It Started With a Whisper

by Dawn Brower

  “The letter from the Admiralty Courts.” Charles shuffled over, taking the missive from Gideon and turning it over in his hands as his forgotten cane fell to the floor.

  “You had this all along?” The magistrate’s brow rose high in question. “Why did you not speak of it sooner?”

  “We haven’t opened it yet,” Charles confessed.

  “It arrived only moments before Lady Sybil. If we had opened it before the men, and the courts demanded Charles be returned to his ship, they would have taken him straight away, and any hope of petitioning the courts in appeal would have been difficult.” Gideon nodded to the missive. “Open it, Charles.”

  “I think it best that I depart. As a member of the courts, I will be honor-bound to adhere to the Admiralty’s directives.” Mr. St. Paulson gave a curt bow to Sybil and nodded to the occupants at large before hurrying from the room as if the fires of Hell were chasing him.

  Gideon and Charles remained focused on the official seal of the maritime courts.

  “Open it,” Sybil prodded. “Even if the news is disparaging, there is still time to appeal the decision.”

  Gideon stepped to Sybil’s side and placed his hand on her waist, waiting for his friend to break the seal and read the notice. Even Silas waited in silence, a nervous air about him, though the outcome did not affect him as it did the others.

  Charles slipped his finger under the flap, and the wax seal cracked, pieces falling to the floor at his feet. Unfolding the paper, he scanned it, his expression in no way betraying what news the letter held.

  Finally, he held the paper out to Gideon, his hand shaking slightly.

  Sybil held her breath as she read the words that drifted across the page with perfect penmanship.

  Tears clouded her vision, and it was difficult to make out the words, but a few phrases became seared into her mind, relieved of duty and free from impressment. Sybil’s thoughts swirled as she tried to make sense of everything.

  “I’m not to be returned,” Charles announced, whether for Silas’s benefit or Sybil’s, she was uncertain. “I am officially free and need not fear anything further.”

  Gideon embraced his friend, each clapping the other’s back before stepping apart once more. The relief was written clearly across Gideon’s face when he returned to her side, pulling her close.

  “Lord Lichfield.” Gideon turned to address her brother. “Charles’ freedom means mine, as well. I can pledge that nothing will come before Sybil. My time and focus will no longer be torn between the two people who mean the most to me. My love for Sybil has been in the forefront since the day we met; however, that did not stop my other responsibilities from taking me away from her and London.”

  Sybil silently pled with Silas to hear Gideon out—his intentions, his commitment, and his heart.

  “Silas, I love him,” Sybil said on a cry.

  Her brother scrutinized Gideon from head to toe before returning his gaze to her. “Love—his or yours—is not what is in dispute here.”

  “Then, what?” Sybil’s heart splintered at the thought of being separated from Gideon once more.

  “It was I who had to comfort you when Lord Galway cried off and disappeared—“

  “He did not cry off,” Charles scoffed.

  Silas turned his narrowed stare to Charles, his severe look quieting the man. “It was Mallory, my wife, who stood outside Sybil’s door every night and listened to her cry herself to sleep.” He turned to Sybil. “As your brother, your protector, I never want another to harm you. I will not stand silently aside again and allow any man—or woman—to speak ill of you, to fail you, to…abandon you!

  “I am your brother, damn it. It is my duty to protect you from injury.”

  Sybil’s hopes crashed as Gideon stepped from her side. Was he accepting defeat? Was he resigned to allow Silas to dictate their future? No matter how misguided his intentions were…

  “Silas, please…”

  “Let him speak,” Gideon whispered close to her ear.

  Gideon hadn’t abandoned her, only moved to stand behind her as his hands now rested on her shoulders.

  She didn’t want to listen to Silas list all the reasons Sybil shouldn’t love and wed Gideon. Her brother’s reasoning mattered not a whit to Sybil. She knew her heart. She had witnessed Gideon’s pure love.

  And that was enough for her.

  “Before tonight, I was against you wedding Lord Galway. Not because I feared the sincerity of his love, but because I could not trust him to be there when you needed him most,” Silas sighed. “I will not always be close at hand to make certain you are well, that your children are cared for by a loving father. And that, rightfully, concerned me. As your brother and guardian, it is my responsibility to make certain you are wedded to a fine man, an honorable male, someone who will put you first forevermore.”

  “I am past the age of needing—“

  Silas held up his hand to halt her words. “Until this night, only a short time ago, I truly believed that man was not Lord Galway; however, after witnessing the lengths the viscount was willing to go to in order to protect a friend, I believe he would do the same for you—perhaps better than I.”

  Sybil’s shoulders trembled, her hands rising to rest on Gideon’s at her shoulders. “Are you saying…?”

  “He has agreed to our marriage, Sybil,” Gideon murmured in her ear.

  She turned to face Gideon, her hands landing on her hips as she stared up at him. “How long have you known?”

  “We discussed it outside as we made certain the men departed.” Gideon smiled, and her irritation fled as warmth filled her. “The contracts will be drawn up in the morning, and we are to sign them by midday.”

  Sybil could barely believe what she was hearing. She and Gideon were to wed—with her brother’s blessing.

  “Good thing you’ve seen reason, Lichfield,” Charles grumbled. “If I know anything about Gideon, it is that he will go to the ends of the Earth for those he loves.”

  “And I do love you, Sybil.” Gideon’s stare held hers, and he leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I am, here and now, making it my life’s mission to prove to you, each and every day, that I love you.”

  “I never doubted your love,” she confessed.

  Sybil could not look away from Gideon. Every secret, every concern, every doubt had been exposed. There was nothing and no one who could stand in the way of their happiness.

  “I think it best we depart,” Charles’ voice sank through Sybil’s supremely happy musings.

  “Not quite yet,” Silas answered. “Galway, I trust I can expect you to arrive at the appointed time tomorrow?”

  “Nothing will keep me from finishing what I started,” Gideon said, his stare never leaving hers. “Above my honor and my duty, it is my heart that is forever pledged to you, Lady Sybil.”

  “I love you, Gideon.”

  Sybil vaguely heard a door closing behind them as her brother and Charles left; however, when Gideon’s lips pressed to hers once more, she was helpless to think of anything but the man she loved.

  Sybil could admit that she loved a scandal, and no scandal would capture society’s attention more than the betrothal of Lady Sybil Anson to Viscount Galway.

  Epilogue

  It was a romantic, magical, and dreamlike soiree. All that was missing was cherubs or, mayhap, winged fairy creatures. I am certain even I would have fallen in love with the gallant Lord Galway had I seen him dressed in his wedding finery before his heart was given to Lady Sybil—now, Viscountess Galway. I can confirm that the only scandalous occurrence was Mr. Sladeton Anson leaping from the second-story window in nothing but his undone trousers. But that, my kind readers, is a story for another day…

  ~ Whispers from Lady X

  Sybil took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down the front of her freshly pressed white muslin nightshift as she stared at the closed bedchamber door.

  Her new bedchamber door.

  The room
she and Gideon would share as a newly wedded couple.

  In this space, adorned in deep, midnight blues and soft, creamy whites, they would make love for the first time. They would laugh with unfettered abandon, and discuss current events from politics to fashion and war. They would argue over topics as mundane as what to eat for their evening meal and debate important subjects such as what they would name their future children. Rupert, Melvin, and Gertrude were not names she was willing to entertain for their forthcoming offspring, no matter that they were established names in the Galway viscountcy.

  All of those matters dealing with her new marital status were things that Sybil looked forward to experiencing—with Gideon by her side.

  There was no doubt in her mind that, if they remained steadfast in their love and stayed committed to one another, they would see each other through both the good times and the bad.

  And, at that precise moment, Sybil was preparing for one such good time.

  She and Gideon had been wed that morning, followed by a feast with a surplus of food and drink, and a ball held in their honor. There was dancing, more refreshments, merriment, and good cheer all around.

  A shiver coursed through her when footfalls sounded in the hall outside her—their—bedchamber door.

  Gideon had arrived.

  Her husband was directly outside the room.

  Sybil smiled, pushing the last remnants of apprehension away as the latch sprang and the door slowly opened without a sound.

  “Viscountess Galway.” His voice was a heady whisper that sent tendrils of need coiling in her stomach. He was still outfitted in his wedding day finery, complete with polished boots and precisely combed hair. His gray eyes sparkled in the dim lighting from the dozen candles positioned about the room. “I have waited long to address you as such.”

  “Viscountess Galway.” Sybil allowed her formal title to roll off her tongue and hang in the air separating them. “And you, Gideon, are my husband.”

  Their eyes clashed from across the mere feet separating them.

  It no longer felt as if they were separated by an unruly sea. No, even now, the feet were more like inches. In her mind, Sybil knew Gideon’s touch, his caress, and the warmth of his lips against hers. For so many months, she’d had no other option but to remember the way things had been—to hold them close during the long nights alone—after he disappeared, fearing she’d never set eyes on him again.

  As of that morning, they were man and wife, joined in matrimony before all of London, witnessed by every person she held dear.

  Nothing short of death would ever separate them—that was the promise Gideon had pledged to her.

  Sybil was happy—loved, cherished, and lavished with affection.

  When Gideon held his arms wide, Sybil didn’t hesitate. She threw herself into his embrace.

  “I love you, my dearest husband,” she muttered, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.

  “I love you, too.” Gideon pulled back, his intense stare searching her face. “Are you crying?”

  “They are tears of utter joy, happiness, and love.” Sybil moved back into his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest as she listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart, completely in tune with her own.

  Books By Christina Mcknight

  The Undaunted Debutantes Series

  The Disappearance of Lady Edith

  The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

  The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia

  Lady Archer’s Creed Series

  Theodora

  Georgina

  Adeline

  Josephine

  Craven House Series

  The Thief Steals Her Earl

  The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis

  The Madame Catches Her Duke

  A Lady Forsaken Series

  Shunned No More

  Forgotten No More

  Scorned Ever More

  Christmas Ever More

  Hidden No More

  Standalone Titles

  The Siege of Lady Aloria

  A Kiss At Christmastide

  For The Love Of A Widow

  Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon

  Bound By The Christmastide Moon

  About the Author

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author Christina McKnight writes emotional and intricate Regency Romance with strong women and maverick heroes.

  Her books combine romance and mystery, exploring themes of redemption and forgiveness. When she’s not writing, Christina enjoys trying new coffeehouses, visiting wine bars, traveling the world, and watching television.

  Email: Christina@ChristinaMcKnight.com

  Follow her on Twitter: @CMcKnightWriter

  Keep up to date on her releases: www.christinamcknight.com

  Like Christina’s FB Author page: ChristinaMcKnightWriter

  The Scandalous Widow

  USA Today Bestselling Author by Erica Monroe

  To Christy Carlyle

  Thank you for never giving up on me.

  "If I must die,

  I will encounter darkness as a bride,

  And hug it in mine arms."

  -William Shakespeare,

  Measure for Measure (Act III, Scene I, Line 82)

  Prologue

  The cruel, senseless murder of the dashing Earl of Wolverston has rocked Hill Street—and not just because Wolverston leaves behind a beautiful widow!

  Our secret sources tell us the earl was killed outside of one of Covent Garden’s most notorious houses of ill repute.

  -Whispers from Lady X

  West End, London, England

  June 1816

  Zero days since the death of the Earl of Wolverston

  Gabriel Sinclair had grown accustomed to the glossy sheen of blood splashed upon narrow London alleys. The sickly-sweet scent mottled with the reek of decomposition, the stench almost overpowering. He sucked in small, barely-sustaining breaths to keep from gagging, regretting the ale he’d drank at the Brown Bear before he’d received the message he was needed in Soho Square.

  Although the patrolman who’d initially found the bodies spewed his dinner in the courtyard, Gabriel remained poised and alert in the face of such gore. In his ten years with the Bow Street Runners, he had seen far, far worse. Two middle-aged men—one dressed in high-quality clothing, and the other in little more than rags—rated tame in comparison. Robbery was common enough in Soho Square, and apparently, the cause for this crime. A man claimed he had been leaving the brothel with his brother and a blackguard had attacked them. A scuffle had occurred, and the assailant overpowered the older brother, murdering him. The younger brother was lucky to be alive—he’d managed to get the knife from their attacker and stabbed him.

  Frowning, Gabriel’s gaze darted from the two corpses to where the witness sat with his back pushed up against the White House brothel, watched over by another policeman. Patrolman Green had taken the man’s statement and reported a quick summary to Gabriel. The man’s story seemed valid—he had the defensive wounds to attest to the struggle—but Gabriel still wanted to investigate further. Once he’d examined the bodies, he’d return to the station house on Bow Street with the witness and question him more.

  But for now, he had more pressing matters.

  Every minute that passed changed minute details, making it harder to recreate the murder in his mind. When he’d started as a patrolman, the others had teased him for his meticulous examination. Now that he’d been promoted to Principal Officer, no one questioned his methods.

  Gabriel calmly removed his gloves and knelt down to inspect the bodies. He had no formal medical training, but he could at least make note of the injuries and possible cause of death before the coroner arrived. He’d start with the rich man first, since he appeared to be the victim.

  To the average man, death was something to be feared. A failure. An ending.

  But for men like Gabriel, death was business as usual.

  He had work to do. Emotions only clouded
the facts, leaving one blind to any clues that might not fit one’s preconceived notions of the case. When he was at work—and Gabriel was always at work, these last three years—he thought of nothing else but getting justice for the victims of a crime. It was easier that way. No time to ponder past regrets, to recall the tinkling laughter of the woman whose smile had always made him feel as though he could accomplish anything. Be anything.

  The man was face-down, his arms and legs flung out, bent unnaturally. His gray-streaked brown hair was matted with blood. Gingerly, Gabriel pushed at the hair, revealing a gaping aperture, approximately the size of a club. Most likely the fatal blow, given the viscera clotting the hole. He let the hair fall back with a silent prayer that the man had died quickly—all the while knowing such was improbable. The man’s body bore too many wounds for that to have been the first hit.

  Gabriel’s brows furrowed as he examined the man’s torn cutaway tail coat. Dirt and blood marred the blue pinstripes, but even in its disheveled state he could tell that the coat had been expertly tailored to the wearer’s somewhat corpulent frame. The silk was smooth to the touch, still retaining some of its naturally bright sheen. And there, right at his waist, were two dangling threads where gold buttons must have adorned the coat. He checked the sleeves, noting those buttons had been cut too. He’d have to examine the clothing, but so far this all confirmed the brother’s statement.

  “But you weren’t so lucky,” Gabriel murmured. “Must have been a hell of a fight. Miracle your brother survived.”

  The clip-clop of horse’s hooves against the cobblestones made Gabriel rise quickly. Dawn was approaching, and soon the streets would be full of early morning traffic. The news would spread like wildfire, due to the crime occurring outside the infamous White House, where Mrs. Theresa Berkeley and her girls catered to a clientele that achieved sexual satisfaction through flagellation. The scandal sheets would delight in that on-dit.