“I’m not leaving you.” He tightened his arms around her, pulling her close.

  “I’ll travel with you.”

  “You don’t have to⁠—”

  “I want to, Wilhem.”

  His head perked up at the gravity of her tone. “You do?”

  “Yes. I want to explore. I want to live a courageous life. With you,” she added almost cautiously. “I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

  “Except Tilly?” he teased. “You were about to move to France when I arrived.”

  “Yes. There’s that. It was mostly to spite you. And…” she leaned in close, “in hopes I might see you there when you returned.”

  “You would have seen me, heard me, felt me…all of it, Etta.”

  “That’s what I was counting on.”

  He studied her face for any signs of obsequience. “You really want to travel? Not just for me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then we will. We’ll explore as much of the world as you want. And whenever you’re ready, we’ll come home.”

  “That’s the most perfect plan I’ve ever heard from you, Wilhem. Except one thing. I’ll never need to come home because I’ll always have it with me. You’re my home.”

  His heart expanded at the joy and overwhelming love he felt. “And you’re my home, Etta. Always.”

  For more of Wilhem and Etta, read their bonus epilogue.

  Up next, read Tilly and Leland’s story in The One With the Rakish Duke.

  In case you missed book one, read The One With the Rogue and the Reader.

  About Eliana Piers

  Eliana Piers, award-winning and international best-selling author, has been writing and singing stories since she was five years old. After feeling inspired by authors like Julia Quinn, Tessa Dare, and Minerva Spencer, Eliana decided to test her quill on the page. She also writes contemporary romance as Lana Piers.

  Writing about love and how two people come to connect and share parts of their souls with each other is now an obsession.

  It’s not worth it if you don’t laugh, learn, or love while you’re in it.

  Eliana lives in Canada where she drinks an iced capp every day.

  Also by Eliana Piers

  The Good Dukes Series

  Good Duke Gone Cold

  Good Duke Gone Hard

  Good Duke Gone Bad

  Good Duke Gone Low

  Good Duke Gone Far

  Good Duke Gone Rogue

  Good Duke Gone Wild

  Dukes for Christmas Fairytale series

  A Beauty for a Duke

  An Ember for a Duke

  A Slumber for a Duke

  A Flurry for a Duke

  A Villain for a Duke

  The Ashbourne Legacy series

  The Blighter and the Bluestocking

  The Scoundrel and the Scientist

  The Virgin and the Vixen

  The Rogue and the Rose

  The Rake and the Writer

  The Wastrel and the Wallflower

  The Spy and the Spinster

  The One With the Wanton Woman

  The One With the Rogue and the Reader

  The One With the Duke's Curvy Bride

  The One With the Duke, a Scandal, and Mistletoe

  The One With the Wayward Duke

  The One With the Scoundrel of a Duke

  The One With the Duke’s Wayward Ways

  The One With the Rogue Duke

  The One With the Forever Duke

  The One With the Rakish Duke

  Everly Sisters

  Worst Duke Ever

  Best Duke Ever

  Spinster Sisterhood

  Never Woo a Duke

  Never Trap a Duke

  Never Charm a Duke

  Never Love a Duke

  Duke Dare

  The Duke's Spinster

  The Duke's Goddess

  The Duke's Hellion

  The Duke's Lady

  Never miss a book—join the Beau Monde newsletter for updates, new release info, giveaways, and bonus content.

  And if you're looking for something a little different, Eliana Piers writes spicy romcoms as Lana Piers.

  Lit Creek

  Lit Up by My Brother's Best Friend

  Lit Up by My Second Chance

  Lit Up by My Bosshole Hottie

  Lit Up by My Small Town Crush

  Lit Up by My Best Friend's Brother

  Lit Creek Fire Dept

  My Smoking Hot Fake Boyfriend

  My Smoking Hot Best Friend

  My Smoking Hot Baby Daddy

  My Smoking Hot Roommate

  Calgary Courage

  Fake Puck, Real Love

  Fake Puck, Real Heat

  Fake Puck, Real Us

  Fake Puck, Real Trouble

  Fake Puck, Real Heart

  Lit Creek Billionaires

  Love Next Door

  Love Off Limits

  Love Under Wraps

  Lit Creek Blue Collar Boys

  Nail Me Down

  Level With Me

  Measure of a Man

  Fix Me Forever

  Screw It, Be Mine

  Cement My Love

  The Ardor of an Architect

  LINDA RAE SANDE

  Blurb

  Gossip about a passionate kiss between an architect and a young lady spreads like wildfire. Is he the rogue—or is she?

  When a woman from his past kisses architect Daniel Sinclair in his office, he doesn’t expect to become the topic of Edinburgh’s gossipers. Word spreads fast, though, thanks to his secretary who paid witness to the display of affection. Daniel suddenly has the reputation of a rogue when he would prefer to be known for his innovative house plans.

  When she’s no longer welcome in her childhood home and with no where else to go, seamstress Isabella Farnsworth relocates to Edinburgh. She has friends there, one she fondly remembers from their days playing at his grandparents’ estate in Derbyshire. Although she doesn’t intend for her actions to result in accusations of impropriety against him, they could require he marry her.

  Although she secretly desires to wed Daniel, Isabella would prefer their union be one of mutual affection.

  How does a woman discover if a man truly loves her?

  One

  A MOST UNEXPECTED KISS

  The office of D. Sinclair, Architect, New Town, Edinburgh, Scotland, 1832

  Daniel Sinclair waited as the newcomer entered his office, expecting her to openly gawk at him. All the women did. Some of the men, too, as if he were an animal in the menagerie at the Tower of London and was there to be admired.

  He had a thought he should charge admission.

  Some were quick to turn away, their faces heating with blushes, but others could not help themselves, their mouths gaping as they openly stared at him.

  Had they no shame? No self-control?

  He couldn’t help that he was excessively handsome. That his parents had both been attractive and perfectly suited to one another. That his dark hair was wavy and possessed of a forelock that seemed to curl at precisely the right location on his forehead without any assistance from him. That he was blessed—or cursed—with sapphire eyes and a square jaw, a set of eyebrows whose dark hairs didn’t jut off in unfortunate directions, and a nose void of a hook.

  Even his mother was prone to sigh with self-satisfaction upon seeing him. That happened every Sunday when he paid a call at Sinclair House for dinner. Although his father was getting on in years, he still retained his handsome features despite his hair having grayed until it was nearly white. His mother was similarly blessed, although her brunette hair had yet to display a single strand of gray.

  Or perhaps it had, and she was merely plucking them out.

  Ouch!

  His involuntary shudder reminded him he had a visitor. She was exactly where his secretary, Arthur Peabody, had left her only the moment before, which meant she was standing just inside his office—not far enough over the threshold to close the door on her, but not exactly in the office, either.

  Well, the bell skirt of her gown was mostly in the office the gathers of the yellow fabric rounding out well beyond the width of her natural hips in an effort to compete with sleeves so puffy, they might have been hiding arms capable of tossing a caber. At least they were tight around her forearms. He couldn’t be sure any other part of the gown was fitted given the lacy shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  Who designed such awful garments for women? They should be found guilty of deliberate sabotage against a woman’s natural beauty and be sentenced to gaol. When he was younger—probably ten or so—he distinctly remembered his mother and all her friends wearing gowns reminiscent of those worn by the Greek goddesses. The frocks flattered every figure and made all women appear as if they, too, were goddesses.

  He tried to imagine the rather pretty woman wearing such a gown and found the image far more pleasing. In fact, now that he had a chance to study her more closely, he realized she was older than he had first thought, but not matronly in any sense of the word.

  Her blonde hair was swept up into a coiffure that was partly hidden by the straw hat she wore at a jaunty angle, its brim on one side liberally festooned with silk flowers. Her yellow gown—jonquil, he corrected himself—seemed to lighten his office despite the unusually large size of the window behind him.

  A large window only helped light his office if the sky beyond it wasn’t gray with impending rain.

  Intending to look for a wedding band, Daniel glanced at her hands. Both were ensconced in white cotton gloves. If she wore any rings, they were hidden.

  When he raised his gaze back up to her face, he gave a start.

  She wasn’t staring at him, exactly. In fact, she seemed mildly amused, and he was struck by the thought that she knew his deepest, darkest secret and mayhap intended to use it against him for some nefarious purpose.

  He could not for the life of him think of what that secret might be, though. Yet, here she was, grinning at him, an elegant blonde brow arched as if she did indeed know that very secret.

  “I wondered if I’d find you here in town,” she said, poised as if to curtsy.

  He hadn’t bothered to bow, mostly because his mind was still on the project he had begun designing, and her arrival had interrupted an epiphany that had him realizing exactly how it could be built with sandstone, faced with brick, and stucco’d to appear as if it were made of marble.

  He would design it in a sort of Greek Revival style featuring Palladian windows. The roof would have to be of slate, of course, but he could make it work if the windows were trimmed in black. Surely his client would agree once he saw the elevation drawings. If necessary, he could always do a sketch in perspective and then enhance it with watercolor paints. He knew most clients required that extra step to help them visualize how their building might look when it was completed to his specifications.

  Yes, that’s exactly what he would do.

  He almost retook his seat at the drafting table to resume his work, but the scent of lemons drifted past his nostrils and he once again remembered he had a visitor.

  “I’m... I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said stepping from behind his drafting table to regard her with a quirked brow.

  “Oh, I rather doubt that,” she said, her grin widening into a smile. “It’s very good to see you again, Daniel.”

  His eyes narrowing, he studied her for a moment. “Uh...” He swallowed as she approached, and he managed not to grunt when she placed a hand against the side of his torso as if for support, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him, first on one cheek and then the other. Quite a feat given the hat she wore, and yet, never once did the brim touch his face.

  Daniel blinked.

  Now this had never happened before. No woman had ever simply entered his office and kissed him in the middle of the day. In fact, other than his mother, no woman had ever kissed him. Even his secretary, who was watching them from beyond his open office door, seemed shocked. The young man’s eyes widened before he quickly returned his attention to the papers on his desk.

  Serves him right for not minding his own business. My business, Daniel thought.

  The scents of honeysuckle and lemon drifted past his nose, bringing with them a jumble of memories from summers spent down in Derbyshire at his maternal grandparents’ estate. They did not, however, bring a memory of her.

  Lowering her half-boots to the wooden floorboards, she regarded him with that same knowing grin before she suddenly sobered. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked in dismay.

  “Uh...” He shook his head. This was surely some sort of setup. An arrangement made to interrupt his work on the McDonald project. Although he had a verbal assurance from the judge to do the design, he didn’t yet have the contract. It was possible he was up against only one other architect for the job. Wilkins didn’t have the vision necessary for a post-Georgian era building in New Town, though. The old codger did better at the few restorations being done in the medieval Old Town of Edinburgh.

  Daniel chuckled softy at the thought she might be a lady of the evening hired by his friend, Watson, to embarrass him. “Watson put you up to this, didn’t he?” he asked. “How much did he pay you?”

  The woman arched the blonde brow again, but her expression lost all its humor. “You really don’t remember me,” she whispered.

  Daniel swallowed. Perhaps she was an actress. Yes, that would be just like Watson to hire an actress to embarrass him in the middle of his workday, in front of his secretary, who he was quite sure preferred the company of men to women and probably only worked for him because he was such a handsome example of a mortal man.

  Before he could respond to the woman’s comment, he noted how for the briefest of moments, a look of disappointment crossed her face. Or was that anger? Mayhap tinged with a bit of... dare he think it? Evil?

  “Then I suppose I must make an effort to leave you with the very best first impression,” she said.

  Before Daniel knew quite what was happening, she placed both gloved hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips.

  He was so stunned, he didn’t respond at first. Except he did open his mouth, because, well, wouldn’t anyone who was shocked? The sensation of such soft pillows pressed to his lips was so pleasing, so unexpected, he inhaled softly and discovered exactly what made a kiss so enjoyable.

  The suckling sensation was quite addictive. So much so, he returned the kiss in equal measure, angling his head slightly in an effort to better fit his lips to hers. Ten degrees... no, make that a fifteen degree tilt of his head, and their lips were perfectly locked. As for what to do next, his hands seemed to know before he did, capturing her waist on either side despite the distant thought that his fingertips were nearly black with the Cumberland graphite from the pencil he used to do his architectural drawings. The yellow fabric would be stained with his fingerprints.

  Well, it would serve her right, invading his office in the middle of a workday and behaving as if she were a rake.

  Or would that be rakette?

  He couldn’t be too upset with her, though, even if she was an actress. This kissing was rather enjoyable, as was the sensation of one gloved hand smoothing down the side of his waistcoat. He hoped her fingers wouldn’t discover the opening in the side seam where the thread had broken. He didn’t wear a topcoat whilst he worked at his drafting table, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbow to keep them from becoming smeared with graphite.

  Dammit. Her forefinger had caught in the hole just as her palm reached his hip. He heard a sound and realized he had made it in the back of his throat.

  A warning sound, as if part of him—the sane-and-never-been-kissed part of him—knew what was to happen next.

  The I’m-enjoying-this-kiss-and-how-dare-you-stop-me part of him tried to ignore it. That is, until her gloved hand flattened over the front of his pantaloons in an area that had suddenly grown tight.

  The I’m-enjoying-this-kiss-and-how-dare-you-stop-me part of him lost its battle when he jerked back, breaking off the kiss—and her contact down below—leaving him to blink several times in disbelief.

  He stared down at her, his shock slowly abating as he considered what he should do next, especially when he saw how her eyes were slightly glazed, her lips red and swollen, her cheeks pink with warmth.

  He had half a mind to start the kiss again, but the thought of what she would tell Watson had him reconsidering.

  He should throw her out of his office, of course. Lift her over his shoulder and unceremoniously dump her on the settee he had purchased for the outer office in an effort to make his business appear more legitimate. Scold her for her impertinence—didn’t she have a better way to make her living than kissing unsuspecting gentlemen in their places of business? Perhaps acting didn’t pay very well, but that didn’t mean she could simply interrupt his workday and kiss him without warning.

  “How much did he pay you?” he asked.

  It was her turn to blink. “Pay me?” she repeated, her voice sounding breathy. “Whatever are you talking about?” Her attention had gone to his waistcoat, and he saw how one of her blonde brows furrowed as she once again pressed a finger to the open edge of the superfine wool.

  Apparently she had noticed the hole in his side seam, not hard given her finger had been caught in it only the moment before.

  “Watson. How much did he pay you to come in here and... and kiss me?”

  Her brows rose in unison as a look of delight appeared to lighten her features. “No one paid me, you idiot,” she said, pulling her hand away from his waistcoat. “If you’re still friends with that ne’er-do-well, then you would already know he’s too Scotch to pay for anything.”

  Daniel gave a start. It was true. Callum Watson wasn’t a spendthrift.

  “But I did wonder how long you would allow it,” she said, angling her head as she sighed. “Apologies, sir. Apparently I’ve taken up too much of your time. Perhaps we can continue this reunion when you’re not at your place of employment.” Without another word, she dipped a slight curtsy and took her leave.