A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, releasing her. He patted her body while she tried to reach up to touch his face but he brushed aside her hand.

  “I’m not hurt.” She didn’t think she was. She paused to asses herself. There were a few aches and pains but she suspected they’d likely turn into lovely big bruises and nothing more. But August was hurt. “Let me see your head.”

  He shook his head and pushed to his feet with a groan. “We need to get out of here.”

  August swiped aside the blood with the back of his hand and eased her to her feet. Glass crunched under her boots and she had to tug her skirts to free them from the splintered wood of the window frame. Grass prodded up through the shattered window telling her the train had rolled onto its side. Thank goodness they weren’t far out of the station or else they would have tumbled down an embankment too.

  They probably wouldn’t have survived such an incident. She clutched her shaking hands together.

  They both glanced up at the door now above them. The glass had shattered and the curtains draped down towards them. Ivy grimaced. It seemed an awful distance to climb even if it was only three or four feet above her. The scent of smoke clouded the air and coal dust had begun to filter down through the cracked windows.

  “Should we not wait for rescue?”

  He shook his head. She didn’t know why but his expression was so grim that her stomach bunched up in knots so tight, she feared they would never come undone.

  “We’re not staying here.”

  Again a dart of apprehension speared through her. What did he think might happen? He put his hands on his hips and lifted his gaze to the door and windows above them.

  “I’ll climb out and then pull you out.” He said it with such confidence that she believed him. The fear eased from the pit of her stomach and she nodded.

  Divesting himself of his jacket and waistcoat, August reached for the leather strap dangling from the door that usually eased down the window and put his foot on the arm of the chair. Using the padded chairs and the strap, he quickly found purchase on the edge of the window. Ivy winced at his hiss of pain as his fingers connected with a shard of glass.

  Nevertheless, he hauled himself higher to grip on with both hands. With the agility of a tiger, he had dragged his large form up and through the window. His shirt snagged on some glass and tiny blossom of red painted the white fabric. She clamped a hand over her mouth to save her from crying out.

  His legs vanished through the gap and she remained staring at the spot where he’d been. Her heart pounded so deafeningly in her ears that not even the cries around her could penetrate properly. Sweat pricked on her neck and she shoved her hat from its askew position on her head and flung it aside before unbuttoning her jacket and removing her gloves and abandoning them too.

  She waited.

  His head popped back through the window and she issued a sigh of relief. Worry bit into his features and the blood still trickled down his cheek. He leaned over the frame to reach for her.

  “Take my hand.”

  Ivy gulped and stood on the arm of the chair to stretch up to him. His warm hand curled around hers, strong and sure.

  “Now grab the strap.” She did as she was told and curled a hand around the strap. He locked his gaze with hers. “This might hurt your arm a little. Let the strap take some of your weight.”

  Grip tight on the leather, she nodded and he began to ease her up. She saw his muscles strain against his shirt as he lifted her and her shoulder ached from the exertion. The strap bit into her palm and she held back a cry when he pulled her that bit higher. She glanced down and pressed her feet to the luggage rack to ease some of the pressure on her arm.

  When she was close enough to the edge, she gripped the window frame and felt the slight prick of glass. She nearly released her hand but August’s sweat-tinged brow and firm gaze forced her to hold on. With his help, she was eased up onto the side of the train.

  He eased her over so she was sitting just under the broken window and he glanced around. On his hands and knees, he shuffled around the windows to what had once been the top of the train. He peered over the edge and darted a worried glance at the end where the tender was.

  Ivy couldn’t tell what had happened but all of the carriages were on their side and smoke billowed from the head of the wreckage. A light breeze blew across her and debris scattered the countryside. She spotted other people climbing from the carriages as they were as well as some hurrying away from the site.

  “Come here.” He offered her a hand and she followed suit, shuffling on her hands and knees until she was by his side. Her skirts hindered her progress but she was determined to make it to him. “I’ll have to lower you down,” he told her, gripping her hand once more.

  “I can jump.” She realised her teeth were chattering as she spoke.

  “It will damage your knees and you’d certainly break an ankle. Lie down and I’ll ease you over.”

  “What about you?”

  He fixed her with a look. “I’ll be fine. When you reach the ground, run. I don’t want you anywhere near this wreckage. Don’t wait. Just run.”

  “But—”

  “Ivy.” His tone brokered no argument and she nodded.

  Flat on her stomach, she gripped his hands and he lowered her down the curving roof of the train. The rough texture of the grey roof scraped her arms through the torn sleeve of her gown. She glanced up at him before he released her less than a foot from the ground.

  Ivy remembered his words and her silent promise and began to run away from the wreckage. Around her people stumbled about, dazed and confused. Not far ahead, vehicles had come to a stop on the road and it looked as though help was arriving. Thank goodness.

  A prickling sensation crawled along her skin and she paused. Before she could turn to wonder at it, a boom ricocheted through the air. Sparks flew past her and she fell to her feet. It took her several moments to realise what had happened—the tender had exploded. Flames flickered from the end of the train.

  Her throat felt as though someone had tied a noose around her neck. She pushed away from the grass and peered through the smoke that billowed about.

  “August,” she cried but the sound was lost to the horror of the situation. She came to standing, her knees shaking and threatening to give way, but she had to find August. He wasn’t still on the train, was he? He couldn’t be. He just couldn’t.

  Ivy peered through the smoke and began to make her way back towards the wreckage. She called his name again. And again, her voice growing more harsh and desperate each time.

  Other people had already begun approaching the train. Ladders were propped up on the side and she saw passengers being helped down. Then someone stumbled forwards and clamped their hands around her arms. She released a huge sob and collapsed against him.

  “Ivy, I told you to run.”

  “I did.” She gripped his shirt and burrowed her head against him. “But I came back.”

  He led her farther away from the devastation, his arm wrapped around her, keeping her pinned to his side.

  “What happened?”

  “A boiler explosion by the looks of it. Some idiot probably turned the safety valve too tight.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t even have been on the bloody train,” he said. “You should have been going to your audition.”

  She shook her head and twisted in his hold to face him. The blood on his forehead had dried but a sheen of sweat and dirt covered his face. She longed for a handkerchief to wipe it away but her reticule had been abandoned along with her jacket.

  “I was meant to be here, with you, August,” she told him as firmly as she could manage. “I love you.”

  He stared at her for several moments. She wondered if he had perhaps hit his head harder then she’d realised. Then he gripped her arms and drew her to him for a hard, desperate kiss. If anyone saw, she doubted they’d care. And all she cared about was that he was alive.

  August drew back and s
hook his head. “It won’t work.”

  “Why will it not?”

  “I want you to be my wife. I can’t have anything less from you. But you must sing. I won’t hold you back from that.”

  “You do not have to.”

  “How will it work?” The uncertainty in his gaze stretched her heart. She’d never seen him uncertain about anything. But she was certain enough for both of them.

  “We will make it work.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “August, you’ve built things no other man has. You’ve triumphed when others said you’d fail. You can do anything.”

  A grin began to split his face. He rested his forehead against hers. “Ivy, you are the most courageous creature I have ever met. And, God help me, I believe you. You make a man think he is capable of anything.”

  “Does that mean...?” She swallowed and gripped his shirt so tight she thought she heard the seams rip.

  “That means I want you for my wife, my sweets. I love you.”

  For once Ivy had no response ready. It wasn’t possible to put the warm bubble of happiness bursting through her into words. Thankfully August prevented her from having to say anything by sealing his mouth across hers and kissing her in the most fierce, heart-melting kiss she’d ever experienced.

  Epilogue

  Ivy tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair as the train pulled into the station. She suppressed a yawn and smiled at the woman opposite. The young lady had been staring at her for most of the journey but Ivy was used to being stared at by now. Her face was often in the newspapers and on posters now so it happened.

  As the train drew to a halt in a squeal of metal on metal, a hiss of steam billowed out around them and Ivy stared eagerly out of the window, searching the platform. The usual nerves thrummed in her stomach—riding on trains without August always did that to her now. It wasn’t easy to forget the day the train had exploded, but August had done a fine job of replacing frightening memories with wonderful ones—just as he had helped her get over her stage fright.

  When she stood, the woman in lavender opposite offered a smile. “Excuse me but are you Mrs Ivy Avery?”

  Ivy nodded and smiled. “I am.”

  “Oh goodness, I heard you sing in London. You were wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” Compliments never failed to warm her heart no matter how many times she’d heard them.

  “I hope to hear you again one day soon. Will you be performing in Manchester?”

  “Not for a while,” she admitted. She had no performances booked for at least the next year. She couldn’t wait to tell August. “Perhaps next year.”

  Ivy couldn’t say for sure however.

  “Oh I do hope so,” the woman answered before a gentleman pulled open the train door and motioned for them to go first.

  Ivy alighted from the carriage and scanned the waiting crowds. The station was busy, crammed with luggage and people. But there, not far from the entrance gate stood the pair she’d been looking for. She couldn’t see Elsie over the crowds but August’s wide shoulders and commanding presence drew her to him like a beacon.

  He flashed her a grin when he spotted her. Hand to her hat, she made her way through the people and burst out on the other side, practically tumbling into his arms. He caught her with one hand and chuckled.

  “I’m glad you’re eager to see me.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and released her so she could drop a kiss to Elsie’s cheek. “Let us get in the carriage.”

  He scooped up Elsie and took Ivy’s hand to lead them out to the street before bundling them in a closed carriage. August settled next to her while Elsie contented herself with sitting opposite them and swinging her legs.

  “Did you sing beautifully, Mama?” the five-year-old asked.

  “Of course. When do I not?”

  “When you’re in the bath,” Elsie replied matter-of-factly.

  Ivy couldn’t help but laugh and August curled a hand around hers to draw it into his lap. “August, she certainly has your honesty.”

  “That she does. Did all go well?”

  “Yes, but I am tired and I missed you.”

  “We missed you too.”

  “Mrs Cartwright says she misses you the most because she has to look after me,” Elsie put in.

  August groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is because Mrs Cartwright is the grumpiest woman you’ll ever meet, Elsie.”

  Ivy tapped August’s arm and gave him a reprimanding look.

  “She’s not really,” the little girl put in. “She just pretends to be.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “There, see, even Elsie has the measure of her.”

  “Your mother stayed for a week too. She cannot seem to stay away.”

  Ivy nodded. She couldn’t say she was completely reconciled with her parents but her mother seemed to be trying to make up for her mistakes by lavishing attention on Elsie.

  Her husband brought her gloved fingers to his lips. “I missed you the most.” He leaned in towards her and his breath teased her ear. Nibbling ever so briefly and ever so teasingly, he whispered, “especially in my bed.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks and surely she had to be cherry red even with her dark skin. But, in truth, she could not wait to have August to herself. It had been a long month.

  She twisted in her seat and secured him with a sincere gaze. He narrowed his in response.

  “What is it, Ivy?”

  Oh, he knew her so well. In the past four years of marriage, August Avery had never failed to decipher his wife’s moods. She could never keep a secret from him for long.

  “I won’t be performing or going away again for a while.”

  “But I thought you were due to travel to Paris in the summer.”

  “I was but I cancelled it.”

  “I hope you didn’t do that for us. You know I would never ask you to sacrifice anything for us.”

  He was right. He wouldn’t and he never had. He never even made her feel guilty for leaving them. But she was beginning to miss them so—even more than usual—and each trip away seemed harder and harder. Yet she knew she wouldn’t even have been able to do what she had done without them both. Knowing she had their support made meeting all these important people and performing at the great opera halls and palaces that much easier.

  “I won’t be going away for a least another nine months, August.”

  He scowled. “You will miss the Grandbury gathering too then. You perform every year.”

  Her lips curved. For a smart man, he could be terribly silly. “August, please listen. Not for at least nine months.”

  Realisation seeped into those beautiful blue eyes. The creases around them deepened and her chest felt too full.

  “You’re...?”

  “Yes. We’re going to have baby,” she whispered the last part. Elsie would be told soon enough but she didn’t want her feeling like she would be replaced. They’d have to spoil the astute little girl a little before making the announcement.

  A flash of something came across August’s face. For a man daunted by very little, there was a slight hint of anxiousness behind his expression. And just as he had become adept at reading her, she understood his worry. She tightened her grip on his hand.

  “All will be well. We have managed thus far and we’ll continue to. I will not be going anywhere for a while and I don’t plan to perform nearly as much after.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ivy leaned into his side and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Here, pressed against his firm chest, she had everything she needed. Singing fulfilled her in so many ways as an individual but with August, Elsie and their new baby on the way, she strongly suspected she wouldn’t be nearly so eager to perform. August had given her the opportunity to sing and pursue her dream and he’d also given the opportunity for love, affection and a family.

  Lifting her head, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure. I love you.” />
  “I love you.” He held her tightly to his side and she heard a content sigh issue from his lips.

  She smiled to herself. She would forever be grateful for the day she turned up on the wrong doorstep.

  THE END

  Amelia and the Viscount

  Bluestocking Brides

  SAMANTHA HOLT

  Chapter One

  “She’s doing it again,” Catherine complained.

  Amelia paused in the entrance way of Luckington Grange and grimaced. Their sister was indeed singing again.

  “She really needs to stop. No one wants to listen to that,” Catherine continued.

  “Let Emma be. She enjoys it.”

  Her youngest sister rolled her eyes. “No one else does. Apart from Mama perhaps.”

  “Is Mama home?” Catherine shrugged off her pelisse and handed it to the patiently waiting Mrs. Holmes who hung it up with the sort of swift efficiency one expected from a woman who had been serving their household for nigh on two decades.

  “No, she’s visiting with Mrs. Reilly. Lucky her. She does not have to suffer endless hours of this racket.”

  Amelia winced when Emma reached a particularly high note. “Hopefully she shall tire of it soon. Singing will be like her many other passions with any luck.”

  Catherine shook her head. “Well, she normally tires of them much quicker. If we’re not careful she shall be convinced she is the finest vocalist around, and then we shall be in trouble.”

  “It shall pass,” Amelia assured her.

  “What shall pass?” Covered head to toe in streaks of mud, Julia swept in through the door.

  Mrs. Holmes gave a gasp at the sight and shook her head rigorously as she came to take Julia’s filthy pelisse. “You better not go traipsing through the house with those boots,” the housekeeper scolded.

  “They’re not so bad,” Julia insisted. “What shall pass?”

  “The wailing,” Catherine said dramatically. “The persistent, unending, ear-splitting wailing.”

  Julia looked at Amelia. “She’s singing again?” She paused and made a face. “If that can be called singing. Really, Amelia, we need to tell her to stop. She’ll make an utter fool of herself if she does that in public.”