The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting Page 25
“What I want,” he said, looking up into those summer-blue eyes. “I want you to understand that I love you—you, Hart, the most desirable, wonderful man in the world. I want you to take me to Aston Clinton and teach me to brew beer and grow roses. I want you to tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Robin Loxleigh. My fortune hunter, and my greatest fortune.”
Robin had to kiss him for that. “Excellent. And since we’ve cleared that up, and you are at my disposal...” He sat up and dragged a hand over his breeches-front, rough and unsubtle, watching Hart’s eyes follow the movement. “Let’s see where your imagination takes you, my Hart. Pleasure me.”
Epilogue
The skies were the blissful clear blue that English summers received so much poetical praise for, yet so rarely delivered. The late roses were a riot of colour around them, their dizzying scent underpinned by the hum of bees and the shrill scraping of grasshoppers. Robin was absorbed in a letter from Marianne, his face lit with pleasure as he read. Hart was ignoring a newspaper in favour of watching him.
Marianne and Alice had safely arrived in Heidelberg, with Dr. Trelawney in tow plus a sturdy footman. Edwina had faced her temporary bereavement womanfully, and arranged several trips around the country in order to get used to life without her daughter. That meant Hart would be looking after young George for a few weeks when he returned from a visit to friends. He was looking forward to time with his nephew, and suspected Robin would be good with the boy.
“What news?” he asked.
“Alice is throwing herself into her studies, and her tutor may be able to arrange for her to attend university lectures with the men. Marianne is very proud of her accomplishments with the language, which you can tell because about a quarter of this is in German. They have made friends, seen the sights. Nothing about Verney, in case you’re wondering.”
Giles Verney had come to see Hart a day or so after the Aylesbury ball with the words, “I have had a great deal to think about.” He’d apologised for a number of things that Hart had never particularly considered wrongs, then gone to Marianne to beg her forgiveness, and been sent off with a spectacular flea in his ear. He’d made his feelings perfectly clear, she informed him; she had no patience with chopping and changing; she was going to Heidelberg and would not be reneging on that for anything so trivial as himself.
Giles had accepted his schooling, but he hadn’t given up, and when he’d told Marianne that he had asked for a posting to Frankfurt and begged her blessing to take it, she hadn’t consigned him to perdition. Maybe he would regain her affections, maybe not. Robin said the process would be good for them both, whatever the outcome, and Hart had no doubt he was right.
He wasn’t quite sure what had passed between Robin and Giles. Robin was never rude to or about him in Hart’s hearing, but Giles had skirted him very warily indeed before his departure. He’d decided to let that play out as it would. If Marianne chose Giles in due course, he had no doubt that Robin would accept it.
“There’s a full page of description of the city,” Robin went on. “They seem to be enjoying themselves wonderfully. She sends her love.”
“Return her mine when you next write.”
Hart had taken a little time to fully grasp that Marianne knew all about her brother’s affairs; that she had gone into battle for his sake as well as for her own. It still felt like a tiny miracle to be acknowledged as Robin’s by someone else. Marianne approved; Evangeline Wintour had laughed raucously for some time at the news, then told him to bring Robin over, and got out the good brandy. And, possibly, there was James.
Robin had spent a fortnight staying with James Alphonso, receiving an intensive education in the mysteries of the brewing trade. They had got on like a house on fire, and Robin had charmed Theodora too, but when James had sent him back it was with a note to Hart saying how much he’d enjoyed getting to know his dear friend, underlined.
Dear friend—cher ami? Hart wasn’t going to press for more, but the thought that James knew and liked Robin warmed his thoughts like sunshine. And Robin had done superbly. He was taking to the trade like a duck to water, absorbing information with his usual quick wit, befriending within weeks men who had been nothing but colleagues to Hart for a decade.
Robin gave a snort of amusement at something in the letter. Hart watched him, his newspaper forgotten on his lap. His lover was framed with flowers, his hair lit to honey-gold by the afternoon sun, his lips curved in a smile at the letter that Hart might have envied if he didn’t have so many of Robin’s smiles for himself.
Robin looked up, as though sensing his gaze. “Mmm?”
“I was just thinking how well roses suit you,” Hart said. “As if you were born to be here, in my rose garden. You look like summer.”
Robin put the letter down. “Do you know, Alice once told me you were incapable of giving such trivial things as pretty compliments or flowers, and she’s usually right. And yet you’ve put me here amid an entire garden in bloom, and now you say something like that. You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel.”
“You’ve taught me well,” Hart said. “Or possibly I was always capable of paying compliments, but I didn’t know anyone who deserved them. Most people don’t.”
“That’s my Hart.”
Robin grinned at him. Hart smiled back, relaxed in his chair, and let himself smell the roses.
<<<<>>>>
Thank you for reading! For more Regency shenanigans by KJ Charles...
Band Sinister
Sir Philip Rookwood is the disgrace of the county. He’s a rake and an atheist, and the rumours about his hellfire club, the Murder, can only be spoken in whispers. (Orgies. It’s orgies.)
Guy Frisby and his sister Amanda live in rural seclusion after a family scandal. But when Amanda breaks her leg in a riding accident, she’s forced to recuperate at Rookwood Hall, where Sir Philip is hosting the Murder.
Guy rushes to protect her, but the Murder aren’t what he expects. They’re educated, fascinating people, and the notorious Sir Philip turns out to be charming, kind—and dangerously attractive.
In this private space where anything goes, the longings Guy has stifled all his life are impossible to resist...and so is Philip. But all too soon the rural rumour mill threatens both Guy and Amanda. The innocent country gentleman has lost his heart to the bastard baronet—but does he dare lose his reputation too?
“I have read some great romance books this year, but this rises to the top. Entertaining, intricately peopled, tightly plotted and simply ... perfect.”—HEA USA Today
“I loved that this couple was completely honest with each other about their feelings for each other, and their feelings for other characters who held important places in their lives. It made their HEA all the more delightful and believable. ... this book is really, really good. Go one-click, you won't be disappointed.” —Smexy Books
“A wonderfully entertaining read that, for all its light-heartedness, nonetheless manages to convey a number of important ideas about love, friendship, social responsibility and the importance of living according to one's lights. It's a sexy, warm, witty trope-fest and works brilliantly as an homage to the traditional regency and a tribute to those who dared to think enlightened ideas in a time of entrenched views.” —Caz's Reading Room
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About the Author
KJ Charles is a RITA®-nominated writer and freelance editor. She lives in London with her husband, two kids, an out-of-control garden, and a cat with murder management issues.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Published by KJC Books
Copyright © 2021 by KJ Charles
Edited by Christopher Keeslar
Cover design by Kanaxa
ISBN: 978-1-912688-21-0
Also available in paperback
ISBN: 978-1-912688-22-7