When he stepped across to his mother, it was as if the earth quaked beneath Genevieve’s feet. Her hands fisted at her sides as she told herself not to go after him, not to beg him to be kind to this woman who had endured so much. She had to trust Richard to choose his next move.
Let him choose wisely, she prayed silently. Let him chose the action that rids his heart of poison.
Unblinking she watched him approach his mother. Augusta slowly raised her eyes. Genevieve read in her face that she awaited castigation. After all, how could a belated confession compensate for such pain?
With his characteristic grace, Richard dropped to his knees by his mother’s chair. “I’m sorry for your heartbreak, Mother. I’m sorry that I was such a blind, self-righteous, contemptible ass all these years. I’m sorry it’s taken me until now to ask your forgiveness.”
Augusta straightened in astonishment. “Richard?”
“I sincerely beg your pardon.” He embraced his mother with a naturalness that scoured Genevieve’s heart.
“My son—” Augusta choked. She buried her face in Richard’s broad, capable shoulder. The proud, beautiful woman who had offered such a frosty welcome began to cry, sobs muffled against her son’s coat.
Torn between joy and sorrow, Genevieve watched mother and son. They had so much time to make up. Their reconciliation wouldn’t change the world’s view of the old scandal. Nonetheless, something inside her flowered into gratitude. Richard and Augusta had found their path. They would survive. Better. They would triumph. Genevieve felt privileged to witness this raw, true occasion when her husband conquered his demons.
Eyes dark with emotion, Richard glanced up at Genevieve. His smile was distinctly shaky, but it conveyed his depth of emotion. Genevieve released a choked laugh and lifted her hand to dash moisture from her cheeks.
“I love you,” she mouthed silently.
“And I love you,” he said softly, firming his grip around his mother’s shoulders.
He extended his hand toward Genevieve, an invitation to share this extraordinary moment. On shaky legs, she rose and stumbled across to enfold Richard and his mother in her arms. The man she loved had made peace with his past. Now a shining future beckoned.
About the Author
Always a voracious reader, Anna Campbell decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. Once she discovered the wonderful world of romance novels, she knew exactly what she wanted to write. Anna has won numerous awards for her historical romances, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice, the Booksellers’ Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence, the Aspen Gold (twice), and the Australian Romance Readers Association’s most popular historical romance (five times). Her books have twice been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award and three times for Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year.
When she’s not writing passionate, intense stories featuring gorgeous Regency heroes and the women who are their destiny, Anna loves to travel, especially in the United Kingdom, and listen to all kinds of music. She lives near the sea on the east coast of Australia, where she’s losing her battle with an overgrown subtropical garden.
You can learn more at:
AnnaCampbell.info
Twitter @AnnaCampbelloz
Facebook.com/AnnaCampbellwriter
Look for the Sons of Sin ebook novella!
Please turn this page for an excerpt from
Days of Rakes and Roses.
Chapter One
Rothermere House, London, April 1826
The ball to celebrate a woman’s forthcoming wedding should be one of the happiest events in her life.
Suppressing a sigh, Lady Lydia Rothermere surveyed the crowd stuffed into her brother Cam’s white and gilt ballroom and told herself of course she was happy. This mightn’t be the night she’d dreamed about as a foolish adolescent, but she’d long ago relinquished dreams. She was a mature, sensible woman of twenty-seven marrying a mature, sensible man of forty-one. She was content with her decision. For a woman well past her debut, contentment was something with which she should be, well, content.
The bracing lecture didn’t notably raise her spirits. She muffled another sigh and plastered a smile on her face. This party was in her honor and she intended to enjoy it, even if it killed her. She wore a new dress to mark the occasion, dark blue brocade with Brussels lace, and her maid had twined red and white rosebuds through her thick auburn hair.
“I’m neglecting you, my dear.” Sir Grenville Berwick turned from the political cronies who had occupied his attention for the last half hour and took possession of her white-gloved hand.
Her fiancé’s touch aroused no frisson of anticipation. But then only one man had ever made Lydia tremble with desire, and that had been so long ago, she now viewed the events of that summer day as an aberration in an otherwise blameless life. She didn’t pretend to love the man she promised to marry, but she respected him. And God willing, she’d have children, lots of children, to whom she would devote the vast well of frustrated love in her heart.
Please let it be so.