A Ring from a Marquess
Mistress or Wife?Independent Margot de Bryun has no intention of giving a man control of her life! Although handsome rake Stephen Standish, Marquess of Fanworth, does pique her interest… Maybe a man can offer other advantages?Stephen sees Margot as perfect marriage material – talented, intelligent and alluring. But when a stolen family ruby is traced to the jewellery shop Margot owns, infuriated, Stephen demands she become his mistress. Except Margot’s not one to be easily tamed – and, whether she be mistress or wife, sparks will certainly fly!
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He closed the last inch between them and their lips met.
The kiss was exquisite. Not cherries or strawberries. They were both too sweet. Blackcurrant, perhaps. Tart and as complex as wine.
How long had he been dreaming of taking her, right here on the white velvet divan? His fantasies had been innocent compared to this. He had not imagined this helpless feeling of abandon as her body touched his. She fitted perfectly against him, the curve of her hip in his hand. He ran his hand over the bare skin of her shoulder, circling to the back of her neck so that he might press her mouth to his. Such a delicate nape, fringed with the soft hair he had longed to stroke. He rubbed it with his knuckle and her lips opened, eager for him.
One kiss and she was driving him mad. He wanted to ravish her with his mouth, claim her body as his own.
If he felt so about an innocent touch, how would he survive a more intimate one?
I often come up with interesting titbits of information when writing my stories. A Ring from a Marquess, with its Bath setting and its female shop owner, was brimming with detailsâsome of which I couldnât use.
Unfortunately Thomas Loggan, who died in 1788, was too early for this story. Thomas was appointed âDwarf to the Prince and Princess of Walesââa curious title, but not his most interesting claim to fame. He was also a designer and painter of fans, doing much of his work in Bath, and often painting himself into the pictures that decorated his work.
An even earlier story that I could not use was of the hazards of communal bathing in the famous Bath waters. In 1734 you would not have wanted to share with the Duchess of Norfolk. She was a rather large woman, and her desire that the bath be filled to her chin put the smaller ladies around her at risk of drowning.
And now I hope you enjoy A Ring from a Marquess. And if you happen to be reading in the tub keep your chin up â¦
CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many petsâall of whom would like her to get off of the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming and as a librarian. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.
To Melanie Hilton, for some fabulous information about Bath.
Bowing, as always, to your superior knowledge.
Contents
Margot de Bryun ran a professional eye over the private salon that had once been the back room of Montague and de Bryun Fine Jewellery, then paused to plump the velvet pillows on the chaise. The old shop had been a rather stuffy place. But now that she was in charge and the late and unlamented Mr Montagueâs name had been scrubbed from the gilt on the windows, she felt that the design was cheerfully elegant. The walls were white and the columns on either side of the door were mirrored. In the main room, the gold and gems lay on fields of white velvet and carefully ruched blue silk, in cases of the cleanest, clearest glass.
Once she was sure the stock was in order, she checked each shop clerk to make sure their uniforms were spotless. The female employees wore pale-blue gowns and the gentlemen a not-too-sombre midnight blue. She inspected them each morning, to be sure that no bow was crooked, no button unpolished, and no pin in a pinafore out of line. She required nothing less than perfection.
She took great care with her own appearance as well, making sure that it did not distract from the wares on display. It was vain of her to dote on it, but she shared her sisterâs fine looks. Until her recent marriage, Justineâs beauty had brought her nothing but misery and Margot wanted no share of that. Better to dress simply than to attract the attention of alleged gentlemen who thought a slip on the shoulder would be preferable to an honest living in trade.
But neither did she want to appear dowdy. She avoided bright gowns and excessive jewellery in favour of the same simplicity that decorated the shop. Todayâs gown was a muslin as white as the walls with a gold ribbon at the waist to match the amber cross worn on a thin gold chain around her neck.
Such aloof elegance inspired awe from the customers and not the discomfort gentlemen sometimes felt in surroundings they deemed overly feminine. They left de Bryunâs Fine Jewellery convinced that they had gone no further than the anteroom of the female realm to seek advice on those strange creatures from an oracle. They trusted that the luminous Miss de Bryun would know better than any other jeweller in Bath what their wives, daughters, and even their ladybirds might want in way of a gift. And it amused Margot to be treated as a high priestess of human ornament.
