Ashes drifted across the fields like snow. The sight was eerie in the middle of a sunny English afternoon. The ruins of his tenant farmer's home were nothing more than blackened cinders and smoldering beams. It cast a strange contrast to the bright flowers in the field nearby and the contented bleating of sheep that dotted the roadside. A watchful sheepdog sat with them, his tail wagging in the dust. Several village children peered over the top of a waist-high stone fence along one side of the road, staring bleakly at the place that had once been someone's home.Ashton rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and loosened his cravat as he studied the ruins."How did the fire start, Mr. Higgins?"The farmer stared in bleak anguish at the destroyed remains of his home."I don't rightly know, my lord." The man scrubbed at his eyes as though to hide any evidence of fresh tears. The Higgins family had lived on this land and in that house for seventy-five years. And now it was gone. Mr. Maple
Sir Hugo Waverly reclined in a seat at the back of the card room in Boodle's Club, watching the evening unfold with little real interest. His mind was on more important matters. A cloud of cigar smoke hung at the base of the chandeliers like dark clouds, casting shifting shadows among the lights from the candles. Men threw cards upon the tables, gathering and losing fortunes over hasty gambles. But Hugo was not a betting man.If I cannot secure my odds, I will not play.The door to the card room opened, and a man Hugo knew entered. It was one of his most trusted men, Daniel Sheffield. With Daniel's help, Hugo ran the most efficient and effective spy ring in the country, which, sadly, was not saying much. Spycraft as a whole in England was woefully amateurish, and it left his country vulnerable. It also made those who took the game seriously, such as Sheffield and himself, indispensible. They'd saved the Crown from more than one foreign war, and yet they would never be given credit fo
Brock Kincade was slumped over his escritoire in his small study at Castle Kincade. The last candle he could afford to spare was burning down to the end of its wick, the wax pooling at the base of the candleholder. Outside, the wind whistled through the tapestries and cracks in the stone and glass, filling every room with an inescapable biting wind, even in the spring.The papers in front of him blurred together as exhaustion plagued him. But he had to stay awake in case he was needed. It seemed that the weight of the world crushed down upon him. Upstairs his father was dying, and the thought of it was leaving Brock's life in a state of upheaval.The study door banged open and his younger brother Brodie stood there, chest heaving as though he'd run the entire way."You must come. It's time."Brock licked his thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the candle. He rose from his chair and followed Brodie up the winding, narrow steps to the tower where their father's chambers were.They
Of all the trouble Rosalind had imagined getting into when trying to get her life back from Ashton's steel grip, she hadn't expected to be robbed by a highwayman."Who's inside?" the man demanded of the driver."Lady Melbourne and her lady's maid.""Step away from the horses and go over by the road." The man flicked the end of his pistol to indicate where he wanted the driver to go."What is it?" Claire whispered.This isn't bad. Not compared to what you've faced before. She prayed she could convince herself of that.Without taking her eyes off the armed man, Rosalind whispered back, "I believe we're about to be robbed." Her heart pounded hard enough that she could barely hear herself think."What?" Claire gasped."Let me handle this. Stay behind me at all costs.""But"Rosalind raised her hand with the pistol as the masked man strode purposefully toward the coach. Just as he reached the door, Rosalind aimed her pistol at his chest. She had never shot a man before, and she pr
Jonathan leaned over a billiard table and prepared to take a shot. "It's a damned good thing Cedric wasn't home when I brought Audrey back from Fives Court."Ashton idly rubbed the tip of his cue against his booted foot, not missing the way Jonathan's face was intense as he talked."You are planning to marry that woman, aren't you?" Ashton asked as he waited for his turn.He'd been relieved to have his friends arrive this evening after dinner. He'd spent the entire meal trying not to give poor Miss Merton the impression she was to receive a marriage proposal. Between his friends' wives and his mother's schemes, it was getting damned hard to stay a bachelor these days."I intend to propose once I've had time to settle into the new townhouse and get everything prepared. No sense in rushing." Jonathan smacked a red ball into a corner pocket."Nicely done," Charles said. "But let's be honest, Jon. That little sprite is too much for any man to handle and still keep a grip on his sanity
"How did I" Rosalind glanced down at herself, and Ashton saw every one of her muscles tense.He could almost hear her thoughts trying to catch up with her panic. She was all but naked and sitting in a tub of warm bathwater with Ashton just inches away. A hot blush flamed her face."I found you on my doorstep. Unconscious." He couldn't help that his tone sounded gruff. The image of her passed out at his feet was difficult to look back on."Oh." She ducked her head, but he could still see the wheels turning as she tried to piece together what series of events had led her to this tub."Did you walk all the way from London?" he asked, drawing her attention back to him.Rosalind's shoulders dropped, and she covered her breasts with her arms, all too aware of where his focus was drifting. "What? No, of course not. Don't be foolish.""Then how in blazes did you end up at my house in such a muddy mess?" Ashton sat on his backside by the tub and continued to regard her, now with amusement
Rosalind couldn't believe the mess she was in. Marry Ashton? Was he serious? She wasn't repulsed at the thought of pretendingtruth be told, a part of her secretly enjoyed itbut now he was asking her why she wouldn't actually marry him.She shivered, even though the dressing gown she wore was warm against her. Her wet hair still lay thick and heavy on her shoulders. She felt vulnerable, too exposed physically and emotionally. Given the intense gleam in Ashton's eyes, she knew he was aware of this vulnerability, and no doubt planned to use it to his advantage.Yet she sensed in him a practiced restraint that always amazed her. She'd never met a man with so much control. Any other man would be pressing his advantage to slake his lust, but not Ashton. If it hadn't been for that moment in the theater, she'd wonder if he even desired her. Was it all a game to him, even his passions?"Is the thought of marrying me so dreadful to contemplate that it turns your stomach? What do you find dist
Poor creature.Ashton paused in the doorway between his bedchamber and the dressing room, a full jug of water in his hand. From where he stood, he could see Rosalind fast asleep in the chair by the fire.After tonight's events, she was worn out. It was a miracle she'd held out as long as she had. He set the jug of water down on the dresser and walked over to her chair. She did not stir as he cradled her in his arms and carried her to his bed. He set her down long enough to pull back the covers on one side, then picked her up again and placed her under them.When he tried to tuck her hands under to keep them warm, she grasped his fingers and wouldn't let go. The connection sent soft warmth through his chest. He didn't want to let go of her hand. He pulled off his boots, then scooted her over in the bed so he could lie down beside her, still holding her hand in his. He lay there, watching the firelight play across her face and the shadows under her eyes.He had learned much about his