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  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2014 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teresa Thompson Blackwell

  Cover: Corbin Media

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  ISBN-13: 978-0692325124 (Davonshire House Publishing)

  ISBN-10: 0692325123

  ASIN: B00O1B1LRA

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing October 2014

  DEDICATION

  To Terri. Teresa. Theresa...Oh hell; however, you spell it!

  Thank you for getting past the initial meeting and coming out on the other side with me. Much love!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For every woman who understands the standard, and will not settle for less. Here is your happily ever after.

  A special thank you for putting up with my million questions:

  Adventureland Safari Tours – Barbados

  The Party Boat- St Lucia

  ATV Island Tour and Orient Beach Tour - St. Maarten

  Table of Contents

  Just breathe...

  {1} London Calling...

  {2} Feel this...

  {3} Ready or Not...

  {4} Always a bridesmaid...

  {5} Keeping his word...

  {6} Beginning the Journey...

  {7] Dealing with Daddy...

  {8] Say What Now...

  {9] Up, up, and awake...

  {10] I now pronounce you...

  {11] Presenting Mr. & Mrs....

  {12] Say Cheese...

  {13] Welcome Home...

  {14] How you living...

  {15] Honey, we’re home...

  {16] You did what...

  {17] Waking the giant...

  {18] Time to go to work...

  {19] Understanding the standard...

  {20] My new intern...

  {21] Introducing M’lady...

  {22] Scaling the castle walls...

  {23] Meet the family...

  {24] Are those Arabians...?

  {25] M’Lady...M’Lady

  {26] What are you thinking...

  {27] Time for tea...

  {28] Making preparations...

  {29] Places please...

  {30] Tell me again...

  {31] All in the family...

  {32] Here comes the brides...

  Discussion Questions?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Just breathe...

  “That’s it Sweetheart, you are doing great. Just breathe...” Nigel stood beside the bed holding onto his wife’s hand as she tried to breathe her way through the sharp pains. “You are doing fantastic. We are almost there,” he told her as he mopped her sweat-soaked brow with a damp cloth.

  “Oh God, Oh God, forgive me for my sins,” Wilhelmina yelled out as the next sharp pain soared through her lower extremities like a thief in an open jewelry market. “I am going to die. I am not going to make it.” She told her husband and she held on to the pillows, her head lolling from side to side.

  “Here Love, take my hand, take my hand” he said as her fingers gripped his hand. The next pain that came forced her to clamp down and almost bite the hand that was helping her. The nurse tried not to laugh as Nigel yelled out, “Oh, oh, owww, let go of my hand, let go of my hand!”

  The doctor, who had been quiet until this point, said, “Okay Milady, you are starting to crown; it is time.”

  Wilhelmina was beyond reason, “It’s time! What do you mean it’s time? It has been time for the past nine hours. Somebody get this child out of me!”

  Nigel kissed her forehead, trying to help her remain calm, “Okay Sweetheart, on the count of three, I want you to bear down and push with everything you have,” he told her as he gripped her hand again, mumbled words of encouragement and counted down. “One, two, three, push!” Wilhelmina gave it everything she had and pushed. “Great, Sweetheart, the head is out. Now we have to get his shoulders out as well. Again, by the numbers, we go again.”

  “I’m so tired Nigel. Can’t you just reach in there and pull him out? Tell him his Mommy needs a nap...”

  The love that he felt for his wife radiated through his pores. “We want to make sure he is not hurt during the process Sweetheart. You can do it, you are one of the strongest women I know. Okay, on my count.”

  She pushed hard and within seconds she heard his first cry. Their son was born. Vanity Devons was now a mother.

  {1} London Calling...

  “Good Morning,” the sultry British voice on the other end of the line said. “Last night I was hit with an absolutely brilliant idea,” he said with entirely too much cheer in his voice.

  Vanity Devons sat behind her desk twisting a piece of silk cording, “And what would that idea be Your Grace?” Nigel Strathmore, the fifth Duke of Glastonbury and the owner of Strathmore Textiles
took pleasure in his bi-weekly calls to her. She took more of a liking in taunting him with formalities.

  “I have decided that I am going to marry you,” he said with confidence as if he had just discovered a revolutionary new stain-resistant fabric.

  “And I am going to agree with this brilliant idea yours?” she asked with some facetiousness.

  “Yes, because I am going to sweep you off your feet in a grand romantic gesture and remind you for the rest of our lives, why you fell head over heels in love with me,” he told her. Vanity could also hear his smile through the phone.

  “I think I missed out on something, Your Grace. And when did I fall in love with you?” She did actually like the man more than most she met. He was one of the few men who did not objectify her or treat her like a pretty face attached to a pair of boobs and a working receptacle for their prodding intentions.

  As the owner of a lingerie company and former model, it no longer shocked her when men assumed she was stupid or a sex toy — or a combination of both—a stupid sex toy. There were several men who were blatant if not disrespectful in their approach to her, but David, her big brother, had taught her that those types of men are waiting for a response. He told her, “It diminishes the punch if the receiver is unfazed by the blow.” It took her a couple of years, but she learned how to shield her face and not give anything away in her expressions, unless she was on camera.

  Nigel Strathmore was like a great photographer. Within 15 minutes of meeting her, he had disarmed and lowered her defenses. An hour later they were deep in conversation and by the end of the evening she had let her hair down, figuratively, and he was running his fingers through her trademark tresses. It was very unlike her to allow a man such liberty, but for some odd reason, she felt safe with him.

  “You started falling in love with me the first time I held you and gazed deeply into those hazel eyes while I ran my fingers through that glorious hair of yours,” Nigel lowered his voice a few octaves as he allowed the words to roll across his sexy lips.

  “So, is that all you have Sir Nigel?”

  “What do you mean is that all I have? I am proposing to you, declaring my intentions for your heart. Wilhelmina, I am crushed,” there was a chuckle in his voice. Each time he called, they would discuss business, but his last few calls had been more of a personal nature, but Vanity knew it was a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Nigel Strathmore was a man who was after more than her pretty face and body. He wanted something more from her that he seemed intent upon having. He captured her attention by being one of the few people to call her by her given name of Wilhelmina versus her public persona, Vanity Devons.

  She tried to hide her facial expressions so her staff wouldn’t see her reaction to the call, “Well, last week the Sultan of Brunei offered to make me his third wife and build me a glass high-rise of monumental proportions in the desert as a token of his love for me.” She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing as she said the very true words.

  “Third wife, eh? Somehow I don’t see you being comfortable as anyone’s third choice,” Nigel told her.

  “That is true. Well, the week before that, Australian business magnate Rocko Deblasse sent me a plane ticket, an eight-carat emerald engagement ring and a 20 pound chocolate candy heart.” It was hard not to grin as she said the words because Nigel was definitely going to break his regal composure on that one. And he did.

  “DeBlasse? The earthworm farmer?”

  “Yes, that would be him...”

  “Darling, the man made a fortune shoveling shit-eating earthworms. Which is what you will probably need after eating 20 pounds of chocolate!”

  Vanity could not contain her laughter. Nigel lowered his voice again, becoming sultry once more as he planted a mustard seed, “I could listen to the sound of your laughter all day and all night.”

  The line was quiet. “Wilhelmina,” he whispered into the phone.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I plan to marry you twice. First in your country and then in mine,” he said it in such a way that her heartbeat skipped its normal rhythm.

  “That is going to be hard to do, isn’t it, considering you don’t like to fly, especially for such a long trip over the pond? Then you would have to fly half way across the continent, since I am headed to Arizona, then on to Nevada,” she whispered back to him.

  “For the woman who will be the mother of my children, the caretaker of my heart, and my lifelong companion... I would cross the desert on a giant shit-eating earthworm for your love,” he told her as her laughter cascaded through the phone.

  “Wow, Your Grace, I don’t know what to say,” she spoke through her laughs.

  “You can start by saying my name, Wilhelmina.”

  The line was quiet again.

  Vanity exhaled softly, preparing her face as if she were selling a bottle of romantic lotion for two. She braced herself and got into character as if she were about to deliver the quintessential line in a movie scene. She allowed her throat to become breathy as she spoke his name, “Nigel...”

  She heard his voice catch through the phone. “I’m coming for you my love. I will see you soon.”

  And with that he hung up.

  Hmm... He called me Darling.

  Nigel Strathmore was getting personal.

  {2} Feel this...

  Vanity sat behind the desk in her New York office, pondering Nigel’s words. As much as she wanted to discard the proposal, she could not. Something about his request felt as genuine as the man himself. Me... married to Nigel Strathmore. That was about as funny as being the third wife of the Sultan or being married to a man who played with earthworms all day.

  It was nothing new to her to receive marriage proposals. They came often since she was 12 years old. One man in South Africa offered to buy her from her brother for half a million. Another in Malaysia with less means offered her brother David a goat, two ducks, and bag of corn kernels. To her it wasn’t flattering. Much of it she found offensive, being diminished to a collectible love toy, which, looking as she did, was expected. Whether she wanted it or not.

  David, who had also served as her manager and later business partner, was shocked when she confided her dream to start a high-end lingerie company. “I am going to be objectified either way. This way I can control the images and make a decent living,” she told him.

  The living she made was more than decent. Her company, Vanity’s Pleasure, and products were the haute couture of underwear, designing exclusive lines of lingerie for extremely wealthy clients. She used only the finest silks, satins, and high-end fabrics, which Strathmore Textiles made. The meeting between Nigel and her was arranged by David as a first step in exploring a potential business relationship with his new line of silks. The initial meeting in London had been arranged and Vanity traveled to the factory with her twin brother Wilfred.

  Initially, Vanity saw nothing different about Nigel. She seldom gazed upon men for their looks, which was the last thing to catch her eye. Her brothers were two of the most handsome men she knew and no man was more handsome in her mind than her father, so all others paled in comparison. However, Nigel, she began to notice his features right away. He was a fine-looking man. Tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. He had a full bottom lip and an intense stare that called to the woman in her. It didn’t seem to not matter what his question was, she always had a ready answer to anything he wanted to know.

  On the first night of the day they met, during a quiet evening in front of a soft fire in Strathmore Keep, the family home, she caught a glance of the real Nigel. Rarely, if ever, she was left alone with a man. Not only by her request, but also by her brother’s design. Yet, on this night, she wanted a moment alone with the famed haberdasher. She was glad she did.

  He let down his guard and she, her hair, which drew him to her like a moth to a campfire lantern. Never had she allowed a man to run his hands through her trademark hair, but in his hands she was relaxed, which was something she seldo
m was in the company of men. In some ways she expected him to turn on her and attack, but he was a complete gentleman, as she would expect from a man who grew up in a castle.

  Strathmore Keep was a bit of a family museum more than a home. It housed vaults, wine cellars, secret passages, and art that had not been seen in centuries. “Is that Anne Boleyn in the painting,” she asked him, pointing at the framed art above the fireplace.

  “Yes, it is,” he said with a stern look on his face. “Although I do say, even for a cousin, she is a very unattractive woman.”

  Vanity moved closer to the painting, “But the jewelry she is wearing is amazing, especially that ring.”

  Nigel moved in and stood closer to Vanity, looking at the woman next to him instead of the painting, “I say it is rather unique and extremely beautiful...”

  “I have never seen anything like it,” she continued to stare at the painting, knowing he was looking at her.

  He exhaled softly, his breath caressing the side of her face, “it is indeed a rare treasure.” Vanity turned and their eyes met. He only held the gaze for a moment before giving her a slight bow and bidding her good night.

  The next day as they left his castle and flew to Milan, her plane had a slight malfunction and required a part for the landing gear.

  Nigel was very gracious, “Ms. Devons, you, your brother, and pilot are welcomed to stay at my villa while you await your repairs. I will get my mechanic to personally handle it and get you safely across the pond,” Nigel said with confidence. It took three days to repair the plane. Both her pilot, Chuck and her brother knew the repair could have been completed in a day, but Nigel wanted more time with her.

  It was not a red flag for Vanity. She also wanted more time with him.

  NIGEL SAT BEHIND THE antique desk in the factory his great-great-great grandfather had built in the early 1800’s. The old building had been retrofitted, updated, and maintained presently employing nearly 150 people. The fabrics produced at this facility were used to make mattresses, ticking, and draperies. The Milan factory produced higher end silks and materials for clothing manufacturers. The leathers used by notable shoe makers were treated and prepared in the Verona factory. All in all, Nigel had maintained a business he inherited and loved. The issue was to find a woman who loved him and understood what he did. There were many women who wanted to get in on his game, but he wasn’t willing to play with his life’s work.