by Dawn Brower
The maid gave a yelp of surprise. In the moment she did not move, Helen did, shoving her maid from the path of the runaway conveyance and unwittingly putting herself directly into the line of danger.
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Order Mesmerizing the Marquis here
Excerpt: Rebellious Angel
Christmas Wishes 6
A Marsden Descendants Novella
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Dawn Brower
Chapter 1
September 1906
The heat wave that rocked through the country had become rather unbearable. For Miss Angeline Marsden it heightened her anxiety levels. She had plans that her parents wouldn’t appreciate. They would, in fact, give her hell about them. But a girl had to stick to her beliefs and Angeline had many. Some battles had to be fought the hard way, and others required a little more deviousness to come out the victor. Her parent’s dislike of her cause required the latter.
If she had any chance of participating in the upcoming parade she’d need help from someone close to her. More specifically, her best friend, Lady Emilia St. John and Angeline prayed she’d assist her. Otherwise she didn’t know how she’d manage to fool her parents. It had to work. This meant a lot to her and she’d do just about anything to ensure it went her way.
Angeline rushed down the street toward the Huntly townhouse. Emilia was expecting her for afternoon tea. Hopefully Emilia’s mother, the Duchess of Huntly, wouldn’t be in residence. It would be difficult for her to gain Emilia’s assistance if they had to discuss it in whispers behind their silk fans. When she reached the door she rapped on the knocker twice. A man opened it and greeted her. “Good day, Miss Angeline.”
“Hello, Simmons,” she greeted the aging butler. “Is Emilia in the sitting room?”
“Indeed, she is,” he confirmed. “Her grace is as well.”
Drat. She had hoped Emilia’s mother would be out making calls instead. Normally, she’d love to visit with them both. She considered the duchess an honorary aunt of sorts. Her parents were close to Emilia’s and they’d grown up together. There were not many family gatherings that didn’t include the Marsdens and the St. Johns. Unfortunately, though, her honorary Aunt Rubina wouldn’t be any happier with Angeline’s plans than her parents were. Somehow she’d find a work around. “Thanks, Simmons.” She nodded at him. “I can find my own way there.”
She didn’t wait for the butler to respond. Huntly Manor had been a second home to her. Angeline was as acquainted with it as she was with the Marsden family estate. She went down the hallway and took a sharp right to enter the sitting room. It had been redecorated in dark blues and gold. The duchess had wanted a change and the new color scheme gave the room a more elegant ambiance. A tea cart had already been delivered and several cakes displayed on a nearby table.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted them.
The duchess had on a dark green walking dress decorated with gold buttons up the front. Her kid skin gloves matched it to perfection. She must have decided a hat was too much and left her blonde hair unadorned. “Angeline,” she said cheerfully. “It’s so good of you to join us.”
She smiled at the duchess. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.” She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “How have you been?”
The duchess waved her hand. “You don’t want to hear about our trip to the country. Noah had some estate business to handle and I admit it was rather nice to rusticate at Huntly Castle. It’s drafty and cooler then it is here. Can you believe this heat?”
Emilia rolled her eyes while her mother wasn’t looking. The duchess would have chastised her for the unladylike behavior. Angeline repressed a laugh so she wouldn’t get her friend in trouble. Emilia was a younger version of the duchess down to the silver-gray eyes. “Come sit.” Emilia patted the cushion next to her. “Tell me what you’re scheming these days.”
Angeline stuck her tongue out. “I’m doing no such thing.” Her friend knew her to well. There had to be a way to distract the duchess so she could find some time alone with Emilia. If she couldn’t gain her assistance her plan would be doomed. “I merely wished to visit my closest friend.”
“That’s lovely of you,” the duchess said earnestly. “How are your mother and father?”
Hell bent on ruining her life… All right, the duchess wouldn’t want to hear that from her—even if it was true. “They’re both wonderful. Father was discussing the possibility of returning to the country estate. London really has become unbearable this past month. The heat is torturous.” To prove that point she flipped open her silk fan and started to wave it over her face.
“It’s been a hard year for your family.” Her voice held a hint of sadness to it. “With your grandfather…”
Angeline almost finished that sentence for her, but instead swallowed the lump in her throat. Her grandfather had passed away suddenly a year ago. Something that had hit her father rather hard—no one had ever expected the old man to die. Somehow he had seemed so infallible. With her grandfather’s unexpected passing Angeline’s father became the next Viscount Torrington. A title he’d have gladly waited forever to claim if it kept his father alive longer. It was no secret that the former viscount had lived the life of a pirate before he married Angeline’s grandmother. That had given him a dangerous aura that made any suitor interested in her shake in fear. It didn’t help that her own father could make a man freeze in place with one glance. Between the two men she’d failed in securing a husband after several seasons. It was a good thing she didn’t actually want a husband.
Well, that wasn’t true either.
There was one man she wanted to marry and unfortunately, he never looked twice at her. But that was a problem for another day. She would not reopen old wounds. There were more pressing matters that she had to focus on. Winning the heart of a clueless man was the least of her worries. “Grandfather will be missed.” She reassured the duchess. “There is a hole in all our hearts, but he’ll never be forgotten. He made sure to leave a lasting impression.”
“That he did,” a male said as he walked into the room.
Angeline’s heart thumped inside her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm the rapid thrusts of the traitorous organ. All he had to do was say one word and she wanted him. It had always been that way and no matter what she did it didn’t change. Lucian St. John, the Marquess of Severn and heir to the Huntly dukedom. Not to mention her closest friends’ older brother and the one man she loved beyond reason.
His dark hair and chiseled cheekbones gave him a sinfully gorgeous face, but his silver eyes spoke of a devilishness she could only guess at. He had always been a perfect gentleman with her, but she knew he had a wicked side. Not personally… No, she’d never been so lucky as to taste passion of any sort. Rumors spread in abundance of how roguish he was and she’d always been green with envy. She wanted him to look at her and want her the same way she’d always desired him.
“Hello, mother,” he said and leaned down to kiss the duchess’s cheek. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all dear,” the duchess replied. “Are you here to join us for tea?”
“I wish I could,” he replied smoothly. “I’m here to see father, but I wanted to come say hello before we secluded ourselves in his office.”
“Estate business?” His mother lifted questioning brow. “Never mind I’m sure he’ll tell me later. Are you sure you can’t visit with us a little longer?”
As much as Angeline loved studying the man who held her heart without him noticing she had other things on her mind. If Lucian stayed that would make her goal even more difficult to achieve. Besides it was slowly killing her to be around him. Nothing brought out the doldrums quite like his continued oblivion. She might as well be invisible when Lucian was around. He didn’t bother to greet her unless good manners dictated he acknowledge her presence. Even now he didn’t turn his head and say even the simplest of hellos to her or Emilia. He kept his attention fo
cused on his mother.
“I must decline.” His voice even appeared to hold a tinge of disappointment. Angeline doubted Lucian held an ounce of regret inside of him. Sure he loved his mother, but he’d been decreed the wickedest of rogues. He probably would rather spend time in the company of a more delectable sort of female. Lucian was nothing if not smooth. “Perhaps we can have a family dinner later this week.” Angeline swallowed the distaste in her mouth. Why had she gone and fallen in love with him? He’d never love her in return…
The duchess smiled, happiness radiating from her. “What a lovely idea.” She turned to Emilia. “You can help me plan it dear.” Then she glanced back at Lucian. “We’ll send a note to your townhouse when we decide upon a date. Go meet with your father. You know how he hates to be kept waiting.”
“You’re right,” Lucian agreed. “Enjoy your tea.” With those words he left them alone in the sitting room.
Angeline couldn’t help staring at him as he exited. Her gaze seemed to naturally follow after him whenever he was in the immediate vicinity. Would she ever put her feelings for him behind her? She held back a sigh. It wouldn’t help further her cause—any of them.
“Emilia,” Angeline turned toward her. “It’s such a lovely day. Do you care to go for a stroll with me?”
“Have you gone mad?” Emilia crinkled her eyebrows together. “It’s hot as the dickens outside.” She flipped open her silk fan and waved it furiously over her flushed face. “I’d rather not exert myself any more than necessary.”
This time Angeline did sigh. Emilia had a valid point but she was running out of options. She wanted her help so she’d have to figure out another way of discussing her problem with Emilia privately. “I’m…restless. I thought walking would help.”
“Didn’t you walk here dear?” the duchess asked. “I’d have thought that was more than enough exercise.”
Her home wasn’t far from Huntly Manor so she didn’t see any reason to have a carriage hitched for the short distance—even on a sweltering day. “If Emilia doesn’t want to join me that’s her decision.” Though she wanted to reach over and shake her friend. She’d have to wait until the Wharton dinner later to find some alone time with her. “Perhaps I should skip tea and make my way home.”
Her afternoon call hadn’t gone as planned. She also had to suffer through time spent in Lucian’s company—not that he’d acknowledged her. Maybe that was part of her problem. She’d longed for him since she was ten and two. Nine years later and her heart still skipped a beat whenever he neared.
“I didn’t mean to imply you’re not welcome” The duchess said. “Please don’t feel as if you have to leave.”
Angeline stood and went to the duchess to pull her into a hug. “You’re gracious as always Aunt Ruby—it is as I said. I’m restless.” She didn’t want to make the duchess feel that she’d done anything wrong. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. If anyone could be held accountable for her agitation it would be Lucian. She’d been on edge before she arrived at Huntly Manor, but his proximity made it even worse. Angeline stepped back. “Don’t worry everything is fine and I’ll see you tonight at the Wharton dinner.”
Emilia stood and wound her arm with Angeline’s. “I’ll see you out if you’re so insistent on leaving before you’ve had any tea.”
She scrunched her nose up. “It is hot out and while I’m parched tea seems—too much right now.” Truthfully, she’d lost her appetite—if she ever had one—the moment Lucian had stepped into the sitting room.
“It’s never too hot for tea,” Emilia replied. “Perhaps there’s something else bothering you?”
They exited the room and walked down the hall leading to the foyer. Angeline didn’t bother to comment on Emilia’s not so subtle hint at Lucian’s presence interrupting tea. “We’ll have to talk more later. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“About Lucian?”
Angeline rolled her eyes. “Of course not. He’s…” Drat. In a perfect world he’d be her everything. Too bad Lucian would never reciprocate. “As much as I long for him to love me he never will. You more than anyone know that. This is something more important than that.”
“My brother is a fool,” Emilia said and placed her hand on Angeline’s. “We will talk more at the dinner. I’ll help you with anything.”
Emilia had always been there for her. Hopefully she was still willing to help once she realized what Angeline needed. She hugged her friend and left the manor. She had a lot to consider before the dinner later that night. Lucian could go to hell. He was probably ruler of the fiery pit and the reason they were inundated with the unseasonably warm weather.
All right he wasn’t that bad… She wished he loved her. No amount of hoping for the impossible would make it true though.
Excerpt: Rescued by a Sea Nymph
London Mythos 1
Rebekah Lewis
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Chapter 1
Summerfield, 1817
A muffled yell jolted Captain James Harlow awake. As he shot upright, he tumbled right out of his chair. He cursed as his head connected with solid wood and pain ricocheted down his spine. He'd fallen asleep at his desk in the study, the map he'd had spread out before him now hung precariously over the side. The lantern he favored, taken from his ship, sent shadows scurrying in all directions as the tiny flame flickered and danced like a trapped pixie behind glass. Had he heard a shout, or had that been in his dreams?
Pulling himself to his feet, he listened but only heard the wind whipping through the trees. His whole body hurt, but he wouldn't be at ease until he checked the status of his father's manor. Perhaps a servant couldn't sleep and had dropped a tray or spotted a rat. Not that that happened frequently. His nerves were tense, and not because he'd woken in such a fashion. Something was off, but he couldn't tell what. He'd developed a kind of sixth sense for impending danger during his expeditions at sea, and something lingered in the area that posed a threat.
A floorboard creaked nearby. He stared at the door, expecting his valet, Rollins, to walk through despite it being such an odd hour for the man to be about. The normalcy would alleviate his tension. Yet nobody knocked or entered. With a deep breath, James returned to his desk and reached beneath it to where he'd secreted away a pistol in a secret hollow, then, with the weapon in hand, he approached the door to investigate. As he slowly opened the door and stepped into the corridor, his loose, untucked, white shirt billowed in a draft. A door or window must have been left open—or forced open.
If only he'd spotted the shadow so close to his before another groaning floorboard gave away the intruder's position. As it was, he noticed both at exactly the same time. James spun around, aiming his weapon, but it was too late. Perhaps he could have prevented the blow to the temple from the butt of the intruder's pistol, then again, perhaps not. His last thought before he blacked out was that he'd wished he'd done more with his life. Had been a better man.
He'd leave nothing behind as his legacy.
Frigid water hit him in the face some time later and he gasped, swallowing liquid and choking. He tried to flail his arms to swim, but he was bound and tied to a…tree? James sputtered, coughed, blinked and tried to regain awareness of his surroundings. He wasn't drowning in the sea, but in the woods, probably those on his own property, and being roused to consciousness before his assailant who was—a young lad. Well, not a boy, but definitely green around the edges in age. No older than ten and seven, if a day.
"Who the devil are you?" With his bewilderment fading, irritation quickly filled the void. James scowled at the lad with the uncanny notion he'd seen him somewhere before. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall where.
The imp wearing dark, unkempt clothing crossed his arms and smirked. In the moonlight, his sandy hair was a riot of shoulder-length, unbound waves. A street urchin, perchance, but definitely their leader. Behind him, about a dozen men stood, equally young and disheveled. The one in charge held an empty bucke
t, which made sense as the water it had previously contained soaked James through to the bone.
"Your servants are bound and gagged in their chambers," the imp said, tossing the bucket aside. "You'd think a pirate such as yourself would have better precautions in his own home, old man."
Old man? Old? He was only thirty. In his prime! "I beg your pardon, boy," he all but growled in response. He struggled with the bonds holding him but there was no give to them. "Why are a band of toddlers breaking into houses in the middle of the night, harassing hapless servants? Isn't it past your bed time?"
His assailant laughed. "I'm seven and ten," he said, confirming James' assumption. "Hardly a toddler. You truly don't recognize me?" He stepped closer and peered at James. Shrugging, he began pacing in front of him as an irritated animal might. "I recognized you. After I clocked you, of course, and you went down like a limp codfish. Imagine my shock that a reputable member of the ton could have a hand in smuggling brandy from the Continent."
James sighed. The jig was up. He'd been found out. Now he'd either be blackmailed or turned in. His crew didn't indulge in outright piracy, but smuggling was still illegal and would definitely cause a scandal his family couldn't avoid. As the third son of Viscount Summerfield, he might lack a title of his own, but that didn't make him less of a member of the peerage, unfortunately. It would send the tongues wagging when he was turned in—by an uncouth youth of all people.