Life is cheap. So is death.

Maiden Lane

© 2011 Lynne Connolly

Richard and Rose, Book 7

With Rose expecting again, it should be a joyous time for her and Richard. Yet old enemies and new come out of the woodwork, seemingly intent on using whatever means possible to destroy their happiness. Not only is the legitimacy of their marriage called into question, a young man steps forward claiming to be a by-blow of Richard’s dark, wild past.

Closer to defeat than he has ever been, Richard musters all his friends and allies to defend against this attack on his own ground. However, no amount of incandescent lovemaking and tender care seems to keep Rose out of harm’s way.

Then a mutilated body turns up on their doorstep—and all fingers point at Richard. Rose has no choice but to emerge from his near-smothering concern to do what she must to save the love of her life. Even if she must appear to work against him.

As she lays her heart on the line, Richard fights to keep the violence that marks his past from claiming her life. For if he loses Rose, with her will go his humanity.

Warning: Rose gets her mad on, and Richard gets turned on. Contains married love, married sex and married fooling about. And pink coats with lace ruffles. And swords. And wicked goings-on.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Maiden Lane:

Later that day our carriage drew up outside a small church in the City—one of the number designed by Gibbs after the Great Fire. I’d heard rumours about Gibbs and the churches, that he was involved in nefarious activities, superstitious nonsense that fuelled the mob. Today the church contained a vicar, Richard, myself, Gervase, Ian, my brother James, his wife Martha and my sister Ruth, together with Richard’s parents. So that was why Ian hadn’t come for breakfast. I grinned at him as I walked up the aisle, my hand resting on James’s arm.

Unlike the last time, I wore something comfortable but still pretty, in pink and green. Instead of a priceless parure of diamonds, I wore a set of pearls that Richard had bought me, and I had a wide brimmed bergère hat on my head, instead of an elaborate hair ornament of butterflies and flowers. Last time I wore blue and silver, and I entered Exeter Cathedral with most of polite society watching us do the deed. Richard had slept with half of them—the female half—and he’d wanted our highly public wedding to serve as a statement of intent. They’d have to find another stallion. I hadn’t realised he meant that at the time, but it hadn’t taken me long to understand.

This time it was almost the wedding I’d wanted. Just people I cared about, although I missed my sister Lizzie. Ruth scowled at me. I was tempted to scowl back just to show her how unlovely the expression looked.

I felt almost dreamlike, a weird sensation of repeating my actions but not quite—I wasn’t sure I liked it. But when I saw Richard’s encouraging smile, everything returned to its proper place and I walked up the aisle to him considerably faster than I had the first time.

And this time I listened to the words. Before, my trepidation and sheer terror had removed much of the experience from my mind, but now I knew what awaited me, and I could say the words in the full knowledge of the happiness that awaited me. Hopefully nobody waited outside the church with a pair of pistols, ready to remove us from the picture. That had been on the instigation of Julia and Steven Drury, and they had since relented, or decided to take another route to personal power.

When Richard said his vows, he looked at me and only me. Anyone watching would see what I meant to him. I swallowed back my tears, not wanting to mar the occasion with inappropriate emotions, but I knew I’d weep later from pure joy. A tear must have escaped because he lifted his hand and gently brushed my cheek. I saw the liquid on his forefinger before he brought it to his lips and kissed it away.

I had taken my ring off on the journey to the church and transferred my ruby betrothal ring to my right hand. Now he put the wedding ring back. I caught a glimpse of the engraved message inside, known only to Richard and me, and then I gave him my right hand, to remove the ruby and replace it where it belonged. I slid his ring on his left hand after I made my promises. Not all men wore wedding rings, but Richard had elected to do so.

After our previous wedding, Richard had led me to the vestry, where he took me in his arms and kissed me. His reticence at that time would have made him uncomfortable to show such emotion in public, even in such close company as we were now, but today he showed no such disinclination. His kiss was no polite kiss of greeting, but he crushed me close and took my mouth with all the abandon he showed in the bedroom. Except, of course, his hands remained sedately around my waist. I felt his heat and I wanted him.

But for James clearing his throat I might have been the one to take matters further. As it was I found that I’d put my hands around his waist, under his coat, ready to slide them under his waistcoat at the back and drag his shirt clear of his breeches. My lamentable desire to seek skin had led me astray more than once. But only one man’s skin, only one man’s touch, could ever satisfy that need.

Richard drew away with a laugh and without embarrassment, took my hand and led me to the vestry, where we signed the parish register. James and Gervase followed us to witness our signatures. Richard only let go of my hand so that I could sit down to sign the book, while he explained to the vicar, “If our first marriage remains uncontested, then this service is an affirmation of our vows. If not, then you may be required to show the register as proof of our marriage.” The clink of gold coins followed and the vicar’s unctuous assurances that the register would be carefully guarded and shown to any official who required it, but not to the casual passerby.

Richard helped me to my feet after leaning over me to add his signature to mine. Unlike the first time, my name flowed from the pen and I marvelled at how accustomed I had become to it. At one time I had considered becoming Richard’s mistress, when I thought there was no other way I could have him. His hand pressed my shoulder before he raised me up, and once again, heedless of the squawks from the religious behind us, kissed me with the same fervency he’d done before. This time I regained a semblance of my sanity and drew away first, to see his softened, fond smile. The one I saw most mornings now.

“I am so glad,” I said. He didn’t need to know what I meant. He knew it already.

“I will marry you again and again, if need be. I think my mother saw the glimmer of escape, but not my father. He sees the advantage of the bird in the hand.” He released me but slipped his hand into mine.