The Proposition, page 27
“You ignite me as no other woman could,” he told her, his teeth scraping across her neck, his hands searching and pulling, releasing the confines of her corset and exposing her breasts to the warm cupping of his palms.
She arched and keened, robbed of words. No, she had not read of this, or even come close in her occasional delves to this corner of her imagination. Nothing compared to the rich heat of his mouth around her nipple, or the flutter of her belly when his hand reached lower, a single nervous gasp managed before his fingers traced the slick heat of her sex, and nervousness turned to wonder.
The want devastated any desire she had to solve the mystery of lovemaking slowly. There would be other nights—all the nights in the world—to meander. She remembered marveling at the strength in his shoulders, poised and tense, and she remembered the expression of almost pain as he found her gaze and entered her for the first time. There was pain for her too, pressure like a pinch, but it was one wilted flower in a field of lilies.
Far more she knew she would remember Audric’s thumb worrying gently along her brow, and his whispered concern for her, then the brief flash of a smile when he was consoled by her whimpers of pleasure. She would remember his brow furrowing in concentration and the slap of their bodies meeting. There was a moment when the pain was gone, and Clemency felt herself open to him, and it felt like truth dawning—she had him, and they were married, and she could give herself over to the idea completely. She could let herself chase the itch that felt like it stayed in the back of her throat—to scratch it she needed more of him, and faster, and to be empty and full, and empty and full.
It was a word on the tip of her tongue, and then, finally, she remembered it. He clutched her hips hard, and went suddenly tense, then finished. Clemency remembered the word and gasped as he spilled inside her.
Complete.
Breathless again. Just like the whole of the wedding. Clemency laid on her back and Audric sprawled across her, both of them a sweaty tangle. The noises. The scents. The inescapable moistness of it all. No, none of her novels had communicated it well. She rubbed a small circle over her belly and let herself indulge in the odd feeling spreading through her and the almost pleasant soreness between her legs.
“Was there anything to fear?” Audric asked, crawling off her and turning onto his own back with a huff.
“No,” she said, giggling. “But much to learn.”
“In this discipline may we both become scholars.”
Clemency smirked and flicked him on the shoulder. “I’m too warm.”
Sliding out of the bed, Clemency used her own discarded shift to sop up the wetness they had made and then found a dressing gown sized for Audric hanging by the hearth. She shrugged it on, the hem dragging behind her as she left the fire and stepped out into the coolness of the balcony on the other side of the bed. The night washed over her heated skin, a much-needed balm, and she tipped her head down, looking over the rolling greenery between her new home and her old one.
Audric joined her, forgoing any dressing gown of his own, the heat of his naked chest a comfort as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
“Nora is playing,” Clemency said softly, pointing across the estate grounds to her old family home. A few candles burned in the windows, a very, very soft piano song carried across the fields on the wind. The house was still full of life, and perhaps they were celebrating.
“Home,” she said. “And home.” Shaking her head slowly, she reached up and gathered her hair over one shoulder, peering up at Audric as he detached from her and leaned against the railing, facing the house. “I thought you were a lunatic when you first came to me with your schemes and allegations.”
“Ha! And now? Do you regret agreeing to my proposition?” he asked, outlining her jaw with the edge of his hand.
“I only regret I did not listen to you at the Pickfords’ ball,” Clemency murmured. “We might have avoided so much unnecessary pain. I feel as if my indecision is to blame; I should have known Boyle for a villain at once.”
Audric pulled her dressing gown closer about her shoulders and stood tall again, then leaned down to brush a kiss against her cheek. “Your good counsel to Lady Veitch’s ridiculous daughter saved us all from a regrettable fate. Without her influence, without Denning Ede to support her story, we might never have rid ourselves of Boyle so cleanly.”
Clemency nodded and tried to believe him. “And now I am married.”
“You are,” Audric said, chuckling. “An end none of us could have foreseen, with all your loathing of it. Tell me, were your heroines right? Is it all horror and gloom?”
She smiled and fit herself into his chest, turning them both toward her family’s home, where the lights blinked out one by one. A darkening house, but one still full of life and love.
“Bethany Taylor said that the scholar, the poet, and the philosopher can all agree that love is an ungovernable mystery and yet we seek to govern it.” Clemency breathed out, warm and held and safe. “I’m not sure I agree with her. In our bumbling way we seek to control it, to control each other. But I think our marriage might be different. We can do some good with it, not just good for us, but for others too.”
“Oh?” Audric grinned. “And how will our marriage be?”
“Not love governed,” Clemency said. “But a love story, and like all stories, we simply write it and hope, hope against hope, hope passionately that it endures.”
For my mother
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the spring of 2020, I began writing this novel as a distraction for my mother while she recovered from a serious illness, and while I too struggled with my own debilitating sickness. With the pandemic raging, I couldn’t fly to be with her, and so I fell back on the thing we bonded over and shared when I was a child: Jane Austen. As I sent her each chapter, I tried to give us both a Regency adventure that would make those dark days feel a little easier and brighter. I want to acknowledge and thank her for introducing me to the world of Austen, which led to my obsession with Regency romances of all kinds. This book wouldn’t be here without her influence.
As always, I would also like to thank my wonderful agent, Kate McKean. Thanks is also due to the amazing team at Penguin Random House—Shauna Summers was instrumental in developing and polishing this work.
Lastly, I want to acknowledge my partner, family, friends, and early readers. This one took a village, and I’m grateful for your support.
By Madeleine Roux
FOR ADULTS
Allison Hewitt Is Trapped
Sadie Walker Is Stranded
World of Warcraft: Shadows Rising
Salvaged
Reclaimed
The Proposition
FOR YOUNG ADULTS
The Asylum series
The House of Furies series
The Book of L`iving Secrets
About the Author
Madeleine Roux is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Asylum series, which has sold over a million copies worldwide. She is also the author of the House of Furies series, and several titles for adults, including Salvaged and Reclaimed. She has made contributions to Star Wars, World of Warcraft, and Dungeons & Dragons. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her partner and beloved pups.
madeleine-roux.com
Twitter: @Authoroux
Instagram: @authoroux
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Madeleine Roux, The Proposition
