Light of My Heart

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  “Went to the wrong sea captain’s house. You didn’t specify.” At the Duke’s nod, they tied up the villains, yanked a groggy Cuthbert up on his feet. “You will be facing a hanging,” said the Duke.

  Cuthbert spat. “You think so? There are more of us and you’ll never see them coming. We may have missed getting Lady Abigail but we did get Lord Nicolas. Too bad his ship went down.” Cuthbert started coughing with that coal dust laugh. The crowd buzzed.

  The Duke held up his hand to silence everyone. “Who?” demanded the Duke.

  The sea captain’s house exploded, and then collapsed, shooting flames to the sky as the last of the wood structure was consumed by flames. A shot rang out from the west side of the inferno. Anthony covered Rachel with his body, hitting the ground hard. Who the hell was shooting? Everyone scrambled.

  “Guards, search the woods,” the duke demanded.

  Cuthbert slumped. Blood poured from his chest, shot in the heart. Anthony felt Cuthbert’s pulse, his split lip curled with disgust. There were no more shots. Anthony rose, pulled Rachel up. The duke came up beside him. “Dead. Obviously who did this, did not want Cuthbert to reveal the scoundrel. Now we’ll never know.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A fire blazed in the hearth, warming Rachel. They were all together in the library, Anthony’s father, Aunt Margaret, the constable, Anthony, the Duke of Westbrook, and Sebastian, who stood in front of the closed doors.

  The Duke of Westbrook leaned against the mantle, indolent, savoring a sip of his brandy. He licked his lips like a cat fed a bowl of warm milk, surprising everyone with his presence. “It is too bad you were unable to confront Cuthbert Noot.”

  Over the rim of her teacup, Rachel studied the Rutland’s close family friend. How odd his formal dress at this late hour. His clothing fit well, his wig faultlessly brushed and powdered, yet there was an expression of strained politeness in his manner.

  “What a pack of rats,” said Anthony’s father. “We rounded up the rest of the criminals. Nothing was gleaned from them. Cuthbert had the only interface with the scoundrel who has schemed this wicked madness.”

  “So clever of you to have escaped.” Cornelius Westbrook stared at Anthony, his manner almost accusing.

  Stop overreacting. Hadn’t Cornelius availed himself at every disaster to help the Rutland’s in fighting their dreadful enemies? Didn’t he insist on rebuilding Anthony’s laboratory after it had exploded? Anthony and his father seemed unperturbed. Why should she be bothered?

  “Terrible circumstances…to be burned alive.” Anthony’s father shook his head. “To think you outsmarted Cuthbertthe crossbow, the block and tackle, the flight over ground.”

  Anthony sat next to her on the settee, the dog on his lap, his other arm perched behind, touched her shoulder. “All the credit goes to Rachel and Casey. Rachel’s ability with the crossbow and Casey’s loyalty.” The dog lifted her head at the sound of her name and Anthony rubbed behind the canine’s ears. “Casey will have fresh meat for her dinner until the end of time.”

  “And to think you thought Casey was without wit,” Rachel reminded him.

  “Never. This is the smartest dog this side of the Atlantic.” Casey rolled her head to have him scratch behind her other ear.

  Did Cornelius’s glass eye turn blacker or was it a trick of the light? Shark black. Rachel stopped smiling.

  The Duke of Westbrook tipped his glass and bottomed out his brandy. “I cannot think of the horror you both faced. To have the next Rutland heir destroyed.”

  Rachel stiffened. Was that a veiled threat? Anthony leaned against the back of the settee with unstudied negligence, listening, saying no word but watching Cornelius. Was Anthony suspicious too?

  “Providential you were able to keep your faculties,” said Anthony’s father to them still mystified at their survival.

  “Very fortunate,” Cornelius smiled engagingly.

  Anger. Definitely anger. A knot grew in her belly. What might have been spoken graciously was condemning.

  The Constable clapped his hands on his knees and rose. “We must find out who shot Noot. We searched the woods. Disappointing, the rascal disappeared.”

  “How timely, Noot was shot before he could speak,” said the duke.

  “Fortunate for Mrs. Noot to not to have to live in terror of her husband resurfacing,” Rachel said unable to tear her eyes away from Cornelius.

  The constable headed for the doors. “We’ve got enough for one evening. I will continue with the investigation to see what I can ferret out. As before, I’m sorry we’ve come up with dead ends, Your Grace.”

  Cornelius set his glass on the mantle. “I must leave. I received a message to return home. I will use my resources to look into the matter as best I can.”

  “Thank you.” Anthony’s father shook his old friend’s hand and the man departed.

  “Remarkable Duke Cornelius’s visit so late at night, father.”

  “Nothing unusual. He had sent word two weeks ago that he was planning to visit, arrived at the time of the commotion, insisting on joining us.”

  If only she could pull Anthony aside. Wasn’t Cornelius nearby when Abby and Nicolas were abducted and when the lab blew up?

  Anthony nodded and stood. “With that settled, I’d like to speak to Miss Thornealone.”

  Rachel gaped.

  The Duke of Rutland nodded his assent and escorted the reticent, Aunt Margaret, who dodged a wink at her, and Sebastian closed the doors behind them.

  Anthony knelt in front of her and her heart went to her throat. “I think I know what you are going to say, but”

  He pressed two fingers on her lips. “You will listen and let me voice what I need to say.” His blue eyes were breathtaking in their intensity, deep sapphire blue. “I love how you drag me out in the cold and snow, making me aware of the simplest things that I’ve long taken for granted. I love how you wind your hair around your finger when you are thinking. I love how you temper my strong-willed nature, putting me back on track and pointing the right way with my experiments. I love how that brain of yours works. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your lemon and lavender scent on my clothes. I’ve been lonely all my life and now realize when you meet someone that is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want it to begin as soon as possible.”

  Unshed tears scalded her eyes, coming deep from the soul’s well. The greatest treasure of her life, she’d have to give up. There was a disturbance in the hall, but Rachel was wound so tight with emotion, the commotion seemed a million miles away. Silence filled the room and the time seemed never-ending. Her body shook with the strain, ripping her insides.

  She stroked his hair, swallowing an upsurge of sobs. “That was the most beautiful proposal any woman could have been offered, Anthony. But I cannot marry you.”

  He frowned, the confusion in his mind flashed across his face. “Why? Tell me you don’t love me.”

  She swallowed hard, not trusting her voice. “It’s because I love you, Anthony, I’m turning you down. You are the heir, the next Duke of Rutland. I am a Colonial, far from the pedigree you need to have at your side. I am unable to fill those shoes. Your family would forbid it.”

  “Pedigree be damned. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I want you, Rachel.”

  “You are not thinking clearly. I will go. You will find someone who suits you.”

  He stood up holding her hands. “You are a woman who is bent on pleasing others. As long as everyone around you is happy you pretend all is well, concealing your despair and guilt while supporting the wretched status quo to reject your true desire. Let me make you happy.”

  She pulled to free her hands from his, but he held firm.

  “If I become duke, the well-being of the tenants and the estate depend on my sound judgment. If my brother returns, I will need help and a clear head to continue my experiments. All those things depend on my state of happiness. I could never be happy without y
ou, Rachel, and I want to have a family with you.”

  “No, Anthony.” She shook her head, trapped in a lonely world, a longing for connection, a hidden cry to be possessed. Impossible. “I’ll be leaving within the week.”

  “Then I’m forced to do something to prevent you.”

  Rachel froze. “What are you going to do?”

  He strode to the door, yanked it open. In fell Aunt Margaret, clutching her swaying ear horn to her chest. Anthony’s father straightened his waistcoat. Behind them, Sebastian inspected an area of the ceiling that suddenly needed his scrutiny. Rachel put her hands on her cheeks. They had heard every word.

  Anthony looked them dead in the eye. “I have compromised Miss Thorne and she will marry me.”

  Dying from the mortification over what they had heard was bad enough, but this added humiliation? All she could do was stare at Anthony. He’d gone mad. Oh, to pound every unpredictable bone in his body.

  The duke spoke. “I will correct one misconception, Miss Thorne. You will be a very welcomed addition to the family. I would be very proud to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

  Aunt Margaret tottered closer, planting herself next to Rachel before she could bolt. “You will marry Anthony.” She leaned in, spoke low and confidingly. “We could discuss the bath in the new bathtub and the day spent out in the laboratoryalone.”

  Rachel widened her eyes. “You wouldn’t.” How wily the old woman was.

  “I would,” confirmed Aunt Margaret. “We want you to stay.”

  “Before we go any further,” Anthony said, pointedly looking at his aunt’s ear horn. “Do you really need that contraption?”

  She puffed herself up like a peacock. “Of course not. For someone so smart, my feigned deafness took you long enough to figure out.” She waved a hand dismissively, and then pivoted to Rachel. “Abby sent you here for Anthony. It was her plan. The duke, and I, with a little help from Sebastian, created an environment where two extraordinary and lonely souls who were meant for each other had time to develop a romance. If you want to blame anyone, blame Abby, but she had both of your hearts in mind.”

  That these three knew all along? That they had conspired with Abby and they wanted her as part of their family? Rachel turned and blubbered into Anthony’s shirt. His strong arms automatically enclosed her.

  He held her face in his hands. “You haven’t answered me. Will you marry me?”

  “Oh Anthony, you are the light of my heart. Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

  Epilogue

  The last six weeks had been a whirlwind. Anthony insisted on a small wedding and that the marriage take place right away, and if it could not be done, then he was kidnapping her to Gretna Green. Under great pressure, the Duke, Aunt Margaret and the house staff pulled magic from the air to make a semi-small wedding occur. Rachel smiled, semi-small translated to five hundred guests.

  She was sad that her family could not have attended. How she missed Jacob, Abby and the baby. Impossible with the distances, the war, and with Abby expecting again. Arranged by the Duke of Banfield, Ethan had been smuggled in from Lisbon for the ceremony, delighting her, and giving her away.

  Now that the celebration was over, they enjoyed a brief honeymoon in Wales. The bitter chill of January had eclipsed and the promise of Spring came with the warm sun slanting across the bed. When they returned, they would take up residence in Belvoir Castle. It would have been unconscionable for them to take up residence elsewhere, protested the Duke and Aunt Margaret although Rachel suspected they didn’t want to be alone. The only bad reflection was the onerous chore of the dukedom casting a shadow over Anthony’s head. He was made for science not administrative work.

  The clock in the hall struck twelve times. Midday. Sinful how they had not yet risen from bed. Rachel snuggled up to Anthony, running her toes along his leg. “Are you awake?”

  “How can I not be when I have to meet my wife’s insatiable needs.”

  She looked up at him, her heart bursting with love, the terrible poverty of loneliness wiped clean from their lives. “What are you thinking?”

  “Biology. The first time on the cot in my laboratory was two months ago, plus seven more months equals a complete gestation period. Are you?”

  “You are a sly thing. Did Mrs. Noot”

  “I’m a scientist. I have an exact formula for everything, coupled with the usual signs nausea, fatigue, emotion.”

  “I am not emotional.” She pinched his chin, and then reached over to the end table, letting her breasts, fuller now, deliberately trail across his chest. He moaned and hardened beneath her. Predictable.

  She straddled him, wriggling her bottom just so, to taunt him, picked up a gold embossed envelope and read it for the hundredth time. “The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Rutland, has been invited to the Royal Society of Science esteemed for his work in electricity and elected for life through a peer review process on the basis of excellence in science.”

  She flopped back on the pillows, folding the letter and placing it in the envelope, smiling because she had created a thirst in her swaggering husband that would have to be slaked. He dropped soft kisses on her face and throat, meeting her lips in a searing demanding kiss. He cupped her swollen breasts, spilling heavily into his hands, scraping lightly over her rigid nipples with his thumbs until she moaned. She reached up and pulled him down to her, stunned by the force of the pulsating need in him, and gasped, accepting his thick fullness. Thrill after thrill shot through her as he possessed her body, buried so deep inside it made her hunger for him all the more.

  She pressed a kiss against the pulse in his neck.

  “I love you with everything I am, and everything I ever will be. Body, mind, heart, soul,” he said, and hauled her up against him. How she cherished the steady beat of his heart against her ear, and his warm musk, lingering in the air. Her hands ran over his damp skin. He stopped her.

  “You are a vixen, wife. We should have twins when you are done with me.”

  Would she survive if she surrendered to the craving she saw in the smoldering depths of his eyes?

  Before the question was answered, a knock sounded at the door. “What is it?” Anthony bellowed. Her husband would not be disturbed on his honeymoon.

  He tore the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around his midsection and threw open the door. The maid stuttered, thrusting a missive into his hands. Anthony slammed the door. Rachel would have to work on his manners.

  She sat up, alarmed with the intensity with which he read the letter. “Is it bad news?”

  “On the contrary. My father has written and wants us home. Nicholas is alive.”

  Author’s Note

  During the eighteenth century there was enormous work with electricity by great scientists, including, Dr. Benjamin Franklin, Luigi Galvani and Alessandro Volta.

  In 1752, Dr. Benjamin Franklin conducted his experiment with a kite, a key, and a storm. This demonstrated that lightning and small electric sparks were identical. Franklin’s discovery indicated that the generation of a positive charge tied-in with the generation of an equal negative charge, otherwise known as the law of conservation of changea key scientific breakthrough. Franklin’s results showed the single-fluid theory of electricity. He experimented with arresting and storing electrical charges, utilizing, the Leyden jar, a primitive form of capacitor. His experimentation led to a new device that he named the electrical battery. Dr. Franklin was admitted to the esteemed Royal Society for his work.

  In 1780, Luigi Galvani discovered that the muscles of dead frogs’ legs twitched when struck by an electrical spark. His work was one of the initial ventures into the examination of bioelectricity, a discipline that remains, searching the patterns and signals of the nervous system.

  In 1800, Italian physicist Alessandro Volta invented the voltaic pile, an improved electric battery that generated a steady electric current. Volta concluded that the greatest effective pair of dissimilar metals produced electricity. He initiated a se
ries of experiment using zinc, lead, tin and iron as positive plates (cathode): and copper, silver, gold and graphite as negative plates (anode). The interest in electricity soon became prevalent.

  In Light of My Heart, I took artistic license, and said, what if I blend the unique breakthroughs of Dr. Franklin and Alessandro Volta into the experimentation and discoveries of Anthony Rutland and Rachel Thorne. A delightful story unfolded…

  About the Author

  Elizabeth St. Michel is the award-winning and bestselling author of The Winds of Fate, for which she was a quarter-finalist for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award and was a number one hit on the Amazon bestseller lists.

  Her second novel, Surrender the Wind, won Toronto’s “the Catherine,” Washington, D.C.’s “the Marlene,” Virginia’s prestigious Holt Medallion, InD’tale’s, Crowned Heart, and finalist for the famed National RONE Award in honor of literary excellence in romance writing. She divides her time between New York and the Bahamas.

  Acknowledgements

  Most books wouldn’t be written without the help of some special people. I would like to acknowledge Caroline Tolley, my developmental editor and Linda Style, my copy/line editor. Their insight and expertise were indispensable. Hugs also to my spouse, Edward, five children, eight grandchildren, Dr. Marcianna Dollard, Nancy Crawford, and posthumously, Loretta Bysiek—your love and comfort surround me.

  Many thanks to the gracious support of Western New York Romance Writers Group.

  Finally, a special note of gratitude to my readers. You will never know how much your enthusiasm and support enrich my work and my life. You are the best.

  Dear Readers,

  It has given me particular pleasure to write, Light of My Heart for you. There is no greater compliment to me as an author than for my readers to become so involved with the characters that you want me to write more. That said, I’m happily immersed in a series with the powerful Duke of Rutland, a widower, and his four strong-willed offspring. As you know, my first installment, Sweet Vengeance detailed the journey of Abigail, his only daughter and the notorious privateer, Jacob Thorne during the American Revolution.