Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection

Colors swirled inside Dany’s tightly shut eyes; her heart raced, pounded, her whole body tensed in anticipation as Coop took her beyond anything she could have dreamed existed, into a world that held only the two of them...and then beyond the realm of what seemed possible.

His back was slick with sweat as he collapsed onto her, and she nuzzled into his neck, licking at his salty skin, holding him while he shuddered, then seemed to melt against her.

After a few moments she would have given half her life to cling to forever, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so that she could snuggle against his shoulder while he dropped light kisses on her hair and they both recovered their breath.

She didn’t know what to say. It seemed entirely the wrong time to tell him that he was free now, that she regretted nothing.

It didn’t seem fair to question him, either, not when he was clearly as caught in the moment as she was, and have him say something he might spend the rest of his life regretting.

There simply wasn’t anything either of them could say.

Or so she thought.

“Turnips?”

Dany looked up at him, saw the smile on his face.

“Pardon me?”

“That’s all they could come up with? Turnips?”

Dany smiled. It was all right. He was still Coop, and she was still Dany. And they both, thank God, could still see absurdity for what it was, even in the midst of all that had been so very complicated and frightening.

“The Townsend turnip. The Hero Turnip.”

“Never,” he said, pulling her close once more. “If I’m to discover some fine, hardy new turnip, it will be the Minerva.”

“That seems only fair,” Dany told him. “Followed by the Vivien and the Clarice. You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Not for a while, no. I don’t think I can move.”

“Good. Well, then...good night,” she said, and then snuggled closer, suddenly able to find sleep. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.

CHAPTER TWENTY (#u25973cb7-38b6-5eee-b0b0-28ad01a1b954)

COOP WAS GONE by the time one of the duchess’s maids crept into Dany’s chamber the following morning. She shifted and slithered her way to the opposite side of the bed, looked down at the carpet.

Drat. The packet of Mari’s letters had departed with him.

He didn’t trust me not to peek. How wise!

And Ferdie was no longer a problem. Wait. Had he said that, or had she? It was difficult to remember, but she suddenly had the niggling feeling that she might have assumed Coop was no longer in danger from the man, and he’d let her think that because, well, they did have other things pressing on their minds, hadn’t they...like making love.

She quickly rolled over onto her back, rubbing at her sleep-sandy eyes before squinting across the room to look at the mantel clock.

“Ten thirty! Who let me sleep until ten thirty!” She hopped out of the bed so quickly she nearly knocked the silver tray bearing scones and a pot of hot chocolate from the maid’s hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Quickly, I need a basin of warm water and the clothing I brought with me yesterday. I have to return to Portman Square at once.”

“Yes, miss. Lord Townsend said you are to be ready, waiting and, um, tapping your foot in impatience for him to arrive at eleven o’clock. But his mother said you probably needed your sleep because—I don’t rightly know why, miss, but she winked at me. Scary, that wink, and if you don’t mind me saying so, her smile beats the wink all to flinders.”

“Oh, Lord...”

Dany was downstairs and, yes, tapping her foot, when the hall clock struck the hour of eleven.

Thank her lucky stars for her short hair, which needed no more than a quick brushing, and for Maisie, the maid assigned to her, who probably couldn’t wait until all these extra, giggling and apparently hard-drinking ladies were gone from the mansion.

She’d have been waiting outside, on the wide portico, if the steely-eyed butler hadn’t informed her that was not done.

Really, Timmerly would have said the same thing, but at least he would have shown her some sympathy.

But when she heard the slowing hoofbeats and the jingle of harness through the heavy door, the majordomo didn’t stand a chance in Hades of holding her back any longer.

Coop and his wide smile met her halfway up the marble steps.

“You’re late,” he teased as he helped her up onto the seat of his curricle. “You know Oliver is arriving home today? I told Mr. Sinclair to tell you.”

“His name is Gabe, and yes, I know. But we’re fine. The farm wagons coming into town for the markets would have slowed his pace, unless he’s on horseback.”

“He is arriving on horseback! Didn’t Mr. Sin—Gabe tell you that part? We have to hurry.”

“Do you suggest I command my horses to produce wings, and fly us over all these other carriages and equipages?”

“Oh, stifle yourself.”

Coop laughed. “I see the romance of the night quickly fades in the morning.”

Dany put her head down, still tapping her toes on the footboard. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Mari needs me. I never should have left her alone, but I was so desperate to find you, warn you that the letters must be retrieved at once.”

Then she’d ask him more about Ferdie. One crisis at a time, and right now, surprising even herself, Dany realized that her main concern was for her sister. After all, Coop was sitting beside her, and apparently feeling odiously cheerful.

They turned into the square, and Dany sighed in relief, a relief that lasted only until she saw the familiar round shape of Emmaline’s brother Sam leading a horse down the alleyway beside the mansion, on his way to the stables.

She bounced on the seat, wishing she could fly. “He’s here. He’s home. He’s already inside. Oh, if Mari refuses to see him? Worse, if she feels some overpowering urge to bare all to him?”

“By ‘bare all,’ you mean tell him about the letters, correct?” Coop asked as he eased the curricle to the curb and Dany hopped down to the flagway before he could set the brake.

“What did you think I—oh, will you please hurry. A groom will be out in a moment, and you’ve set the brake. Do you have the letters?”

“Gabe’s right,” she heard him say as he joined her on the flagway. “Nothing’s ever the same. Are you ready?”

“Am I—no, I’m not ready. If we’re too late, I don’t know how Mari is going to be able to go on.”

A footman opened the door as they approached and Dany ran inside to see Oliver standing in the foyer, looking up the length of the staircase.

She turned to where he was looking, and there was Mari, her foot poised just over the first step, looking so beautiful, so frightened, so much the little girl she’d been when she and Dany had been children together—Dany younger but always in the lead, Mari reluctantly following.

“Mari,” Oliver said, taking two steps forward. “My darling Mari.”

A pause followed, a silence so profound Dany could hear her own heart beating.