Free Bride for a Night by Rosemary Rogers

from her morearistocratic neighbors who had yet to issue an invitation to their exclusive gatherings.
    She already considered him a dear friend.
    “Vicar.”
    Lifting his head, he slowly inspected her apple-green walking dress edged with silver lace along the scooped bodice. A matching ribbon encircled her waist. Her bonnet was a jaunty yellow that had been dyed to match her half boots that peeked from beneath the hem of her gown.
    Until arriving in Devonshire she would never have chosen a dress in such a vivid color, and certainly she would never have dared to reveal so much of her full bosom.
    But with the vicar’s gentle encouragement she had sought out the local dressmaker and ordered a complete new wardrobe. She had even started to wear her hair in a casual style that allowed several glossy strands to frame her face.
    Now, the sight of the appreciation simmering in his eyes made each tedious hour spent being poked, prodded and measured worthwhile.
    “I must say you are appearing particularly fine today,” he said, continuing to hold her fingers in a gentle grip. “That gown suits you.”
    She shyly preened beneath the warmth of his gaze. “Do you think so?”
    “I do. The shade brings out the emerald of your eyes.” A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “May I indulge my vanity and tell myself that I can take a small measure of credit for your lovely ensemble?”
    She chuckled. “You can take full credit, sir.”
    “Please, I really must insist that you call me Jack,” he interrupted, giving her fingers a squeeze. “We are friends, are we not?”
    She paused, a warning that her husband would not be pleased to discover his new bride speaking so intimately with another man. Even so, she tilted her chin in an unconscious gesture of pride.
    Gabriel had given up his right to dictate her behavior when he had driven her from London.
    “Jack,” she breathed.
    Satisfaction flared through his dark eyes. “Much better. Now, what were you saying?”
    “I was admitting that I shall unfortunately never develop a talent for fashion. Which is why I am so thankful for your advice.”
    “A foolish business.” He shrugged. “You have far more important talents.”
    “You are very kind.”
    “No, my dear, I speak with all sincerity,” he assured her. “Your presence at Carrick Park has enriched the entire neighborhood.”
    “Jack…”
    “Only this morning Mrs. Jordan was singing your praises for having so quickly acquired a suitable doctor.” He overrode her embarrassed protest. “And Mr. Stone is convinced you are an angel for the meals you have provided for his family. And, of course, your plans for the new school have the entire countryside twittering with excitement.”
    With a laugh, Talia pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Her entire life had been filled with criticism and the knowledge she was a disappointment to those who were supposed to love her.
    She had no notion how to accept such admiration.
    “Enough.”
    He took a step closer, releasing her hand so he could cup her chin in his palm.
    “I simply wish you to know that your servants and tenants consider you to be one of the finest Countesses of Ashcombe in memory.”
    Genuine warmth filled her heart. The realization that she had the power to improve the lives of those who depended upon her had given a sense of purpose to her days. And more than that, it had offered a newfound confidence in herself.
    Something she had never expected.
    “It is pleasant to think that I am not an utter failure in my position.”
    His brows snapped into a frown. “Failure? Why would you say such a thing?”
    “How can I not? As you are well aware, I have yet to be welcomed by my more noble neighbors. They are obviously not so pleased by my presence.”
    He studied her pale face. “Does that trouble you?”
    She grimaced. “The thought of bringing shame to my husband’s family troubles me.”
    Without warning Jack grasped her upper arms in a firm grip, his dark