Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
Deliberately, he’d waited till it was only a week away, lest his impatient nature overtake his good sense. It was a time of celebration, one where he and Joan would celebrate their marriage and enjoy every ounce of intimacy it offered. His heart pounded as his blood raced through his veins at the thought. He’d never wanted a woman so much in his life, never experienced the overwhelming need and ache for anything like he wanted Joan. For those reasons, he’d waited to plan the time he’d fully explore those delightful pleasures. But he’d put that off long enough, and it was time. Steeling himself against the onslaught of tempting thoughts, he forced himself to think clearly.
At first, he’d considered his estate in Bath. She’d mentioned wanting to visit the Roman ruins, but upon further consideration, he decided that precious little sightseeing would happen on the wedding trip. It would be better to visit a place where they could be comfortable and not feel the pressures of exploring anything but each other. So, for that reason, he penned a letter to his butler in Cambridge. The house wasn’t grand, but it was homey and comfortable. It was cozy, intimate, and everything he’d loved about his past combined with everything he loved about his future.
If they wished to get a bit of fresh air, he could take her to the college, show her where he’d worked and studied, and share that side of his life with her. It was perfect. So with a few strokes of his pen, he let the housekeeper know to prepare the home for his arrival with his new bride, with a few particulars for Cook to procure—champagne and a plethora of biscuits. He’d remembered how much Joan loved them at Westmore House, and the same recipe was used at his Cambridge house.
Content with his choice, Rowles thought about Joan in his Cambridge home. It was a perfect picture in his mind, one that brought a swell of peace and love to his spirit. Cambridge was where he’d truly felt at home, and Lord willing, one day he’d be able to return and do more than visit.
“Your Grace.” The butler came in with his silver tray, a missive with the Penderdale seal resting in the middle. “There’s a messenger awaiting a reply.”
“Thank you.” Rowles lifted the missive and set it on his desk. With a brass letter opener, he peeled the wax and unfolded the letter.
Rowles,