those inner quakes and spasms caused him to spill himself deep inside her.
“I believe Hawk to be a fitting name for our first son,” Angel murmured sometime later as she lay still naked and deeply sated in Alexander’s arms. “In order that my own name is not lost completely.”
“Whatever you wish, my darl—First son?” Alexander echoed as he sat up slightly in order that he might look down at her. “How many sons are you planning on giving me?” he prompted indulgently, knowing that he could deny this woman nothing. That she did, indeed, hold the whole of his heart in her tiny hands.
“Oh, at least two, possibly three,” his Angel assured him lightly.
“As long as we also have a daughter, or two, with your beauty, golden curls and determined nature,” Alexander murmured with satisfaction. “Although I think I would prefer that they not attend Miss Bristow’s school in Brighton!” he added dryly.
“I have so far heard no complaints from you concerning my own tutelage,” Angelina teased huskily.
“And neither will you,” Alexander assured warmly. “In fact, I am already looking forward to sharing the revelations of your next lesson!”
Angelina laughed softly. “We have only just begun, my darling,” she promised warmly.
Alexander gazed down at her adoringly, utterly sure of his love for this warm and wonderful woman. Knowing that, with her, each day together would be a joy, each night a revelation, to be savored and cherished for as long as the two of them lived….
* * * *
Author’s Note
Welcome to the sensual and exciting world of The Notorious St Claires!
Angelina and Alexander’s love story, as the matriarch and patriarch of the St Claire family, is where the story all began and it was great fun matching wits between these two strong-willed lovers.
Do look out for:
The Notorious St Claires—Historical romances
THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE
THE RAKE’S WICKED PROPOSAL
THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY
LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE
The Scandalous St Claires—Modern™ romances JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS January 2011
THE RELUCTANT DUKE February 2011
TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE March 2011
I hope you enjoy the new St Claires!
The Rake’s Intimate Encounter
ANN LETHBRIDGE
I dedicate this book to my husband, who is my inspiration
About the Author
ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.
Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent many memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.
Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles.
CHAPTER ONE
London, 1815
BRUNETTES, BLONDES and even a redhead displayed their mouthwatering attributes while they handled the cards at the green baize-covered tables with the dexterity of Captain Sharps. Tony Darby sauntered ahead of the Evernden brothers into what had once been a ballroom. At each table, fashionable gentlemen leered at their scantily clad banker, or stared at their cards.
Piquet. Whist. Vingt-et-un. Women. All the usual pastimes. Tony sighed as ennui swept through him and then turned to his companions. “This is why you dragged me all the way to Hampstead, Stanford? A gambling hell in a brothel?”
“Indeed,” the fair haired and usually cheerful Christopher Evernden said with a grimace. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, Garth.”
On the other side of Tony, Christopher’s brother, Lord Stanford, grinned, his dark eyes unrepentant. “Lady Falstow will have your head if she hears the word ‘brothel’ in her establishment. The women here are looking for amusement, not money.”
“Good Lord,” Christopher said. “Is that Lady—”
“No names,” Garth murmured. “In this club, discretion is the watchword. One wrong word and we will never darken these hallowed portals again. Look at them. It’s a banquet of female desires.”
Following the direction of Christopher’s stunned gaze, Tony recognized one of London’s foremost hostesses, known for her sumptuous dinners and witty conversation. Tonight, the blonde wore a carnivorous expression and a gown diaphanous enough to shame a courtesan.
She caught his glance. Her gaze ran down his length, obvious and assessing. Clearly liking what she saw, she beckoned.
Tony stifled the urge to flee and pretended he hadn’t noticed.
Christopher groaned. “I have no interest in playing stud for some bored hausfrau. You promised piquet in interesting surroundings.”