Elizabeth Beacon: The Black Sheep's Return

‘How do you know I’m not already fully a woman?’

‘Don’t be more of a fool than nature made you,’ he retorted, knowing it from the bold bravery with which she met his eyes.

Even his certainty reminded him he’d once been a rake and knew far too much about women for a simple countryman. She was far too good for him in every way he could think of, even if he’d had his old self back and could offer her so much more than a cottage in the woods and a life of toil and obscurity.

‘I’m a realist, not a fool,’ she said softly.

Her breath stuttered, as if not being his would hurt her in some drastic fashion, and he kissed her with a curse that shuddered through him and into her as something broke.

She was tangled around every sense and scruple Rich had. He raised his head to look at her at last, a desperate question in his eyes, seeking an answer he shouldn’t ask for and she shouldn’t give.

Welcome to the third and last in my series of Seaborne books. If any of you are new to this rich and powerful family this story reads perfectly well as a single book in its own right, but if you enjoy this book you might like to find out more about the Seabornes in THE DUCHESS HUNT (Jessica and Jack’s story) and THE SCARRED EARL (Alex and Persephone’s story), which are available as eBooks.

Ever since the idea for the Seabornes came to me I have had a soft spot for Rich Seaborne, the family rogue and unwitting cause of so much trouble for the rest of the Seabornes. Even while I was weaving the stories of bold Jack and troubled Alex and their eventful journeys to happiness I was itching to get on with Rich’s story as well.

While those of you who have read THE DUCHESS HUNT might remember Lady Freya Buckle as being the least popular of Jack’s guests, I had no idea she would turn out to be Rich’s match back then. It wasn’t until she dashed into the first scene in a most un-Freya-like state of disarray and took over that I realised she was the perfect lady for a man convinced he could never love again.

So I hope you enjoy this tale of love against the odds, set in the midst of a series of secrets and misunderstandings, and agree that Freya and Rich truly do deserve each other by the time they finally manage to bring the Seaborne family the happy ending they have all been longing to see.

ELIZABETH BEACONlives in the beautiful English West Country, and is finally putting her insatiable curiosity about the past to good use. Over the years Elizabeth has worked in her family’s horticultural business, become a mature student, qualified as an English teacher, worked as a secretary and, briefly, tried to be a civil servant. She is now happily ensconced behind her computer, when not trying to exhaust her bouncy rescue dog with as many walks as the Inexhaustible Lurcher can finagle. Elizabeth can’t bring herself to call researching the wonderfully diverse, scandalous Regency period and creating charismatic heroes and feisty heroines work , and she is waiting for someone to find out how much fun she is having and tell her to stop it.

Previous novels by the same author:

AN INNOCENT COURTESAN

HOUSEMAID HEIRESS

A LESS THAN PERFECT LADY

CAPTAIN LANGTHORNE’S PROPOSAL

REBELLIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT GOVERNESS

THE RAKE OF HOLLOWHURST CASTLE

ONE FINAL SEASON

(part of Courtship & Candlelight)

A MOST UNLADYLIKE ADVENTURE

GOVERNESS UNDER THE MISTLETOE

(part of Candlelit Christmas Kisses)

THE DUCHESS HUNT

THE SCARRED EARL

THE BLACK SHEEP’S RETURN

features characters you will have met in

THE DUCHESS HUNT

and

THE SCARRED EARL

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Elizabeth Beacon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Rich Seaborne stretched his long legs towards the glowing fire and gave a contented sigh as he finally allowed himself to relax. It had been a long day crowded with tasks and responsibilities, but they all were nowadays. He wondered what his old friends and family would say if they could see him now and marvelled he’d ever been the man they would remember. Mr Richard Seaborne had also gone to bed late and never risen early for the simple reason he was seldom even home by the time most of humanity were ready to begin a hard day’s work.

‘Idle young idiot,’ he chastised his old self, feeling as if his very bones gave a sigh of relief at the luxury of sitting still at long last.

The careless young wastrel he’d once been seemed a puzzling stranger to him now. Despite the hard work and heavy responsibilities, Rich couldn’t imagine going back to his old, useless life of a careless beau about town. Back then he never knew the satisfaction of earning his family’s bread by his own labour. He’d never earned a penny in his life until he had to learn how, or starve and watch them go hungry as well.

He leaned back against the well-worn cushions his wife had made to soften the larger of the two Windsor chairs he’d crafted with wood from the forest. Content by his own fireside, watching a fire fuelled with wood he’d felled, seasoned and chopped himself, he let himself enjoy the pure pleasure of sitting still for ten precious minutes before he climbed the steep stairs he’d built when they restored the derelict cottage so deep in the woods he hoped everyone else had forgotten it was here and sought his bed after a hard day’s work.

If the old Rich could see himself six years on, he’d marvel at this homespun fellow with marks of labour on his hands, a day’s growth of beard on his chin and a streak or two of dirt across his face where he’d rubbed his nose when thinking. A bittersweet smile lifted his mouth as he recalled his Anna doing her best to break him of the habit with a combination of tenderness and nagging, but at the end of the day he would look in the small square of mirror over the mantel and see the proof that, whilst his ears heard her, his mind went its own way as soon as he was intent on something else.

Without her at his side to encourage, chide and push at him to be a better man it felt as if he was trying to move the world with a teaspoon. There wasn’t any balance to it all, even with their children asleep and reasonably clean, decent and well fed upstairs. No wife on the other side of his fireside, no warm body and acute mind relaxing in the smaller chair he’d made for her to wrap herself snugly into at the end of a hard day. No lover in his bed at the ultimate end of that day to welcome him, love him and, after they made love softly so as not to wake the baby, snuggle against him and fall so absolutely asleep he used to marvel at the quick neatness of her slumbers.