Free Some Enchanted Waltz by Lily Silver

little above mortals and a little below angels. I did not mean to anger you. Please consent to be my wife. I will cherish you, Sweet Lady of the Mists, I will be forever in your debt, and I will do anything and everything to please you.”
    “In name only.” She reminded him. “I will agree to live here as your wife. If I don’t like it here, I will leave.”
    “Yes, of course. Dear Tara, you’ve made me the happiest of men.” He bowed to her, and offered her a heartfelt grin.
    She grinned at him, her eyes filling with mischief. “Scratch that--the name only part. I’m not a prude. We should have a little fun while playing house, don’t you think?”
    Adrian did, in fact, think just that. Still, he would not be too presumptuous. He’d take his time seducing her. Adrian sat down on the bed beside her, testing the waters as he moved in. Tara welcomed his embrace, her slight frame conforming to him as he wrapped his arms about her and drew against him as if she already belonged to him.
    Tara’s arms wound about his neck, her lips parted in clear invitation for him to kiss her. Without hesitation, he claimed the enticing buds offered so freely to him and him alone. Her mouth was warm, pliant beneath his searching kiss, matching his need with a surprising hunger of her own. She tasted like sweet wine, intoxicating . . .
    “For Heaven’s sake, restrain yourself.” That painfully familiar voice assaulted him with the force of a cruel blast of icy water.
    Adrian bolted from the bed, his chest pounding as he struggled to recapture his dignity. He was man, two and thirty, for pity’s sake, there was no reason for his mother’s shrill, remonstrative voice to unsettle him so.  
    The tall, graceful form of Lady Fiona Dillon stood in the doorway. “I return home and am informed your mysterious bride has suddenly arrived, and then I come to greet her and find the pair of you making love? Tis most distressing to my poor nerves. Pray tell, why did you neglect to send word to me at Seafield House?”
    “In that case, perhaps you should make it a point to knock before entering a room, more specifically a bedchamber that does not belong to you.”  He shot back as he straightened his cravat, feeling like a schoolboy caught in mischief. Clearing his throat, he made formal introductions. “Miss Tara MacNeill, may I present my mother, Lady Fiona Dillon. Lady Dillon, my fiancée, The Honorable Miss MacNeill.”
    Unlike him, Tara seemed unaffected by his mother’s untimely intrusion. Her cheeks remained pale and her eyes merely curious regarding the stranger before her. The ghost of a smile twisted her lips. As she glanced from his mother to him, her eyes sparkled with barely restrained mischief. The waif was definitely amused by the situation. Adrian felt himself relax considerably under Tara’s beguiling regard. He smiled at her.
    “Why is she wearing Althea’s gown?” Mother’s sharp voice sliced through his mind like a knife blade paring sinew from bone.
    “Circumstances being as they are,” He stepped forward to put himself between Tara and his shrewish Mother.  “I doubt Althea would mind sharing her wardrobe.”
    An ebony brow rose ominously at him. “What circumstances?”
    Adrian realized his mother would not have the slightest interest in local gossip regarding the wreck on the Bay unless someone of wealth and consequence happened to be among the survivors. “Surely news of the shipwreck reached Seafield House. Tara’s belongings are on the bottom of Bantry Bay.”
    The grey eyes softened, taking years off Lady Dillon’s dour features. “I heard.” She choked momentarily, apparently realizing too late her ill-mannered remark. “I had no idea your bride was among the survivors. Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”
    “I did, Mother.” Adrian replied. “Many times. You were distracted.”  In her inebriated condition in the past months, he could have told her Prince George of England was coming