The Lady in the Tower

by Karen Hawkins

  A chuckle met his question. Looking up, he caught sight of a blur of blue up in the branches of a copper beech tree. “Bloody hell, what are you doing?”

  “Getting some bark from a dead branch. Stay right there and I’ll—” Her foot caught in her skirt and with a shriek, she slipped, grabbing a limb in desperation.

  “Stay still!” he commanded, moving under the tree. He propped his cane against the trunk and then planted his feet. “Let go.”

  “Richard, I can’t—”

  “I’m right here.”

  “But your leg—”

  “Will be fine. I’m not bending it, which is the only time it hurts. Let go, Jane. Trust me.”

  She closed her eyes, counted to three, and let go. For a wild, uncertain moment, she was tumbling through leaves and air. But just as quickly, a pair of strong arms snatched her from the uncertainty and she was suddenly held against a broad chest, her feet dangling just inches from the ground

  He held her close, his face buried in her hair, relief making him grin. “You are a menace. You need a damn keeper to stop you from getting into trouble.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He allowed her to stand, though he kept a tight hold. “You need someone who’ll tell you no when you need to hear it, someone who will understand when you start talking about essential oils and such, someone who can’t live without you, someone . . .” He turned her face to his. “. . . like me.”

  She smiled up at him, her happiness telling him all he needed to know.

  God, but he loved her so much he couldn’t imagine being without her. Not now. Not ever. She was his. “We will marry. I bought a ring and—”

  “Hold right there. We might marry.” A challenging light entered her eye, and she leaned against him. “Do you think you’re up to the task? At times, it’s bound to be very, very complicated.”

  “I love you and your complications.” He bent to kiss her, but she placed a hand on his chest.

  “I also have a few provisions.”

  “Oh?”

  She ticked them off on her fingers. “I still will see my patients—”

  “Of course. I’m sure we can—”

  “—and you’ll agree to co-author an article with me.”

  He stopped. She looked shy, hesitant and hopeful all at once. Love filled his heart near to bursting. In way of reply, he smiled, took her hand and began leading her back to the house.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Inside.”

  “But why?”

  He paused, yanked her to him and kissed her. When he lifted his head, he was gratified to see a dazed sheen in her eyes. “This time, I want a bed, damn it!”

  She laughed, and led the way.

  Epilogue

  It had been a quiet wedding, beautiful yet simple. Thornton could not stop smiling and Jane glowed as the epitome of the blushing bride. The small group of guests had joined the couple at the wedding breakfast. Afterwards, as guests made their farewells, Kat and Josephine cornered the duchess in the drawing room.

  “You’ve kept us waiting long enough, Catherine,” Katelyn accused.

  The duchess’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “The tarot cards. What’s their meaning?”

  The duchess smiled, and turned them toward the happy couple. “Who needs the tarot cards? Just look at them!”

  Kat and Josephine shared a look. “I suppose so,” Jo said grudgingly. “But Jane said her card was of a tower.”

  “Da, she’d walled herself in a sort of tower, that she could not see had become too small for her. And Thornton was the clever magician, was he not? He brought challenge and knowledge, so—” Catherine waved a hand “—she is freed.”

  Jo grimaced. “That’s stretching things.”

  “Yes.” Kat looked wistful. “It would be nice if the cards could truly tell the future.” She turned her gaze on Catherine. “What does a wheel represent?”

  “Problems, solutions, luck, or love? Up, or down, now that is the question.”

  “Now I’m more confused than ever,” Kat muttered.

  “Ah, just so, nyet?” Catherine cast a speculative glance at her friend, and then slipped an arm about Kat’s shoulders. The cards predicted quite an interesting few months ahead.

  Fortunately, she had no doubt Kat would be up for the challenge.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 Karen Hawkins and Holly Crawford

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Karen Hawkins and Holly Crawford.

  ISBN 978-0-9885984-0-9

  About the Authors

  Karen Hawkins

  A New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of over 20 humorous historical and contemporary romance novels, Karen doesn’t have time for ‘friends’, although she’s been known to haunt the yards of a few, select well known actors, particularly a sexy Australian with the initials H.J. Fortunately, the two actors who filed injunctions against Karen don’t live in her home state so she’s free to travel within the borders of Florida and can, with permission of the court, even visit Southern Georgia and 3/4ths of the state of Tennessee.

  For now.

  Several years ago, Karen married a handsome cop she met while researching her first contemporary romance novel, Talk of the Town. Her husband, aka Hot Cop, has turned into an exemplary Writer’s Husband. He has learned to ‘talk writing,’ knows the fastest routes to all of the major mail carriers, and can tell the difference between an erasable colored pencil and a regular one. He also knows not to ask for meals during Deadline Dementia Week.

  You can visit her on the web at http://www.karenhawkins.com

  Holly Crawford

  When Holly Crawford isn't writing Regency Romps, dark historicals or fantasy worlds, she teaches history and Asian philosophy at a local college. She lives in Florida with her family and rescued Golden Retriever who runs everything.

  Bonus Excerpts

  COMING FEBRUARY 29th from best-selling author, KAREN HAWKINS,

  PRINCESS IN DISGUISE, A NOVELLA.

  When an innocent kiss stirs awake a very determined-to-wed woman, the dashing, dissolute Earl of Kintore finds himself with his hands – and arms – full … But will his reluctant heart follow?

  James Keith, the fifth Earl of Kintore, Viscount Stonehaven, and Baron Urie, was chilled, but also deliciously pleased. He hadn’t fallen off his horse yet . . . not today, anyway.

  Of course it was still early, but he rather thought things were going his way for once.

  “It’s about bloody time,” he told the falling snow in a defiant tone, tugging at his collar as an icy wind lifted as if in answer. It was a good thing he didn’t believe in omens, for the suddenness of the snowy clouds that had engulfed him over the last half hour didn’t portend well. Fortunately, through the snow, he could just make out the outline of the inn he wished to reach, the Cask and Larder.

  Soon, he was in the courtyard of the large, rambling inn, climbing unsteadily off of his horse as a stable body hurried to meet him. Bundled in several coats and wearing admirably thick mittens, the boy mumbled something about ‘Cossacks’ that Kintore didn’t quite catch, but it was too cold to banter for his teeth were beginning to chatter. Instead, he gave the gelding a final pat, and left it in the capable hands of the stable boy before hurrying indoors.r />
  Once inside, he peeled off his useless gloves and tucked them in his pocket. Seeing no sign of the innkeeper or his wife, the earl made his way to the private parlor off the taproom. There didn’t seem to be anyone in either room, but the fire in the parlor was already sputtering along in a cheerful manner and instantly drew him to it.

  Hands already held out, he stepped around a settee and went straight to the welcome blaze. Instantly, he soaked in blessed warmth, his hands aching as feeling returned. Sighing with relief, he shrugged out of his coat, the shoulders damp from melted snow, and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair.

  He’s just turned back to the fire when the unmistakable sound of a woman’s sigh fluttered through the air. He froze and slowly turned. The settee’s high back had hidden the cushions from him so that he’d missed the fact that he was far from alone. A woman, dressed in the plain black of a servant, was curled upon her side, her hands tucked under her cheek like a child, was sound asleep upon the settee.

  Her skin was pale while her hair was as black as the night. Thick and shining, it was pinned away from her face in the same severe, unstylish bun most servants wore. Ah, a new housemaid. You thought the heavy snow would keep guests away so you could take a nap, hm?

  He didn’t blame her; the quiet fall of snow muffled all noise while the low light and crackle of the fire made a nap the most natural thing in the world. Smiling, he came to stand beside her, the light from the fire casting reddish lights over her.

  Though not beautiful in the accepted sense, she was a taking thing. Her face was slender and angular, with thick lashes splayed over high cheekbones. Her mouth was wide, her lips soft and full, but set over a stubborn chin that warred with the delicate line of her nose. Even more fascinating were her eyebrows, which flew up at the ends in a delicate sweep, giving her face a piquant look.

  Kintore couldn’t remember being so intrigued by a woman in a long, long time. Perhaps this snowstorm had been a good omen after all. He reached down and ran a finger over her cheek.

  Her lashes fluttered and then, with a soft sigh, she turned her face toward his hand, her skin deliciously warm against his fingers, her breath teasing his palm. It was such a sensual gesture that he was caught by the desire to kiss her awake.

  He slipped his hand from her face and carefully sat on the edge of the settee at her side. Then, he bent and touched his lips to hers…

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  ******

  COMING from best-selling author, KAREN HAWKINS, on MAY 21st, 2012, the next book in her famed Duchess Diaries Series

  HOW TO PURSUE A PRINCESS

  Somewhere in the forest outside of the Duchess of Roxburghe’s famed castle, Lily Balfour has been thrown from her horse and has injured her ankle. To her relief and chagrin, she’s rescued by a huge Adonis of a man with a strange accent who, against her protests, insists upon carrying her to safety. . .

  “Ah, so you are a guest of the Duchess of Roxburghe.” Wulf shrugged, his huge shoulder moving against her cheek. “My grandmother and I met Her Grace last week. She invited us to her house party. I was not going to attend, for I do not like such formal entertainments, but now—” His gaze flicked over Lily, leaving a heated path. “Now, I will go.”

  “Oh. I—I just—“ She took a steadying breath. “Please take me back to my horse. I’m fine, really, and there’s no need to carry me.”

  “You fell and may have injuries we do not yet know, so I will take you to safety, and then I will send my men to let the duchess know where you are and that you are unharmed.”

  “Your men?”

  “I have a squadron.”

  “Ah, then you’re a member of the military.” That explained his boldness and over-assuredness. “What are you? A corporal? A sergeant?”

  “I am in charge.” A faint note of surprise colored his voice as if he were irritated that she should think anything else. “I am in charge of it all.”

  She blinked. “Of an entire army?”

  “Yes.” He sent her a hard look. “I shall tell you because the duchess would say it anyway. I am not a general. I am a prince, which is why the duchess finds it acceptable that my grandmother and I attend her events.”

  “You’re a prince?”

  “I am Piotr Romanovin, Prince Wulfinski of Oxenburg. My brothers call me Wulf.”

  “Brothers? Are they all princes, too?”

  He swept her with an amused glance. “Da. Oxenburg has four princes. I am the youngest.”

  She couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought of a room full of men like the one before her now; huge, broad shouldered, bulging with muscles and lopsided smiles, their dark hair falling over their brows and into their green eyes…

  Suddenly breathless, she fixed her gaze on his face. “If you’re a prince, then you must be fabulously wealthy.”

  “Not every prince is wealthy. Sadly, I am the poorest of all my brothers.” Her disappointment must have shown on her face, for he regarded her with a narrowed gaze. “You do not like this, Miss Lilly Balfour?”

  She sighed. “No, no I don’t. As sad as it is, some of us must marry for money.” It ludicrous to admit such a thing to him, but somehow – perhaps it was because he’d so chivalrously rescued her – it felt right to tell him the truth.

  His brow lowered. “So you must marry for money?”

  “I must.”

  He was silent a moment. Finally, he pinned her with a serious gaze. “But what if you fall in love with someone who has no money?”

  “I have no choice.” She heard the sadness in her own voice and resolutely forced herself to shrug. “It’s the way of the world, isn’t it? My family needs funds. Our house is entailed and my father hasn’t been very good about—Oh, it’s a very long story and I’m sure you don’t want to hear all of the details.”

  She could tell from his grim expression that he disliked her answer. She didn’t like it, either, and she realized that it made her sound like the veriest money-grubbing society miss, but that’s what she’d become.

  She sighed and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

  He looked down at her and, to her surprise, his chin came to rest on her head. She felt so safe here in his arms. So very, very safe.

  They continued on thus for a few moments, an odd comfort seeping through her, the first since she’d left her home.

  At one time, a wealthy gentleman had seemed enough. Now, she wished she could also ask for a not-wealthy prince. One like this one, who carried her so gently and whose eyes gleamed with humor beneath the fall of his black hair.

  But it was not to be. For now, though, she had these few moments as he carried her through the forest, the sunlight dappling his black hair with gold.

  Sighing, she rested her head against his broad shoulder. This will have to be enough.

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