by Jade Laredo
“When does the circuit judge arrive?”
“Tomorrow.”
Arabella swallowed back the lump in her throat.
She never thought she had heard a word sound so ominous. “Is he going to hang?”
“No.” Jenny replied. “I don’t think your poppa is going let that happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Your poppa was smart enough to keep this incident a quiet affair. No one from Sundown aside from the boys and Wade Coffee knows about at Adder Creek Station. As far as he’s concerned, it never happened.”
“What about you and the sheriff?” Arabella asked her brow took on a perceptive eagle eye effect.
Jenny blushed. “Your poppa has asked me to marry him.”
Arabella had not expected that.
She merely stared tongue-tied at the revelation.
Shaking her head with bewilderment, she nearly laughed.
“Did you give him an answer?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, why ever not?” Arabella huffed.
“He’s yet to give me a proper courting.”
Both women shared a laugh. Jenny reached down and gave a sisterly hug. When she pulled away, Arabella gave the other woman a steady look.
“You will say yes?”
“Of course.”
“Jenny Shelton.” Arabella laughed again. “You most certainly are a clever one.”
“What’s all the female caterwauling about?”
Luke stood in the doorway. Arabella held her breath as he sauntered into the bedroom. His very presence seemed to make the room grow smaller as he neared. At the foot of her bed, his sea-green eyes swept over her face approvingly.
“I’ll leave the two of you alone.”
Neither she nor Luke took notice of Jenny’s departure.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” She whispered. Feeling a catch in her throat, she felt a hot tear escape the side of her face. Luke watched the glistening droplet slide down her neck, and seep into the coverlet, which hid her breast.
“Don’t cry.” He pleaded. Moving to the side of the bed, he sat down and touched her arm. Ever so lightly, he placed a kiss on her forehead and smiled. “It’s over now.”
“Yes, it’s over.” Arabella replied. Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, she tried not to shed another tear. “Yet it’s only just begun.”
He shook his head with understanding.
“If I’m lucky, it’ll only be a few years.”
Arabella nodded. She could not respond because of the hard lump restricting her throat, which would not let her. She gripped the end of her coverlet, and fiddled with the cotton-frayed edge. She tilted her chin, dried her eyes, and turned away, looking out the window.
“Did you love her very much?”
Luke smiled.
“I did.” He replied fondly. “She was an exceptional woman, everything a man could ever need in those dark times, but regrettably not enough now.”
Arabella looked at him then. The gentle warmth, which emanated from his blue eyes, caressed her face. Lifting her hand, he drew her fingers to his lips and started to kiss each digit.
“You complete me.” He murmured. “Even if I rot in jail for forty years, I will be thinking of you every day of my life until the day I die.”
“Forty years?” She exasperated.
“Let’s hope not.” His mouth quirked with bent humor. Drawing a more serious face, he clasped her hand with a pining grip, and cupped her chin until her eyes looked back at his own. “Would you wait for me?”
Before her mind’s eye, a nebulous memory dogged the back of her mind, tugging at her conscience. Drawing from the unknown source she somehow managed to remember the unearthly woman in white, her celestial words, and how they tinkled back at her like a musical lyre.
He will need you …
AFTERWARD
Arabella reached for wet linen from the hand basket. The wind whipped wildly as she shook the wrinkles from a sheet and then carefully pinned the bedclothes on a drying line.
Nearby her daughter tugged on the wavering linen, pulling the fabric down to the ground, the child watched with fascination as the sheet floated away.
Arabella smiled when the girl began to clap her hands and giggle as she watched her mother chase the windswept linen around the yard. Skirts flapping and hair flying aimlessly, she guessed her wild appearance made a funny impression on the youngster.
She hardly realized that around the corner of the house, stood a man who watched the blissful scene, his blue-eyed gaze filled with wonder, while lingering on the beautiful woman and enchanting child.
It had been three long years.
In that time, he thought he would die of loneliness and longing for his woman. He had waited every night in his dreams, for the moment when he would finally get to hold her in his arms once again. That dream never ended. It went on and on just as the moment now. There he stood, on the brink of desperation, hungering for the one thing that would make him whole, yet the few feet of distance, which stood between he and the shimmering image of mother and child seemed like a faraway oasis in the middle of a forsaken desert.
He watched as she lifted her head and looked out toward the distance as if searching for something. Sadly, she would stare, and in disappointment return to her chore at hand.
He could wait no longer.
One-step at a time, he moved forward, not wanting to frighten the child. The girl looked back at him and smiled. She looked like a breathtaking angel with eyes as verdant as a blade of grass. He took her by the hand, touching her downy head. He put a conspirator finger to his lips, and smiled. The little girl muffled a giggle with her hands, covering her mouth.
Luckily, the wind whipped so hard that it was impossible for her to hear. Not more than a step away, he allowed his eyes to rove up and down her maidenly figure, his desire astounding him. Slowly, he untied his bandanna, and wound it in his hands just so. Ever so gentle, he placed the blindfold around her forehead, making her falter to a standstill.
“Arabella.” He whispered into her ear. “Courageous, willful, and tragic. You defied your father, justly so, to save your outlaw lover, knowing very well that your life was in jeopardy, yet willing to give up your life for the memory of that lover.”
“Luke?”
He heard her whisper.
A sigh of disbelief escaped her lips. She grabbed at the blindfold and pulled it down below her chin. Whirling around, her eager gaze met his. His heart ached when he looked down at her flushed visage, happy tears, which nestled in her green eyes, threatened to stream down her face. Yet she smiled despite her show of mixed emotion, and reached out to touch his swarthy face. He caste her a wide smile before finally pulling her into to his arms with a longing embrace.
The End
~ For all my family and friends who helped me out in my time of need. Thank you for believing in me when I did not even believe in myself. Much love
ABOUT AUTHOR
Jade Laredo has been writing historical romance since the age of sixteen and is a former military brat who has lived in numerous locations around the world, including the wilds of the last frontier, Alaska and Newfoundland, and also the old world countries of Germany and Italy.
She now resides in Colorado Springs, Colorado and is currently working on several historical romance novellas soon to be released.
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COMING SOON
Angel of Darkness
Romantic American Regency Novella
By
Jade Laredo
EXCERPT CHAPTER ONE
December’s cruel wind, cunning and relentless, whipped shards of ice crystals against the girl’s sunken face as she wheedled her way through small rolling drifts of newly fallen snow. Josephine Harte ducked her chin daring not to breathe for too long as each breath brought a bitter scorch to her lungs.
It was a night, like no other.
Not a cloud
in the sky, starry lit and bright beneath a Yuletide moon. Full and eternal, its’ jaundice glow reflected against her youthful face as she peered into a nearby windowpane. There and upon display was a pair of woolen mittens. The painful reminder forced her to look down at her bare hands, colorless and nearly deadened by the cold. Rubbing her hands, she struggled to bring warmth back to her nearly frozen fingers. The girl released a labored breath.
Rent was due by midnight.
She had no other choice, but to stand there.
Madame Warensky warned her about the matter. Her heart sank with bitter longing.
Of all nights, it was Christmas Eve.
In the window’s reflection, she saw a man crossing the street. Gathering her strength, she wheezed.
“Matches!” She whirled around nearly tripping over herself. With a sense of trepidation, she watched as the man carried on without heeding her call. Disappointed, she drew her arms about her shoulders and hugged herself to stave off the bitter cold.
Already, the last-minute crowds dispersed.
She noticed many shops closing down for the evening’s festivities, and soon the streets would empty, the thought almost made her weep.
She imagined families gathering, huddled for warmth near blazing hearths, entertaining with spiced wassail, puddings, and confectionaries. Even now, she could smell the savory scent of ham roasting by the spit, and a holiday pie cooling. Somewhere in the distance, the enchanting sounds of cheerful voices she would long since forgotten soon died away, and all, which remained was the sound of winter’s unforgiving wind.
Bracing herself for another attack, she wheezed uncontrollably as she leaned against the windowpane, struggling to stand upright. Since early morning, she would felt the aches and pains, and though she could not feel her hands, her brow burned with a tempered fever.
Yet she could not give up.
She was certain Madame Warensky would evict her if she did not come up with her rent. There were only a few matchboxes left. If only she could sell just one more. Perhaps Madame would forgive her for being short on the lease. Maybe then, she could go home, light a fire, and crawl into bed and sleep her illness away.
Please God, one patron that is all I ask …
It was her last thought before her vision whirred and she slowly slumped to street and rested her feverish head against the coolness of the snow-packed earth.
“You’re much too kind, Raphe.”
Raphael Worthington, sole proprietor of Worthington Shipping lifted his chin, and stared past the dark confines of a sleek carriage space. The voice was supple, uninhibited and entirely seductive.
Leticia Hemenway sat directly across, the shadowy outline of her face starred back at him. Delightfully accomplished and dignified, she was a beautiful package, all rolled into one. Yet something in their relationship was not right, a fact he would leave well alone, at least for tonight. In truth, it seemed every woman he had ever encountered there was always something mislaid. Reluctantly, he concluded perhaps he had never met his ideal match.
“Too kind, am I?” He asked, giving her a sidelong glance.
“How many seafaring merchants hand out holiday vittles to their crew on Christmas Eve when they should be home spending time with their families?”
Raphael placed the back of his hand across his mouth hiding a knowing smile. To him, the crew was his family.
She had never understood nor should she.
Born a merchant’s daughter her life was that of a socialite, skilled in grace and etiquette. She had not a clue what it was like to live on a shipmate’s wage, let alone survive.
“Lettie, my dear.” He reached for her hand and then smiled. “What is one less Christmas Goose to ease the hearts and minds of those less fortunate?”
She smiled back but the light from her eyes did not. “What would your father think?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I daresay he’s rolling over in his grave.”
“My, how glacial it is tonight.” She replied, intent on ignoring his mention.
Raphael watched as Leticia leaned back in her plush seat, and looked out the frosty windowpane. Typical, he thought. The woman had not a backbone in her body. Like the other kowtow women in his life before her, she had resigned from fostering her own opinion. All that mattered was to preserve her station in life. She would rather bite her own tongue than spur a disagreement for fear she would lose her reign on their at times mercurial relationship.
“Were you speaking of the weather?” Raphael inquired his tongue heavy with sarcasm.
“Of course.” She returned, looking up at him with an insipid smile.
“Lettie, I …” With brakes screeching, the carriage came to a sudden halt. Damnation! He had wanted a reason to end their relationship, something he would put off for weeks. Frustrated, Raphael leaned forward and rapped on the window.
“Percy!” He yelled. “What the devil is it?”
“A wee mite, Cap’n.” A gruff voice returned. “Blye me, but she looks dead.”
Leticia gasped, drawing a gloved hand to her mouth.
Raphael quickly threw open the door, hurdling toward the driver’s side. There on the ice-encased road was a small figure, laying in a fetal position, a young girl, no more than thirteen. Deathly pale, she looked like a pitiful angel awaiting death. Leaning closer, he placed his finger against the hollow of her neck and felt for a pulse.
“Percy! “ Raphael barked. “Beacon Hill at once.”
“Aye, sir.”
Raphael hefted the child in his arms.
He carried her to the carriage where Leticia held the door stepping aside she let them pass. Once inside, he looked at the girl and then up at his companion who eyed him warily.
“You’re not taking this street urchin into your home, are you?”
“Yes” Raphael returned his voice graveling.
“This isn’t like you at all.”
“Lettie, the child needs our help. Now is not the time for social morals, but rather compassion.”
“We’ll be late for the Soiree.” Leticia reminded him. “Why not deposit her at the poorhouse?”
“You can’t be serious. She wouldn’t stand a chance.” He growled, struggling with the girl in his arms. He shot her an incredulous look. “I’ll not give up on this child, not on Christmas Eve, so help me God, but I won’t.”
Raphael embittered, turned from his mistress and stared out the frosty window. Upon first glance, Boston might seem like a vaporous town, an age-old shipping Mecca full of distant voices and mysterious faces, a polyglot society worth entertaining. However, the lure of such fanciful whims no longer intrigued his detached mind. Instead, he felt consumed by encroaching shadows and plumes of smoke, which spiraled into the bleak darkness. Within minutes, the carriage reached Beacon Hill, his beloved neighborhood and Boston’s finest. Soon they ambled along Beacon Street until the vehicle came to a churning halt. Gripping the child in his arms, he struggled from the carriage and paused briefly, looking up at his home. Tall and erect, the brownstone mansion stood like a lone sentinel.
“Percy.” He ordered. “Fetch Doc Lawrence at once!”
Taking two steps at a time, he shouldered the front door and rushed into the foyer where he found Rowena, the dowdy housekeeper holding a candlestick with her mouth aghast. Sparing little time addressing his servant, he gave a curt nod.
“Ready my quarters.”
“Right away, Master Raphe.”
Following Rowena up the stairwell, he barely acknowledged his mistress who tarried behind with lips set in a disappointed moue. Now, his concern was for the child. He would have to deal with Leticia later.
Once in his personal quarters, he waited patiently as Rowena stripped away the bed coverlet down to bare sheets. Fluffing a pillow, she patted the bed. As soon as he laid the girl down the servant shooed him from the room.
Alone in the hallway, Raphael paced the floor.
As the clock struck eight o’clock, he realized the
house seemed eerily silent. Of course it would be. Aunt Charlotte would not be back until midnight because his cousin, Elias Pembridge had escorted her to the Mariner’s Christmas Soiree. Thank God, for once Pembridge was useful, he thought bitterly, tilting back his head with sudden relief. Now he did not think he could handle either member of his family.
Raphael paced back and forth, feeling as if he wore the floorboards from beneath his feet. Pausing with his worrisome patrol, he stared at the hall clock, noting nearly twenty minutes had past. Fearing the worst, he charged into the bedroom determined.
Rowena stood over the bed, dousing the child with a cool cloth while Leticia reached for the fireplace poker. He watched with a halfway amusing smile as his mistress lifted the lance and skewered the child’s soiled clothing, tossing the filthy rags into nearby flames. The look of disgust, which crossed her beautiful features suddenly made her look worn and severe. Without a word, he turned his attention back upon the child, leaning forward he noticed purple blotches etched beneath her closed lids. Upon closer inspection, he could tell at one time the child’s hair must have shined like a copper pennant. Reaching out, he brushed aside a lock of matted hair.
“Master Raphe, she’s ripe with fever.” Rowena murmured. Continuing to soothe the child’s burning flesh, she looked up at him with apprehension. “I daresay she’ll make it through the night.”
“Have faith, Rowe.” He said. Watching the child’s chest rise and fall, he turned away not wanting the servant to see his foreboding. “Keep her cool until the Doctor arrives.”
Minutes passed into an hour. In that time, the child tossed back and forth racked with chills, thrashing feverishly. Now and then, Raphael paused his pacing to listen, as she would whimper strands of unintelligible warble. He reached out and touched the girl’s tempered skin, stroking her clammy cheek. Were he not prepared for the violent assault, he was quite certain the child would have broken his nose. Clenching both arms, he easily secured her flailing arms. Just then, a pair of wild sea green eyes flew open. Taken aback, he found himself staggered. He had to admit he had never seen eyes a shade so beautiful. Without warning, a raw wail escaped her lips. The evocative sound was full of sorrow. In an instant, the pitiful sound brought him back to reality.