Nineteen years and many days. That’s how long it had taken Monsale to finally kiss Lady Naomi Steele. To put his hands on her soft, delicious body.
For the first fifteen of those years, he hadn’t viewed her as anything other than the younger sister of a friend. And if he was honest about it, for much of that time he had barely given her a second thought.
But somewhere during the years that followed, she had emerged from her cocoon and spreading her wings had magically transformed into a beautiful butterfly, right before his eyes. He couldn’t see or even think about her without lust heating his soul. Burning desire for her ran deep.
Over the past year, things had become particularly problematic whenever his thoughts turned to Naomi. He wanted her. Ached for her touch.
He couldn’t walk into a social event that he knew she would be attending, without automatically seeking her out. But being the damn fool that he was, the second he got near, his resolve always faltered. His only armor in this battle was his impenetrable rogue façade which he locked firmly into place. Poor Naomi was then left to deal with his cool disinterest.
It was the very reason why he didn’t dance. If she saw him with another woman, Naomi would expect him to offer the same to her. The mere thought of holding her in his arms, even fully upright, sent his body into a hardened state.
But that kiss. By Jove, it was good. She didn’t hold back. And those lips…
He was stuck between a rock and hard place. If Naomi behaved like any other woman, she would have immediately demanded marriage. And he would have caved and be obediently on his way over to Grosvenor Street right this very minute. There he would respectfully request an audience with the duke. After informing Naomi’s father that he had just thoroughly kissed his daughter, the Duke of Redditch would agree that marriage was the only option. By the time he left Redditch House, a firm date for the wedding would have been set.
But Naomi is not like other women. She has a mind of her own. If you did go and see her father, she would never forgive you.
Monsale was still in two minds as to what he should do as he walked in the front door of his home. A somber Adan was waiting for him.
“This arrived an hour ago from Carlton House,” he said.
His heart sank at the sight of the paper in his steward’s hand. Where he was concerned, nothing good seemed to come out of the prince’s London residence. A horrid sense of foreboding gripped him.
There is nothing to be done, but the prince’s will.
Taking the letter, he broke open the seal. He sighed as he perused the contents of the note.
“He has given me a day and time for the fealty ceremony. Asked that I RSVP as soon as possible with the name of my good lady wife. Says it is for catering purposes only.”
“Right royal little…” muttered Adan.
Screwing the letter tightly in his fist, Monsale pondered his next move. The days were rapidly ticking down. He had little over a week before he was scheduled to kneel before the Prince of Wales.
There was a long minute or two of silence, then Adan cleared his throat. “Have you considered the obvious solution to all this, your grace?” he asked.
Monsale leveled him with a sharp look. It was all he thought of from the second he woke to the time he closed his eyes.
“Yes, I have.”
His father had raised him to never beg. To never give in. The family motto was Nihil necesse est cedere. Nothing must be yielded.
But if he failed to secure the hand of a wife and soon, he might well have to change the family coat of arms.
Lady Naomi Steele was making it all so difficult. The stubborn woman. If she didn’t give in to him soon, Lady Euphemia Marshall might be his only hope.
Could I really marry a stranger?
If it meant keeping his title, and the McNeal family fortune intact, that might be precisely what he had to do.