Page 47 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Yardmore Court, Hampshire

Near midnight, December 24th, 1905

With the gates of Yardmore Court at last in view, Rockley sent up a prayer of thanks. It had been a hideous journey, with a blizzard descending some ten miles back. His driver had advocated for them pulling in at the nearest coaching inn, but Rockley had promised generous compensation for his efforts, and they'd pushed through.

Of course, he ought to have taken the railway, as Estela had done—or so her butler had told him, on Rockley having bowled up at her Mayfair residence. The ducal emblem on his carriage had ensured him being appraised of the location of Yardmore Court forthwith.

He was hardly presenting himself as he would have liked, after almost twelve hours of bone-rattling travel. He only hoped his rather disheveled appearance wasn't too noticeable—for, if he was successful in his suit, he anticipated a formal meeting with Yardmore and the rest of Estela's family.

As it was, he was turning up at the Viscount's home uninvited, hoping that his name alone would ensure some degree of welcome. To his relief, many of the windows along the porticoed facade were lit warmly and, even outside, the sound of music was audible.

A party no less!

Which would suit his purpose just fine.

The door opened as Rockley was mounting the steps, with the butler taking his coat and hat, before directing his coachman to where the poor man—not to mention their horses—would have a chance for proper rest.

"Will you go through to the ballroom, Your Grace, or should I announce you more privately to His Lordship?"

One couldn't fault a butler for having a keen eye as to the provenance of a coach!

"It's the Duke of Pembridge, but—"

Rockley assumed a confidential manner—"while I anticipate speaking with Lord Yardmore in due course, I'm rather hoping to surprise another member of the family tonight. I don't suppose you've noticed the whereabouts of his sister, Mrs. Bongorge, this evening?"

Rockley could only hope she hadn't retired early; he wasn't above sneaking up the stairs to accost her in her boudoir, but he could hardly locate her chamber in a house of this size without persuading one of the servants to assist him. It wouldn't be the best way to begin his introduction to the family.

"I believe the lady is taking a respite from the dancing at present, and can be found in the conservatory, Your Grace."

The butler, to his credit, didn't blink an eye at Rockley's unusual request. "Follow me, if you please."

They passed through several connecting rooms until they emerged into a space which appeared to span a large portion of the southern end of the house. A glass vaulted ceiling stretched loftily above. On silent feet, the butler retreated, leaving Rockley to wander onwards.

Beyond the vast, dark windows, the snow glowed a dull white, stretching off across blanketed lawns. Flakes drifted thick, attaching themselves to the edges of the panes.

After a moment, her voice carried to him from the far end, though he caught only a fraction of the actual words as he drew closer.

"… the scent of oranges is divine. One day, I'll peel them for you."

Rats!

If she was with someone, it complicated matters.

He passed a large stove blazing merrily to provide a degree of heat to the conservatory, then rounded a bank of well-established ferns, before spotting her leaning into one of the citrus trees.

As for whoever she'd been talking to, they must have departed through some other door, for she was entirely alone after all.

"Estela."

He called her name softly.

He hadn't wanted to startle her. Nevertheless, she gave a small shriek.

"Oh, my love!"

He went to take her in his arms, but she shrank back.

"Why are you here?"

She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling fast within her close-fitting bodice.

She looked so beautiful in green, and the black lacework was very fine. He'd seen something like it only once before—in Venice, wasn't it…

The truth of it struck him like a hammer blow. How had he not realized before!

"It was you!"

His voice rang out in the cavernous space. "You were there that night, at the Palazzo Zorzi Tiepolo."

With a pained cry she picked up her skirts, making for the doors which led outward, but he was quicker than she, blocking the way.

"For God's sake, Stella. Don't run from me. I know why you took the letters; that you were only doing what you thought was right."

Her eyes blazed. "I know what I was doing but I can't say the same for you."

He cursed inwardly. This was not the romantic reunion he'd hoped for. He'd long since resolved his feelings over Estela's involvement in the Venice fiasco but, of course, she was unaware of his role. He hesitated to answer, but keeping silence wouldn't do—not if she was to be his, sharing his life.

"Who sent you for them?"

She wasn't letting this go.

"Someone guarding Mathilde's interests, in the same way as yourself—and the interests of the Empire. You understand the import of your niece's marriage. Thanks to our efforts, everything will go ahead as planned. We both did what had to be done."

She frowned, taking in what he'd just told her.

"The letters no longer matter; that isn't why I'm here."

"It isn't?"

Something caught in her voice.

"No more pretenses. I want the truth."

"About what, exactly?"

She prickled, folding her arms.

"Why you went to such efforts to seduce me."

He hadn't planned on confronting her so directly but there were things that had to be said. He needed to hear what her feelings had been.

"It was you who approached me. What were your motives, Rockley? You say you'd no idea I was at the palazzo, but perhaps you were keeping me under your eye."

The ridiculousness of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. "It was chance entirely. Do you think I'd have brought you back to my cabin if I'd suspected you were after those letters?"

"Then why did you? Was it all just a way to pass the time, before you returned to your bride? When is the wedding? Oughtn't you to be in London for the last-minute preparations?"

It gave him hope. If she could become so riled, she must feel something.

"Stella."

He spoke softly again. "The day in Messina convinced me that I had to know you better—not just because you made me laugh, and there was such a connection between us, but because of the rage I felt when I saw you with another man. I knew then that I was in the grip of something stronger than I'd ever felt before."

"You never said anything."

He could tell that, behind the curtness of her responses, there was a measure of hurt.

"I'm telling you now. The engagement is broken—more amicably than I could have hoped for. Miss Maitland is extraordinary, in her way. You'd like her, truly."

"You broke it off?"

"Stella."

This time, when he stepped towards her, she didn't shrink away. "I haven't stopped thinking about you; every moment. Not just thinking of you; wanting you."

"I want to trust you, but all this time…"

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "You didn't come looking for me or send any sort of message. I knew you'd be able to find me. I thought you must prefer to forget everything—as if it never happened. Not to mention hating me for stealing from you."

He brought one hand to stroke her cheek. "I was so tied up convincing myself you felt nothing for me that I lost sight of the most important part of all."

"And what was that?"

She was looking intently at his lips.

"That I love you."

He put his arms around her, drawing her close. Bending, he brushed his lips to her forehead, then to the arch of her eyebrows and her lids. "I've thought of you every day we've been apart."

"And the nights?"

she asked huskily.

"Those as well. Definitely the nights."

Finally, he took the kiss he'd been dreaming of, falling into the softness of her, yielding and eager. He gave her all his passion; not just the desire he felt through his body but the yearning in his heart.

When they drew breath, he cradled her face within his hands. "Estela Bongorge, my woman of mystery and untold mischief, will you let me cherish you and protect you, bringing you the same peace that I feel when you're near? Can I convince you to place your happiness in my hands, from this moment, and forevermore?"

Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the finger where his ring would proclaim her his wife. "Belong to me, Stella. Say you'll marry me."

Estela's breath slowed.

She'd given up believing that he might come for her; had told herself there was no going back. Yet here he was, saying what she hadn't dared hope. She'd almost convinced herself she didn't need him—that what she had would be enough. But he was offering her everything, and she was so filled with joy she couldn't speak.

The ground seemed to fall away beneath her feet, while her bliss lifted her. Was this what the poets meant, when they spoke of being transported by love? She thought she'd experienced all there was, but this was new. She felt strangely young, and vulnerable, and uncertain. Except that, there was one thing she did know for sure.

Rockley was the man she wanted to spend her life with.

Very gently, she nodded.

"My love!"

The elation in his eyes said everything. "Whatever you wish is yours. I'm impatient, of course, but the wedding shall be exactly as you choose. We can marry from here, or hold the ceremony at Westminster Abbey if you prefer. The King would be in attendance if that were case, and there would be more to organize, but you would be the most beautiful bride the Abbey has ever seen."

Jubilation bubbled within her. "A quiet arrangement will suit me perfectly. I don't need a grand show, or other people's approval—least of all the King's. All I want is you—just the two of us."

Except, that wasn't entirely true, was it?

There would be not just two, but three.

A slight panic gripped her. This was no way to begin a marriage. She'd been planning to keep the pregnancy from him, and she realized suddenly how terrible that would have been.

"Rockley!"

He was bending to kiss her again, but she pushed against his chest. "There's something you must know, and you may yet hate me—though what I'm going to say isn't an awful thing. It's just that I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't think I could."

He'd always deserved to know. Her fear had kept her from being honest with him; fear that he'd reject her in spite of the child or, worse, act through obligation alone.

Shushing her, he stroked her hair. "Whatever this is, it won't change my love for you. We've both been cock-eyed, but we can face anything together."

"On the ship, you remember when we…"

It was impossible she was blushing! "I don't know how, although of course I do…"

She groaned. "The fact is, a child is coming. Your baby. In about six months. A June baby."

She held her breath.

For a long moment, he said nothing. At least five emotions crossed his features in quick succession.

"A baby!"

He gave a whoop.

She hadn't known he could look so happy, nor that seeing him so would make her own heart swell to bursting. Scooping her under her bottom, he spun her wildly.

"Theo, do stop! You're making me dizzy—and sloshing the baby about."

Still, she couldn't help laughing. "I was just telling him how the oranges are even more delicious in the villa gardens on Lake Como, and that we might be taking a journey overseas quite soon to see them. He'll think we're crossing the Channel already."

Putting her down, he dragged his hand through his hair, a whole new set of plans clearly assailing him. "Will your family forgive me if I whisk you straight to Gretna Green? Of course, I'll need to sort a few matters with my solicitors in London, but honeymooning in Italy sounds just the thing."

She patted his chest. "A trip to Scotland is a marvelous idea. In fact, Oona and Margaret are expecting me. It will be no matter at all to ask the vicar at Slickend to perform the nuptials."

"Slickend?"

He pulled a face. "By the by, you never did tell me what made you accept my less than decent proposal, that morning, over breakfast."

"Well, I do love sausage. The way you described yours was quite irresistible. I could hardly walk away without attempting a taste."

"Saucy minx."

He gave her ear a playful tug.

"And there was the matter of research,"

she went on. "All young ladies need a certain degree of knowledge…"

"Regarding sausages."

Finding her bottom again, he gave it a soft pinch.

"Exactly. I'm writing something for one of those handy little guides, on what girls should expect on their wedding-night… and beyond."

He was caressing her in a way that was making her feel quite light-headed.

"In that case, I heartily approve, and shall do all in my power to advance your knowledge. By my recollection, we still have a great deal to tackle on that front—although the real meat may need to wait until late next July, if my reckoning is right."

"That may be true; we'll see."

She gave a small moan as he pulled her to rub upon the hard ridge now prominent in his trousers. "Well-endowed dukes must be managed carefully, and thorough investigation of the topic will be essential, but I feel certain the results shall be worth the effort."

The future Duchess of Pembridge then allowed herself to be carried to a handily placed chaise, and submitted to attention that might have made her quite chilly, were it not for the heated breath and hands of her duke.

Farther off, the Yardmore grandfather clock began proclaiming the hour of twelve, and there were distant shouts of ‘Merry Christmas'.

Estela bit her knuckle and sighed happily, as the duke gave her the second of many delightfully unexpected gifts.

Epilogue

Villa Belliano, Lake Como, Italy

June 27th, 1907

Gentle light filtered into the bed chamber, and a breeze stirred the ivory voiles. It was not yet the height of summer, but Estela liked to keep the windows ajar.

Theo was still sleeping.

Slipping on her robe, she padded on soft feet to the adjoining room. Little Teddy was also, thankfully, not yet awake. Like his father, he had an excess of energy and an adventurous disposition. The previous week, he'd not only taken his first proper steps but had shown ambition towards climbing the curtains.

Tiptoeing out again, she headed for the balcony which stretched the length of the villa on the upper floor. This time of day was always best for gathering her thoughts, while listening to the early morning calls of the birds who nested so abundantly around the lake.

Settling into her chair, she tucked up her feet, and breathed deeply of the pure, mountain air, overlaid with the scent of bougainvillea. The wisteria and azaleas had finished flowering, but the hydrangeas were still giving a good show. The terraced gardens leading down to the waterfront were a riot of color.

It was going to be a hectic day; a lively few months in fact, with so many visitors. Oona and Margaret were arriving tomorrow, and she wanted to fill their bedrooms with blooms from the garden. Fortunately, they were easy to entertain. A trip to Bellagio would be a good idea, as well as to the towns of Varenna and Tremezzina. Arriving by boat was best of all, and her godmothers were still steady enough on their feet to manage the cobbled avenues. Mostly, they would want to relax, and there were plenty of shady spots in the garden to do so, while admiring the view across to the foothills of the Alps.

Marjorie and Ingrid were due to visit directly afterwards, staying at least a week as part of their tour of the region. Estela was so glad they'd been able to remain friends. Meeting Marjorie for the first time had been rather a shock—realizing that the fair-haired young woman was none other than the stranger she'd met at the Royal Opera House.

Estela had felt an awful pang of worry that she'd influenced Miss Maitland unduly, though entirely in ignorance. However, it didn't take long to see that Marjorie knew her own mind. She and Theo would have muddled along, but they would never have been devoted to one another in the way Marjorie and Ingrid clearly were.

In any case, it had all turned out marvelously. Theo had assured her that he'd already known Estela was the only woman he could marry—well before Marjorie surprised him by breaking things off herself.

Estela had extended invitations to Esther and Charles, and their respective spouses and offspring, but she wasn't sure they'd make the trip—even though the railways did make things so much easier these days. Her siblings were content on Britain's shores, which was all well and good.

There was a letter from Mathilde she ought to answer, asking if she and Theo would like to visit them in Montegiana. She really ought to reply to that. Mathilde had delivered twin girls straight out of the gate and had some hairbrained idea of a betrothal between one of the princesses and little Teddy. Estela would need to disenchant her on that front. When it came time for the next Duke of Pembridge to choose a bride, she fully intended that he do so himself, without the least bit of interference.

There was time, perhaps, to put pen to paper before the household awoke and she was distracted by other things but, first, she had something else in mind.

Returning to the bedroom, she was pleased to see Theo stir. Rolling over, he reached for where she should be lying beside him. In doing so, the sheet covering him slipped. He was most certainly awake—at least in one vital department…

If you enjoyed Theo and Estela's story, you'll love joining Bathsheba and Jorge on their tropical island, madcap treasure hunt adventure in 'The Lady's Guide to Escaping Cannibals'.

You'll find their story at all online retailers, alongside lots more 'Lady's Guide' shenanigans.

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This series is also available in audio

(performed brilliantly by British actor Gareth Davies).

Looking for historical romance filled with passion, adventure, comedy and intrigue?

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The Lady's Guide to Tempting a Transylvanian Count

The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount

The Lady's Guide to Scandal

The Lady's Guide to a Highlander's Heart

The Lady's Guide to Mistletoe and Mayhem

The Lady's Guide to Escaping Cannibals

The Lady's Guide to Deception and Desire

The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes

About Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Emmanuelle lives in a medieval tower house in the Scottish Highlands with her husband and her snuffle snoof, Ernie, her hairy pudding connoisseur of squeaky toys and bacon treats.

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An ancient castle. A family curse.

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The Revelry's Tempest series

KJ Jackson