Simply Irresistible b9w

Books by Kate Pearce

The House of Pleasure Series

SIMPLY SEXUAL SIMPLY SINFUL SIMPLY SHAMELESS SIMPLY WICKED SIMPLY INSATIABLE SIMPLY FORBIDDEN SIMPLY CARNAL SIMPLY VORACIOUS SIMPLY SCANDALOUS SIMPLY PLEASURE (e-novella) SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE (e-novella)

The Sinners Club Series

THE SINNERS CLUB

TEMPTING A SINNER MASTERING A SINNER THE FIRST SINNERS (e-novella)

Single Titles

RAW DESIRE

Anthologies

SOME LIKE IT ROUGH LORDS OF ION

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE

K ATE P EARCE

KENSINGTON BOOKS www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Books by Kate Pearce Title Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Teaser chapter Copyright Page

Chapter 1

London 1822

“Peter, will you please sit down?” Valentin frowned as his business partner and occasional lover stood up again to compare the time on the clock on the mantelpiece against his pocket watch. They were in the study in Valentin’s town house and he was trying to finish writing a letter. “Abby said she’d be back at six. It’s almost seven.” “She’s with Sara. I should imagine she is quite safe.” “I suppose I worry too much.” Peter sighed. “Even persuading her to come to the city was difficult. She doesn’t like leaving little Jamie.” “Which is why Sara brought my son and heir with us. She is far happier when she can see his mischievous little face. ” “As are you, Val. You can’t fool me. You dote on the boy.” Val didn’t bother to answer that. Sometimes, his feelings for his son were far too private to share even with his best friend. “Abby fears that Jamie will become ill in the noxious London air.” Val raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s the reason she didn’t bring him? It seems most unlike Abigail to fuss.” Peter sat back in his chair. “Well, there is the matter that the boy has fair hair and blue eyes. I’ve been mistaken for his father more than once.”

“You might be his father.” “Don’t remind me.” Peter shoved a hand through his already disheveled blond hair. “Jamie is James’s heir. Despite everything, that’s how both Abigail and James wanted it.” “While Abigail’s lawful husband lives in sin with his agent in the West Indies and Abigail for all intents and purposes lives with you?” “I keep up appearances, Val. I really am her land agent, and I maintain my own establishment.” “And you hate having to do all of it.” “Of course I do. But I also love them both. I can’t think of a way to make things any better.” There was a weary note in Peter’s voice that Val had heard far too often lately. “What’s wrong?” Peter glanced at him. “That’s not enough for you?” “You seem less resigned to your situation than you used to be.” “We are arguing a lot.” Peter studied the shine of his boots. “Abby wants to have another child and James is too far away to have any hope of being considered the father of this one.” “He doesn’t intend to come back to England in the foreseeable future even for appearance’s sake?” “Abby asked him if he’d return long enough for her to ‘fall pregnant.’ James said he no longer wants to bed women or even to pretend to do so.” “Oh, dear.” “I wish Abby could divorce him, but that’s impossible. Do you know that she would have to prove him insane, impotent and immoral even to stand a chance of getting anyone to take up her case? And then James would have to divorce her

and young Jamie’s parentage would be in doubt, and he might lose his right to the title. It’s a horrible mess.” “It is.” Peter looked up. “You’re not helping much.” “Despite my supposedly exalted position, I can’t single-handedly change the laws of this land even if they are patently unfair and ridiculous.” Val hesitated. “I could call in some favors and secure James a divorce if that would help, but it is an expensive, drawn-out procedure, and Abby wouldn’t be any better off at the end of it. Her reputation would be ruined, and she certainly couldn’t marry you if you were named in the court proceedings.” “And don’t forget that young Jamie would be disinherited and unwelcome amongst the ton,” Peter said gloomily. “We already know all this. We’ve discussed it endlessly. I can’t do that to Abby and James. Devil take it, I like the man.” “He certainly likes you. I him collared and naked at your feet at the pleasure house.” Peter smiled. “James likes to be mastered. I think he found his match with his overseer. From his letters he is extremely happy both in and out of bed.” “Which doesn’t help you and Abby in the slightest.” “It’s rather ironic, isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life living on the edge of society, indulging my sinful appetites, and now all I want is to settle down with the woman I love and have my own family.” Peter’s smile was wry. “It certainly is a difficult situation in which to be,” Val said carefully. Peter’s smile faded. “I think Abby used Jamie as an excuse not to want to come to London. I suspect she doesn’t want to be seen with me.” “I’m sure you are incorrect. Abby loves you very much.” “Enough to want to protect me from the gossips. But I wanted to come to see you.” Peter hesitated. “I wanted your advice.”

“About what, exactly?” “Don’t be obtuse, Val. About my situation.” “I wish I could help you more, but I’m not sure what else there is for me to say.” A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the butler, who bowed to Val. “I have a message from her ladyship, my lord. She will not be back until much later. She’s taken Lady Beecham out to the theater.” “Thank you, Holmes.” “You are welcome, my lord.” He paused. “If we are not to wait for the ladies, dinner is ready to be served if you and Mr. Howard require it.” After the butler left, Val returned his gaze to Peter. “See? They are both perfectly safe and having a splendid time without us. Shall we adjourn to the dining room and have our dinner?” “I suppose we should.” Val rose and patted Peter on the shoulder. “Courage, my friend. These things have a way of working themselves out given time.” “Yes, well, we’re certainly all going to die. That will resolve the issue one way or the other.” Val frowned at Peter’s retreating back and then followed his friend into the dining room. It was unlike Peter to be so negative. Snow had begun to fall, softening the sounds of the city beyond the large windows that faced out onto the majestic square. A small boy, wrapped up against the chill, stood at the corner of the long row of houses, sweeping the crossing free. Val could only hope he had the sense to go home before the gentle snowfall turned into a blizzard. “What are you looking at out there?” Peter asked. Val gestured at the boy outside. “Can you ring the bell? I’ll make sure Holmes

sends someone to make sure the lad has somewhere warm to sleep tonight.” Peter chuckled. “And people think you are unsympathetic. They have no idea how soft your heart is.” “Don’t make me out to be a saint, Peter.” Val closed the curtains. “I only care for those who deserve it. I can be quite ruthless when pressed.” “I know that all too well. It’s the only reason I’m alive.” Peter crossed over to ring the bell. “I almost wish I could be as merciless as you are.” “And do what?” Val took his seat at the table and Peter ed him. “Hold the king to ransom until he changes the laws of this country?” “Why not? It’s better than my other plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament.” “I believe that has already been tried. I would hate to see my best friend being hanged, drawn and quartered for treason.” Peter made a face as the butler and two of the footmen appeared and arranged a series of dishes on the center of the table so that the two men could help themselves. “Val, I’m about to eat. Please save your bloodthirsty stories for after dinner, when we enjoy our port.” Val spoke to Holmes about the boy on the corner of the square and then turned his attention to his dinner. He had every confidence that Sara would currently be receiving Abby’s side of the story. He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say when she returned. Sara was far more forthright with her advice than Val would ever be, and Abigail was sometimes too sweet for her own good. It was a frustrating situation, and he could only hope Peter would be patient enough to allow a solution to emerge. If things did get worse, he might have to take a hand in the matter himself.

“Peter wants another child.” Sara blinked at her friend’s distressed face.

“And you don’t? Then simply tell him so and be done with it.” “But I want one, too.” Sara drew her chair closer to Abigail’s and lowered her voice. They were currently situated in the Sokorvsky box at the opera house, awaiting the second act of the current production. Most of the boxes around them had emptied as their occupants strolled around, meeting acquaintances and being seen, but it was always better to err on the side of caution when such delicate matters were being discussed. “Then why are you so miserable?” “Because James won’t come home.” “That does create a problem. If James isn’t even on the same continent as you are, no one will believe the child is his.” “Exactly. And then, if I’m obviously pregnant with another man’s child, they might start to speculate about little Jamie’s parentage, too. I can’t have that.” “Then you can’t have another child.” Abby dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “And that makes me miserable because Peter shouldn’t have to put up with these circumstances. He’d do much better to leave me and find someone else he can marry and have a proper family with.” “But he loves you.” “And I love him, but it isn’t fair, Sara. Of all men, Peter deserves to have some permanency and security in his life. You are one of his best friends. You know I speak the truth.” “It certainly is an impossible situation.” “And Peter is so worn down with worrying about me and Jamie and the threat of scandal. We just keep fighting over the same things and rehashing the same arguments. Sometimes I feel as if I should just make him leave, and order James to return and do his duty to his family.”

“And then you’d all be miserable together?” Sara took Abby’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Can you not simply accept that you love each other and that you have Jamie to raise together? It is more than most people have in a real marriage.” “I keep telling Peter that, but I know he yearns for more. And who can blame him? Neither of us wants to live in fear of being discovered.” Abby dried her eyes and stared at Sara. “If it comes down to it, will you stand my friend?” “When you do what?” Sara asked. “When I leave him.” Sara gasped. “You’ll break his heart if you do that, Abby.” “No, I’ll set him free.” The sound of the orchestra tuning up grew louder, and the roar of the audience increased as the curtains drew back for the second act. Abby turned resolutely to the stage, leaving Sara’s mind in turmoil. She adored Abby and loved Peter. But they were miserable, and she hated to see that. But what could be done? She suddenly yearned for Valentin. If anyone could find a way out of this impossible situation it would be her husband. And he would do anything for Peter. She knew that in her soul....

Peter smiled from the doorway as Val spent a long moment hovering over his son’s sleeping form and then dropped a kiss on the dark-haired little boy’s forehead. After speaking with the nurse, he turned back to the door, his expression soft before he realized Peter was watching him. “It’s all right, Val.” “What is?” “There’s no need to poker up. You are allowed to care for your own son.” Val brushed past him and headed back down the stairs to the middle floor of the town house. Peter followed at his heels, smiling to himself.

“I’ve seen Blaize Minshom with his twin daughters. If a man like that can openly care for his offspring, why shouldn’t you?” Val opened the door to his dressing room and Peter came in behind him. “Minshom has daughters. It’s far easier to it that one cares for a female than a male.” Val poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Peter. “That’s ridiculous.” “I don’t want to become one of those parents who allow their children to run roughshod over them. I wish my son’s life to be orderly and quiet.” “Not like ours was, you mean?” Val glared at him. “Our experiences are hardly relevant to this discussion, are they? My son is unlikely to find himself kidnapped and stranded in a Turkish brothel.” “Exactly.” Peter held Val’s violet gaze. “You are lucky enough to have a wife and a son you can openly acknowledge and love. Please don’t waste the opportunity by stopping your child from having adventures of his own. Some of us would do anything to have such things.” He put the brandy glass down. “Thank you for a pleasant evening. I think I will say good night.” He was at the door before he heard Val sigh behind him. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just . . . hard for me to stop worrying about the boy.” “I understand that, but you are so bloody lucky, Val. I—” He turned back. “And now it is my turn to apologize. My own inability to make Abigail content is distorting my happiness for you and Sara.” Val put his own glass down and moved toward Peter. “Devil take it, I’m at fault here, not you. I’m so busy worrying about what might happen that I don’t take the time to appreciate what I have. And you do make Abigail happy. She adores you.” “You might think so, but recently there’s been something in her eyes . . . something that scares me, as if she is bracing herself to be brave. I’m beginning

to wonder if she will ask James to return for Jamie’s sake and give me my marching orders.” It was the first time he’d put his concerns into words, and even as he spoke he wasn’t sure if he believed them. Val’s expression softened and he brushed a finger across Peter’s cheek. “Don’t say that.” “Why not? It’s the truth.” “She loves you.” Peter shrugged. “As if love is ever enough. Abby is a lot stronger than you think. Much stronger than I am when she believes she is right.” He pushed away from the door frame. “Good night, Val.” “Peter . . .” Val kept talking. “I haven’t seen you for weeks. I was rather hoping . . .” “That I was going to beg to be itted to your bed?” Val’s smile was slow. “I do like it when you beg, but in truth, I was about to do that for myself.” He leaned in and ran his tongue along the seam of Peter’s lips. “Sara and Abby can us when they return. You know how much Sara likes watching us fuck.” Peter opened his mouth and let his tongue tangle with Val’s. “Are you sure you aren’t just feeling sorry for me?” “Well, there is that.” Val laughed low in his throat. “But I do have other needs, and you are the only man I wish to fulfill them.” Peter met Val’s narrowed gaze. “Can I fuck you?” “If you wish.” “First?” Val considered him for a long moment. “Yes.”

“I don’t feel like being gentle.” A shudder ran through Val’s lean frame. “Then make me beg. Sara will like that even more.” Reaching forward, he undid the pin of Peter’s cravat. “How do you want me? Naked while you are fully clothed, or shall I undress you, too?” “Naked.” Val took a step back and started undressing, his gaze fixed on Peter, his hands busy ripping off his clothes and throwing them to the floor. It was no hardship for Peter to stand and watch the lithe, muscled body of his first lover emerge from the restrictive fashions of the ton. Val was beautiful. His hair was longer than considered fashionable and gathered at the back of his neck with a black ribbon. Reaching forward, Peter released the ribbon, allowing Val’s dark locks to swing around his shoulders. “Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” Val asked. Peter nodded, his gaze taking in the half-coin medallion around Val’s neck, which matched the one he wore. “Your cock is already hard and wet, Val.” “It has been since you arrived.” Peter smiled. “You missed me?” “Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve learned to it to my weaknesses. One of which is most definitely you.” “I’m a weakness?” “Not like that.” Val scowled. “Because I love you and I hate loving anything or anyone. You know that.” “I do.” Peter held out his hand. “Then take me to your bed. I am yours.”

Chapter 2

Peter walked through into Val’s luxurious bedchamber and closed the door behind him. “Kneel on the bed, Val.” He waited until Val gracefully did as he asked and then strolled over to him. It was unusual for Val to offer him such control at this early point in their coupling. Peter usually had to wait until his more dominant lover had had his fill of him before he was allowed to reciprocate. Either Val was feeling very sorry for him indeed or his friend had finally learned to ask for what he wanted. At this point, Peter didn’t care which it was; Val was naked, erect and willing to be fucked and that was enough. “Suck my cock, Val.” Val shifted closer to the edge of the bed and competently unbuttoned Peter’s tros to reveal his cock. He sighed as he licked at the gathering pre-cum and then took Peter deep in one easy swallow. Peter shoved one hand in Val’s long hair to keep him exactly where he wanted him and simply enjoyed the experience of being sucked off by an expert. He knew that if he chose to, Val could keep him on the edge of climaxing for hours. But tonight he wanted more immediate results and eventually tugged on Val’s hair. “Stop.” Val eased off him, his chest heaving and his mouth wet from Peter’s precum. “On your hands and knees.” Val obeyed him, and Peter found the oil kept in the bedside table and slicked it over his throbbing cock as he fingered Val’s arse, making him ready to receive the thickness of his shaft. He paused to ire the arch of Val’s back and reached around to touch his lover’s stiff cock.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me hard and fast,” Val breathed. “Oh, I do.” Peter climbed onto the bed, gripped his cock at the base and pressed the well-lubricated head to Val’s hole, pushing deep. “God, I do. Is that hard enough for you? Is the great Valentin Sokorvsky in the mood to beg?” He started to thrust long, slow strokes that had Val swearing as he struggled to accept Peter’s thick length. Reaching around Val’s torso, Peter wrapped a hand around his lover’s cock and gently played with him, his soft touches at odds with the hammering of his hips, giving Val no choice but to take what he was being subjected to and endure. “God . . .” Val muttered, his hands fisting on the bedclothes as Peter bit down on the back of his neck. “That’s—” Peter held still, his finger and thumb loosely ringing the root of Val’s cock. “I think I hear the ladies. Or if it isn’t them, your valet is in for a surprise.” “He’s seen you with me before.” “Perhaps I’ll ask him to in, Val, stuff his cock down your throat. Would you like that?” “You know I damn well would not!” Peter chuckled. “Then let’s hope it is Sara and Abby.” A low appreciative laugh greeted his words, and he turned to look at the door, where Sara Sokorvsky and Abby stood watching them. Both ladies were dressed in the height of fashion, Abigail in her favorite blue and Sara in red. “Don’t stop, Peter. I do so love to see Val on his knees,” Sara breathed. “Then come and help me keep him there.” Peter held out his hand. “You, too, Abby.” His lover smiled, but he could already see that she had been crying. Tension knotted low in his gut and he held still, all too aware of the painful beat of his heart and the answering throb of his buried cock. He’d hardly touched her recently, their squabbles over their desire to have another child having led to a

physical separation he hated. Beneath him, Val groaned and arched his back. “Fuck me, Peter. Sara wants to see me beg and plead and come all over the sheets.” “I have a better idea.” Peter recovered himself and managed to grin at Val’s wife. Wrapping one arm around Val’s lean hips, he gently sat back, bringing Val upright over him. He waited until his lover’s feet were planted securely on the bed and drew him even further upright until Val’s back and arse were plastered against his body, his cock still buried deep. “Don’t come, Val. The ladies want to watch you suffer.” He touched Val’s stiff cock with one finger, rimming the wet slit until Val started to writhe down on him and swear. “That mouth of yours, Val. I truly wish I had another cock to fill it with to stop you speaking.” Sara pulled up her skirts. “I have a much better idea. Perhaps he can lick me while you lick Abby. That should keep you both too well occupied to speak.” “Abby? Would you like that?” Peter asked gently. She nodded and took his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing his fingers. “And then later, if you want, you can have both of us inside you, or just Val, or just me, or whatever you want.” “What about me?” Sara demanded. Peter smiled at her. “You ask for what you want and take it as your right. Abby is a little more polite.” “Then I will have you both, too. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the opportunity.” Sara presented her back to Abby. “Can you unlace me, please, and then I’ll do the same for you. We can watch Peter fuck Val while we undress.” “Oh, yes, I would like that.” Peter studied Abby’s expression as she worked on Sara’s laces. She seemed more than happy to be in bed with them all. At first he’d worried that she only ed in for his benefit, but she’d soon disabused him of that notion. Over the

past two years he’d found that he preferred to have her with him when Sara was present. It made everything more interesting and more balanced. “Peter . . .” Val pinched his arm. “I know you can stay hard all night, but will you please concentrate on fucking me?” Peter smiled and wrapped both his hands around Val’s cock. “Do you want to come?” “You know I do.” “And what if I don’t want to let you? What if I want you to stay like this, impaled on my cock, all night?” “Then you’ll annoy the ladies, who also want to share both of our talents, and we might be forced to band together to overcome you.” Val’s breath hitched as Peter started to rub his cock. “Let me come, Peter, and then make me hard enough again to fuck my wife.”

Abby watched Peter’s hands move over Valentin’s body and shivered with anticipation. Peter’s concentration when he made love was absolute. He would do everything in his considerable sexual repertoire to make his lover experience every delight known to man. Or woman. She considered herself very lucky. But watching him now, with Val, his first love, was bittersweet. It comforted her that even if she left him, he would still have this, but it also reminded her of everything she would lose. And letting him inside her, or even letting Val inside her, meant risking a pregnancy she would not be able to conceal. “Abby?” Peter looked over at her, his smile fading. “Are you all right?” She clutched at the bodice of her dress as Sara loosened her stays. “I’m fine.” She nodded at Sara, who was already naked and crawling toward her husband with a very determined expression. “I believe Lady Sokorvsky wishes to avail herself of her husband’s cock, so he’d better not come again too quickly.” Peter smiled, but he still looked anxious, one hand held out to her. “Come and help me, then. I can’t handle two voracious Sokorvskys at once.”

Val groaned as Sara bent forward and licked the pre-cum from his cock. “Sara, let me fuck you, please.” Abby moved closer as Sara pouted. “But I am not ready to take you.” “Then let Peter finger you, or kneel up and let one of us use our mouth on you.” Peter adjusted his grip on Valentin’s cock. “You lick her, Val. I need my fingers for Abby.” He smiled at her. “Come here, love.” She couldn’t stop herself from moving closer. If she was going to lose him and lose this, she intended to treasure the moment. “Abby.” Peter threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging pins as he went. “Kiss me.” She obliged him, and heard his low moan of approval deep in his throat as he kissed her back. The languid motion of his tongue was at odds with the quickness of his fingers as he pinched her nipples and then slid his hand lower to play with her clit and rub her sex. Just watching him controlling Val made her wild. His hands on her made it easy to come, and wetness soon coated his thrusting fingers as he sought her opening and gave her what she needed. Beside her, Sara gasped as Valentin licked her, straining away from Peter to reach deep between her legs and bring her to a fast and sharp climax. Abby kissed her way down to Peter’s shoulder and then stroked Valentin’s rigid arm and chest. There was no room between the two men’s bodies; Peter’s cock was still embedded deep in Valentin’s arse. Bringing her hand around Peter’s, she found a way to grasp Valentin’s cock and played with him as he writhed even harder and groaned against his wife’s most intimate flesh. She gasped herself as the fingers inside her doubled, and she realized Val had added his to Peter’s, widening her and pleasuring her until she screamed and climaxed. Peter fell back against the sheets, bringing Val with him, and Sara took the opportunity to climb onto Val’s cock. Abby moved slightly to the side, forcing both Peter and Val to remove their fingers from her sex. She watched Sara raise and lower herself over Val, and

heard his strangled shout as he started to come inside her, making Peter come, too. She didn’t feel left out. Watching the three of them together was always a pleasure, and she knew they wouldn’t forget her for long. But what if she left Peter? She studied the tangle of limbs and listened to the whispered words of satisfaction and contentment between her three friends. Peter would be fine with them. She would be the one who would be bereft. Without warning, her eyes filled with tears, and with a murmured apology, she climbed off the bed and, scooping up her clothes, headed toward the dressing room situated between the two bedrooms. If she was lucky, she could use the servant’s stairs to run up to her room without being detected. She struggled to disentangle her shift from the froth of clothes and finally managed to put it on and find the discreet door that led onto the staircase. “Abby?” She refused to turn around as Peter came into the dressing room. “Don’t go. Please.” She stayed where she was, one hand on the door, and heard him splashing water over himself and noted the sweet smell of lavender soap. When he tentatively touched her shoulder, she shivered. “Abby . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to neglect you. Val offered, and I was too eager to have him. I didn’t think about your needs and I should’ve put you first. Will you forgive me? I—” “You didn’t do anything wrong. You know I love to watch you with Val and Sara.” “Then why are you leaving?” She forced herself to turn around, flinching at the mingled hurt and love in his beautiful blue gaze.

“I’m just rather tired.” “Then let me—” “Please go back to your friends.” She touched his muscled arm. “I don’t need you to see me to my own bed.” He stiffened. “Your bed? You don’t intend to share mine?” “Here? In London?” She sighed. “I don’t think that would be wise, do you? Servants talk, Peter. I cannot afford to be gossiped about.” “That’s why you didn’t want to come to Town with me, wasn’t it? Not because of Jamie.” “This is all about Jamie. I can’t—” He swallowed hard and took a step back. “I apologize for my presumption, my lady. How stupid of me to imagine you would want to sleep with one of your employees.” “Don’t do this, Peter. Not now.” “Do what? Obey your order to stay away from you?” He glanced down at his cock, which was already filling out again. “You no longer wish me to fuck you, my lady?” He gave her an elaborate bow. “I have obviously forgotten my place.” She fisted her hands in an effort not to reach out and comfort him. Perhaps this was the right time to do what had to be done—to push him away from her forever. She took a deep breath and summoned a calm smile. “There is no need to be so melodramatic, Peter. When we return to Beecham Hall, I will certainly reconsider whether I have need of you.” “In your bed.” “Yes, seeing as that is all we shall ever have together.” “That’s all I mean to you?”

She couldn’t allow herself to speak. The simmering anger on his face lessened. “Why are you so determined to fight with me?” “I am just speaking the truth. The truth that we try to pretend doesn’t matter.” “Abby, why?” “Because I am a married woman, Peter, and I cannot afford to sleep with you and become pregnant when my husband is far from home. Is that plain enough? Have you forgotten that?” She turned and opened the door and made her way up the stone steps to the floor above. She half-expected Peter to come after her, but he didn’t. And perhaps that was for the best. Perhaps he, too, knew that neither of them could bear to be together anymore. A sob tore from her throat, echoing in the stairwell, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, fingers that smelled of sex and love and . . . everything she was contemplating giving up. Tears flooded her eyes and she blundered toward her bedroom, locking the door behind her and flinging herself onto the bed. At least here in London Peter had the Sokorvskys to help him deal with her desertion. She had no one, but that was her own fault. Everything was her fault, so perhaps she deserved to suffer alone.

Chapter 3

Abby put on her bonnet and walked quietly down into the hall of the Sokorvsky town house. It was well before midday and there was no sign of the butler as she tiptoed quietly toward the main door. “Lady Beecham?” She turned to find Valentin coming down the stairs and forced herself to smile. “Good morning, my lord.” He bowed. “Do you have a moment to speak with me?” She stared at his austere face, noting the determination in his gaze, and exhaled. “If I must.” He nodded and started walking toward his study, which was in the opposite direction from the front door. With a resigned sigh, she followed him and waited as he shut the door behind them and took up his position behind his desk. As he opened his mouth, she held up her gloved hand. “I know what you are going to say, Valentin: that I am hurting Peter, and that is not acceptable to you. I also know that in the event that I break off my relationship with him, you and Sara will stand his friends.” Valentin raised an eyebrow as he took his seat. “You seem remarkably well informed about my intentions for a woman who hasn’t yet allowed me to speak.” “Because I know you. You will always defend Peter.” “You assume I haven’t come to care for you? You share my bed, too.” “Occasionally, but you don’t care for me in the same way you care for Peter.”

Valentin sat back and studied her. “My feelings for Peter are my own. My feelings for you are perhaps deeper than you might imagine.” She shrugged. “You allowed me into your bed because Peter wanted it.” “That is correct, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t come to appreciate you in your own right.” “Don’t be nice to me, Valentin.” She dashed away a tear from her cheek. “I don’t deserve it. I’m not going to allow this impossible situation to continue.” Silence fell as he continued to study her. “I don’t blame you for wanting more, but I don’t think this is the correct solution, Abigail.” “Then what is? I can’t give him what he wants. He needs his own family. You must at least acknowledge that.” “You and Jamie are his family. From what I understand, he might even be your son’s father.” “By law, Jamie is my husband’s heir. Peter would not want that to change. None of us wish to deny Jamie his birthright.” “So you will sacrifice what you have together for your son?” Abby’s temper overrode her sadness. “Wouldn’t you do the same thing?” Valentin sighed. “Damnation. Yes, I should imagine I would.” “Then try to understand why I am doing this. If we separate now, Peter will have time to find a new lover and have a family of his own.” “But he won’t, because he loves you.” She raised her chin. “Then you will have another reason to blame me, won’t you?” He glanced down at his clasped hands. “I’m not your enemy, Abigail. I want you and Peter to be happy.”

“And he’ll never be content as long as we are in this situation. He isn’t happy now.” “Because he is worried about you.” Abby shook her head. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. I am the only one who has the ability to make a decision to change things.” “Even if it hurts everyone you love?” She stood up. “Yes.” “Will you at least speak to Peter before you make your final decision?” Valentin hesitated. “I am concerned that if you don’t, he will do something stupid.” “Good Lord, Valentin, are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Valentin rose, too, his expression hardening. “Not at all. I’ve known Peter for a long time and have experienced his . . . excesses.” “You think if I abandon him, he will turn back to opium and drink?” Abby covered her mouth with her hand. “Why would he not? You are considering taking away everything he loves.” “Apart from you.” There was an answering flash of anger in his violet eyes. “I’ll stand by him. You can be assured of that.” “Then he is luckier than I am. I’ll have no one.” She curtsied. “Please look after him, Lord Sokorvsky. I’m going out to speak to my solicitor. When I return, I will find myself a hotel to stay in until I return to Beecham Hall.” She turned away, her throat tight with unshed tears and her heart racing. She’d known the interview would be unpleasant, but she hadn’t realized quite how bad it would be. “Abby.” “What?”

“Please don’t do this. You will destroy him.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I have to. Neither of us can go on like this. We’ve started to resent each other, are denied children and have to pretend to the world that we are nothing more than mistress and servant. I can’t do it anymore. And neither can Peter. It is destroying us.” He sat back down and shoved a hand through his hair. “Promise me you will at least listen to him.” “Of course I will.” “Then I can ask no more of you. And if you cannot resolve this matter, I will help him through it.” “I know.” She attempted a smile. “He is lucky to have you as his friend.” She practically ran back down the hallway and exited the house. The butler called after her, but she would rather walk the short distance to her solicitors than wait for her carriage and risk seeing Peter or Sara emerge from their rooms. It took most of her walk to calm down and breathe normally. She couldn’t even blame Valentin for trying to shame her into staying with Peter. He wasn’t known as a ruthless businessman for nothing. And when it came to his best friend, he would do anything to save him pain. He was fond of her, but he loved Peter. When she rapped on the front door of Messrs. Bell and Merriweather, she was immediately escorted up the stairs and into the solicitor’s office. The solicitor stood to greet her. “Ah, Lady Beecham, good morning. Thank you so much for agreeing to attend me here.” She took the seat in front of his desk and smoothed down her skirts. “Good morning, Mr. Bell.” He opened a large file and sifted through the documents within before extracting several of them. “I have received several communications from your husband in the last month, which he insisted I share with you.” He looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “Not that he needs to do that in legal , as you are merely his wife, but he still insisted you needed to be kept informed.”

“That was very good of him.” “Then we will proceed.” Mr. Bell picked up the first document. “Your husband has signed over the property known as Trade Winds House to a Mr. Jeremiah Hodges. He has also given Mr. Hodges control of the sugar mill and the plantation that surrounds the house.” Abigail tried to look interested as opposed to alarmed. “I believe Mr. Hodges is the current overseer of the estate.” “That is correct. Apparently, your husband no longer wishes to own the plantation because he is opposed to the slave trade. He also says he has complete confidence in Mr. Hodges’s ability to run the place.” Mr. Bell studied the text of the document. “The wording of this agreement means that the plantation is no longer considered part of the Beecham estate and cannot be claimed by you or his heirs.” “I doubt young Jamie will notice the difference.” “The plantation provides a decent income, Lady Beecham, but you are correct. It will not affect the overall financial security of the future Lord Beecham.” “Is there anything else?” Abby asked. Was Mr. Bell about to suggest the plantation had been handed over under duress? Or was he satisfied by James’s explanation? Abby couldn’t tell. Mr. Bell leaned forward, and she stiffened. “A letter for you was enclosed in the documents.” “Thank you.” Abigail took the sealed note, which smelled of spices and the sea. “And if you are content with the new distribution of shares for the Trade Winds estate, Lord Beecham asks that when you write to him next you put that agreement in writing. As I mentioned, there is no legal reason for this, but I applaud his lordship for making sure you are aware of the current dispositions of your son’s inheritance.” “I’ll write to him this evening and send the letter to you to include in your package of documents.”

“Lord Beecham also approved several amendments to the overall running of his estates here in England. Your land agent, Mr. Howard, suggested most of them. With his renewed interest in setting the estate to rights, one has to wonder if his lordship plans to return for good.” “That would be delightful.” Abby smiled. “He misses Jamie very much.” “Perhaps he will mention his plans in his letter.” “If he does, I will make sure I the news on to you.” Abby put the letter in her reticule. She had no intention of reading it in front of Mr. Bell. “If there is nothing else to discuss, I must be on my way. I do have another appointment.” That at least was the truth, although she would be happy to delay her meeting with Peter for a lifetime. Mr. Bell rose ponderously from his chair, bowed and moved to open the door for her. “A pleasure, Lady Beecham.” She nodded and swept past him, her head held high, and made her way down the stairs and back into the street. To her surprise, one of the Sokorvsky footmen was waiting outside and immediately fell into step behind her. Doing her best to ignore the man, she turned back the way she had come, forcing herself to return to the house. When they reached the front door of the modest town house, the footman stepped up beside her and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, my lady, but Mr. Howard asked if you would meet him in the drawing room when you returned.” A sudden thought paralyzed her on the threshold. Oh dear God, if James was coming back to England, she had to make sure that Peter was completely free of her. She couldn’t subject him to seeing James reclaim his place beside her. “Thank you.” Abby nodded and, barely restraining her instinct to turn and run, went up the stairs and allowed the footman to open the door into the drawing room for her. Peter stood by the fire, his back to her as he paced the expensive carpet. He wore

a blue coat and black tros that fitted him perfectly. She paused to study his lithe frame and the gold of his hair, suddenly, agonizingly aware that she might never see him like this again. “Lady Beecham.” He bowed and glanced over her shoulder at the servant. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?” Abby sat down and busied herself removing her bonnet and opening her pelisse to let the warmth of the fire in. Peter took the chair opposite her. “Are you all right, Abby?” he asked softly. “I’m perfectly well. I just saw James’s solicitor.” His face went still. “About me?” “No; what would my discussion with Mr. Bell have to do with you?” “Because it would be an excellent plan to ask James’s legal representative to dismiss me.” She brought her head up to meet his wary gaze. “You think so poorly of me that you believe I would use someone else to dismiss you?” “No, I just thought it might make it easier all around.” He hesitated. “I’m not your enemy, Abby.” “I don’t wish to dismiss you. I think you should resign.” He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “And why is that?” “Because it will cause less gossip.” “Ah, and thus affect you and Jamie less.” “And you.” She held his gaze. “You choosing to leave my employ rather than being let go means you found me wanting, as opposed to the other way around.” “That’s very . . . good of you.” He looked down at his hands. “You are determined that we should part, then?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.” “Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?” “I . . . don’t think so.” He came down on his knees in front of her in one fluid motion. “Abby, if you want a child, I’ll give you one. I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll just—” She touched a finger to his lips, silencing him. “We’ve discussed and argued about this endlessly, and there isn’t a way we can be together without someone getting hurt. And I can’t let that someone be Jamie, who has sinned against no one and doesn’t deserve to have his reputation ruined before he’s even breeched.” He began to speak and then stopped and nodded. “I don’t want to hurt Jamie either.” “Then we have no choice but to stop wishing for things we can’t have and making each other miserable. We need to move on with our lives.” Her eyes filled with tears. “This isn’t because I don’t love you, Peter; it’s because I do. I can’t bear to do this to you anymore—to never be able to give you everything. And you deserve everything, you really do.” He took her hand. His fingers were trembling as much as hers. “And what if I know in my soul that I will never love another woman as I love you?” “I hope you are wrong about that.” She tried to smile through her tears. “I would gladly yield my place to another woman if she could make you happy.” The chink of china coming from the hall forced Peter back into his seat as the door opened and the footman returned with the tea tray. Just to have something to do with her hands, Abby busied herself pouring tea that she suspected neither of them would drink. She handed Peter a cup, noticing the defeated sag of his shoulders and the calm, distant expression he always assumed when he was suffering deeply inside. It felt like they were both attending a wake in which hope had ended, and there was nothing left to do but rake over the cold ashes and scatter the remains to the wind.

“I won’t stay here,” Abby said. “I intend to move to a hotel.” “Won’t that cause more gossip?” There was a bite to his words that made her look up sharply. Perhaps she was the only one who considered the matter settled after all. Did he need to hurt her, to fight with her so that they ended up hating each other? If that was what he wanted, she was more than willing to oblige him if it lessened his pain. “I assumed you would prefer to stay here with the people who love you.” “They love you, too, Abby.” She didn’t reply to that, concentrating on forcing a little of the scalding tea down her aching throat. “You must promise me one thing.” “What would that be?” His smile was as distant as his frosty blue gaze. “Do you wish me to promise to keep away from you?” She blinked and bit down hard on her lip. “I . . . hadn’t even thought of that. I wanted to ask you not to start drinking or using opium again.” He stared at her in silence for a long moment and then laughed, the sound harsh. “You do realize you no longer have the right to tell me what to do when you are the one who insists on breaking my heart and leaving me?” “I know, but I’m still going to ask for your word on this.” “And if I won’t give it?” “Then I would have to assume you mean to go to the devil and blame me for it.” He looked amused, which made her itch to slap his face. “How would you know what I choose to do if you have no with me?” “Because I can guarantee that Valentin would be after me if you tried to destroy yourself.” He raised an eyebrow and sat back, “It is interesting how you and Val both assume you can control my behavior, yet both have ultimately chosen to

champion your partners’ needs over mine.” And there it was, the gaping hole within Peter that needed to be filled with one true love. A love she was unable to offer him. In some strange way, his pain strengthened her resolve. She slowly stood up and looked down at him. “Then perhaps it is time for you to go and find someone to love who isn’t married to somebody else? Someone just for yourself?” His skin paled. For a moment, she thought she’d gone too far, but he rallied and gave her a gracious smile. “What an excellent idea. Why didn’t I think of it myself? Thank God I have you and Valentin to set me on the path of righteousness and stop me coveting my neighbor’s wife. Don’t worry about me, Lady Beecham. One thing you should know is that I’m a survivor.” He inclined his head a frigid inch. “Now, if you will excuse me? I’m sure you have to pack, and I have a meeting at the shipping office. Seeing as my time is now my own again, I intend to keep busy.” She barely had time to curtsey and he was gone, leaving her staring at the fireplace, a cold, empty sensation deep where her heart had once resided and an awareness that she would never be able to smile again. Knowing Peter existed in the world and not being able to touch him, to hold him, to love him would have to be borne. For his sake as well as for hers. But at the moment that seemed impossible.... The door opened again, and for a moment she hoped it was Peter so that she could take back every single stupid word she’d uttered. But it wasn’t him. It was Sara, who took one look at her face and held open her arms. “Oh Abby, I’m so sorry.” She allowed herself to be drawn into her friend’s warm embrace and cried as though her heart would never mend. When she reached her room, her maid was already busy packing. She sank down into a chair and answered questions as to where things should go without really paying much attention. After a while, she decided to read James’s letter, which contained no imminent threat of his intended return but instead told her not to concern herself about the changes he was making to the estate and that they were

for the good of everyone. “I almost forgot, my lady. There is another letter for you.” The maid pointed to the dressing table, where a folded sheet of paper addressed in Peter’s distinctive hand lay. Abby opened the single page and read his formal resignation. “When was this delivered, Betty?” “Just after you left to see your solicitor, my lady.” Abby folded the letter and slid it into her reticule beside the one from James. Peter had obviously written it before their meeting, which meant he was as accepting of his fate as she. Then why the need to confront her? What had he hoped to achieve? All they’d done was made each other angry. But perhaps that was for the best. How else could she let him go?

Chapter 4

One month later ...

Abigail replaced the book she’d been considering at the lending library and turned back to the front of the shop. Her maid followed her out of the door, and they walked along the flagged pavement toward the hotel. It would be foolish to borrow any books when she planned to return to Beecham Hall within a few days. She missed young Jamie so much. And if she was honest with herself, being in London, where she caught the odd glimpse of Peter at social functions with Sara and Valentin, was almost too painful to bear. She’d completed all her social obligations, visited ancient relatives and made sure that the Beecham name was untainted by any further scandal. She could now return home to her son and live out the rest of her days as a virtuous and unwanted wife. Damn James, and damn Peter for agreeing to show them all how real love could be.... As she entered the hotel, one of the desk clerks approached her and bowed. “Lady Beecham? There is a gentleman here from a shipping company who wishes to speak to you. He insists that the matter is urgent.” “Which shipping company?” She hoped to God it wasn’t Howard and Sokorvsky. “I’m not sure, my lady. Do you wish me to go inquire? I have put the gentleman in one of the parlors.” “No, it’s all right. I’ll go and speak to him.” He bowed and took her down to one of the rooms that were available for patrons to rent out if required. A tall young man jumped to his feet as she entered the

room. He wore a suit of clothes that were too lightweight for the weather and had obviously been warming his hands at the fire. “Lady Beecham? My name is Ian Carter.” “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. How may I assist you?” Abby gestured to the chairs that stood by the fire, but Mr. Carter remained standing. “Would you like some tea?” She glanced back at the clerk, who nodded and left the room, leaving them alone. “Lady Beecham, I—” Mr. Carter stopped talking and looked helplessly at her. “I don’t know how to tell you this—but your husband, Lord Beecham, is dead.” Abby wasn’t aware that she was rising to her feet until the floor came up to greet her, and she knew no more.

“Please calm yourself, Mr. Carter. Lady Beecham is quite well.” Abby opened her eyes and looked up at Sara. Her bonnet had been removed, her head was in her friend’s lap and her feet were up on the couch. The sweet scent of lavender surrounded her as Sara dabbed a wet handkerchief on her forehead. “Sara?” “Abby? Are you feeling more the thing? Do you wish to sit up?” “Why are you here?” Abby asked as she gingerly sat up against the cushions. “Your maid came to get me. We were supposed to be having tea together today, so I was already in the hotel. Don’t you ?” “That’s right. I—I . . .” Her gaze moved away from Sara to the anxious face of Mr. Carter, who was sitting by the fire. “He said . . . he said James was dead.” “So he told me.” Mr. Carter rose to his feet. “I am sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean to alarm you so

greatly. I am a complete fool.” Sara took Abby’s hand in a firm grasp. “Perhaps you could tell us exactly what happened, sir?” “Yes, of course.” He fixed his earnest gaze on Abby. “I’m employed by the owner of the plantation that runs alongside your husband’s. Two months ago, there was a terrible fire at the sugar refinery at Trade Winds, and we all came out to help subdue the flames and rescue as much of the cash crop as we could.” “Not the workers?” Abigail asked, marveling at the calmness of her own voice. Mr. Carter shuddered. “Anyone who was within the building was already doomed, my lady. It was an inferno. Apparently, Lord Beecham did try to rescue some of his people. He was seen running into the building and . . .” He shook his head. “He never emerged.” “How typical of James to run the wrong way,” Abby said. “Did you, did they, recover his body?” “We did, my lady. His overseer and my employer both recognized Lord Beecham’s pocket watch and the signet ring he wore on his finger.” Abby breathed slowly through her nose, and black flecks danced in front of her eyes again. Sara increased the pressure on her hand. “Lady Beecham has not received official word of her husband’s death. Has Lord Beecham’s solicitor been ed?” “I just delivered letters to Mr. Bell from my employer and from the overseer at Trade Winds. I was due home leave and my superiors tasked me with delivering this sad news. When I heard that Lady Beecham was in London, I wanted to give her the news in person.” He swallowed hard. “Lord Beecham was always very kind to me.” “Thank you,” Abby managed. “It was good of you to think of me.” “Lord Beecham always spoke of you with immense respect and iration, my lady.”

Abby nodded. “He was a worthy man.” Sara rose from the couch, and Mr. Carter stood, too. “Are you staying at this hotel, Mr. Carter?” “No, my lady. I have family in Mayfair. I haven’t seen them for almost a year.” His eagerness to be gone was almost palpable. “Well, we appreciate your attention to this sad matter and regret that we have kept you from your family.” “It was nothing, my lady,” Mr. Carter said hastily. “I wanted to do this, and it was scarcely out of my way.” He reached into his pocket and took out a card and then something else, wrapped in a handkerchief. “If Lady Beecham wishes to speak to me further, she can me at this address.” “That is very kind of you.” As Mr. Carter made a swift exit, Abby reached forward to touch the knotted handkerchief and brought it across to her lap. The linen smelled of smoke and a burned sweetness that caught in her throat. “Oh God,” she whispered as the last fold of linen fell away to reveal the battered remains of James’s watch and the blackened gold of his signet ring. “Oh dear God . . .” “Abby.” Sara knelt in front of her, her gaze direct. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve already sent Valentin a message and told him I am bringing you back to stay with us. Your maid is packing your belongings, and my carriage will be ready to take us whenever you are recovered.” She managed a deep breath. “Yes, I will come. But what about Peter? Is he still with you? Will he object?” Despite everything, she wanted to be with him, to be held in his arms so that they could mourn the person they had both loved together. Sara squeezed her fingers. “Abby, Peter isn’t with us.” “What do you mean?”

“He left from Southampton four days ago on one of the company’s ships.”

Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean

The ship’s captain was staring up at him, his hands cupped around his mouth as his lips moved with some kind of message that the shrieking of the wind made unintelligible. With a sigh, Peter shut his eyeglass, heaved one leg carefully over the side of the crow’s nest and contemplated the long and vertical descent to the deck of the ship. In their twenties, he and Val had thought nothing of shimmying up and down the masts like a pair of monkeys. Since ing the ship two weeks ago, he’d learned that he was no longer quite so nimble, and rather less willing to risk his life. He still loved being at sea, though. It gave him a sense of freedom he’d never found anywhere else. Avoiding a sudden gust of wind that made the sails billow out, he made his way down to the bottom of the mast, where the captain, Jason Ford, awaited him. “Land ahoy,” Peter said, grinning. “We noticed that a while ago.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t want to come down.” “I wish I had that freedom.” The captain walked toward the steps leading down to his cabin. “I intend to call in at the port. We’ll only stay one night.” “I’m totally in your hands and have nowhere I have to be. It’s quite exhilarating.” “I should imagine it is.” Captain Ford hesitated. “Do you wish to dine with me again tonight?” They were now belowdecks in the cramped ageway leading to the captain’s cabin and the best of the guest cabins, where Peter was sleeping.

“If you would like me to.” Peter stepped closer, deliberately allowing his body to press against the other man’s, and enjoyed the slight hitch of his breath. “In truth, I expect more than dinner. I expect to be entertained.” “And what would that entail?” “You, naked on your knees, sucking my cock?” Peter met the captain’s flushed gaze. “That would be my first request.” “I . . . would be more than happy to oblige you, Mr. Howard.” “Good.” He turned to his door. “And Captain?” “Yes, Mr. Howard?” “Actually, I’d like you to be naked when I arrive. I’d also expect you to be hard for me.” The captain groaned. “I already am.” Peter half-turned to meet the captain’s eyes. “Then stay hard and don’t touch yourself or make yourself come. If you do that, I will have to punish you.” The sound of voices behind him made him nod. “Good afternoon, Captain.” He escaped into his cabin and firmly shut the door, his smile dying. Sharing a night of ion with his old friend wouldn’t be a hardship. He was skilled enough to give the other man exactly what he craved without his lover knowing that his heart wasn’t in it. He’d decided while up in the crow’s nest that he had to move on. Had at least to try to get past the huge hole in his heart that Abigail had left behind. He’d even found the courage to it that she had done the right thing. They weren’t happy, and despite all the fairy tales, love hadn’t been enough to protect them from the rules and regulations of society. If he and Abby had been married and chosen to look elsewhere for sexual pleasure, no one in the ton would’ve blinked an eye. But because they wanted to be honest and yet still protect James and his heir, their liaison was considered a threat to the standards of society. If it hadn’t been for young Jamie, they could’ve lived together in sin quite happily and never ventured into the ton again. But the title and Jamie’s expectations made that impossible.

Peter stripped off his shirt and washed his face and upper body in the cold water from the jug by the basin. It was almost time for dinner. He could smell a hint of burnt chicken wafting up from the galley. Being on Captain Ford’s ship was quite strange. If he’d chosen to leave Valentin all those years ago and sailed the seas with his lover instead, he might never have met Abigail and James. He sat down on his bunk to towel down his torso. Would that have been for the best? He shook his head, even though there was no one there to see it. No, despite everything, he couldn’t regret finding out that love did exist, even though it appeared that love for him would always come with complicated and painful conditions. A knock on the door had him reaching for a clean shirt. “Come in.” “Captain’s compliments, sir, and would you care to him for dinner in his cabin?” “Now, Rob?” The cabin boy grinned. “Yes, sir. He should be finished with his ablutions.” “Then I’ll him.” Peter patted the boy on the top of the head and followed him out into the cramped ageway. He knocked on the captain’s door. “I think I can find my own way from here.” Rob winked at his rather lame jest. “Good for you, sir. I’ll be off to have my dinner now so you won’t be disturbed.” Peter waited until the boy disappeared down the ladder and went in. Jason Ford was standing naked on a sheet of canvas sail, sluicing the remains of a bucket of water over his head. Peter watched in appreciation as the droplets slid over the captain’s muscular chest and stomach, caught on the hair on his chest and at his groin and pooled around his feet. “I wish I had a fountain like this in my garden at home,” Peter remarked. Although he no longer had a home, did he? Unless you counted his rooms over Howard and Sokorvsky Shipping, where he’d retired to lick his wounds a month

or so ago. “Mr. Howard!” Captain Ford spun around and almost dropped the bucket. “I thought you were Rob.” “I should hope not. He’s a little young for you.” Peter strolled forward and caught a droplet of water from Jason’s cheek on his fingertip and slowly sucked it into his mouth. “Aye, too young, and far too interested in women to have any interest in an elderly sea captain like myself.” “Elderly?” Peter studied his friend. “You are in your prime.” Jason held his gaze. “I am certainly fit enough to take whatever you wish to give me.” He hesitated. “If that is what you wish. I wouldn’t want to assume that—” Peter pressed his finger to Jason’s lips. “I am more than willing to use you, Captain. I still what you crave. Get down on your knees.” He waited as the captain complied, noticing that his cock was already hard and ready. Picking up the drying cloth Rob had left hanging on the chair, he started to rub Jason’s long hair and then moved lower, wiping the moisture from his shoulders and chest. “Stand up.” Peter continued drying him, paying particular attention to his companion’s tight arse and the tops of his thighs and groin but avoiding his cock altogether. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit of Jason’s cock. Using the rough towel, Peter rubbed it off and then pretended to sigh as more drops emerged. “How am I ever going to get you dry?” he murmured, snapping the towel over the crown again, making the captain breathe hard through his nose. “Go sit in your chair.” “At the table?” “Yes, where else?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “We are about to dine.”

As Jason went to sit down, Peter crossed to the smaller of the sea chests pushed against the side of the bed. “Where’s the key?” “Around my neck.” “A wise decision, considering the scandalous contents. Give it to me.” He took the proffered key and returned to the red lacquered Oriental chest and opened it. He discovered what he needed in a black silk bag and turned back to the waiting captain. “Put your hands on the armrests and keep them there.” He loosened the cord on the bag and allowed the narrow silken ropes to slide out onto his palm. “Widen your legs.” He crouched in front of Jason and secured one of his ankles to the chair leg and then the other, using two separate ropes. Wrapping the rope around his shin and then behind each knee. “Lift your arse up an inch.” Jason did, and Peter wound the rope under each thigh twice and then brought the two ends together over his groin. “Sit back down.” Jason tensed as Peter tied two more ropes to the ends of the others, doubling their length. Crossing the knotted ends under Jason’s balls, he brought them up and around his hips and over to the armrests, where he bound Jason’s wrists to the wood. “Do you like this?” Peter asked. Jason nodded, his gaze directed downward to his bound limbs, his whole torso shivering. The ropes now crossed above and below his cock and trapped his hands onto the arms of the chair. Peter crossed the silk cords over his lover’s chest, pinning him to the back of the chair, and then slowly pulled hard on both of the ropes, rather like tightening a corset, until Jason couldn’t move a muscle. “That’s better.” With the last of the rope, Peter encircled Jason’s throat and tied the two ends together behind the high back of the chair.

“Can you move?” “Not much,” Jason croaked. “Then I‘ll have to feed you, won’t I?” Peter picked up the soup spoon and pulled his own chair as close to the captain’s as he could. “Open your mouth.” With a helpless sound, Jason obliged, and Peter spooned some of the hot soup into his mouth and waited until his lover swallowed. He repeated the action several times, aware that every time he moved forward, he brushed against Jason’s straining cock. Jason groaned, spilling some of the soup, which went down his chin and onto his chest. Peter set the spoon down and considered his captive. “I suppose I’ll have to lick this off you.” “God, please . . .” Taking his time, Peter leaned forward and used just the tip of his tongue to lick off the splatters of soup. He ignored Jason’s soft curses and pleas, concentrating on the taste of warm salted skin with a hint of oxtail soup. He sampled his own soup, making Jason wait for him to continue, made him strain against the ropes. “Are you still hungry?” “Yes, Mr. Howard.” He uncovered the plate of chicken and sauce and picked up a leg by the bone. “Eat this.” Jason tried to move his mouth fast enough to bite and chew at the meat without making a mess, but it was impossible, and soon his face and upper body were covered with drips of gravy, which, judging from his occasional wince, was still

quite hot. Peter tasted the gravy himself and confirmed this as Jason attempted to lick his lips clean. Standing up, Peter kissed Jason’s sticky mouth and then bit and licked his way down his torso until he had taken in every drop of gravy except the ones low down on Jason’s belly and thrusting cock. “God . . .” Jason whispered. “More, please, take more of me.” Peter rewarded him with a bite of his nipple that made him jerk against his bonds. Resuming his seat, Peter calmly ate his way through a plate of chicken, watched avidly by his lover. The third covered dish contained dessert, which appeared to be stewed apples and cream. He dangled a piece of fruit close to Jason’s lips, making him strain to reach it and lick off the cinnamon-flavored juices. He did it again, amused at how agile Jason’s tongue was and imagining what the man could do to his cock. He scooped up several slices of apple and laid them over the length of Jason’s cock, watching as his lover’s shaft thickened and pre-cum slid down from the tip to blend with the dripping sugary juices. “Mmm . . .” he breathed out, inhaling the scent of aroused male and the sweetness of the fruit. “I’ll wager you wish you could bend down and eat yourself, don’t you? As you are tied to the chair, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.” Peter took his time eating the fruit, savoring each bite and deliberate caress of the captain’s rigid flesh, aware of Jason’s tightening muscles as he strained against his rope, trying to bring his cock closer to Peter’s mouth, begging him to take him inside and suck him off, let him come.... Eventually, Peter sat back and licked his lips and smiled at his captive. “Cream?” He picked up the jug and drizzled a stream of cream over Jason’s tight stomach and over his cock. His lover was unable to keep still now, his arse writhing on the hard wooden seat, his cock impossibly hard and pulsing with need.

Peter considered him for a moment and then gripped Jason’s cock firmly around the base and yanked hard once, twice, three times until he started to climax, his come shooting out of his cock to mix in with the whiteness of the cream, his whole body arching against his bonds and almost rocking the chair off its legs. “Peter!” The suddenness of Peter’s action had Jason shouting out in ecstasy as he kept coming. Before he’d even finished, Peter was untying him. “Get up, Jason; kneel on the canvas.” The captain stumbled over to the square of canvas and fell down on his knees, his chest heaving, his long hair hanging down over his face, reminding Peter of Valentin. Pushing that thought away, he found what remained of the water in the jug and started to wash Jason. By the time he’d finished, Jason was hard again and had his hands locked together at the small of his back, awaiting Peter’s next command. With a sigh, Peter returned to the dining table, poured himself a glass of the rough red wine and drank it down in one. “What is it?” Jason turned toward him. “Have I done something wrong?” “No, not at all; it’s just—” Peter put his glass down. “I can’t fuck you.” “You most certainly can, Mr. Howard.” “That’s not what I meant. I know you would be willing, but I just can’t do it.” Jason came to sit cross-legged on the floor at Peter’s feet. “I hate to pry, but is this because of Valentin?” “No. Not this time.” Peter poured himself another glass of wine and offered one to Jason, who shook his head. “Then some trouble with the Beechams?” “You might say that.” Because they’d corresponded for years, Jason knew all about Peter’s peculiar living arrangements. “It seems that I found it too hard to love a woman who was already married.”

“Even if her husband preferred men?” “I wanted all of her. I wanted . . .” He sighed. “To be everything to her.” “And she decided she loved her husband too much to give you that?” “No, that she loved me too much to tie me to a woman stuck in a marriage that could never be ended except by death. She said I deserved more.” “Ah . . .” Jason reached out and stroked Peter’s knee. “She was right, wasn’t she? You of all men deserve to be loved unreservedly.” He hesitated. “She must have understood you very well to know that she had to let you go.” The glass of wine in Peter’s hand suddenly blurred and he had to blink hard. “Yes, but leaving her has ripped my soul in half.” He looked down into Jason’s sympathetic eyes. “And, although she is right, I still cannot think of anyone but her.” “Then why take this voyage and leave her completely?” “Because I am going to see her husband. I’m going to try to persuade him to come back with me.” Jason’s brows drew together. “For what purpose?” “If we cannot be together, she deserves James’s attention and regard. He cannot simply abandon her.” Peter shrugged. “Mayhap if I’m not involved, I can persuade him to stay with her long enough to give her another child and still the gossip. I cannot force him to stay with her forever.” “Would she want him to?” “Probably not. She loves him. Damnation, we all love each other in different ways. It makes everything bloody impossible.” Jason rose and wrapped the drying cloth around his hips and took the chair opposite Peter. “Then perhaps if we can’t fuck, we can drink ourselves into oblivion instead?” Peter raised his glass and clinked it against Jason’s. “Now that I can manage.”

Chapter 5

Trade Winds Plantation

“What the devil happened here?” Peter turned in a slow circle, aware of the sweat streaming down his back and the living, breathing hum of the tropical vegetation around him. The sun was overhead and beamed straight down, making it hard to focus. He’d asked the driver to stop the carriage at the blackened buildings as the sickly stench of burnt sugar and death surrounded him. “There was a fire, sir.” The man pointed into the jungle. “We’re already rebuilding the processing plant over there.” “I can see that.” Peter used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Is the main house still intact?” “Yes, sir.” “Then can you take us there?” “Yes, sir.” He reed Jason in the carriage, and they continued up the track toward a stone building with wide verandas and floor-to-ceiling windows that were open to the slight breeze. A servant came to open the carriage door, and they stepped down and into the hall of the house. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as they were enfolded in the shadows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the West Indies, but he was always unprepared for the enormity of the heat and the sheer effort required to maintain even a thin veneer of civility. If he’d been stationed here, he would’ve discarded his formal clothing and walked around naked. Since his youth in a Turkish brothel, he’d always felt overdressed in English clothing.

“Mr. . . . Howard?” Peter turned to see a man emerging from one of the rooms farther down the hall. He wore a white shirt open at the neck, displaying his tanned skin and buckskin breeches. Peter judged him to be in his early forties. “Yes, I’m Mr. Howard, and this is Captain Jason Ford.” “Good God, I didn’t expect the news to travel so fast.” He paused. “Please come into my study and I’ll tell you anything you need to know.” Peter bowed. “I’d be delighted to speak to you, sir, but might I have the pleasure of knowing whom I am addressing?” “I do apologize; I thought you knew. I’m Jeremiah Hodges, overseer and owner of Trade Winds.” They followed him down to the study. He closed the door after ordering refreshments and held out his hand. “Owner?” Peter shared a guarded glance with Captain Ford. “Then where is Lord Beecham, and what is his position here now?” “Oh good Lord, you don’t know, do you? The news must have reached England after you left.” “Know what?” Peter asked. “James is dead. He died in the fire at the sugar mill.” Shock stilled Peter’s tongue as he tried to absorb Jeremiah’s words. “James Beecham is dead?” “Aye. There was a terrible fire. James went back into the blaze to try to save more of the workers.” Jeremiah’s mouth twisted. “It was already too late for those poor souls, but James refused to give up.” “And paid the price for his bravery,” Peter murmured and sank down into the nearest chair. “Dear God, Abigail is going to be devastated. . . .” He looked up at Jeremiah. “You sent the news to her?”

“About three weeks ago, right after the funeral.” His mouth twisted again. “We had to bury him quickly. There isn’t much time for the niceties in this climate.” “I understand. I also wish to offer you my personal condolences, Mr. Hodges. I know James loved you very much.” Tears filled the other man’s eyes. “Thank you for that, Mr. Howard. It has been hard, not being able to acknowledge how I feel about his loss. He was my perfect match.” Peter took a deep breath. “May we stay with you until our ship is provisioned and ready to set sail back to England?” “Of course, Mr. Howard. I would appreciate the company.” Mr. Hodges regained some of his composure. “I have heard much about you from James.” “And I would love to hear about you, Mr. Hodges. James said you understood him better than anyone else in the world.” Jeremiah glanced down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I knew what he needed, and I wasn’t afraid to give it to him.” Beside Peter, Jason shifted in his seat and stared covertly at Jeremiah. Despite his sadness, Peter risked a smile. “You would like Mr. Hodges, I think, Jason. He enjoys taming a man.” “Indeed.” A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a tea tray and other cooler beverages, which Peter and Jason accepted with gratitude. Peter couldn’t imagine a world without James Beecham in it. He ed the first time James had accosted him at the pleasure house, and the last time, when he’d had to it to James that he wasn’t the right man to master him. It was then James had set out to find the only man who had dominated him to his complete sexual satisfaction, and had stayed with him for the last three years, abandoning his home, his country and his responsibilities. Responsibilities that Peter had been more than willing to assume, seeing as it meant he got to stay with Abigail.

He drank a glass of cold tea sweetened with some unknown fruit. Would James have chosen differently if he’d known what lay ahead? Peter doubted it. James’s joy in submitting to Hodges’s brutal regime had been obvious. He dragged his attention back to the conversation and realized that Jason was saying all that was necessary. Would Abigail know by now that James was dead? And if she did, how had she reacted to the news? Had she yearned to comfort Peter as much as he wanted to comfort her, or had she not thought of him at all? “Mr. Howard?” “Yes, Mr. Hodges?” “Tomorrow I can take you down to the English churchyard to see where James is buried.” “I would like that.” Peter rose to his feet, and Jason followed. “Would it be possible for me to rest for a while? I fear I am not quite used to the extremes of this climate yet.” And he wanted to be alone to grieve. He was certain that Mr. Hodges would understand that. “Certainly, Mr. Howard. I’ll take you both upstairs to your rooms.”

The next morning, Peter ed Jeremiah in his study and met Mr. Campion, who handled the legal issues associated with the estate. Peter only had a short time to leaf through the documents Mr. Campion presented to him before the man had to leave for another appointment. It was enough for him to have a shrewd idea of what had gone on. When Jeremiah closed the door, Peter looked up from his position behind the desk and contemplated the other man. “May I be frank with you, sir?” “Of course, and please call me Jeremiah. What is troubling you?” Peter sat back. “When did James decide to cede the property entirely to you?”

“It was a few months ago apparently, when he rewrote his will. Why?” “Did he inform Lady Beecham of his intentions?” “I believe he did. We had letters from both Mr. Bell and Lady Beecham acknowledging receipt of the change and their acceptance.” Jeremiah frowned. “Were you not informed of this? I thought you were James’s land agent.” “I was, but I resigned a few months ago. It was probably about the time James ed his wife with the news.” Peter took off his spectacles. “Why did he do it?” “Give me the property?” “Don’t pretend not to understand me, Jeremiah. You had James by the balls, quite literally. Did you force him to sign away his rights to this plantation?” “Not at all. He . . . wanted to give me something tangible. Something that belonged to me if—” He hesitated. Peter carried on speaking. “If he went back to England or if something happened to him?” “I’m not quite sure.” “Come now, Jeremiah. You knew the way James’s mind worked better than anyone. Why did he suddenly decide to deed you the property? Was he intending to leave you?” Jeremiah’s gaze flashed black. “No, sir. He damn well was not.” “Then did he intend to heed his wife’s request and come back to England to give her the opportunity to have another child? Did you perhaps object, and insist he give you some security in case he didn’t return?” “You are mistaken.” A muscle flicked in the man’s cheek. “I told James he should return to England to see his wife. I expected him to return to me eventually.” Peter stared hard at Jeremiah’s resolute expression. He had a sense that

something was wrong, but he couldn’t yet put his finger on what it was. “It’s all been very convenient for you, hasn’t it? James dies unexpectedly and you inherit a plantation, making you king of all you survey.” Jeremiah came out of his chair and planted his hands on the corners of the desk. “You are implying that I somehow arranged all of this for my benefit. I can assure you that I’d give the whole bloody place to the dogs if I could just have James back.” There was a note of anguish in his voice that made Peter relax his guard slightly. “I’m sorry to have to question you like this, but James was also my friend, and I owe it to his wife to offer her a full and true of what happened to him.” “I understand that.” Jeremiah raked a hand through his thick black hair. “I didn’t ask him to give me the damn plantation or make us equal owners. I only accepted a share because he begged me to do so. As to the rest, he went behind my back and arranged it all with Mr. Campion, presenting me with a fait accompli.” “That isn’t like James.” “Aye.” Jeremiah shook his head. “I thought I knew him. When I protested at his generosity, he laughed and told me that he loved me, and that I should just accept the gift. He wanted us to be equals. Then, after he . . . died, and the will was read, I discovered he’d left his remaining shares in the place to me as well.” He sighed. “I knew there would be talk about what he had done, but he obviously didn’t care.” “And he died suddenly and unexpectedly in his prime just months after he’d made a new will.” Peter paused. “Are you worried that the authorities will investigate his death further?” “What authorities?” Jeremiah shrugged his powerful shoulders. “We’re at the end of the world here. James had every single member of the council and government eating out of his hand.” He snorted. “Most of them cosigned his new will.” “He certainly could be charming when he wanted to be.”

Jeremiah’s smile was fleeting. “Especially when he begged on his knees.” He looked up at Peter. “Are you going to advise Lady Beecham to contest the will?” “Now, why would I do that?” “Because in some ways it would make everything easier. Being here with all my memories of James is harder to bear than I thought it would be. If Lady Beecham regained control of the plantation I would gladly yield my place to someone else.” “And what would you do then?” “Travel the world?” Jeremiah shrugged. “I have no ties now. My family doesn’t acknowledge me, and I have no wish to reconnect with them.” “You sound like me,” Peter murmured. “I believe James said Lady Beecham is in love with you, Mr. Howard. She will need you even more now.” “Or she might not.” Peter smiled. “I hate to disappoint you, Jeremiah, but I don’t think Lady Beecham would dream of taking your home and your livelihood away from you. She knows how much James loved you, and she would be grateful that you were with him right up until the end.” “James said she was a remarkable woman.” “She is.” Peter pushed away from the desk and stood up. “And now we have all that settled, perhaps you might care to show Captain Ford and me around the plantation? I’m sure Lady Beecham would be interested in hearing a firsthand of the property.” Jeremiah chuckled as Peter stripped off his coat and cravat and left them on the back of the chair. “James said you hated wearing formal clothes.” “He was correct. Growing up in a brothel made most clothing unnecessary. I’ve never gotten used to all the layers.” He went through the door Jeremiah held open for him. “Perhaps you might care to find Captain Ford and make sure he is

ready to accompany us? I believe he was writing letters in the library.” “I would be happy to do that. Captain Ford is a very interesting man.” “He is, and one who takes instruction extremely well.” “Indeed.” “You should order him to do something for you, just so you can see how conscientiously he obeys his superiors.” “Perhaps I might do that.” Peter paused to look across at Jeremiah. “James has been gone for a while now. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you filled your well again, so to speak.” “I’m sure he would not, but I’m not certain my heart would be in it.” “Then forget I mentioned it.” Peter smiled. “I just wanted to make it clear that the opportunity might be available.”

One month later ...

Peter dipped his pen in the ink and contemplated the letter he was trying to compose to Valentin. If his instincts were correct, he had to assume that Val had stepped in to help Abigail manage her affairs. Whether she would accept his aid was debatable, but he had confidence that Val, with Sara ing him, would persuade Abby to accept his help regardless of her feelings for Peter. If her prime desire was to protect young Jamie’s position, a peer such as Valentin would be the perfect sponsor for the boy. And as Val was his shipping partner and Jamie was his godson, no one would remark about the old connection between him and Abby either, which would please Abby greatly. Or he hoped it would. He sighed and sat back. He wasn’t even sure why he was writing the damned

letter when he and Captain Ford were due to leave within a day or two. But he still hadn’t decided what he was going to do. Part of him yearned to forces with Jeremiah and simply travel the world without any responsibilities or cares. Could he walk away? Should he? A month at sea and the weeks at the plantation had given him plenty of time to reflect on his life and his situation. James’s death and Jason’s solid had also allowed him to think about what he wanted for himself for the first time in his life. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to return to Abigail. He still felt as if he’d never completely recover from her loss. But what if he went back, and she had found another man? He didn’t want to be the kind of man who used her guilt and obligation to her dead husband’s lover to insist that she marry him or no one else. If she’d found someone, he would truly be pleased for her. Another revolutionary thought struck him. He didn’t have to go back to Abby, or Val, or Sara. They would take care of one another. Even more importantly, he didn’t need them to survive. Despite everything, he hadn’t succumbed to the temptations of opium or alcohol after Abby’s dismissal. He wanted his friends, he loved them, but he would be successful and happy without them. With a yawn, Peter sanded the letters, folded them both up and put them in his pocket. He was too tired to decide what to do now. He’d go to bed and sleep on the matter. The creak of a door opening overhead and the sound of footsteps made him pause at the bottom of the stairs. Was Jason finally giving in to his desire to be mastered by Jeremiah and offering himself up for punishment? Peter kept moving up the stairs as he heard the low murmur of male voices. He almost wished they’d ask him to come and watch. He would probably enjoy it. The smell of cigarillo smoke drifted past his nostrils and he went still. Altering course away from his own bedchamber, he went to check on Jason, who was not in his bed. Of course he wasn’t. He was with Jeremiah, neither of whom had ever smoked a cigarillo in Peter’s presence in their lives. With a soft curse, Peter crept toward Jeremiah’s bedroom and cautiously tried

the door, which was locked. Without allowing himself to think further, he entered the empty guest bedroom beside Jeremiah’s and walked along the upper balcony until he could step in through the open French windows. The smell of sex greeted him, and the sight of a fully dressed Jeremiah, not wielding a whip but kneeling on the floor fucking a man with long black hair he held in his fist. Peter closed the window and leaned against it until Jeremiah finished and finally looked up. “Mr. Howard!” Peter didn’t smile. “Perhaps one of you would like to let me know what in damnation is going on.”

Chapter 6

“I’m grateful for everything that you and Valentin have done for me, Sara, but I do feel it is time for me to take Jamie home to Beecham Hall,” Abigail said firmly. She was sitting with Sara in the drawing room of the Sokorvsky town house. It was late in the evening. Valentin had gone out to his club, leaving the ladies to enjoy a quiet night at home. “Are you quite certain?” Sara sat forward in her chair, her hands clasped together on the roundness of her stomach. “I was hoping you would stay with me until this baby is born.” “That won’t be for months, Sara. I’ll come back. I swear it.” “It was worth a try.” Sara sighed. “You don’t wish to stay until Peter returns either?” “We have no idea if he plans to return at all.” Abby kept her expression and her voice even. “He always wanted to travel the world, and for the first time in his life he has the means and the opportunity to do so.” “Do you not want him to come home?” “I want him to be happy.” Abby said it with conviction. “But Val and I assumed that his happiness was centered around you.” Abby met her friend’s concerned gaze. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t assume such things. Peter deserves to be his own man.” “You are very brave, Abby.” Sara shook her head. “I didn’t cope very well at all when Val deserted me to go to Russia. I was almost ready to go after him.” “And he would’ve respected you if you had done so.” Abby hesitated. “I don’t

want Peter to feel pursued, or that he has to come back and make things right for me because it is somehow expected. I want him to come back because he chooses to. I want him to want me for myself.” “I understand.” Sara nodded. “That’s exactly why, in the end, I waited for Val to make up his own mind and come back to me.” “Peter’s spent the whole of his life having others making choices for him—not all of them bad, and most of them offered with love, but still their choices.” Abby offered Sara a wavering smile. “I want him to be free.” The sound of argumentative voices echoed up from the hall below. Sara looked around. “Were we expecting visitors? It isn’t exactly the conventional hour to make a call.” Valentin swept into the room and bowed to his wife and Abby. “Lady Beecham? Would you mind coming down to my study for a moment?” Abby rose to her feet, leaving her sewing on the chair. “If you wish. Is something wrong?” “I’ll leave that for you to decide.” There was a grim note to Valentin’s answer that made Abby pause and look across at Sara. “Shall I come with you, Abby?” Sara asked. Val took hold of Abby’s elbow and steered her rapidly toward the door. “I’d rather you didn’t, my lady. I’m sure Lady Beecham will tell you all about it later.” Before she could utter a protest, Abby was marched down the stairs and into Valentin’s study, where an unknown man awaited her. “This is Lady Beecham,” Valentin said. “Now, what exactly do you have to say to her ladyship?” The man bowed to Abby. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lady, but my time

here in London is very limited and I could not wait to make an appointment.” He met her gaze. “I’m Jeremiah Hodges.” Abby put her hand to her cheek as a thousand conflicting emotions ran through her. “Mr. Hodges? I am very pleased to meet you, even in such sad circumstances.” She extended her hand and he kissed her fingers. “How are you, sir, and what brings you to London?” After a quick glance at Valentin, who obviously had no intention of leaving, Jeremiah lowered his voice. “I’m staying at the Rose and Crown off Pultney Road. I would be honored if you would agree to meet me there.” Ignoring Valentin’s attempt to answer for her, Abby nodded. “I would be most happy to do so. When would be a convenient time?”

The next morning, accompanied by her maid and trailed by one of the Sokorvsky footmen, Abby made her way into the small but respectable back parlor of the inn where Mr. Hodges was staying. Her maid set about refurbishing the meager fire and drawing the curtains, tutting at the dust she shook out. Just as Abby had begun to believe Mr. Hodges had forgotten her, there was a knock at the door. It opened to disclose a young boy, who grinned at Abby and proffered her a folded note. “Guv said to give the pretty lady this, so I reckon that must be you.” Abby smiled and handed the boy a coin. “And you shall receive a sixpence both for your efficiency and your charming manners.” He winked, pocketed the coin and ran off before Abby was able to ask him whether he required an answer. Turning her back on her maid, she opened the note and read the short message. I am delayed in my bedchamber. If you wish to be completely private with me, come to room five and knock twice on the door. Do not bring your maid or footman. Abby took off her bonnet and laid her muff on the seat next to the fire. “Drat the

boy for leaving so quickly. I need to answer this note.” She looked around the small parlor. “I wonder if the innkeeper has ink and paper.” “Do you wish me to go and ask, my lady?” “That would be very helpful, Maggie.” She smiled at her maid. “If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll be using the necessary.” “Yes, my lady.” She repeated the same message to the footman stationed outside the door, who blushed a fiery red and obediently looked anywhere but at her as she headed back into the main part of the inn. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she went up the stairs and located Mr. Hodges’s door. After a deep, steadying breath, she knocked twice. She was pulled inside the room so quickly that she barely had time to there was a hand over her mouth and a hard body pinning her against his. She tried to shriek and bite the man’s finger, but he simply tightened his grip. “Be still. I wish you to see something, and I don’t want you to scream.” She recognized Mr. Hodges’s voice and stopped fighting as a man dressed in the simple clothes of a sailor with long black hair tied back at the nape and a full beard came out of the shadows behind the four-poster bed and stopped in front of her. “Good morning, Abby cat.” Shock made her sway back and forth in Mr. Hodges’s grasp as he slowly uncovered her mouth. “James?” His smile was as sweet as ever. “No, love. James died in the fire. He is buried in the churchyard near Trade Winds. For our purposes, he no longer exists.” Mr. Hodges helped Abby sit down and went to lock the door. For a long moment she simply stared at James, drinking him in.

“I don’t understand.” She turned to Mr. Hodges, who had come to sit beside James. “Did you plan this together?” “No, Jeremiah didn’t know anything either.” James grimaced. “I needed everyone to believe I was dead—especially Jeremiah, or he would not have been able to play his part so convincingly after my ‘death.’ ” Mr. Hodges looked straight at Abby. “If I’d known what he’d planned, my lady —the heartache and the pain he chose to cause us all—I would never have wanted James to go through with it.” “So I did the right thing, didn’t I?” James looked at them both and then sighed. “It’s quite straightforward. James Beecham is dead. His son Jamie inherits everything in England, his wife is a widow free to marry her lover and ‘James’ gets to live as humble John Smith, valet to Mr. Jeremiah Hodges.” “But if you go back to Trade Winds, someone will eventually notice that James and John Smith are the same person.” Abby finally found her voice. “You are deluding yourself.” “We don’t intend to go back. Jeremiah already made his intentions to leave the island and travel the world known to the locals. The plantation is in the process of being sold to the fellow who owns the one next door. He wasn’t keen on having to deal with a commoner like Jeremiah and was willing to pay a high price to get rid of him. We’ll have more than enough money to live on for the rest of our days.” “You planned this quite carefully, didn’t you?” Abby stared at him and shook her head. “This is ridiculous.” “It isn’t, Abby. It’s the only way that we can all be happy. James Beecham is dead. I hated being James. I loathed every minute of my existence. If it hadn’t been for you and Peter setting me free, I would have been driven to doing something stupid.” He swallowed hard and continued more quietly. “Even if you don’t choose to acknowledge that, as far as everyone else is concerned, James is legally buried and his son has inherited the title.” His expression grew stubborn. “I’m not coming back, Abby. I’m never coming back.” “And what do you think of James’s irresponsible scheme, Mr. Hodges?” Abby inquired tightly.

“I almost killed him the first night he turned up in my room,” Mr. Hodges itted. “But I’ve had a long sea voyage to think matters through, and I cannot find fault with his plan. We can finally be together without anyone giving a damn. Who notices what secrets a man and his valet share, or even cares?” James came to kneel at her feet and took her gloved hand. “And you, Abby, are now a widow and can marry Peter.” She gently withdrew her hand from his. “Please don’t decide my future along with yours. I can’t stop you following through with this outlandish scheme, but I refuse to allow you to involve me in it.” He blinked at her. “You don’t want to marry Peter?” “When I will know in my heart that I am committing bigamy?” “Abby, don’t be stupid. If I hadn’t come and told you the truth, you would’ve gone ahead and married again, wouldn’t you?” “Possibly.” She glared at him. “And what would’ve happened then if you’d decided you wanted your old life back?” “I do not want my old life back. Abby, please listen to me. I swear to you on everything that I am. I will not come back. I want Jamie to live without the shadow of my shortcomings looming over him. I want you and Peter to be as happy as Jeremiah and I am. And this is the best way to achieve it. I swear it!” Abby looked away from his imioned face and tried to gather her senses. James grabbed her hand and held it tight. “If you let me go with Jeremiah, you will never have to worry about me again. I know he will take care of me.” Tears filled her eyes. “I wish you hadn’t told me.” James snorted. “I told Jeremiah that, but he would not be swayed. He said I had deceived you enough, and that you deserved the truth.” He held her gaze. “And we used to be best friends, Abby cat. When I left, I promised you I would never lie to you about anything again, and I’ve kept that promise. For the first time in my life I will be free.”

“Lady Beecham, if it is of any comfort, I can confirm what James has said. I promise I will share the rest of my life with him until my last breath.” Mr. Hodges hesitated. “We only wish you to be happy as well.” Abby nodded, aware of time ticking away, and that her maid would be wondering where she was. “When are you leaving?” “Within the next few days, depending on the tides,” James said. He rose, too, and smiled at Abby, the lines of strain evident on his face. “Even if you don’t believe me and you don’t choose to marry again, you’ll eventually realize I’m never coming back. You can’t stop me. Perhaps in a few years you’ll finally accept that I’m serious and forget I ever existed.” “How could I do that when I’ll be living in your house and at your expense for the rest of my life?” “Not at my expense, at my son’s, and I don’t think he’ll begrudge a penny of it.” “You are impossible, James.” He had the gall to grin at her. “I always have been, but for the first time in my life I have the chance to live my life as I want to. I’d be a fool not to take the opportunity.” Abby shook her head again, and James’s smile disappeared. “There is one favor I would ask of you before we leave, Abby. Could you perhaps take young Jamie to the park one day so that I might see him from afar? It would mean a lot to me.” Abby found herself glaring at him. “Why not come right up and speak to him? The poor child has no idea what his father looks like anyway.” James looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to hers, his eyes bright with tears. “I’m more sorry about that than anything else in my miserable life. You have a right to be angry, Abby. And a right to protect your son.” He stepped back. “It was a stupid, sentimental and selfish idea. Please forgive me.” With another ferocious glare, Abby went through the door Mr. Hodges held open for her and somehow found her way down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of the

footman’s startled face as she headed for the exit of the inn and kept going. Three steps outside the inn, she realized she couldn’t be seen to be running anywhere. Even in a modest part of town like this there were curious glances at her agitated state. “Damn him, damn him, damn him!” Abby muttered to herself as she strode purposefully through the park and sank down onto one of the benches that faced the lake. She smacked her gloved fist against the wood. “How dare he do this to me? Hasn’t he done enough?” The sound of panting brought her attention to the path where the Sokorvsky footman had caught up with her. He leaned against the tree and concentrated on regaining his breath. She turned back to her view of the lake and stared into the murky grey depths. Oh yes, everyone would be happy if James Beecham simply ceased to exist. Her husband could live out his life in total submission to his overseer lover, Jamie would inherit a title and grow up not surrounded by scandal, and she would be free to marry again. Or not. “But it’s wrong,” she whispered. She took out her handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes and set out for the Sokorvsky household. She’d have to think up some story to deceive Valentin and Sara as to Mr. Hodges’s purpose in seeing her, which would not be easy. Then she would return to the countryside to see her son. The one fixed point in her life. Her steps slowed as she approached the gates of the park. Did Peter know what had happened? And if he did know, what would he think? She wanted to go and find him and climb into his lap so desperately it hurt to breathe. But if the scheme was to succeed—and she still hadn’t decided how she felt about that—she could tell no one that James Beecham was very much alive.... In freeing himself, had James simply transferred an intolerable burden to her? And what would she do when Peter returned and thought she was a widow? Would he expect her to marry him, and if so, what in God’s name would she do about that?

Chapter 7

“Abigail?” Abby looked up from the remains of her untouched breakfast and found Valentin staring down at her. “Yes, my lord?” “Would you mind coming to my study?” Aware that things couldn’t get much worse, she pushed back her chair and followed Valentin. It was one of those cold, blustery grey days that made her long for her home and the ability to curl up in bed with the dogs, her son and a good gothic novel. She wanted to go home quite desperately. “Thank you for your time.” Val nodded as he sat behind his desk. “I know that you are busy planning your journey back to Beecham Hall.” He paused. “But I have a confession to make.” Abby narrowed her eyes at him. “What have you done?” “James wrote to me a few months ago, asking my advice as to whether I could help him procure a divorce from you.” “He was planning on divorcing me?” “He wanted to know the legal position if he attempted to do so. When I explained it in all its gross unfairness, he was appalled and very angry that anything he did to set you free would adversely impact your future relationships and your son’s inheritance.” Valentin sighed. “I’ve since wondered if the information I supplied made him more careless of his continuing existence.” Abigail blinked at him. “You mean you think he might have died deliberately to set me free?”

“One has to wonder. I only meant to help, Abigail.” He looked straight at her. “If there had been a way of setting the marriage aside, I would’ve done anything in my power to achieve it for you and Peter.” “Thank you.” “For what? For being so inadequate?” She smiled at him. “For trying.” He raised an eyebrow. “It was all for naught anyway. You are a respectable widow now, and men will be flocking around you like bees to a honeypot.” “You’ve given up on the idea of my marrying Peter, have you?” He sat back. “I’ve given up trying to tell the people I love how to run their lives. Sara says it is a very annoying habit of mine.” He half-smiled. “She also says it’s lucky that I only care for about half a dozen people in the entire world, although those involved might beg to differ.” “I appreciate your concern.” Abby stood and smoothed down her skirts. “Now I really must get on.” She paused. “What would you have done if you were in the same position as Peter, Valentin?” “Before James’s demise?” “Yes.” “I don’t know.” He met her gaze full on. “I suspect I would’ve stayed with you and endured.” “Endured what?” “Society’s scorn, being given the cut direct and all that rubbish.” He snapped his fingers. “I would’ve taken you and Jamie away and not come home for so many years that by the time I did, everyone would’ve forgotten about the old scandal.” “That’s because you are a peer of the realm. The rest of us, those of us of lesser quality, are too afraid to ape the antics of aristocrats and behave appallingly.”

He shrugged one negligent shoulder. “You might be right, but you did ask. Have you asked Peter the same question?” “It is scarcely relevant now, is it? And Peter isn’t here.” “Oh, but he is.” Val gave her a wicked smile. “In fact, he’s coming to this house in about an hour. I do hope you’ll see him.”

“Lady Beecham.” Peter bowed low. When he raised his head, she spent far longer than was polite simply looking at him, cataloguing the changes in his sun-bronzed face and the lightness of his blond hair, which were at such variance with the wary expression in his blue eyes. “I wasn’t aware that you had returned to London, Mr. Howard.” She hesitated. “I was just about to leave for Beecham Hall when Valentin told me you were here. Did you have an enjoyable voyage?” His smile was wry. “It was . . . interesting. It was also strange to be back on a ship again and realize how much I enjoyed the experience.” “You intend to resume your responsibilities at the shipping company, then?” “I believe I will.” He hesitated. “But you won’t have to worry about tripping over me every time you come to see the Sokorvskys. I don’t intend to stay in the London office. My job will be to sail the seas and find new trading opportunities for our company.” “Then I’m glad I caught you before you left.” She motioned him to a chair, and he sat opposite her. For all intents and purposes, they might as well be oceans apart now. She was achingly aware of the distance between them that stretched far wider than the length of the marble hearth. Of words left unsaid, of secrets she could never share . . . “Are you quite well?” he asked abruptly. “You look rather tired.”

“London always has this effect on me. I’m much happier in the countryside.” “You always were. James and I had to—” He stopped and winced. “I’m sorry; it’s probably far too soon for you to hear jolly anecdotes about your deceased husband.” He sat forward, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees. “I’m so terribly sorry he died, Abby. I wish I’d been here when you heard the news.” The concern in his voice almost undid her. “You must have mourned him, too.” “Aye, I did. If he hadn’t befriended me and come up with his scandalous plan to introduce me to your bed, I would never have met you.” “Perhaps that would’ve been for the best.” His smile died. “Of course you are probably right.” He sat back. “But I have to say in James’s defense that he only wanted to make you happy.” Abby pressed her lips tightly together in an effort not to blurt out everything to him. He’d always been her friend as well as her lover. “Was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me before you left Town, my lady?” “Yes.” She hesitated. “I have engaged a new land agent for Beecham Hall.” “That is excellent news.” “I was . . . hoping you might be able to spare a day or so to come down to the estate to show him how you managed things.” “I can do that if you wish, my lady.” He didn’t even attempt a smile. “I would prefer it if the visit took place secretly.” “You still think I’m afraid of the gossips?” “No. Why should you be? This is more for my sake. I’d rather Jamie didn’t know I was there.” He risked a glance at her face. “I don’t know what I’d do if he asked me why I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t bear to upset him.”

Abby stared at him for so long that he began to look concerned. He was more of a father to Jamie than James had ever allowed himself to be. All his concern was for the boy’s feelings and not his own. “Are you sure you are quite well?” He rose to his feet. “Perhaps I should fetch Sara or your maid.” He started toward the door. She blurted out, “Mr. Hodges came to see me.” Peter paused and slowly turned toward her. “Mr. Hodges?” “Yes, James’s lover. He was in England, settling his affairs before leaving on an extended trip around the world.” “I—” “I met him in his bedchamber.” She took a gulp of very necessary air. “He introduced me to his new valet, a Mr. John Smith.” He turned fully to face her, his expression curiously intent. “Why are you telling me this?” ‘Because we’re all free now, aren’t we?” “I’m not quite sure I understand you.” She held his gaze. “James found his freedom in his own way, you are free to sail the seven seas, and I am free to go back to Beecham Hall and bring up my son without fear.” “I am glad you and James are free,” he said carefully. “I’m also glad that being cast adrift, being freed by you, didn’t destroy me as I’d always feared it would. It made me realize how much stronger I’d become. How all the love that had been offered to me over the years had finally taken root in my soul.” His smile was breathtakingly sweet. “And believing myself loved, I found it impossible to give up.” “I am very glad to hear it.” She smiled back at him. “You are very much loved; never forget that.”

“I have a confession to make.” “It must be the morning for them. I just had the same conversation with Valentin.” She braced for heartbreak. “You have met someone?” “Well, yes, but not quite in the manner you mean. When I left England, I sailed for the West Indies. My original plan was to find James and drag him back here to honor his responsibilities to you and Jamie, whether he liked it or not.” She gripped her hands so tightly together that it hurt. “After everything I said, you did that for me?” “I reasoned that if I couldn’t make you happy, maybe James should.” “But when you arrived at Trade Winds, you found out James was already dead.” “Yes. We stayed there while our ship was being provisioned. It gave me an opportunity to find out how Mr. Hodges ended up owning the entire plantation.” “James changed his will.” “So I gathered.” He studied her carefully. “One might say he had the second sight, to have arranged things so perspicuously.” “I—” She opened her eyes wide. “You know, don’t you?” “About Mr. Hodges’s new valet? I walked in on Jeremiah cursing and fucking him and demanded to know what was going on.” “So they lied to both of us?” “No. James lied to everyone. He took advantage of the fire to disappear. He returned that night to seek out Mr. Hodges because he knew our ship had docked. He reckoned he would have an opportunity to come back to England and finally lay the ghost of James Beecham to rest for all of us.” “But why?” Abby demanded. “Why did he do it?” He angled his head and stared at her. “He wanted us all to be free.” She sprang to her feet and started to pace the carpet. “Free for what?”

“Abby—” She rounded on him and he went still, his hand stretched out toward her. “Why aren’t you angry with him?” A slight frown marred his brow. “With James?” “He’s manipulating us again, using us for his own selfish needs.” He sighed and leaned back against the door. “You know that isn’t true. James might be an impetuous fool, but his heart is in the right place.” “With Mr. Hodges, playacting as his servant!” She advanced toward him, but he didn’t look away. “Don’t you see? We’re still dancing to his tune. We always will be.” “So you’d rather he’d really died, Abby? That we’d lost him forever?” “Yes!” she shouted at him. “Why did he have to come back and tell me the truth? If he was going to do this, why didn’t he leave us in ignorance, and then we could’ve—” She stopped speaking and covered her mouth with her hand. He reached out and took hold of her elbow. “Could’ve what, Abby?” “Been together!” “We still can! James made a sacrifice for all of us. Are you going to let that sacrifice go to waste?” Her mouth quivered, and his expression intensified. “I’m not, Abby. If it comes to it, I’ll take you and Jamie away from this narrowminded country to somewhere we can live together and raise our son as a decent human being. I’m done with hiding how I feel. James is no longer willing to live a lie, and I’m not either.” “You’d do that for me. For Jamie?” “Yes! If you don’t want me, or won’t leave with me, just tell me. I’d rather know now.”

“But I wanted you to be free,” she whispered. He yanked her hard against his chest and then pivoted until she was crushed between him and the door. “I’m free, Abby.” He bent his head and kissed her, claiming her mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to belong to you forever.”

She struggled to release her hands and wrapped one of them around his neck, holding him as close as she could while he continued to kiss her. He groaned into her mouth and pressed against her from knee to shoulder, making her all too aware of the hard ridge of his cock against her stomach. “Oh God, I’ve missed you.” Peter nipped her lip. “I want to be inside you so badly, I could die of it.” “Then come upstairs with me right now.” She pushed at his chest. “We can use the servants’ stairs.” He took a reluctant step back and she held out her hand. “Please.” “As if I could deny you anything.” She practically dragged him up to her bedchamber and locked all the doors while he fought his way out of his tight-fitting blue coat, cravat and waistcoat. As he wrenched his shirt over his head, she fell to her knees and nuzzled his cock, shoving his underthings aside to lick and suck the crown. He reached down and lifted her up with surprising strength. “I want to come in you and I need to do it right now.” Backing her up to the bed, he sat her on the edge and pulled her skirts up. “I can’t be slow, Abby, and I don’t feel gentle. I feel—” She clutched a handful of his hair and yanked hard on it. “Just do it, Peter. I want you just as you are.” He shoved his cock deep. She welcomed each thrust, her body struggling to

catch up with the willingness of her mind, making him aware of each inch of hardness pushing through her tightness. God, it was glorious, and he wanted to come.... She dug her heels into his arse, urging him on, and he gave up all pretense of finesse and simply fucked her as hard as he could, losing himself within the welcoming confines of her body as she gradually accepted all of him. “God . . .” He breathed out and came so suddenly it shocked him and left him lying on top of her like a landed fish. With one hand, he combed his fingers through her light brown hair, freeing it around her shoulders, and buried his face in its fragrant depths. His Abby, his woman, with his scent all over her. Her hand slid over his arse in a lazy circle and he rolled his hips, pushing himself deep again, reluctant to lose the connection. Easing himself slightly away, he released her from the prison of her gown and stays and drew her muslin shift over her head, leaving her just in her stockings and garters. He drew her higher up on the bed and knelt between her spread thighs, bending to lavish soft kisses on her rounded breasts and the slight curve of her stomach, and then lower to her already swollen bud. She moved restlessly against the sheets as he slowly tongued her and then sucked her throbbing flesh into his mouth. It didn’t take long before she was writhing against him and begging for release, which he gave her, his tongue deep inside her as she came. He drew back again, simply for the pleasure of looking at her laid bare for him, her defenses down, her eyes locked on his as he tried to show her how much she meant to him and how much he’d missed her. “Did you . . . fuck James and Mr. Hodges?” she asked. “I damn well did not. When I saw them together and realized James was alive, I wanted to horsewhip the pair of them, but I knew they’d probably enjoy it too much.” He bent to kiss her nipple. “I did make Jason Ford come for me, but I didn’t fuck him either.” He smiled. “It didn’t feel right without you there.” “I felt the same about Sara and Val. They offered to share their bed with me, but I didn’t want to do that without you in it.”

Holding her gaze, he smoothed an unsteady hand down over his now erect shaft. “Then perhaps we should just focus on each other?” She opened her mouth and he touched his lips to her. “Humor me, Abby; just take my cock. We can talk about the rest of it later.” This time he eased himself in slowly, holding back as he teased and played with her body, enjoying the sensation of seeing his stiff rod disappear inside her wet, swollen folds, stretching them wide. He fucked her with a steady rhythm, using the whole length of his cock to give her pleasure. Watching her face, watching her succumb to the glories of ion, was like coming home.... “Peter . . .” She gripped his arm and tried to lever herself up off the bed. “I want to come. I want . . .” He held her where he wanted her and trailed one lazy finger down from her breasts to her clit. “Then come for me.” She gasped as he pinched her clit and started to come in long, endless clenches around his cock. “That’s nice, Abby,” he murmured. “Do it again.” He thrust again and then held still, keeping her pinned to the bed as she shuddered into another climax. And then he couldn’t watch anymore, couldn’t be an observer when all he wanted was to be held within the circle of her arms and ed with her in ion.

Much later, he got out of bed to bank the fire and then returned to draw the covers over both of them. Abby stirred in her sleep and turned to lie against his chest, one hand over his heart and her bent knee across his legs. After his days in the brothel, he’d always hated feeling trapped in bed, but never with Abby. With her he felt . . . complete. “I’m still going back to Beecham Hall tomorrow.” “Of course you are.” He kept his voice low, reluctant to disrupt the sense of peace pervading him. “And I have to report in to Valentin at the shipping office.” She raised herself up on one elbow to look down into his face, her hair falling in soft waves on his chest.

“Do you think James is right and that we should just accept that he is dead?” “For all intents and purposes, he is dead. Legally, James Beecham no longer exists.” “But we know differently.” She stroked the skin over his heart. “We know it here.” “What do you fear, Abby?” he asked gently. “That he’ll regret his choice and come back? Do you really think he would do that to Mr. Hodges, to you, to me and to Jamie?” “But what if Mr. Hodges dies? What will he do then?” I don’t know.” He stared up at her. “I only know that he has given us all an opportunity to be free and to live the way we want to.” He reached up to brush a tear from her cheek. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll leave you, I’ll stay with you and damn society; just tell me what you want.” “I want you.” “You have me.” She swallowed hard. “But I’m not sure if I can marry you—yet.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you wish to revive all the old gossip. You need to remain a widow for at least a year. And maybe stay in half mourning for another two.” She frowned so hard that he raised a finger to erase the line. “Peter, don’t you want to marry me?” “I want you. I’ve finally realized that’s what’s important—not the ceremony or the legal ties, just knowing you love me and that I can see you and love you and come home to you . . . is enough.” To his amusement, she scowled even harder. “There’s no rush, Abby. We have the rest of our lives to decide whether we want to get married and keep James’s secret safe for him forever.” He smiled up at

her. “If we know we love each other, one day, when we’re both certain, we can get married.” He smoothed his hand down from her waist to her thigh but she shrugged it off. “I hate it when you are being reasonable.” “Only because you know I’m right.” He held her indignant gaze. “If I hadn’t said it, you would’ve. Be honest now. You are the one who has the most to lose.” She sighed. “James really isn’t coming back, is he?” “I don’t think so, love. He told me quite vehemently that he would never be James Beecham again.” “He said the same to me. I almost believed him.” She reached for his wandering hand and held on to it. “Will you ask me to marry you?” He blinked at her. “Now?” “Yes.” He drew an unsteady breath. “Abigail, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” “Not yet.” “Abby . . .” “Ask me again when my year of mourning has ended.” “And every year after that until you eventually say yes?” “I don’t think it will take too long.” She swallowed hard. “I just have to make peace with my conscience, and understand that what James did was a gift of love to all of us.” Peter reached up and brought her down to him. “A gift of love is an excellent way of describing his actions. He did the best he could to live an honest life without destroying his family name or his son’s prospects. That was rather brave of him, really.”

“I know. And very like him.” He kissed her slowly and thoroughly and realized freedom came in many unexpected ways, and he would do everything in his power to enjoy every moment James had given him. “I love you, Abby.” “I know.” She sighed. “And I still hate it when you are right.” He smothered a grin against her hair. Whatever happened in the future, he was sure of one thing: loving Abby gave him everything he had ever wanted.

“Valentin . . .” Val looked over at Sara, who was sitting in the library with him, a book open on her knees. She wore a dark red gown, which was his favorite color on her, and the rubies he’d given her as a wedding present. He’d been anticipating stripping her out of her dress and making love to her while she wore only the jewels ever since dinner. “What, my love?” “You are up to something.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Why would you think that?” “Because I saw your face when Peter and Abby came to tell you that they had decided to wait a few years to marry.” He put down his pen. “It’s not right, Sara. They deserve better.” “I agree.” She hesitated. “I don’t understand the necessity for the delay. Once Abby’s year of mourning is completed, they could marry without anyone commenting at all.” “Which begs the question as to what they are hiding.” Val stood up. “Would you object if I went out?”

She opened her eyes wide at him. “Not at all. As long as you promise to come home soon and not disappear off to Russia. Where are you going?” “To see Mr. Hodges.” “Do you know where he is lodged?” “I sent one of my footmen to accompany Abigail when she met him that first morning.” Sara smiled. “Oh, Valentin. You are always so clever.” He went over to kiss her and lingered for longer than he had intended, regretting his inability to stay with every subtle stroke of her tongue against his. With a groan, he eased away. “I have to see Hodges.” “Then go.” He bowed and backed out of the room, found the footman he required and was soon on his way to Hodges’s coaching inn. He knew the man was due to sail out fairly soon and could only hope he was in time. At the inn, after using his title to ensure instant obedience and silence, he found himself outside Mr. Hodges’s door and knocked loudly. “One moment.” The voice wasn’t Hodges’s, but Val didn’t care who it was as long as the door opened. He got his wish and stepped smartly inside, grabbing the startled manservant around the throat and slamming him against the wall. For a long moment he stared into the man’s eyes, and suddenly everything made sense. He smiled. “James. How lovely to see you. Don’t speak. I don’t care how you justify your current position. All I care about are Peter and Abby and making sure they achieve their hearts’ desire.” James opened and closed his mouth and then went still, his brown gaze fixed on

Valentin. “Now pack your things. You and I, and Mr. Hodges, if he chooses, are going to Scotland.”

Chapter 8

Three months later ...

Beecham Hall was beautiful at this time of year. Abby took a deep breath and enjoyed the scent of burning wood and the dampness of the pine trees on the rise behind the main house. Three of James’s dogs were out with her, running in haphazard patterns, chasing scents and smells and one another. Upstairs in the schoolroom, her son was being taught his first letters, and seemed thoroughly excited by his accomplishments. Her new land agent was pleasant and well qualified, her staff were efficient and even her mother-in-law had mellowed since James’s demise had left Abby in virtual control of the estate. If only Peter were here, life would be perfect. She pushed that melancholy thought aside and turned toward the house, observing the arrival of her mother-in-law’s carriage from the dower house at the far end of the park. With a sigh, she called the dogs and went back through the kitchens, leaving her muddy boots and damp cloak by the fire. She asked Cook to provide tea and refreshments and then went back up the stairs, smoothing down her hair as she prepared to meet the Dowager Lady Beecham. It wasn’t her normal day for visiting, so something must have agitated her. Abby fixed on a smile and entered the back parlor. “My lady, how nice to see you.” To her surprise, her mother-in-law was pacing the carpet, a newspaper rolled up in her hand. As soon as she saw Abby she started speaking. “Why did you not tell me of this? Why? What were you thinking, besmirching the name of my dear departed son, dragging the Beecham name through the

courts! How dare you!” “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Abby managed. “This!” The dowager shoved the newspaper in Abby’s face. She jabbed at a spot halfway down the closely written page. Abby took the newspaper, found her reading glasses and sat down. “The sudden death of Lord B—cham in the summer was tragic enough, but now legal documents have been discovered by this newspaper showing that just before his untimely demise, Lord B was not in the West Indies as claimed, but in Scotland, where he spent six weeks consorting with a lady who was not his wife. When Lady B discovered her husband with Mrs. C. W. she immediately petitioned for a Scottish divorce. Lord B returned to the West Indies with his lover and did not live long to enjoy his adulterous liaison—perhaps a timely message to all such breakers of the bonds of Holy Matrimony.” Abby raised her head and stared at her enraged mother-in-law. “I have no idea what this means. I certainly didn’t—” “I have no wish to listen to your excuses, Abigail,” the dowager said coldly. “I just hope you are able to explain to your son one day why you branded his sainted dead father an adulterer.” “I didn’t—” Helplessly, Abby watched her mother-in-law sweep out of the room, her head held high. She picked up the paper and reread the section about James and the divorce, and it still made no sense. She sat for a long while staring into space until she became aware of masculine voices in the hallway and the manic barking of the dogs. The door burst open and Peter appeared with Valentin. Peter shoved his friend in front of Abby and shut the door. His normal calm manner was absent and his blue eyes glittered with rage. “Tell her what you’ve done.” Valentin bowed and removed his hat and gloves. “Good afternoon, Abigail. Are

you well?” “I don’t know, Valentin. What have you done?” “He’s bloody well interfered again, that’s what he’s done. I—” Peter started, and Val held up his hand. “I am quite willing to explain myself if you will permit, Peter?” “Well, get on with it. You’ve told me twice, and I still don’t understand it.” Val took a seat opposite Abby and smiled at her. “I have something for you.” He took a packet of documents from his coat pocket. “These are all documents relating to your successful divorce petition against James.” “But James is dead.” “Abigail, I know he isn’t,” Val said gently. “I saw him at the inn.” She absorbed that blow without blinking. “And what did you do then?” “I persuaded him and Mr. Hodges to accompany me to Scotland.” Abby started to speak, and he held up his hand. “Perhaps you might allow me to explain from the beginning? If you recall, James wrote to me several months ago and asked my advice about legally separating from you. I gave him the information about the English legal system that I had available, and he was most unimpressed. Later it came to my notice that there might be another way to secure a divorce for you, so I set . . . certain things in motion.” Abby stared at him. “What things?” “Under Scottish law, it is possible for a woman to divorce her husband on the grounds of his adultery. He has to be witnessed living in sin with another woman for at least six weeks in Scotland to establish residency. At that point, if he is discovered by his wife, she has grounds for divorce.” “So you somehow instigated proceedings in Scotland without mentioning it to

me, Peter, or James?” Valentin offered her an innocent smile. “I thought it would be simpler if you didn’t know anything about it.” “What exactly did you do?” “I found a man who resembled James and a beautiful actress from the London stage and sent them off to live at Gretna Green for the required six weeks. I then hired a woman who looked like you, Abigail, to find them in bed together in front of witnesses.” Peter snorted and took the seat next to Abby. “Wait, it gets better.” Val gave him a severe look. “When it seemed that James was dead, I didn’t want to bother you with details of a scheme that was no longer necessary and kept the information to myself.” “Then why did you take James to Scotland if you’d already concluded your scheme?” “Because once I realized he was still alive, I decided using James’s real signature and persona would add a layer of authenticity to the proceedings that no one would ever be able to dispute.” “Even though he’d already been declared dead?” “I paid my coconspirators very well. They will all swear they met James before he returned to the West Indies and died.” Valentin’s gaze was steady. “Not that anyone will ask. I can assure you that no one will ever challenge this divorce.” “But James . . .” “Once I explained how his attempts to be honest with you and Peter had led to your decision not to marry for several years, if ever, James was happy to help.” “But why would the courts continue to deal with a divorce case concerning a man who was already dead?” “Because they heard the case before James was officially pronounced dead. You

know yourself that it takes time for all the formalities to be carried out. It’s just taken this long for them to produce the necessary documents.” “And tell the newspapers.” Val half smiled. “No, that was my idea. I wanted everyone in society to know that you had been on the brink of being free to marry again before James’s death.” He shrugged. “Most people know of James’s proclivities and will be sympathetic toward you. They will applaud him for doing the right thing.” Valentin sat back. “As far as the world is concerned, you are legally divorced from James and can now go off and marry Peter in Scotland with no slur on your character, your son’s parentage or concern over your continuing presence as Jamie’s trustee running this estate.” His glance flicked between her and Peter. “After you have completed your period of mourning, naturally.” “Naturally,” Abby said unsteadily. She looked down at the packet of documents in her hand. “Is this really true?” Val placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it is, Abigail.” She turned to Peter, who was watching them both, a troubled frown on his face. “What’s wrong, Peter?” “Nothing. I just . . . can’t believe Val has done this.” Val frowned. “I thought that for once you would approve of my interference.” “I . . .” Peter rose and went to kneel at Val’s feet. He took his hand and kissed it. “I don’t know what to say.” “I do.” Abby came to them, her eyes full of tears. “Thank you, Valentin. Thank you for everything.” He smiled at them both. “I want you both to be happy.” “And we will be.” Abby turned to Peter, who stood up and crushed her in his arms. “I can’t quite believe that I am going to get exactly what I want.”

Peter kissed her hard. “Believe it, Abby. If Valentin has organized this, no one would dare to disagree with him.” “Exactly.” Valentin stood and bowed. “And now I must get back to my wife.” He raised an eyebrow at Abigail. “She was fairly insistent that I return as quickly as possible because she has convinced herself the birth of our child is imminent.” “Then I will get my bonnet and accompany you both back to town,” Abigail said firmly. ”Let me just speak to my maid and Jamie.” She left the room, and Peter remained standing beside Val. After a quick glance at the closed door, Peter slid his hand around Val’s neck and leaned in to kiss his friend. “Thank you.” “What, no arguing or telling me to keep out of your affairs?” Peter smiled into Val’s eyes. “Not this time.” “Then perhaps for the first time in our lives we are even,” Val said softly, and kissed him back.

A wounded soldier and a rector’s daughter discover strange goings-on in the sleepy village of Kurland St. Mary in Catherine Lloyd’s charming Regency-set mystery debut.

Major Robert Kurland has returned to the quiet vistas of his village home to recuperate from the horrors of Waterloo. However injured his body may be, his mind is as active as ever. Too active, perhaps. When he glimpses a shadowy figure from his bedroom window struggling with a heavy load, the tranquil façade of the village begins to loom sinister . . .

Unable to forget the incident, Robert confides in his childhood friend, Miss Lucy Harrington. As the dutiful daughter of the widowed rector, following up on the major’s suspicions offers a welcome diversion—but soon presents real danger. Someone is intent on stopping their investigation. And in a place where no one locks their doors, a series of thefts and the disappearance of two young serving girls demands explanation . . .

As Robert grapples with his difficult recovery, he and Lucy try to unearth the dark truth lurking within the village shadows, and stop a killer waiting to strike again . . .

Kate Pearce doesn’t just write sizzling historical erotica! She also writes historical mysteries as Catherine Lloyd. Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of her first Kurland St. Mary Mystery DEATH COMES TO THE VILLAGE now available wherever print and ebooks are sold!

Chapter 1

February 1816 Kurland St. Mary, England

“Damnation!” Major Robert Kurland jerked awake from his uneasy half-sleep to the hoot of a barn owl and glared out into the darkness, his breathing uneven, his mouth dry. When he was able to walk, he was going to take a gun out to the woods and slaughter every nocturnal creature that had disturbed his sleep for the past few

months. Selfish, perhaps, but when sleep was as precious to him as water to a dying man, completely justified. He levered himself upright against his pillows, aware of a fresh pain pounding in his head and the now familiar dragging ache of his broken leg. Foolishly, he’d instructed his valet to leave the curtains open, and now the entire landscape beyond his windows was bathed in moonlight. His gaze turned to the black bottle of laudanum and glass of water on his nightstand. He could dose himself, slide back down onto the warmth of his bed, and sink into oblivion.... It was tempting. But despite his doctor’s advice, Robert was reluctant to take too much of the opiate. Its siren call dulled his senses and made him forgetful and quite unlike himself. Resolutely, he turned his attention to the problem at hand. He would never get back to sleep unless he closed the curtains. The old clock on the mantelpiece wheezed and struck twice. If he rang the bell, Bookman would come, but it seemed wrong to disturb the other man’s rest. He would simply have to manage for himself. Robert drew back the covers and studied his bandaged and splinted left leg. If he’d been a horse, they would have shot him, rather than painstakingly trying to reset his shattered bones. Sometimes during the last hellish months, he wondered if that would’ve been for the best. Even after all this time, his leg was still pretty damn useless. He used his upper body strength to pivot and placed both his feet on the floor. Even such a small effort made him sweat and curse like the lowest class of soldier he’d commanded. He grabbed hold of the dresser next to his bed and lifted himself upright, carefully placing the majority of his weight over his right side. It wasn’t that far to the windows, and there were plenty of objects he could use to himself along the way. Part of him was revolted by the spectacle he made, dragging his wounded body around. The rest of him refused to give up. If he stayed in bed, he was afraid he would eventually lose the will to rise again. He staggered from the dresser to the wing chair by the fireside and sat long enough to regain his breath and determination. In the distance, the squat tower of the Norman church that divided his property from the village proper stood stark against the night sky. There was a path from the side of Kurland Hall that led directly to the church and the boxed pew his family had occupied for Sunday worship for generations. Not that he believed in God anymore, but appearances

had to be maintained. When he recovered, he would certainly take his seat in his appointed place at the front of the church. He’d learned the value of setting a good example, first from his father and then from the army. If he recovered . . . Robert set his teeth and stood up again, his attention fixed on the large bay windows. Three more lurching steps brought him up against a small desk that creaked rather ominously when he rested his weight against it. His chest was heaving as if he’d run a race, and his heart pounded so loudly he could hear it over the ticking of the clock. A shadow flickered over the full moon, and Robert saw the soaring outline of one of the owls. He transferred his gaze to the heavy silk embroidered curtains. If he leaned forward, could he at least draw one of them closed? He reached out his hand, overbalanced, and had to rock back on his heels, sending an excruciating stab of pain up his left leg. The desk swayed along with him on its equally spindly legs. He propped himself up against the wall to regroup. Sweat ran down his face and his vision blurred. He focused on the reassuring bulk of the church until his breathing steadied. He could do this. He had to do this. The ability to close his own damned curtains was a symbol of all his frustrations over the past few months. There was another chair close to the center of the two windows. If he could just reach that, he would achieve his aim. He stumbled forward and clutched at the back of the dainty chair, half-bent over it. As he straightened, his attention was caught by another shadow flitting across the park below. He frowned. Not flitting. Whatever was out there was moving rather slowly, as if overburdened. Robert squinted and realized he wasn’t looking at an animal, but at a person carrying something heavy, either in his arms, or over his shoulder. The unknown being continued toward the church, his shadow thrown up against the old flint wall into gigantic proportions. “What the devil is going on?” Robert wondered aloud, as he craned his neck to get a better look. The chair tipped and he fell, his hands grabbing uselessly for purchase. Like a wounded animal, he turned, so that his right side hit the floor first and absorbed the sudden impact that made him want to puke up his guts. He

came to rest on his back staring up at the white stucco ceiling. Considering the noise he’d made, he expected half his household to come tearing into his bedroom. All remained quiet apart from the derisive hooting of the owls. Robert wanted to laugh. He’d reached his goal, but he still hadn’t managed to draw the curtains, and he was destined for an incredibly uncomfortable night on the floor. So much for the gallant major. He threw his forearm over his eyes and pressed hard. He hadn’t cried since he was seven and been sent away to boarding school. Dignity be damned. He’d crawl back to bed.

“Now, don’t forget to visit Major Kurland today, Lucy.” Lucy Harrington glanced at her father as he sat serenely drinking tea and eating boiled ham at the head of the table. Breakfast at the rectory was always a noisy affair, and this fine spring morning was no exception. Anna and Anthony were arguing about the weather, and the twins were throwing crusts of bread at each other. Sunlight gleamed through the bow windows, glancing off the silver coffeepot and the blond hair of the rector’s two youngest children. Not that anything could make the twins look angelic. Before she could frame an appropriate answer, she coaxed the dripping honey-covered spoon from young Michael’s fierce grip and endeavored to wipe his sticky face. “Did you hear me, Lucy?” “Yes, Papa, I did.” She patted her youngest brother on the head, and poured him some more milk. “Are you not able to attend the major yourself?” He frowned at her over the top of his spectacles. “I have to go to the horse fair at Saffron Walden. I need a new hunter.” Of course, her father’s ion for horseflesh would always trump his other duties. Lucy nodded at the twins, and they hurriedly got down from the table and disappeared through the door. Moments later, Lucy heard their nurse calling them and the clatter of two sets of boots stealing down the back stairs. She supposed she should go and find the boys before they escaped into the woods, but her father gazed at her as though he expected an answer.

“I don’t think Major Kurland enjoys my company, Papa.” She placed her knife on her plate. “He much prefers to converse with you.” “Nonsense, my dear.” The rector rose to his feet and surveyed the ruins of the breakfast table. “It is your duty to succor the sick and the poor, regardless of your own selfish desires.” Lucy raised her chin. “It is wash day. Who will supervise the staff if I am off visiting the sick?” “You will contrive, Lucy. You always do.” The rector folded his newspaper and laid it on the linen tablecloth. “I have the latest London papers in my study. Perhaps you might take them to Major Kurland and amuse him by reading the court scandal. It cannot be easy for a man of action such as our esteemed major to be laid up.” “I’m sure it isn’t, Papa, but—” The rector pushed in his chair. “I will be back for dinner, my dear. Please tell Cook that I cannot stomach any more mutton.” “I’ll take out a line and fish for our dinner if you like,” Anthony cut in with a wink at Lucy. The rector paused to look down his long, aristocratic nose at his son. “You, sir, will be studying with Mr. Galton for your entrance exams for Cambridge.” “Not all day. I’ll find time to fish. That is, if Lucy doesn’t make me do the laundry.” Lucy smiled at her brother. “I wouldn’t dare take you away from your studies.” Anthony grinned and returned his attention to his plate. Like most young men, his appetite was inexhaustible and quite indifferent to the ebb and flow of emotion around the rectory table. “Well, whatever you put in front of me tonight, it had better not be mutton.” The rector placed his spectacles in his waistcoat pocket. “I’ll take Harris with me. You don’t need him, do you?”

“No, Papa.” Lucy started gathering up the dishes the twins had abandoned. “And I’ll make sure Cook understands about your requirements for dinner.” Her father paused to kiss the top of her head before departing for the stables. His loud, cheerful voice boomed through the hallways, calling for Harris to bring his horse around. Lucy rested her chin on her hand and stared down at the crumbled remains of her toast and marmalade. “It’s all right, sis. I’ll find time to go and fish whatever Father says.” She looked up at Anthony. “I’d appreciate it if you did. Unfortunately, unless you catch a whale, the rest of us will still be eating mutton. Cook has a whole side to get rid of.” Anthony groaned. “Can’t you give that to the poor? I’m sure Major Kurland would love a bowl of mutton stew.” “He’d probably throw it at my head.” Lucy put the lid on the butter dish. “A more ill-tempered man I have never met.” “But Lucy!” exclaimed her sister Anna. “He was wounded fighting for his king and country at Waterloo. You can hardly expect him to be pleasant.” “He was pleasant enough when I first visited him with Father. It is only since I’ve taken up the burden of visiting him alone that he appears to think he owes me no courtesy whatsoever.” Anna reached across to squeeze Lucy’s hand. At twenty, she was the acknowledged beauty of the family and only five years younger than Lucy. Her temperament was sunny and obliging and, unlike Lucy, she always saw the good in everyone. She was fair like the twins, whereas Lucy and her brother favored their dark-haired father. “He can’t help being difficult. Have you tried to cheer him up?” “Of course I haven’t. I sit there and sob into my handkerchief and bemoan his wounds.” “There is no need to be flippant.” Anna glanced across at Anthony. “I just wondered if perhaps you were a little ‘sharp’ with him.”

“As I am with my family?” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Anna, if you want to visit the man in my stead, please, be my guest.” A delicate flush blossomed on Anna’s cheeks. “Oh no, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to see me.” “Fancy yourself lady of the manor, do you, Anna?” Anthony nudged his sister. “Even when you were a little girl, you always idolized Major Kurland.” Lucy sat back to survey her blushing sister. “That’s true. I’d forgotten. You used to follow him around like an acolyte.” Anna sipped at her tea and kept her gaze demurely downcast. “Despite the great disparity in our ages, he was always very kind to me.” Lucy finished her toast. “Then perhaps you should go. I’ll wager he won’t snap at you for trying to make conversation.” “So that she can swoon over him?” Anthony snorted. “He’s fifteen years older than her.” “So? Father was fifteen years older than Mother. It’s quite common for a husband to be older than a wife.” “And yet she died before him because she had too many children.” Anna’s smile disappeared. “She was simply worn out with it.” Lucy reached for Anna’s hand. “That might be true, but as Father will no doubt remind you, that is a woman’s lot in life.” Anna snatched her hand free. “That doesn’t make it any better, though, does it?” Lucy could only agree. The loss of their mother in childbed almost seven years ago had devastated their family and left nineteen-year-old Lucy in charge of two squalling infants. As her mother became a distant memory, Lucy sometimes felt as if the twins were her children. They certainly treated her as their mother. She would be devastated when they were sent away to school in the autumn. Lucy rose to her feet. There was no point sitting around moping. She’d learned long ago that achieved nothing. “Anna, if you don’t wish to visit Major Kurland,

you will have to supervise Betty and Mary while they do the laundry.” She tried not to look hopeful. Perhaps that would make Anna change her mind and take on her least favorite obligation of the day. To her disappointment, her sister merely nodded. “Of course, I’ll help. Shall I ring for Betty to clear the table?” “No, I’ll do it myself.” Lucy glanced out the window at the bright sky. “Betty is already stripping the beds, and I don’t want to disturb her. Best to start on the washing before this fine weather disappears.” “I’ll help, too,” Anthony offered. “Mr. Galton won’t be here for another hour.” “But aren’t you supposed to be aiding Edward in the church?” Anthony’s charming smile flashed out, reminding Lucy of her father. “Oh, Edward will manage. He doesn’t like my assistance anyway. He worries that Father might give me his job.” He snorted. “As if I would want to be a poor curate in a village like this.” “Hush, Anthony,” Lucy onished her brother. “Edward can hardly help his circumstances, can he? And if it weren’t for him, Father couldn’t avoid all the more onerous duties of being the rector of several small parishes.” “He likes the income, though, doesn’t he?” Anthony finished his tea in one gulp. “That’s none of our business,” Lucy said severely. “Despite his private income, Papa also has a large family to provide for. How do you think he pays for your tutor?” Anthony’s mouth settled into a sulky line. “He pays more for his horses than he does for my education, and he barely pays his curate a pittance.” The curate, Edward Calthrope, was a worthy man of about Lucy’s age who lived with them at the rectory. He performed all the mundane tasks associated with the parish of Kurland St. Mary and the ading parishes of Lower Kurland and Kurland St. Anne that the rector was supposed to spiritually mentor, but preferred to avoid. Lucy wasn’t quite sure of Edward’s background as he rarely spoke about his family. How he had found his way to Kurland was something of

a mystery. “You should go and help Edward,” Lucy onished her brother. “He works far too hard.” “And I don’t?” Anthony yawned, stretched out his legs, and looked down at his top boots. “I am cramming for Cambridge, you know.” Lucy picked up the nearest pile of plates and headed for the door. “And I have to visit Major Kurland. As Papa said, we all have to do things we’d rather not.” She studied her brother. “You might not be so tired if you slept at night. I heard you creeping up the stairs at dawn this morning.” “Spying on me, Lucy? I didn’t think it of you.” “Not spying, I was just getting up.” She paused, but Anthony made no effort to explain where he’d been, and why should he? As a young man he was perfectly entitled to disappear when it suited him. Anthony picked up his cup and plate. “All right, my dearest sister. I’m off to the church to scrape off candle wax and reset the mousetraps.” “Thank you.” Lucy paused to smile at him. Despite his exasperating male habits, he was a remarkably good brother. She’d be losing him, too, if he ed his examinations and went up to Cambridge. That wasn’t as worrying as the thought of losing the twins, but it still meant that her family was moving forward with their lives while she . . .

“Oh Miss Lucy!” She turned to find the twins’ nurse running down the main staircase of the house, her cap askew and her skirts held up to her knees. “What is it, Jane?” “Them two young heathens have run off, again! Whatever am I to do with them?”

“Let them be for the moment. They’ll have to stop running wild soon enough.” Jane mopped her brow with the corner of her apron. “That’s true enough, miss, although how they will get on at school, I cannot imagine.” Unfortunately, Lucy already knew from Anthony’s experiences that life at boarding school would soon beat any willfulness out of the twins. She hated the very thought, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her father insisted they needed to become English gentlemen, and apparently, a gentleman had to withstand anything his enemies cared to throw at him without flinching. Despite her father reading ages to her about how the English school system mimicked the finer points of the Spartan agoge, Lucy was still not convinced it was the best way to bring up a child. “They’ll come back when they are hungry. Now, why don’t you help me clear the table and get Miss Anna started on that huge laundry pile?” It wasn’t until much later that she ed to search her father’s study for the latest London newspapers to bring for the edification of Major Kurland. Not that he would appreciate the gesture. If he wanted to know all the latest gossip from Town, he could certainly afford to have his own newspapers delivered. His father had married an heiress from the industrial north, and unlike many aristocratic estates, Kurland was thriving. Lucy chided herself for her unchristian thoughts and gathered up the printed sheets. The study smelled of brandy, saddle leather, and the bay rum her father’s valet used after he shaved him. She glanced at the rows of books and imagined herself in Anthony’s place being tutored for Cambridge. Her father always said she was far too intelligent for a girl, but he’d never stopped her from reading any of the books she requested, even the slightly scandalous ones. She replaced the stopper in the inkwell. Perhaps with Anthony and the twins leaving, she might finally be able to talk to her father about her plans for the future. After checking that her basket held everything she needed for her various visits in the village, Lucy set out. She kept a wary eye on the weather, which was still quite unpredictable and veered from sunshine to clouds within moments. She tied the ribbons of her plain straw bonnet firmly under her chin, and buttoned up her blue wool pelisse. She might look like the spinster aunt she was surely destined to become, but at least she was warm.

Along the driveway that led up to the rectory, some straggling spring flowers raised their heads toward the bright sunlight. In a few weeks the rest would follow and the flower beds would be a sea of yellow and purple. About ten years previously, her father had rebuilt the rectory in a soft yellow stone that reminded Lucy of the houses in Bath. It was a square and symmetrical building with four rectangular windows to each side of the white front door, very much in the classical style of Robert Adam, whom he had greatly ired. The rector had given up trying to repair the two-hundred-year-old house that stood there previously, and had it demolished. Lucy still fondly ed the older rectory with its diamond-paned windows, wooden beams, sloping ceilings, and winding staircases. As a child, it had felt like living in a fairy-tale castle. She was practical enough to it that it must have been difficult to maintain for a man with a young and ever-increasing family. The new house still seemed a little ill at ease and out of place, the scars of its construction evident in the hard edges of the new pathways and the lack of large trees. Lucy did appreciate that the roof no longer leaked, and that the kitchen had both a proper chimney and a closed stove rather than the huge open medieval fireplace that belched smoke and soot over the food being prepared. Her mother had loved having fires in every room and the light the big rectangular windows provided. At the bottom of the driveway, Lucy turned right and headed along the main thoroughfare to Kurland Village. The ground was wet and muddy, and she was glad she had worn her stout boots. There was no one else visible on the road, but that was to be expected in the middle of the day. Despite the sunshine, her breath condensed as she exhaled, and she could still feel the brush of winter’s icy fingers against her cheeks. She walked past the first of the thatched cottages that housed the laborers who worked the fields of the Kurland estate. A woman was hanging washing out to dry, and nodded at Lucy through a mouthful of pegs. Lucy smiled and nodded back, aware as the wind picked up and flattened the woman’s gown to her belly that she was expecting another child. Mentally, Lucy added another set of birthing clothes to the list of garments she needed to knit or sew for happy events. The cottages grew closer together until Lucy was in the village proper facing the

green and the square of buildings huddled around it. The ice had finally thawed on the duck pond, and Lucy was pleased to see that several of the local birds had returned to claim their spots at the side of the weed-choked pond. Something large Lucy couldn’t quite identify stuck out above the surface of the water like an awkward elbow. She should speak to Major Kurland about that. It was his responsibility to keep the pond from becoming stagnant and overgrown. In truth, she had no inclination to speak to Major Kurland about anything that might raise his ire. Perhaps it would be better to take her concerns to his rather obnoxious land agent. At least he might listen to her, even if he chose not to do anything. “Miss Harrington?” Lucy turned from her contemplation of the duck pond to find Mrs. Weeks, the wife of the baker, waving at her from the door of her shop. The fragrant scent of baking bread laced with a hint of cinnamon sugar tantalized Lucy’s nostrils. When she was a child, Lucy had often saved her pennies and sneaked down to the village just to buy an iced bun or an eccles cake from the bakery. “Good morning, Mrs. Weeks.” Lucy stepped into the baker’s store and closed the door against the chill. “Is there something I can do for you?” Mrs. Weeks folded her arms across her chest. “I was wondering if you wanted me to make the cake for the rector’s birthday.” “I would love you to make it, Mrs. Weeks, but there is the little matter that Mrs. Fielding might take offense.” “She always takes offense, but there is no denying that her cakes aren’t as light as mine.” Lucy had heard variations of this argument her entire life. The rivalry between the baker’s shop and the rector’s cook had started before Lucy was born, when her mother had inadvertently begun the tradition of having a special cake made as a surprise for her husband’s birthday. She’d asked Mrs. Weeks to make it, and Mrs. Fielding had never forgiven her. The problem was that Mrs. Weeks did make a far superior cake, which Lucy’s father much preferred. “Please make the cake, Mrs. Weeks,” Lucy said, cutting through the other

woman’s long discourse on what Mrs. Fielding had said to her, and what she had said back. “I’m sure it will be as delightful as always.” She’d placate Mrs. Fielding by keeping her busy cooking a sumptuous dinner of all the rector’s favorite foods, and hope she wouldn’t notice the addition of an extra cake. Of course, she’d notice it eventually, but by then it would be too late for her to do anything about it. The strategy had worked quite successfully in the past few years and Lucy was confident it would be successful again—as long as Mrs. Weeks didn’t boast of her triumph too loudly after church on Sundays. Lucy realized that Mrs. Weeks was still speaking and tried to pay attention. “My Daisy, Miss Harrington.” “I’m sorry, what about your Daisy?” “She’ll be wanting a new job soon and 1 was wondering if you’d have anything up at the rectory for her. She’s a sturdy, hardworking girl, and she knows her place.” Lucy tried to recall Daisy and ed thick braids, brown eyes, and a permanent scowl. “Does she not wish to work in the shop with you?” “Not anymore, miss. She says she wants to go up to London and become a lady’s maid.” “And you do not want her to do that?” “She’s my youngest, and I was hoping to keep her by me for a while. I don’t think she is ready to move up to London yet. She disagrees with me, of course. In fact, she’s still sulking in her bed upstairs after our latest argument.” “How old is she?” “Eighteen, miss.” Lucy reviewed the current staff of the rectory. “If my brother goes up to Cambridge, and the twins leave for school in the autumn, I will probably have to reduce the staff rather than increase it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Weeks. But I will inquire among the neighboring houses as to whether anyone needs a new maid.”

“Never mind, miss. It can’t be helped.” Mrs. Weeks wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m sure with God’s help, she’ll find something. Now is there anything I can get you while you’re here?” Lucy departed with half a dozen iced buns and went next door to the haberdasher’s and general store to replenish the contents of her sewing box. She chatted with the proprietor and then spent another quarter of an hour talking to the butcher about the excellence of the Christmas goose and tactfully mentioning that they would not require any more mutton in the foreseeable future. She was aware that she was dawdling because she didn’t want to retrace her steps to Kurland Manor but, eventually, even she ran out of things to say. As a child, she’d loved visiting the manor house. The major’s mother had been a charming, welcoming hostess who had encouraged the rector’s children to treat her home as an extension of their own. Of course, Lucy’s mother had gently suggested that this was because Mrs. Kurland was not wellborn and rather too familiar, but Lucy hadn’t cared about that. She’d enjoyed getting away from her mother and running after the two Kurland boys. Even then, Robert Kurland had been rather aloof and above their childish games. As the oldest son and heir, he’d had none of his younger brother’s carefree spirit and had stopped taking any notice of the crowd of village children who gathered to swim and play in the extensive grounds of Kurland Hall. And, after starting at Eton and his brother’s death, he’d withdrawn from them completely. She trudged up the long drive to the major’s ancestral home with all the anticipation of a cavalry unit sent uphill to dislodge some enemy cannon. The military cant made her catch her breath and wish painfully for Tom, her other brother, the one who now lay in the family crypt by the church awaiting the resurrection. She forced herself to think of more cheerful matters. She was secretly glad that Major Kurland hadn’t followed her father’s example and replaced the Elizabethan manor with a modern stucco box. The house was shaped like an E, with thick beams, narrow windows, and fantastically tall, lopsided Elizabethan chimneys in the grand manner of Hampton Court. Local legend said that many of the internal beams had been salvaged from the destruction of King Henry VIII’s naval ships, which would explain both their thickness and their inconvenient curves.

Generations of Kurlands had added to the manor house, some more successfully than others. It now resembled something of a hodgepodge with stairs that led to nowhere, large windows where once had been arrow slits, and a beautiful park laid out by Capability Brown. Lucy knocked on the old oak door and frowned fiercely at the worn Kurland family crest carved into the . She should have more sympathy with Major Kurland. He had survived Waterloo, even if her brother hadn’t. Foley, the butler, opened the door for her and smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Have you come to visit the major? He’s tucked up in bed again.” “Then I won’t disturb him,” Lucy said rapidly. “Perhaps you might like to give him these newspapers when he wakes up.” “Oh no, miss. He’s awake and I’m certain he’ll want to see you.” He lowered his voice. “The doctor called, and the major’s been grumpy as a bear and complaining about a lack of decent company all morning.” Lucy tried to hang back, but Foley somehow had a firm grip on her elbow and was maneuvering her up the stairs. For such a slight man, he was difficult to stop. She readjusted her basket and stripped off her gloves. It was an opportunity to show Christian charity, and she should embrace it. Foley knocked on the major’s bedroom door and opened it wide. “Miss Harrington to see you, sir. I’ll bring up some tea.”

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First Electronic Edition: July 2015 ISBN: 978-1-6177-3697-1 eISBN-10: 1-61773-697-X