Something wasn't right. Ashton shifted uncomfortably in his knee-high black boots. The actual gardens behind the Midnight Garden were chilly and his breath puffed out in small pale clouds as he waited in a concealed area of tall shrubbery to see where the two men from last night might rendezvous.Lucien had been positive that he'd heard Waverly's voice as the one giving orders to the hired assassin. But it was easy to let prejudices color a man's memory. Ever since the League had confronted Waverly that night by the River Cam, when he'd attempted to drown Charles, Waverly had transformed from mere mortal to bogeyman. An innocent man had perished during their struggle and enmity had been born. It was only a matter of time before someone would pay for the life lost that night.Ashton knew it was nonsense to lay the blame for every misfortunate at Waverly's door, but the man did seem to have a knack for spreading pain and trouble. Ashton had done his best to remain detached from such th
Emily was silent a long time. She sat down next to Ashton, keeping the cool cloth to his head.Ashton held an important part in Emily's heart. He'd championed her cause to Godric, and had been the first to see that she and Godric were in love with each other. Without his cool head and warm heart, the pair might never have believed enough in their love for each other.Ashton began to close his eyes and Emily slapped him forcefully across the cheek."Don't you dare fall asleep, Ashton!"His stunned gaze at the assault seemed to amuse Godric. It took quite a lot to shock Ashton."You slapped me?" he asked, shocked by Emily's behavior."And I'll do it again if you shut your eyes," Emily threatened.Ashton had the gall to let out a hoarse chuckle. "Now I know how Charles must feel on a daily basis. Still, I'm sure the benefits more than compensate for it."Despite her concern, Emily smiled. No doubt if Ashton had enough energy to tease her, he wasn't dead yet.A footman appeared at
The Russell family estate in northern Kent, four miles east of the village of Hexby, was in an uproar. Jane, the Marchioness of Rochester, was on the verge of strangling her second youngest child, one Linus Winston Russell. Despite her own knowledge that she had birthed that troublesome boy twenty-one years before, sometimes she swore he hadn't matured past the age of eight.The young man in question was balanced precariously on a rickety ladder in the entryway of Rochester Hall. He held a sprig of what Lady Rochester feared was mistletoe. That child was in for a thrashing when she got hold of him. She'd found his handiwork all over the house. Every single doorway, window, and alcove was adorned with that dreaded poisonous plant. The chaos and impropriety that would ensue from his little prank could bring down the very stones of Rochester Hall.Lord knew, her brood were wicked enough that they didn't need the help of mistletoe. It was in their blood, and sadly, not a trait taken from
Rochester Hall, Kent, 1815It was a perfect day in May with the heady scent of blooming flowers filling the gardens. Horatia was idly picking her way through the maze of tall hedges as she searched for Linus and Audrey. At fourteen, she was too old to enjoy hide and seek but she still humored the other children. She had counted to one hundred and was now having a devilishly hard time finding the others on the vast grounds of Lord Rochester's estate. Lord Rochester, she sighed aloud at the thought of his name. He was twenty-six years old, her brother's close friend and unbelievably handsome.She also knew Lucien was a rake; she'd heard that whispered in the servants' hall among other places. At first she'd thought it odd that the Marquess had been likened to a gardening tool, but after listening to her brother talk to his friends, she'd learned a rake had another meaning with no botanical connection whatsoever. After a bit of pleading with one of the laundry maids at their townhouse i
Horatia hated how that memory always managed to choke her at the worst times. She blinked and turned at the sound of a polite cough. Lucien was leaning against the wall a few feet away, watching her."Are you all right?" he asked, pushing away from the wall and coming towards her."I'm fine."Lucien frowned and cupped her chin in one hand, turning her to face him."I can always tell when you lie," he said, as if the knowledge of this surprised him."Yes. I hate that." She needed to get away from him. She needed room to breathe.He dogged her steps as she left and picked a room at random to try and hide from him. She shut the door and slid the lock into place, relaxing when he tried the knob and couldn't get inside. Leaning back against the door, she listened to him walk away. Her heartbeat slowed in her chest.Suddenly one of the study bookshelves swung open. Lucien emerged and eased the bookshelf back into its place, grinning. Horatia gaped. Rochester Hall had secret passageway
Lucien couldn't stop himself. Her hands fisted in his hair and her silken mouth welcomed his tongue with a reckless intensity he'd never experienced from any woman before. He'd had countless lovers and mistresses, but none had so completely abandoned their control as Horatia did. She did not lose herself. She was still Horatia, from the soft brown waves of her chestnut hair to the tips of her blue slippers. But when she kissed him, she threw caution, morals and hesitancy to the wind in a way that had him desperate to possess her.He'd always prided himself on his own self-control. Of course, lately he seemed to have little of it and Horatia had been testing what remained to its limit. He wanted to sink so deep into her that he'd never leave, wanted to lose himself in her eyes and drown in the symphony of her breathless cries. He'd thought of nothing else the entire carriage ride to Kent. Each time a curl of her hair was jostled by the bumpy road, he'd watched with envy as it caressed
In a private room of the gentleman's club Boodle's, Sir Hugo Waverly lounged in a chair, swirling a glass of brandy as he listened to the report from Daniel Shefford. Shefford had been his man for years now. Loyal, highly skilled, and one who would do anything he asked for king, country, or his morepersonal whims. Shefford stood in front of Waverly, calmly narrating the events that transpired the morning before last when Lord Lennox had narrowly escaped death."I managed to track down the man you sent me to meet at the Garden. He said Lord Lennox was waiting in the Garden. He suspected it was because you had been overheard last night. Our man there confirmed that Rochester was at the Garden last night. It seems a likely scenario.""Rochester was there?" Hugo frowned. Was there no place in London he could find refuge from those damned rogues? How was he supposed to conduct his business without tripping over one of those men?"And what did he do when he saw Lennox?""He took a shot a
The afternoon seemed to stretch for hours. Linley's back ached from hiding in the mews outside Jackson's Salon. The dark suit he wore was borrowed and slightly too big, as were the waistcoat and breeches. The entire ensemble was nearly threadbare and didn't keep out the chill of the winter wind. With each gust, he hastily gripped the edges of his white-powdered wig on his head, keeping it secure.He prayed that the man he was sent to watch would appear soon. His fingers were turning blue and his blood was like ice in his veins. His quarry, the Earl of Lonsdale, a skilled boxer, could spend hours in the salon. There was no telling when Linley would get a chance to escape the cold and seek shelter inside. He rubbed his hands together, attempting to generate warmth. It didn't help.A sudden wave of exhaustion swept through him. He didn't want to be here. His master had made him come here. Sir Hugo Waverly. A true bastard if there ever was one. Tom tried not to think about it but failed.
The roads proved to be quite passable as sunlight melted much of the last evening's snowfall. Ella leaned against the side of the coach, watching sunlight glint off the snow like diamonds scattered on the surface of a white sheet. The rocking rhythm of the coach and the thudding sounds of the hooves lulled her into a numb state somewhere between wakefulness and slumber. She tried not to let her mind drift back to this morning, but it seemed determined to replay flashes of their lovemaking.The way Phillip's eyes lit up between slow kisses, how it felt to thread her fingers through his hair, the sighs he made as they embraced after coming apart. The way it felt to have his fingertips brush against her cheek. Even the way he spoke her name as she walked away. She would remember every little thing, the bursts of light and heat, and the cold sting of her breaking heart. Perhaps in time the memories would fade, but she doubted it. If only he was brave enough to come after her, to fight for
Ella awoke to the smell of porridge, eggs, and ham. She moved languidly, stretching her limbs, feeling sore between her thighs and a slight dampness in the sheets. Her face flushed as she sat up in bed. Phillip was seated by the fire, reading a novel. A tray of food sat on the table beside him, untouched."You should eat."He looked over his shoulder at her, his mouth quirking into a grin. "I was waiting for you. Come." He patted his lap, and the invitation was too much for her to resist. She slipped out of bed and joined him. He curled an arm around her waist as she eased down on his lap."How do you feel?" he asked, his eyes tender as he looked at her."A little sore," she admitted. "But wonderful too. I fear you've given me a taste for sin.""Have I now?" His delighted chuckle pleased her so much that her heart hurt. She loved his laugh, his smile, everything. She wanted only happiness for him because he had suffered so much."Yes, most definitely. Where did you learn such a u
Phillip woke before dawn, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. A beautiful woman lay beside him, and memories of how sweet the previous night had been made him want to burst into song like a lovestruck fool. He'd given her pleasure and she'd returned it, and it had been going so damned well until he'd fallen asleep. Yet his body didn't ache, and his leg didn't hurt as he was used to first thing in the morning. He moved slightly, expecting pain, but the usual stiffness in his thigh and lower calf and shin weren't there.He stared down at Ella's scantily clad body lying beside him. Had she truly rubbed his body last night, or had it been a sweet dream? He'd gotten so used to that, dreaming she was there to heal everything with her love and sweetness, that he didn't quite trust the reality.No, it hadn't been a dream. She had pleasured him with her mouth and almost brought him to his knees. Then she'd shown tenderness in helping him with his leg. God, the woman was exquisite
The night was full of magic. Ella couldn't stop smiling as she left the dancers and returned to the table with Bridget.Warwick poured them wine from a bottle a barmaid delivered to them. "Well done, ladies, well done."The wine was sweet on Ella's tongue and went straight to her head as she ate dinner. Phillip kept a hand on her waist, so deliciously scandalous, even though they were pretending to be married. She could have floated away without a care in the world."Well, it's getting late. I think we'll turn in," Phillip said at last. "It was a pleasure to meet you both."Bridget smiled. "As it was for us, my lord."Phillip collected his cane, and Ella slipped her arm in his as they headed for the stairs."You were stunning tonight," Phillip said as they climbed the steps together."Was I?" She couldn't resist preening a little. She rarely received compliments from men who weren't her brothers."You were most enchanting." Phillip leaned against the wall as he unlocked their d
Phillip was damned, but he couldn't stop what he was doing. She was so tender, so full of warmth and youthful excitement. Her kiss made him feel like the man he'd once been long ago. Like the man who'd danced with her in that ballroom ages ago, feeling her spin and twirl back into his arms. How she'd looked up at him when he'd kissed her beneath that starry night sky, and he'd thought in that moment they could have held the entire world between them.Now he was kissing her again, and it was different. She was not a young, teasing debutante. She was a woman now, one who'd learned disappointments and heartache and clung to happiness that much stronger whenever she found it. He wanted to make sure their time together now was everything she'd dreamed of.Her eager response to the touch of his lips or the flick of his tongue against hers brought back a flood of excitement. He'd thought he was incapable of feeling like this again, but he'd been blissfully wrong. A sweet melody echoed about
The following morning, Ella stepped out into the courtyard between the two gatehouses and blinked in surprise to find Phillip dressed and ready to leave. She'd thought perhaps after last night he wouldn't come. Yet there he was, eyes glinting with amusement at her astonishment.He looked dashing in buff trousers and an indigo waistcoat. A greatcoat hung around his shoulders, only adding to the handsome picture he presented. Beyond him a large traveling coach stood ready. Marcus and Cora were helping the driver secure several valises to the back of the coach. The morning sky was still a watery gray as the sun failed to penetrate the heavy snow clouds that had gathered above them.Phillip greeted her with a smile as she reached him. "Good morning."She smiled back, but a sudden bout of nerves made her tremble. Had she really asked him to tutor her in seduction last night? The reality of that moment was now a little daunting in the cold light of day."Come now, don't be shy," Phillip
Ella followed Mr. Boucher through the house as he escorted her to her chambers for the night. Most of the furniture was covered in cloth to protect from sunlight and dust. Many of the tall paned windows throughout the house were shuttered, effectively sealing off the rooms from light and life. This beautiful house had been emptied of people. Closed off, just like its master.They passed into one of the few more well-lit rooms, a long hall with paintings of fine-faced men and women. She glanced up at more than one of the portraits, seeing Phillip's eyes or chin, even his nose in several of the ancestors upon the walls."Mr. Boucher.""Yes, Lady Ella?""Is he in much pain?" She was perhaps indelicate to inquire about Phillip's injuries in such a way, but she needed answers.Boucher paused to look at her in the moonlight. Whatever he seemed to be looking for he must have found."Yes. In the beginning, he couldn't walk. He lay in bed for several weeks, only moving with the aid of oth
Phillip sat in the faded armchair in his study, staring into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His left leg ached, especially during the damp winter months. He rubbed his thigh, squeezing the muscles, and then farther down to his shin and calf. The muscles were still weak from the lack of use. But it hurt too much to walk, so he did so only when necessary.A sound from the hall below caught his attention. Voices. Who the devil could Boucher be talking to? They'd reduced the staff over the last year, mainly because he had shut up most of the house since he remained close to his bedchamber and never entertained. He sat up a little in his chair, listening to the sounds of a woman. The pair of maids he still employed were likely on the first floor of the house at the farthest end where the other bedchambers were or in the kitchens."Boucher?" he called out, but his voice was hoarse since he hadn't used it in what felt like days. He hadn't had occasion to see anyone or truly talk to an
One year later"If I have to listen to one more man explain to me that business and politics are not things to concern myself with," Ella growled over the rim of her teacup."It is most frustrating," her friend, Audrey St. Laurent, agreed. "I often say some men need a good whack to the heador between their legs, depending on the man."Ella snickered but then sighed as her mood deflated again."What's truly bothering you?" Audrey inquired.Ella glanced about Audrey's morning room, seeking a distraction from her mortification, but they were alone. A fire crackled in the hearth, and sunlight glinted off the snow outside. It was a perfectly lovely day, which made her black mood all the worse."At one and twenty, it seems I'm now to attract the worst sort of men. I was at Lady Hearst's ball last evening, and every single man I danced with lectured me about how fortunate I was to even be dancing at my age. To make it worse, the younger ladies have taken offense at my being there. More