by Diana Ballew
Oh, what a mess. In her womb grew Rayce’s child, and here they were, her small family, at death’s door. She had to think of something.
“I didn’t know she was with child, for shit’s sake...but just the same, I have my mission, Major.”
As if the sun had come out in a dark moonless night to light her way, Eden saw the path in front of her. Without so much as a second thought, she readied herself for just the right moment.
Closer. Closer. Archie moved toward her and in a flash, she kicked her boot tip as hard as she could, landing straight between his legs.
“Umph!” Archie bent over, his body folding in half. His gun went off, shooting a bullet through the ceiling. Eden shrieked as he fell to the ground.
Quickly, she extended her leg as far out as she could and kicked the gun out of Archie’s hand, sending it brushing against the dirt into a dark corner.
The man in Rayce’s grasp tried to pull free from his clutches. “Stop it, you bastard!” Rayce shouted.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough of these games,” Archie said, wincing, his face red and pinched with pain and fury. He scrambled to his knees and held the sharp knife against Eden’s throat. “Enough! I don’t care if she’s with child—you hear me?” he yelled. “I have my damn orders. I won’t let you get away this time.”
Rayce appeared to be weighing his options carefully while Archie looked insane—capable of doing anything.
“All right, Archie...Now, just leave her alone. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret,” he said calmly.
Archie’s large eyes looked as wild as his desperate need for recognition. “The only regret I’d have is if I didn’t take your life when I finally had the chance. Drop your gun, Major—now.”
Eden felt the shiny blade slice her neck. She cried out in pain as drops of blood dribbled down her neck.
“You filthy bastard!” Rayce shouted.
In a move faster than anything Eden had ever seen, Rayce hit the man he’d been holding over the head with his gun, knocking him out cold, and then lunged full-force tackling Archie to the ground in front of her feet. They tangled and fought, wrestling against the dirt.
At one moment, she could see Rayce’s gun in the twisting and turning of bodies, and in the next moment she saw the blood-tinged blade of the knife in between both men’s hands as they wrangled, fighting to the death.
“Rayce!” she shrieked. “Get him, Rayce!”
“Go to Hell!” Archie roared in Rayce’s face.
“You first!” Rayce hissed back.
All at once, she heard the deafening blast from a gun, and both men went still and limp on the ground.
“Oh, my God, Rayce. Oh, please get up!”
For a moment, the room went completely silent. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she heard the soft sound of her tears as they dripped down her cheeks, landing upon her skirt.
“You all right there, Rayce?” a voice called from the broken window.
Rayce pushed the dead man away from him and pulled the knife from his lifeless hands. “I’m fine,” Rayce called as he slowly stood and cut the rope on Eden’s wrists.
Eden stood and turned toward the window, “Mr. Johnson?”
Rayce brushed the dirt from his clothes. “Say hello to the best shot in Richmond, Sweetness. I believe you two have already met.”
Hiram Johnson crouched at the window outside and gave Eden an awkward wave. “You two hurry up and get out of here. I’ll get this mess taken care of.”
Eden fingered the blood on her neck, and her knees suddenly buckled beneath her. Rayce lifted her up, swallowing her in his arms. “I was so scared,” she said, going limp, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I thought you were going to die.”
He tilted her chin high, evaluating the wound. “You’re going to be fine, my love. It’s just a scratch. He gazed into her moist eyes. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again, woman. Remember? You’re mine...forever.”
“Forever?”
“Forever, Sweetness.” His mouth descended upon hers, and Eden knew the love they shared would indeed last forever.
Chapter 22
Eden woke from her nap with a start when the carriage made a quick turn. “Are we here?”
“Almost, my love.”
She sank back against the plush seat and snuggled closer to Rayce. He put his arm around her, drawing her head upon his chest.
He gently brushed a loose tendril from her cheek. “Happy, my darling?”
“So very happy.” She held up her hand, admiring the exquisite diamond and emerald engagement ring he had presented to her when he asked for her hand in marriage before they left Richmond. A ray of sunlight captured the elegant stones, and brilliant flutters of light danced against the dark walls of the carriage. “It’s so beautiful, Rayce.”
He tilted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Nothing but the best for you from now on, Sweetness.” Softly, he kissed her lips. “We’re almost there, and then I’ll have you all to myself.”
She stared at his handsome, chiseled profile as he gazed out the window. Life is full of irony. The man she once loathed would soon be her husband, the father of her child...the man of her dreams.
As they entered the grand iron gates of Hampton Manor, she heard Joseph’s gentle command as he pulled on the leather reins, urging the horses to a slower tempo. She looked out at the tall, imposing tulip poplar and oak trees blowing gently in the soft breeze drifting across the river. Dotted with working field hands, the sprawling green fields swayed in the wind with each small gust.
Standing tall before her was the grand manor in all its splendid glory. With the exception of a lone cannon ball wedged in an outer wall, the large home stood unscathed, having survived the brutal campaign that had consumed much of the Peninsula.
It all seemed so long ago.
The orange glow of the setting sun reflected off the large windows, and Eden raised her hand to shield her eyes. The front portico held clay pots of blooming summer flowers, and the fields and orchards were awash with the rich hues of seasoned crops. As if beckoning her, the giant house with its majestic brick chimneys, resonated with the promise of long-awaited happiness, and she felt a warm glow surge across her skin.
The tall third-floor window stood wide open, its view obscured by the bright light of the setting sun. She narrowed her eyes and saw the outline of a figure looking out upon the river.
“Rayce. Who’s that at the window?”
“Which window?”
“Why, the third floor window, darling.” She pointed. “Up there. I saw someone looking out toward the river.”
Rayce leaned over and looked out of her window. “I don’t see anyone, Sweetness. Nobody ever goes up there anymore.” He placed his hand over hers. “The sun has always had a way of casting shadows up there. I’m sure that’s all it was.”
She cast her gaze toward the window again, but the mysterious image had disappeared. “I suppose you’re right.”
The large front door opened and out walked Lucy. Will followed behind, with Ann holding baby Rebecca in her arms. They all stood smiling and waving, greeting the carriage as it made its way up to the entry.
Eden smiled. “Ann’s holding the baby. Lord above, I never thought I’d see the day.”
The front door nudged wider, and out walked Mama Claire, followed by Uncle Asa and Jeremiah.
Eden gasped and squeezed Rayce’s hand. “Oh, my darling. What a surprise—you did this.”
“They’re your family, Eden, and soon they’ll be mine, too. This is their new home.”
They stood watching as the dark carriage entered the graceful, tree-lined entryway to the manor. Trinidad placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “It’s time,” she said, turning away from the large window facing out toward the river.
She picked up the aged oil portrait propped upon the worn divan. She looked at the beautiful, young woman painted on the canvas one last time before covering it in cloth and storing it away forever
. The emerald eyes framed by long, honey-blonde hair adorned with a delicate magnolia blossom, stared back.
“You rest your weary soul, Captain, for she carries within her womb a son...a son who will grow to be a fine, strong man and rule the manor himself one day.”
A sudden gust of warm, fresh air, gentle as a soft sigh, filled the old, musty room.
“That’s right. Come away from the window and rest yourself, Captain. She has finally come home.”
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The End
A word about the author
Diana grew up in Virginia where her love of American History began. Living near an abandoned Civil War graveyard as a child sparked her active imagination with tales of honor, romance and things that go bump in the night. She enjoys writing about strong heroines up to the challenge of fighting harsh circumstances while taming the heart of the man she loves.
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Diana resides in San Diego, California. Visit her at www.dianaballew.com
Also from Diana Ballew
Immortal Prey – Trifecta Publishing House
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Bound by Glory – Coming 2018 – Trifecta Publishing House
The Country Butler
Lori Lyn
Dear Reader
This is the prequel to The Archery Contest and tells you of Rafe, the first of our young gentlemen to succumb to true love. Now Rafe, being a young Duke, is quite sure he knows the truth about love — that it doesn’t exist and is only a ruse created by women to assuage their guilt at feeling passion. Luckily for him, our old friend Alex Fitzhugh is also his friend and devises a plot to save Rafe from scandal and probably death by duel — and from his own foolish notions of love. Isabella, the young Baroness and ruler of her family estate, is quite sure she knows what is best for her people and of course for herself. Order rules her life as well as her heart. But when her meddling cousin Alex sends a handsome young man to her country estate to act as temporary butler, Isabella finds herself breaking all the rules and happily opens her heart to the chaos of love. I hope you will once again forgive me for playing fast and loose with some of the social customs of the Regency times. To me, the stories are all about the characters. They tend to take over and dictate how things will unfold and allow me only the privilege of telling it to you. And please know that my Duke of Devonshire has nothing to do with the actual existing Duke — whom I only just found out is really real! My apologies, Your Grace. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did telling you about Bella and Rafe. I, too, hope you enjoy hearing more about Alex and Whit as they help Rafe and Bella on their course to true love. Please do let me know what you think. I love to hear from fellow readers. And after you’ve read The Country Butler, I would be most grateful if you took just a few moments and write up an honest review.
Cheers ~ Lori
Chapter 1
“Good God, Rafe! You’ve really done it this time.” Lord Whitmore Langley stripped off his gloves as he strode into the cavernous library, his golden brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Melanie Evanston, of all the women - Baroness du Champs, the wife of the next prime minister, no less.” He tossed the fine gray gloves onto Rafe’s mahogany desk.
“Her husband will bloody well kill you.” Despite the early hour of the day, he moved to the liquor cart and poured himself a healthy serving of brandy.
His Grace, Lord Raefiel Woodrow Atherton, seventh Duke of Devonshire, fifth Earl of Easton, made no response to his long-time friend’s observation, save to groan - loudly. His dark head fell to his desktop, no doubt smudging his housekeeper’s careful polishing.
Yes, he really had done it this time. What a bloody mess.
Whit, his close friend, the 26-year-old Viscount Langley, shook his head.
“Well, chum, I’m quite anxious to find out how you’re going to get yourself out of this muck.” He sipped the brandy and leaned against the side of the desk. “It is quite difficult to fathom why Melanie plans to tell every member of the Ton just what went on between you two. She must know that her husband will kill you, then her.”
Rafe gave another groan from his still prostrate position.
“You must have done her some horrible grievance.”
“Sweet Mother,” was Rafe’s only response. He really should have known better than to verbally lambaste Melanie when she had finally confessed who she really was. Behind his closed eyes, he could again picture her in the peach negligee he had only just purchased for her, her face red with rage, breasts heaving and her usually enticing mouth curled in a snarl, screaming she’d ruin him if it were the last thing she did. She had gone so far as to say she would convince her husband that Rafe had abducted her and forced himself on her! He had snarled in reply that a common street whore had more integrity than she. He really should have handled her with more tact.
“I was so angry to find out I’d been cuckolding a good friend, I couldn’t think straight.” Rafe slowly raised his head, finally looking at his visitor. “Damn it all, Whit, I really let my wounded pride make an ass of me.” He ran his fingers through already disheveled hair. “Melanie had told me she needed a new protector when we met at Drury Lane last month. I thought she was an actress, you know.” He saw he had Whit’s full attention. “She told me the truth last night. She was finding married life boring, what with du Champs away so much and her being used to the vagabond’s life she had before. I do believe I called her a bitch.” Yes, that, and worse – much worse.
“Why did she do it? Why did she let you believe she was a mistress, rather than a mistress. I would have thought she would be content with her lot, since du Champs overlooked her slightly sordid past and married her.”
“She said it was just to have a bit of fun, while her husband was away.” Rafe leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. His vivid blue eyes narrowed. “Just a bit of fun, she said. She hadn’t meant to be unfaithful, but she said she couldn’t ‘pass me up’.” He snorted with contempt. Women could profess undying love to their husbands through honeyed lips one moment, and the next would be entreating him to their bed.
“She said that?” Whit replied, not appearing surprised. He often said how most women would give their dowry to have even a chance of capturing Rafe’s wandering gaze, being that he was the choicest of available men, titled to the gills and filthy rich. Why, the duke, Whit would chuckle, could charm the stays off any female.
“Can you believe her nerve?” Rafe nodded, as if he knew Whit could.
Why couldn’t he have recognized her before things went too far? Damn that veil she had worn so demurely during her wedding ceremony just five months ago!
Would he never meet a female who was beyond such trickery simply to get into his bed, most with the ultimate hopes of snaring him in marriage?
“So why did she confess, when she could have simply ended the affair and no one would have been the wiser?”
“Pour me one of those.” Rafe said, indicating the drink in his friend’s hand. “She said she’d fallen in love with me.” He slammed his fist down on the desktop. “Bah! Stupid female rot.” Why women insisted on this drivel of love, he’d never understand. How could any sensible female be so self-deprecating?
“Why can’t they just own up to having the same carnal lusts as men? I see no reason to wrap it up in the archaic notion of love.” He took a fortifying swallow of the brandy Whit handed him.
Whit rolled his eyes.
“They are faithless creatures, the lot of them. Now, I adore women. You know how much I adore them, Whit. But the darlings are completely addled over this business. It is beyond logical reasoning that they continue to believe such drivel. Lust is lust – pure and simple.”
Rafe was just getting warmed up when there was a rap on his library door. It opened and Tilbot, his butler, stuck in his shiny bald head.
“Your Grace, Lord Langley,” he nodded to both men, “Lord Stapleton is asking to join you in lamenting and brandy, Your Grace.”
> “Send him in, Tilbot,” Rafe’s grin at his elderly servant’s phrasing quickly turned into a grimace. “Well, it didn’t take long for word to spread.”
“Oh, no, I sent Alex a message before coming myself.” Whit explained to Rafe how he had been told very early this morning by his valet, who was just coming in, that the lovely Baroness was now confiding all at Madam Rosette’s. Whit had then dashed off a note to the earl before coming to see Rafe himself. How Whit’s valet knew was simple – he was seeing the Madam’s maid.
The door to the room was flung open, startling the two occupants.
“Damn me, Rafe! You are an idiot!”
“Thank you, I’m sure, Alex. Do come join us in our lamenting, as Tilbot calls it.” Rafe replied dryly and held up his snifter. “Whit was just toasting me on my choice of female companions.”
Alexander Fitzhugh, the Earl of Stapleton, smacked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. “You’ve really buggered things this time, Rafe, me boy. Baron du Champs’ wife, indeed! Not only is he a Whig but the bloke’s to be the next prime minister of bloody England! Whatever were you thinking? And, yes, I’ll join you in that illegal French swill.” The tall, burly lord sat down in one of the two chairs facing the desk.
Whit poured another round for himself and Rafe, including a double measure for their new guest, while Alex continued.
“Really, I don’t know why I’ve even bothered with you. I take the time to teach you all I know about seduction, and you waste it on a woman like her! It’s beyond belief.”
Whit laughed as he handed the slightly older earl the drink. “She duped him, old boy. Quite pulled the cap over his eyes.”
At Rafe’s scowl, Whit laughed again. “Come now, we need to be honest here. Otherwise, how can Alex use his considerable brain power to get you out of this?”