Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,65

my gown as I walked added to the fairy-tale emotional charge to the atmosphere. The music hummed in the background and was accented by the many conversations taking place at the same time. I glanced about for Morgan but didn't see him. A strange urgency pounded through my body, and my heart sped up its tempo as I scanned the crowd. The sea of humanity parted enough for me to have a glimpse of Morgan's black suit and profile but Lord Dannberry stepped in front of me to offer congratulations.

"Splendid! Splendid indeed! Many blessings to you both!"

"Thank you, Lord Dannberry." I nodded and glanced behind him in an effort to see Morgan, but he was gone. As Lord Dannberry raised his hand to catch another gentleman's attention I began to turn to continue my search. A warm hand covered my eyes and a familiar and alluring voice tickled my ear.

"Surprise, Jocelyn. Were you looking for me, love?"

A warm smile tilted my lips, and I turned only to have my husband pull me into a waltz as the music began a crescendo.

"Yes, indeed I was looking for you."

Morgan grinned, and I gasped. My dream! Astounding wonder filled my mind as I realized that this was the dream I had experienced just before I was drawn back into Regency London.

"Are you distressed, Jocelyn? Are you well?" Morgan's expression was concerned as he scrutinized my expression. I nodded then swallowed, blinking back tears of wonder and joy.

"Yes, I'm absolutely wonderful."

After our waltz Morgan offered me a glass of champagne, which I sipped delicately.

"How long must we stay?" I asked Morgan discreetly as I lifted my glass.

"Every minute is torture, I assure you. I do not want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary," he whispered back, giving my body a rakish glance.

"Will they forgive us if we leave now?" I asked with a suggestive grin.

"Do you care if they don't?" His gaze smoldered.

"No," I answered.

"Good. Neither do I."

And with that, we snuck out of our own party and startled Morgan's footman as we raced up to the carriage.

Once inside, my laughter at the startled expression and feminine squeal of the footman died on my lips. The expression on Morgan's face silenced me.

"Jocelyn."

I closed my eyes, savoring my name on his lips. "Mmm," I sighed. When I opened my eyes again his intense stare held me captive.

"Jocelyn Ansley," he whispered.

The tension crackled between us as he reached across the carriage and trailed a soft caress down my arm before lacing his fingers within my own. Not a moment later, he came across the carriage and sat beside me, pulling me close into his frame.

"Say it again, please."

"Jocelyn Ansley. My wife." He spoke the words as if they tasted like honey.

"Morgan Ansley." I spoke, tilting my head to whisper the next words just a breath from his lips. "My husband."

With an ardent growl, he kissed me — nipping, pulling, and devouring. "I swear you are the sweetest torture, but the blasted minutes till we reach our home are going to drive me mad," he whispered hoarsely, pausing only a moment before continuing his passionate attentions.

Gasping, I leaned closer and ran my fingers up his chest, unbuttoning his vest. The thin fabric of his shirt prevented me from caressing his bare skin. A frustrated sound strangled from his throat as my fingers teased his skin, so close yet far away.

"Can't the horses go any faster?" he cursed just before we stopped. "Not a moment too soon." He grinned at me wolfishly and bounded from the carriage, sweeping me with him. He carried me through the house, startling his butler.

When we reached the stairs I thought he'd put me down, but I was wrong. He bounded up the steps, and I buried my face in his neck, kissing the flesh just below his jaw line. His rumbled response made my belly churn.

He raced down the hall and into his room, where he set me down and turned to shut the door with a loud bang. "Now." His gaze was dark and meaningful as his eyes trailed over my body. Although I was fully clothed, I felt naked. He walked slowly, seductively toward me, loosening his cravat with a flourish. He continued, shaking off his coat and already unbuttoned vest. Not once did his eyes waver from my own as his masculine hands began to unbutton his white shirt. It floated to the floor behind him as he continued towards me with a purposeful stride. The muscles