He concentrated only on the steps. And on the woman in his arms.
This dance was more than slightly risqué in the eyes of society, he knew—and to perform it with an unmarried virgin of Lily’s class was nothing short of scandalous.
He wanted to kiss her. In fact he could not remember ever wanting anything so clearly, so intensely, as he wanted this now.
He wanted to forget the vow he had made to protect her. He wanted to take her up to his room, pull the emeralds from their leather case, put them around her smooth white neck and undress her so she was wearing nothing else.
He wanted to lose himself in her. To forget what he was and be with her what he might have been had he never gone to war.
For a moment he stood, mouth inches from hers, and they swayed together as if dancing still, pulled in towards one another, her gaze locked with his. All he could hear was her breathing, somehow soft and harsh all at the same time, threaded raggedly within and around his, in time with the pulse that throbbed faintly, sensuously, in the hollow at the base of her throat.
Daniel took his hands off her before he did something he knew they would both regret…
Author Note
It’s been a while since my last book, but I knew that I was not yet ready to say goodbye to the Westhaven family—so I was excited at the chance to revisit Oakridge.
A generation has passed since a highwayman met his match in THE ROGUE’S KISS, and now it is his son, Daniel, who lives alone within Oakridge’s imposing walls, recently returned from war with his life and hopes for the future in pieces. This is his story, and that of Liliana, the woman he is honour-bound to protect—whether she likes it or not!
I hope you take as much pleasure in reading MAJOR WESTHAVEN’S UNWILLING WARD as I did in writing it!
Do e-mail me at [email protected]—or come and visit me on Facebook—to let me know what you think!
Major Westhaven’s Unwilling Ward
Emily Bascom
Emily Bascom lives in London with her boyfriend, a sunflower, and a dog named Giles. She has a degree in English and Drama from Royal Holloway University, London. In her quest to find a real job she has been a milk(wo)man, a charity fundraiser and a station assistant on the London Underground—all of which she loved. She craves olives, hates cricket, and dreams of retiring to Uganda.
A previous novel by Emily Bascom:
THE ROGUE’S KISS
MILLS & BOON
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To Errol, who picked himself up and learned to walk again. I will love you all my life.
Prologue
South Carolina, America—April 1781
Major Daniel Westhaven knew he was dying from the moment he opened his eyes.
He was lying on muddy grass, still on the battlefield, the air around him filled with smoke, the stench of burning flesh—and the cries of his men. As he blinked, he became aware of the pain coursing through his lower body, robbing him of breath, making him so dizzy he thought he would pass out again.
He took a deep breath and tried to take stock.
The ground beneath him was wet, his breeches similarly sodden. When he put out a hand to explore this wetness he found it was blood. His blood. Panic ran in quicksilver streams through his limbs.
Focus on something else…
His men.
Turning his head, he could see his second-in-command lying motionless beside him, face ashen, eyes tightly closed. ‘Pevensey?’
There was a low groan and, slowly, Captain Robert Pevensey opened his eyes. ‘Daniel?’ A hand, caked in blood, reached out and, after fumbling in his direction, grabbed his arm.
‘It’s me, Robbie.’
Fear showed clear on the man’s blanched white face. ‘I can’t see!’
There was a large wound in the younger man’s chest and blood matted in the hair and long grass at the back of his head. From what Daniel could see, Robbie had not long to live, either.
Daniel was growing ever more dizzy, but he managed to disengage the hand that gripped him, taking the cold fingers of his friend tightly in his own.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said thickly. ‘Try to sleep a little.’
‘You’re a damned dreadful liar.’ The voice was weak, but there was a wry smile in it. ‘What state are you in?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘I hope to God that’s true, at least.’ Robbie’s eyes closed slowly.
Daniel squeezed his fingers, but he was no longer sure the younger man could feel him. ‘Pevensey?’
‘Wait.’ Withdrawing his hand, Pevensey reached into his jacket and pulled something out—a miniature in an oval frame, Daniel realised, as it was handed across to him. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here.’ Daniel, with some effort, took it and squinted at the tiny likeness, exquisitely detailed. Green eyes stared back at him, flowing honey-blonde hair and a sweetly smiling mouth. ‘Who’s this? Your sweetheart?’
‘Lily. My sister, you remember.’
How could he have forgotten? Daniel cursed his befuddled brain. He had seen this painting before, six months ago, during the most serious conversation of his life—and he knew with a dreadful sinking feeling what was coming next.
‘Daniel?’
