Free Once Upon a Moonlit Night: A Maiden Lane novella by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

Paxton and Miss Royle now.
    And as Hippolyta sipped the lukewarm tea Lady Whimple had handed her she knew: the freedom of being only a ragged anonymous beggar maid was over.
    She had to face her real life now—and everything it entailed.
      
    Two weeks later Morris, Matthew’s new valet, withdrew from the earl’s bedchamber with a murmured good night and a bow.
    Matthew breathed a silent sigh of relief as he pulled the neckcloth from his throat. He hadn’t had a valet since he’d left England, and acquiring one, along with all the other more pompous accoutrements of an earl, had been wearying at the very least.
    Not to mention acquiring a wife—not that she was wearying.
    Matthew paused before the door that connected his room with Hippolyta’s in the Paxton town house. They’d married just that morning, but besides at the wedding breakfast at a little past noon, they’d hardly talked. At the formal meal, attended by their families, Hippolyta had asked after Tommy, Charlie, and Josiah, and Matthew had complimented her on her dress. Previous to that they’d been kept determinedly apart by her blasted father, possibly in a ridiculous attempt to close the stable doors after the horses had run amok in the pastures. Immediately after the wedding breakfast he’d been waylaid by lawyers and men of business and had spent the afternoon and evening incarcerated with papers and legal matters. The earldom was in a shocking state of affairs, though with the help of Hippolyta’s dowry, it was slowly being set to rights.
    He hadn’t even been able to take supper with his new bride.
    But now…
    Matthew set his palm against the old oak door. He could almost feel her heartbeat on the other side. He had no idea what she thought of this marriage—if she was glad or frightened or grieved. He knew only what he felt.
    Exultation.
    He had her, his Princess, his little beggar maid, his Hippolyta Royle. His ragged girl who had turned out to be the richest heiress in England and exactly who and what he needed in a wife.
    He had her and he would not let her go.
    Matthew pushed open the door.
    The countess’s bedroom was intimately lit with only a few candles. Hippolyta sat in the big bed, dressed in a lace-trimmed wrapper, playing with Tommy. Her ebony locks fell in a dark, shining wave about her shoulders.
    She glanced up at his entrance, a smile on her lips. “Oh. I missed Tommy so.”
    He strolled to one of the chairs by the fire, banked now. “So you mentioned at our wedding breakfast.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat.
    She scratched the little mammal under his chin and Tommy—the wanton—chirped and flipped onto his back, curving into a C and tilting his head to give her better access. “Do you think he missed me?”
    “Oh, yes,” he replied as he shrugged out of his waistcoat. “He doesn’t show his underbelly to just anyone.”
    “Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully, pushing her dainty fingers through Tommy’s sleek fur. “He’s a warrior. He needs to keep himself—and his heart—safe.”
    “He does indeed.” Matthew pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. He could feel her gaze upon him as he propped a foot on the chair to unbuckle his shoes. She wasn’t as calm as she tried to make out. “But you should be careful with him.”
    “Wh…what do you mean?”
    “He’s a hunter. He thinks like a hunter.” He pulled off the first shoe and stocking and then the second before straightening to look at her. “He might be letting himself appear vulnerable to lure you in.”
    Her big brown eyes widened as he faced her and unbuttoned his falls. “Oh, I don’t think—”
    Tommy suddenly curled tight around her hand and mock-attacked her fingers.
    Hippolyta shrieked.
    The servants probably thought he was ravishing his new wife.
    Matthew would’ve smiled had he not been encumbered with a near-painful erection. Carefully he shucked both breeches and smallclothes. Then he picked up the