Charming Her Rogue Enduring Legacy 10: A Linked Across Time Novel

by Dawn Brower

  Seabrook Manor had a large indoor garden that made staying home easier. They never had to leave unless they wanted to. She adored her husband, but even if she didn’t—Catherine might have married him for the conservatory alone. If she were the mercenary sort… “That’s a lovely idea.”

  Asher stood and held his hand out to her. She clasped it and came to her feet. Catherine leaned against him and he wrapped his arm around her. She didn’t think there were two people more in love than Ash and her. Sometimes she barely remembered their first meeting. He’d been a mysterious rogue, and now he was her husband.

  “Do you have any regrets?” she asked.

  “What could I possibly wish to change?” Asher led her into the conservatory. The smell of flowers of all varieties permeated the room. “I have the perfect wife for me, and two amazing children. Fate smiled upon me when he led me to you. You charmed me and put me under your spell, and I couldn’t be happier to spend the rest of my life with you.” He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. Catherine leaned closer to him and became lost in his kiss. Maybe they did have time for a little bit of pleasure…

  About The Author

  USA TODAY Bestselling author, DAWN BROWER writes both historical and contemporary romance. There are always stories inside her head; she just never thought she could make them come to life. That creativity has finally found an outlet.

  * * *

  Growing up she was the only girl out of six children. She is a single mother of two teenage boys; there is never a dull moment in her life. Reading books is her favorite hobby and she loves all genres.

  Also by Dawn Brower

  Broken Pearl

  Deadly Benevolence

  A Wallflower’s Christmas Kiss

  A Gypsy’s Christmas Kiss

  Snowflake Kisses

  * * *

  Begin Again

  There You’ll Be

  Better as a Memory

  Won’t Let Go

  * * *

  Enduring Legacy

  The Legacy’s Origin

  Charming Her Rogue

  * * *

  Scandal Meets Love

  Love Only Me (Amanda Mariel)

  Find Me Love (Dawn Brower)

  * * *

  Bluestockings Defying Rogues

  Earl of Harrington

  A Lady Hoyden’s Secret

  One Wicked Kiss

  * * *

  Marsden Descendants

  Rebellious Angel

  * * *

  Marsden Romances

  A Flawed Jewel

  A Crystal Angel

  A Treasured Lily

  A Sanguine Gem

  A Hidden Ruby

  A Discarded Pearl

  * * *

  Novak Springs

  Cowgirl Fever

  Dirty Proof

  Unbridled Pursuit

  Sensual Games

  Christmas Temptation

  * * *

  Linked Across Time

  Saved by My Blackguard

  Searching for My Rogue

  Seduction of My Rake

  Surrendering to My Spy

  Spellbound by My Charmer

  Stolen by My Knave

  Separated from My Love

  Scheming with My Duke

  Secluded with My Hellion

  * * *

  Heart’s Intent

  One Heart to Give

  Unveiled Hearts

  Heart of the Moment

  Kiss My Heart Goodbye

  Heart in Waiting

  * * *

  Broken Curses

  The Enchanted Princess

  The Bespelled Knight

  The Magical Hunt

  * * *

  Ever Beloved

  Forever My Earl

  Always My Viscount

  Infinitely My Marquess

  Excerpt: Mesmerizing the Marquis

  Madeline Martin

  Chapter 1

  June 1816

  Days like the one stretching before Noah Haskett, the third Marquis of Hesterton, served to commend the significant benefits of having become a recluse. A swallow of scotch burned down his throat while he stared at the broadsheets, aware that the hour declared it only just past morning. He didn’t care a fig for the hour. He cared only for the day, and its represented pain.

  His gaze swept first to The Times, the edition published a year prior. ‘Glory to Wellington, to our gallant Soldiers, and our brave Allies’ had been printed in heavy text across its front page. Gallant soldiers, indeed. Noah made to pull another long swallow of scotch and found the glass empty.

  He placed it by the side of the offending paper with a thunk and, regarded the other set before him. The Times as well, this one dated nearly two weeks after the former. Its weight was more considerable, not only due to the extra paper the “lists” required, but with the impact of its purpose - the announcement of scores and scores of dead. Including Rupert’s name, stacked in a string of others, rendering nearly insignificant what was to Noah so very poignant.

  A rap came from the door to Noah’s study. He continued to stare at the inanimate pages. The rap sounded again, harder and with an obvious insistency.

  He pushed up from his chair, empty glass in hand. “Go away.”

  Noah’s butler, Bradly, spoke through the door. “Forgive me, sir, but—” A muffled argument cut him off. A woman’s voice, followed by the low murmured dispute from Bradly.

  Noah rolled his eyes, limped over to the decanter, and splashed a generous amount into the cut crystal.

  Maybe a bit more. He tipped the bottle.

  “Please. Sir, I—”

  The door flew open and in spilled both Bradly and a flounce of pink-sprigged, overly-ruffled ridiculousness. Noah eyed the lady who dared offend his privacy. He met eyes the same color blue as his own, hair the same auburn-hued brown. Her embarrassed smile in contrast to the scowl on his lips clearly marked his older sister most decidedly unlike him.

  “I knew you wouldn’t see me,” she offered with a not-so-apologetic huff. She patted a hand over her hair, smoothing what had never been out of place.

  “Apparently I shall have to train you in the art of restraining intruders.” Noah stabbed a glare at his butler.

  “As you will, sir.” Bradly closed the door in an obvious show of escape.

  The lucky devil.

  “You are well aware of why I’m here.” Nancy strode forward and plucked the glass from his hands. Liquid splashed over the rim and darkened the carpet below.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Noah reached for his glass. “And mind the carpet. I’m rather fond of it.”

  “I’m rather fond of you, yet I haven’t seen you for the better part of a year.” Her gaze flashed with the temper she’d always possessed. The temper he’d always delighted in goading, much to their governess’s chagrin. Nancy lifted the scotch in a mock salute. “You know exactly why I’m here. What day it is.”

  “It’s not the best time to visit me on the anniversary of our brother’s death.” Bitterness peeled the words up from Noah’s blackened mood.

  When she spoke again, Nancy’s tone was softer, the one she used for cajoling. “I’m going to his grave today, if you’d care to join me.” That explained the hideously cheerful selection of her attire. Nancy had always tried to offset sadness with joy in any way she could, be it an arrangement of flowers on the table, or a brilliantly colored gown and ribbons wound in her hair.

  “No.” He limped toward her and held his hand out for the return of his purloined cup.

  “You’ve had enough.” She drew his scotch further from his reach. “Please, join me. It’s Rupert, Noah. He would want you there.”

  “It’s not his grave,” Noah growled. “It’s empty.”

  And it was. The same as almost every other grave belonging to the dead soldiers of Waterloo. The men who had made the ultimate sacrifice to thwart Napoleon’s driving troops were honored with the
ir bodies picked over for marketable souvenirs, deprived of not only their clothing, but even their teeth too. Their bodies had been burned in pyres and their ashes sold as fertilizer.

  There were some reports, many actually, he wished he hadn’t read. He refrained now from imparting such nightmares upon his sister’s more sensitive proclivities.

  “It’s all we have.” She gave him a sorrowful look before sweeping past him to the desk. “It’s been a year, but I can still find his name without hesitation.” One-handed on account of his purloined scotch, she flipped the large sheet open and pointed to a spot on the page. She might as well have jabbed that finger into his heart.

  Silence stretched between them, weighted with mutual mourning.

  Finally, she put his drink aside and sank into the overstuffed chair behind the desk with a long-suffering sigh she’d stolen from their governess. “He would not want you to be a recluse. Not with so many reasons for you to remain visible and interacting in society.”

  Noah snatched up his relinquished scotch. “You mean the vapid debutantes desperate to flatter an old cripple into marital submission, or the scathing gossip about Rupert?”

  Nancy lifted her head with a note of indignity that set the curls at her brow trembling. He’d prodded the bear mentioning age when she was older than him.

  “One and thirty is far from old,” she snapped. “And I didn’t mean the gossip.” Her ire faded at once and her shoulders relaxed in defeat. “Though it has mostly stopped. Almost no one mentions Rupert anymore.”

  Noah scoffed. Bloody hell they didn’t mention Rupert anymore. It was all the ton could talk about two months after Waterloo when the troops had returned and told their tales of glory. The way they had fought valiantly, and how Rupert had turned away in the thick of it as he fled from the enemy.

  The slander lit Noah’s blood like fire. Rupert had been exactly what a gentleman should be: athletic, charming, brave, assured, confident. Everything Noah was not. It was for that reason he had always looked up to his younger brother, and why he did not for one moment accept the claim that Rupert had died a coward.

  Nancy closed the paper and delicately tapped the crease smooth with the tip of her fingers to avoid smudging the ink. “That isn’t the only reason I’ve come today. There are two more.”

  Of course. Nancy was never about one task.

  “We are putting on a musical to highlight Penelope’s lovely voice and would appreciate you joining us.” Nancy got to her feet and held out her hands in an obvious attempt to stop the argument she invariably knew she’d get. “Please don’t say no. I am well aware of your hatred for social gatherings and the ton and the whole foppish nonsense of it all.” The last part she said in a gruff voice, imitating his scowl.

  Were he not in such a foul mood, he might grudgingly acknowledge it’d been a damn good imitation.

  “She ought to at least have one uncle present.” The cajoling tone again. And the guilt. Blast her for knowing him so bloody well.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” he growled in an agreement he already regretted. “And the last thing?”

  “There is one surviving member of Rupert’s company, a man by the name of Graston.”

  Noah stiffened. “How has this just now come about?”

  Nancy gave a noncommittal hum to his question in the annoying air of one with a secret held close enough to be the winning hand in a card game. “I figured you’d want to know.”

  “What does he say of Rupert?” He hated the question once it was out, not only for the show of doubt in his brother, but also out of fear for the answer.

  She made her way to the door. “Come to Rupert’s grave with me today and I’ll tell you the rest.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “That is extortion.”

  “I love you too.” She kissed the air and spun out of the room.

  There it was, through the exploitation of his driving curiosity, she’d twisted his arm into acquiescing to her wishes. After nearly a year, he would finally leave the house. And it better be damn well worth the effort.

  The most difficult part of Helen Craig’s life was trying to maintain the illusion of who she’d been before she began to go mad. So when her Aunt Beatrice announced the day to be clear of rain and lovely enough for a walk, Helen had no choice but to forego the confined reprieve of the carriage and opt instead to face the possibility of dealing with her newly expanded ‘ability’.

  After all, Helen had always loved being outside. A small part of her craved it still. And yet, a greater part of her, the new, fractured part, went icy with dread.

  The summer had been unseasonably cold, and it was a right good thing indeed, or Helen might have found herself sweating to death in the thick leather of her winter gloves and coat. But she needed them. As a barrier.

  She swept down the front steps of her home on Park Lane and plastered a smile on her face that would rival the best actresses of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Or so she hoped.

  Joyce, her trusted lady’s maid, walked behind her and Aunt Beatrice, a happy expression creasing the corners of her large brown eyes. “Isn’t it lovely?” Her narrow chest swelled with a deep inhale of cool air.

  Helen could not resist following suit. As the crisp freshness of the day filled her, a renewed sense of vigor charged her blood. She could do this. Truly.

  “It is.” Aunt Beatrice’s gaze settled pointedly on Helen. “It’s a fine day for getting out and exploring a bit.”

  Helen cast a long look back at her aunt, who was perfectly aware of what Helen had been battling. No doubt this exercise was part of her encouragement.

  In any event, the walk would be fine preparation prior to entering St Thomas’ hospital, among all those people. So, so many people.

  Helen volunteered there several times a week in an attempt to get a better handle on her abilities, for they were slipping away from her control more quickly than she could grasp. For the entirety of her life that she could remember, she had been able to see the future of those she came into contact with. However, just over a year ago, their pasts had begun to show as well. No doubt brought on by the grief of losing her father.

  Seeing the past was not a gift as her aunt claimed. It was a curse. One which tangled past and future into her present and rendered her brain fogged with confusion. It was awful. Truly.

  It had been her hope that volunteering at St Thomas’ with patients who were not always coherent might enable her to get a better handle on them. Or at least gain control over her own emotions.

  Two men strode in her direction. She tensed, anticipating the possibility of the brush of impact and the slam of unwanted visions.

  “They aren’t boxers, and this is no ring,” Aunt Beatrice said under her breath.

  The men politely stepped aside and tipped their hats at Helen. She smiled weakly. Realizing she’d been perhaps rude with such scant attention to their consideration, she glanced back to offer a nod of thanks. Unfortunately she happened to be looking at them as she did so, and ran straight into another man.

  The careening force of the impact launched an image in her mind of small hands slipping a fat toad into a teacup before running off with a giggle. Immediately, this melted into another scene, a sinfully searing one of a woman wearing a lacy red bit of nothing, baring a naked leg.

  “Forgive me, my lady.” His baritone voice brought her back to the present, where she stood in the shade of a townhouse with Aunt Beatrice at her side and the corpulent man before her. “Are you quite all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She could hardly stammer out the words. How embarrassing.

  He reached out to her, but she backed away from the contact. She’d seen enough of what was in his mind. “I was merely startled.” She waved her hand as though the incident had not been of any consequence.

  But it had been. Very much so.

  This blending of the past and the future was troubling.

  It had taken her years to control her reaction to the future. It was an
odd thing, and certainly nothing she brought up in polite dinner conversation. Or ever. But at least it’d been manageable.

  It helped too that Aunt Beatrice possessed the same affliction. But while Aunt Beatrice was able to determine futures with her mind rather than by touch, she considered it to be more gift and less curse.

  “Are you well, my lady?” Joyce regarded Helen with concern etching lines of worry in her broad brow. “Shall I go back and have the carriage fetched?”

  It was on the prudent side of Helen’s tongue to accept the offer.

  “That isn’t necessary,” Aunt Beatrice replied for them both.

  “I agree,” Helen said brightly. “It’s far too beautiful to sequester ourselves.”

  “Are you certain, my lady?” Joyce said it slowly. No, not slowly. Warily.

  Drat.

  Helen mustered as much sparkle as she was able, even going as far as to give a little bounce on her toes. “Of course, and besides, if we took the carriage, it wouldn’t be as easy to stop by Hyde Park on our way to St Thomas’. It’s so lovely this time of day.”

  Aunt Beatrice’s subtle nod informed Helen she’d handled the situation well.

  Joyce’s doubt melted away with a grin. “We did leave a bit early. We’ll have plenty of time to stop and still arrive on time.”

  Helen avoided other people as they made their way to The Strand. Not that she wasn’t usually careful, but she wished to be doubly so after having just narrowly escaped Joyce’s notice. Drat and double drat. She had to get to the bottom of this mess so her life could resume the normalcy she pretended it still held.

  As they neared the park, Helen found her mind occupied with the insignificant thought of what her tasks might bring her at St Thomas’ when a clatter sounded from the opposite side of the street. She spun around with a start to find a man struggling to slow the horse pulling a carriage. It sped directly toward Joyce, without a hope of slowing.