Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One)

by Raven, Sandy

  He wanted her.... She needed him.

  After several minutes, Lia pulled away, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I will please you every night. Live out my time in service to you, gladly. I will repay any expenses you incur on my behalf, if you will only rescue my brother and our nurse from my aunt’s home. I will do whatever you ask of me—anything—for them. Please? Will you help me?”

  “I will think on it,” he replied, as he mentally wondered at the speed with which he could recall his crews and sail to Italy.

  Large green eyes, red-rimmed and glistening with tears looked up at him and something constricted in his chest. Wisps of sable-colored hair had fallen loose from her comb, and blew into her face from the gentle breeze in the garden. He brushed it back with his fingers, his palm touching her wet cheek. She rested her face in his hand, closing her eyes.

  “I haven’t much time,” she whispered. Backing away, she fell to her knees before him, her hands rubbing her legs nervously as she stared up at him. “What can I say, what can I do, to persuade you to help me? I would give my own life to spare his.” She folded her hands together in a praying fashion, begging him as a fresh wash of tears began to fall freely down her face. “He’s just a baby. My parents loved him so.”

  “I haven’t refused you, Lia. I said I would think on it, meaning my current plans must be altered, and arrangements made.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks, and rested his hand on her face. “And I’m sure your parents loved you as much as your brother.”

  “They did,” she whispered.

  Lia took his hand and brought the palm to her lips. The simple gesture sent a raging inferno through Ren’s body. The tip of her tongue traced a line between his fingers, causing his breeches to become uncomfortably tight. He groaned as she took his middle finger between her lips and gently sucked, the tip of her tongue sliding up and down the digit, making his cock harder.

  Taking his hand away, he stared into her eyes. Right at that moment he decided. It was the solution to both their problems. “I know a way.” His gaze lowered to her moist, full lower lip, wondering how it would feel on his.

  “Anything, Your Grace,” she whispered. Bringing his hand back, she kissed his palm once again, then his wrist, and then the inside of his bare forearm.

  “You should hear what my dilemma is first, and understand my proposed solution.”

  “Anything within my power is yours.”

  He raised her hand, lifting her to stand before him. He gazed into her deep green eyes, and felt a hot tremor course up his arm to his chest. “I need an heir. A legitimately born son. As soon as possible.”

  Wide-eyed, she stared at him, obviously shocked by his words. “For that you would need a wife.”

  “To save your brother and your nurse, you need me and my ships.”

  “Your Grace, surely a man as handsome as yourself, assuming you have a little coin, can find a lady to marry in your own country.”

  “I don’t want someone from my own country.” He held her chin in his hand as he stared into her face. “I want you.”

  CAVERSHAM’S BRIDE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012, Sandy Raven

  ISBN: 978-1-939359-01-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.

  Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc

  www.thekilliongroupinc.com

  Digital formatting by Author E.M.S.

  www.authorems.com

  Dear Reader,

  Caversham’s Bride was previously published for a short period of time in 2001, under the title The Duke’s Heart. Because I loved this family I’d created so much, I always wanted to see this series completed. So as I was preparing The Caversham Chronicles for publication, I revised my ‘Duke’ extensively and realized that, in those revisions, the phrase that inspired the previous title no longer accurately fit the novel. Ren’s pressing need for a bride and legal heir was still central to his motivation, and this is what inspired the new title.

  I hope you enjoy the story of Ren and Lia, and that you find the siblings of both engaging enough that you’ll want to read their stories. Look for the second, third, and fourth of this series coming in the next few months. And soon after that, the stories of The Next Generation, which is already underway.

  I would love to hear from you! So, if you have any questions or comments, I’m online at:

  www.SandyRaven.com

  and on Facebook at:

  www.facebook.com/SandyRavenAuthor

  Sincerely,

  Sandy Raven

  DEDICATION

  To my darling Curtis,

  My Duke of Caversham (Drive)

  I Belong to You

  To D1 and D2,

  You are my Pride and Joys

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A lot of writers work in a vacuum for most of the creative process, and I am certainly guilty of it myself. But publication is a concerted effort of many people and to these people, I owe my most sincere gratitude: Gail Shelton, my friend, my editor. I<3U! I want to thank Kim, Abby, Megan, and Jennifer at The Killion Group, you ladies do fabulous work AND reply to 1 a.m. e-mails. But I have a question: is it too late to.... (just kidding!)

  To Carolyn, Kristi, Belinda, Gail, and Vicky: my first writing friends who believed in me and encouraged me. I still love you guys.

  To Janet, Marilyn, Beverly and Nita: my riding buds. Thanks for putting up with me when I hibernate in my writing cave. I wish I could clone myself so we could ride together more often.

  Carol Sue, Mary Michael, Cha-Cha, you have been there for me forever. I love you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Genoa, Italy, December 1818

  The footsteps following her were not her imagination. Lia quickly glanced over her shoulder, but saw no one behind her as she wound her way down the narrow side street which led to her destination. The cold, light mist that had fallen all evening now became a slow, steady rain. She pulled her black woolen cloak tighter around her, but the chill she felt came more from within. Lia halted, and heard the footsteps also stop. Every nerve in her body tensed, and the baby-fine hairs sprinkling her arms stood on end. Quickening her pace, she resumed her trek toward the chemist’s shop, praying she’d find help there.

  Why didn’t she question being sent on this errand? She should have seen for herself if Julianna was really as sick as her aunt said. She knew her cousin was plagued by painful monthly courses, but to her knowledge, no one had ever died from their monthly flux. Tonight, as she was getting ready for bed, her aunt entered her room and told her that her cousin was in need of a large vial of laudanum to help her through the week ahead. The woman then orders her to go out and get it.

  Now Lia wished she had thought about the foolishness of going on such an errand alone, and at this time of night. If she had, she would have refused.

  The footsteps behind her moved faster. The heavy thud of large boots on the pavement told Lia her pursuer was a man.

  Picking up her skirt, she ran. Another hundred yards or so and she would reach Signore DelPonte’s. Her aunt assured her he would still be there. If not, dear God, what would she do? She knew the chemist resided above his place of business. But, would he hear her if she pounded on his door?

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nbsp; A cat scurried out from a recessed doorway. Lia nimbly jumped over it and continued running. The man chasing her tripped over the animal and fell. The creature’s loud screech pierced the deathly quiet, sending a flurry of curses erupting into the damp night. A cold shiver raced up her spine when she realized her pursuer continued his chase.

  Her heart pounded out her every step as she rounded the corner and saw no lights in Signore DelPonte’s shop. Lia ran past it now looking for a place, any place, to hide. Her stalker quickly closed the distance between them. Crossing the narrow street, she dashed into an alleyway, hoping to lose him.

  A dead end!

  Turning back to the street, she crashed into her follower, the impact knocking her to the ground. Dim moonlight revealed a brawny man, his dark-bearded and scarred face grimaced while his dirty hands reached out to grab her. With every ounce of energy she had, Lia pushed him enough to throw him off balance. She scrambled along on her hands and feet until she recovered her footing to continue her flight.

  Suddenly, Lia was yanked backward, choked by her own cloak. As she reached for the clasp to release it, the man grabbed her arm and jerked it behind her. The burning pain in her shoulder brought tears to her eyes and she screamed. She screamed as loud and as long as she could—until something hard crashed down onto her head, rendering her mute for a moment. Even so, still she fought for her freedom, kicking back with her right foot, hoping to reach the man’s leg or knee.

  “Che testa dura,” her gravelly-voiced attacker said. Lia screamed again, just before he hit her on the head once more. This time his blow sent her tumbling into oblivion.

  Voices. One of them familiar. Lia stirred and tried to raise herself, but the intense pain throbbing in her skull prevented her. Forcing the fog from her head, she concentrated on the muted sounds she heard through the scratchy produce sack enveloping her. She lay on a cart of some kind, most likely a farmer’s cart, as the hay beneath her reeked of the pungent aroma of green olives.

  Nearby, a donkey brayed, and the voices drew nearer. A man and a woman. Lia sensed their presence beside the cart. Someone poked her in the ribs with a hard, pointed object. White-hot pain shot through her entire body, but she didn’t move or make a sound lest they hurt her worse. Again she was jabbed, and this time she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “So far, so good.” The woman chuckled. “If she isn’t dead yet, finish her off. Then take the body and toss it into the sea. Remember, weight the bag so it won’t be found.”

  Ottavia! Her aunt’s housekeeper. The despicable old woman spoke of her dead body so casually, without a bit of remorse or care. Her aunt was behind this. She should have known.

  “Sì, signora,” the male voice answered.

  The cart rocked beneath Lia as the man took his seat on the bench. She heard the clink of coins as Ottavia counted them out.

  “This is what we agreed to, is it not?”

  “Sì,” the man answered.

  “In a few months come back for another one. La Contessa wants them all out of her house.”

  Blessed Virgin in heaven. The men were coming back for her brother and their old nurse, too!

  “We’ll gladly take care of it for you,” said another voice. “For a price, of course.”

  Another man. There were two of them. God, her head hurt. Lia had thought she might at least have a chance fighting off one kidnapper. Her odds stood far slimmer with two, but she wasn’t going to die without a fight. And now, she needed to rescue her brother and Maura as well.

  The cart swayed again, as the second man climbed up on the seat. She heard the reins slap against an animal’s back and the cart jolted forward. After a few minutes, the two men began to talk. Lia listened intently.

  “You know, she’s got a decent enough face, and her body ain’t none too bad either.” One of the men spat. “I’m thinking we sell her to Najjar and make ten-fold the money that old witch paid us.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Some Arab trader that collects women and sells them over there as slaves. If they’re virgins, they get sold straight to a harem of some sultan.”

  “It’d be a shame to let sta bellezza go to waste as a slave. Let’s have a tumble or two while we got her.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” The first man shouted. “She’s pretty, and if she’s a virgin she goes straight to a harem.”

  “So? What’s that do for us?”

  The second man didn’t sound too bright, Lia thought. Even she knew what this meant. They weren’t going to kill her. She still had a chance to escape, to save Luchino and Maura.

  “So? They pay double or better for a virgin!”

  “How do we know she is one?”

  “Just a hunch,” the first voice said. “You weren’t there when I caught her. Sta puttanesca fought me like a wild animal. She couldn’t have known I was out to kill her. No, she was protecting her virtù. I’m sure of it.”

  The second man was silent a moment. “You might be right. How much would this Arab pay for one such as her?”

  “Well, it’s been a while since I had unused goods to sell, but that one brought two thousand lire. I’m thinking with this one’s background and looks, she’d bring three to four thousand easy.”

  Lia heard the second man whistle at the amount. How dare they consider her no more than cattle? Angry though she was, she didn’t have long to think about it. She had to figure out a way to escape before they met with this Najjar person. Her chances for success were greater now, because the men currently holding her sounded as though they were a pair of bumbling idiots. Large, but dimwits nonetheless.

  She worked the leather strap binding her wrists until it was loose enough to pull one hand free. After rubbing the life back into her hands, she tested the knot at the top of the canvas sack. This one was tighter than the other. More difficult, but not impossible. Lia squeezed a finger through the opening. Then another and another, until she hooked the rope with a finger.

  She waited a moment to make sure no one paid attention to her, then pulled the ends of the rope through the top of the sack and began loosening the knot.

  Lia felt the cart leave the smoother, brick-paved road of the city for the softer, rutted dirt road leading into the countryside. This was her chance to escape. As soon as they were well away from the sounds of town, she moved cautiously toward the back of the cart. Each time the cart bounced over a rut, she scooted back a little further so it would appear the sack was being jostled about.

  As she expected, the rear of the cart had no rail to prevent her from falling off the back. Bracing herself for the drop to the ground, she rolled off the edge. The fall itself wasn’t too bad, and she was fortunate to land on squishy mud. Still, it knocked the wind from her.

  Lia waited a moment before making a move to open the sack. She wanted to be sure the cart continued traveling down the path and the two men were far enough away for her to get a head start.

  Pushing her way out of the sack, she looked down the path for the cart. A sliver of moon in the sky gave her just enough light to make out the back end of the cart and its two passengers some thirty yards away. With her black dress and cloak, it would be easy for her to slip into the trees and disappear. Lia reached over to grab the sack to take with her so as not to leave a trace of where she disappeared.

  Then she heard a voice cry, “She’s fallen off the back, and is running for the woods!”

  “Get her, you big oaf,” the first man shouted. “Don’t let her get away. That one’s going to make us rich.”

  Dropping the sack, Lia ran into the heavy brush along the road. Winter-dried vines clawed at the exposed skin of her face and hands, tearing at her clothes. The thorny brush pulled at her cloak as she continued her way into the woods. Working the clasp at her neck, she let the cloak fall away, hoping to move faster without it.

  A clearing ahead looked to be a farmer’s pasture. She lunged forward. If she could reach it, she could lift her skirts and run.
r />   “Minchia.”

  She heard the curses of the man chasing her as he, too, was scratched by the prickly barbs. Her heart racing, Lia glanced over her shoulder. How close was he? Oh God, too close. And getting closer. She screamed, batting at the vines in her path.

  “No!” she shrieked. She reached the pasture, snatched up her skirts and ran. Ran for her life.

  Her hair had long ago loosened from its coil and now flowed freely down her back, making it too easy for her captor to.... Lia’s head snapped back, the burning in her scalp ripping a scream from her. She fell onto her pursuer as his beefy arms grabbed her about the waist, his other hand, still holding her hair, covered her mouth.

  Struggling and kicking, she fought furiously. The heel of her boot connected with his leg, forcing a string of foul curses from his sour, stinking mouth. He released her in an attempt to readjust his grip, and she pulled away to run, only to be caught by the first man, who’d arrived with more rope and the sack she’d dropped by the road.

  The stinky one, the bigger of the two, held her while the shorter one, obviously the leader, grabbed her dangling, kicking feet and tied them together. He then jerked one arm behind her back while the big smelly one attempted to keep her still as she struggled. The short guy succeeded with one arm, but when he reached forward to get her other one, Lia bit into it hard, drawing blood and more curses from him. She spat the salty filth onto the ground as the big smelly one grasped for her free hand to help his friend. Lia slammed a fist into his face. Instinctively, he reached back to punch her, but was stopped by the short one.

  “Non tocare,” he said, clutching his wounded arm to his chest. “Don’t touch her. If you ruin her looks, we don’t get as much for her.”