Born to Scandal

by Diane Gaston

  He dressed hurriedly and went straight upstairs to the nursery. Anna and the children would have started their lessons already.

  As soon as he walked in the nursery, Dory ran up to him. ‘Papa! Miss Hill is gone! She is gone! Will she come back?’

  He glanced around the room. Cal sat with his head bowed and his arms wrapped around himself.

  Eppy rose from a chair. ‘She left some letters in her room.’ She pushed past him and gestured for him to follow her. ‘I left them right where they were,’ she whispered. ‘Her portmanteau is gone.’

  He entered Anna’s room and broke the seal of the one addressed to him.

  He read:

  Dearest Egan,

  Last night with you was the loveliest time I have ever spent. It also shows me how wrong it would be for me to stay. I’ve struggled with this for a long time, but now I know I must make a decision. I must leave or the happiness of too many people will be impossible.

  Remember, please, that I love you and the children and it breaks my heart to leave you, but it is the best thing.

  Yours always, Anna

  He crumpled the paper and cried aloud, ‘No!’

  He would not let her go. He opened the children’s letter, which said only that she had to leave and that she loved them above all things.

  ‘What do they say?’ Eppy stood in the door.

  ‘That she has left us.’ He felt empty.

  Eppy nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘I was afraid she would do something like that. What will you do, m’lord?’

  ‘Find her,’ he said. ‘Stay with the children, Eppy. Tell them I’ve gone to bring her back.’

  There was only one place she could be.

  He could walk the distance faster than he could have a horse or carriage ready. As it was he practically ran to the Lawtons’ house.

  * * *

  Lord and Lady Lawton were still abed, but Charlotte agreed to see him.

  He paced the drawing room until she walked in. ‘Where is Anna?’ he asked.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Is she missing? I—I know she left the ball early. Disappeared, really, but you did, too, so I thought—’

  ‘Lady Charlotte.’ He spoke in his severest voice. ‘Is she here? I beg you to tell me if she is.’

  ‘She is not here,’ she cried earnestly. Her fist covered her mouth. ‘Do you think she has met with an—an accident?’

  ‘No.’ Where was he to look from here? ‘I think she left deliberately, but how and to where, I cannot guess.’ He strode to the door. ‘But I will find her.’

  He walked to the hack stand nearest Cavendish Square to see if any of them had taken her somewhere. None had. He checked at various coaching inns, also to no avail. Walking back, he thought over everything she had said to him the previous night.

  Grasping at straws, he decided to call upon Yates. Perhaps she had said something to Yates the previous night that would provide some clue. Yates’s London town house was on George Street, not far from Hanover Square.

  ‘Mr Yates is not here,’ his manservant said. ‘He went out earlier. You are welcome to wait, but he did not say when he would return.’

  ‘Tell him Lord Brentmore wishes to see him on an urgent matter.’ What more could Brent do?

  He started to leave, but turned back. ‘Tell me. Did a lady call upon Mr Yates this morning? A pretty young lady with auburn hair and blue eyes?’

  ‘Why, yes, my lord,’ the man said. ‘She carried a portmanteau and Mr Yates left with her. He has not come back since.’

  Brent felt as if a shaft had run through him.

  He’d believed in Yates. Trusted him that his former betrayal had been Eunice’s doing. He’d more than extended the olive branch to the man and Yates had turned around and acted the libertine at the first opportunity.

  Brent’s anger escalated as he walked back to his town house. How big a fool could he be?

  * * *

  When he opened the town-house door and stepped into the hall, Davies hurried up to him. ‘Mr Yates has been waiting for you, m’lord, for almost as long as you’ve been gone.’

  Brent strode into the drawing room. ‘Why are you here, Yates?’ he growled. ‘What tale did you tell Anna to get her to go to you?’

  Yates held up a hand. ‘Wait, Brent! I can imagine what you think, but let me explain.’

  Brent folded his arms across his chest. ‘Explain why you took her from here? From my children?’

  Yates gave him a sympathetic look. ‘From you, you mean.’

  Brent started to protest.

  Yates shook his head. ‘I could see the two of you were besotted with each other, even though you are intent on marrying another woman who does not love you. I do not know what happened last night between you and Miss Hill, but I expect you could tell me.’

  Brent glared at him. ‘You said you would explain.’

  Yates nodded. ‘She came to me this morning needing a place to stay. I could not have her stay with me in London, so I sent her to my estate.’

  The estate near Brentmore where he had carried on his affair with Eunice.

  Brent peered at him. ‘To what purpose?’

  Yates stepped back and lowered his voice. ‘Brent, I promised you that I had reformed and that I want to atone for what I did to you. I have not changed. Last night when I saw Miss Hill so distressed, I told her I would act as her friend, if she needed one.’

  Exactly what Brent had done. Offered friendship, but Brent had known there was more between them than friendship.

  Yates went on. ‘This morning she arrived with a portmanteau, asking for help. I suspected something had occurred between the two of you, but I did not ask and she said nothing. Only that she needed a place to stay until she could rally.’ He looked Brent in the eye. ‘You could reach there before dark if you left now.’

  Brent looked away. ‘I cannot. I have matters to attend to here.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It had been a mistake for Anna to go on the long walk she’d taken, but after two days, she’d been so restless, so disconsolate, that she’d needed exercise and country air.

  What she had not needed was to climb a hill only to discover it looked down upon Brentmore Hall.

  She could see the archway she had passed through when first arriving at Brentmore and where Brent had kissed her. A corner of the kitchen garden was visible. Were there still peas to be picked? she wondered. Would the children plant other vegetables without her? Beyond the house were the stables and paddocks where the children had ridden their ponies and where Cal had begun to speak.

  The pain of their loss brought her to her knees and it was a long time before she could make herself rise and embark on the long walk back to Mr Yates’s house, not as grand as Brentmore, but a comfortable, prosperous property.

  His servants had been gracious to her. She did not know if they really believed she was the down-on-her-luck sister of an old school friend who had died in the war, but they certainly could tell merely by the shadows under her eyes that she was down on her luck.

  She had not yet written letters to seek a new governess position. The idea of taking care of children other than Cal and Dory was, at present, too difficult to contemplate. Perhaps she would seek a companion position instead. Or teach in a school.

  She pressed a hand to her abdomen. If she was not with child, that was. It seemed impossible to her that such a night of loving could fail to produce a child. His child. Her heart fluttered merely to think of the joy of holding his baby in her arms.

  Even though she would have no way to care for the child herself.

  Most of the walk back, though, she thought of Brent. Would he find happiness with Miss Rolfe? Would she indeed transfer her affections from his cousin to him?

  She knew Mr Yates would tell Brent where she was. A part of her had hoped he would come for her, but that was mere reverie. He would see the logic in her leaving. He would accept it.

  But no on could take
away that one glorious night with him.

  She crossed the field and soon would be in sight of Mr Yates’s house. She walked along the road that led to the village. It was fortunate there was no chance she would encounter Brent and the children at the village. Brent would remain in London for weeks, he’d said.

  From behind her she heard a horse approach, moving fast. She stepped off the road so the horse and rider could pass.

  Instead, she heard her name. ‘Anna!’

  She turned—and saw Brent, riding his horse Luchar towards her.

  Breathing, thinking, feeling became impossible. All she could do was watch him, his coattails flying behind him, his strong thighs hugging the horse’s sides.

  He dismounted before the horse came fully to a halt.

  ‘Anna!’ he cried again, advancing on her.

  ‘My lord,’ she managed.

  He held her arms. ‘What did I tell you? No more my lord.’

  ‘Are—are you and the children at Brentmore?’ She must be meeting him on the road by chance, exactly what she feared, being so close to Brentmore Hall.

  ‘We are.’ His expression sobered. ‘I came for you, Anna.’

  She glanced away. ‘I cannot, my lord—Brent—Egan.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper when she spoke his given name. ‘I cannot be your governess. Not after—after making love with you. You once said it would change things. It has.’

  ‘It has changed things for me, too, Anna.’ He released her. ‘May I walk with you and tell you?’

  ‘It is no use,’ she said, feeling anew the agony over their situation.

  ‘I will tell you anyway.’ He held Luchar’s reins in his hand and walked beside her. ‘After you left and I was searching for you, I came up with the solution to everything.’

  She pressed her hand against her abdomen again. ‘I cannot be your mistress.’

  ‘I do not want you to be my mistress, Anna.’ He stopped and held her face in his hand. ‘I love you. I love you like my Irish grandfather used to tell me my father loved my mother. My father gave up everything for her. I am giving up worrying what other people think, worrying that my children will suffer the taunts I received, worrying that they will not be able to handle themselves in the face of it. They have been through much worse than taunts and slurs.’ He made her look into her eyes. ‘Do you comprehend what am I trying to say? I want to marry you.’

  ‘Marry me!’ Her heart pounded. ‘A marquess cannot marry the daughter of a laundress!’

  ‘He can. Had my parents lived, my father would have been a marquess married to the daughter of a tenant farmer.’ He paused. ‘Besides, you are also the daughter of an earl.’

  She looked away. ‘What of Miss Rolfe? And her family? You will ruin her. Her whole family will suffer.’

  ‘I fixed that.’ He grinned. ‘I paid all of Rolfe’s debts and I settled an amount of money and property on my cousin so generous he can marry Miss Rolfe and take on helping her brothers and sisters should they need it.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘That must have cost a fortune. You would give away such a fortune for me?’

  He grew serious again. ‘You are worth twice that.’

  She felt hope growing inside her, but she must not let it flower. ‘What of Miss Rolfe’s reputation?’

  ‘To marry my cousin, she was happy to be the one to cry off. Her reputation will only bear a slight tarnish. It will be forgotten in a fortnight.’

  ‘But yours?’ She was afraid to believe this. ‘People are already talking of us.’

  ‘Let them talk.’ He held her again and brought her face close to his. ‘I want you to be my wife. To be the mother of my children. Cal and—and—Dory. And the babies we will have together. We will be a proper family.’

  He was offering her everything she’d never dared to dream of. It meant she could share his bed every night, wake up beside him every morning, give Cal and Dory the love and security they deserved.

  ‘What say you, Anna?’ His brow creased in worry.

  She broke into a smile. ‘I say yes!’

  He threw his arms around her and swung her around in joy. ‘Come, Anna! Let us go home and tell our children the good news.’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Whirlwind Cowboy by Debra Cowan!

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  Chapter One

  West Texas

  June 1886

  Where was she? The ground was hard beneath her back. Her head pounded as she stared up at a gray sky and the sun hidden behind red-tinted clouds. Carefully pushing herself up on her elbows, she winced as sharp pain speared through her skull. Her shoulder ached, too. She was behind a two-story white brick building she didn’t recognize.

  She touched her temple, and her fingers came away bloody. She inhaled sharply. Blood also streaked her pale blue floral bodice. What had happened?

  A creaking sound had her looking over her shoulder. A saddled black horse watched her with dark eyes. Then she saw a wet stain a couple of feet away.

  She eased over and touched it, startled to realize it was more blood.

  Cold, savage fear ripped through her and she got unsteadily to her feet, fighting back panic. Whatever had happened here had been deadly. She couldn’t remember it, but she knew it.

  Her head throbbed as she looked around wildly, trying to identify something, anything. Not the building hiding her or the store across a dusty street or the railroad tracks beyond. Nothing was familiar.

  Alarmed and confused, she felt tears sting her eyes.

  From the front of the building she heard the heavy thud of boots. A man muttered in a low, vicious voice. The hairs on her arms stood up and fear rushed through her.

  There was no thought, only instinct. She gathered her skirts and hurriedly mounted the waiting horse, riding astride. Her skull felt as though it was being cracked open and she thought she might pass out from the pain.

  Urging the animal into motion, she rode hard away from the unfamiliar buildings and headed for the open prairie. Someone yelled after her. She wasn’t sure what he said, but she didn’t stop.

  Gripping the pommel with sweat-slick hands, she kept the horse at a full-out run until she was assured no one was behind her.

  Then she slowed the horse to an easy pace. As far as she could see there was an endless sea of golden-brown prairie grass, dotted here and there with a few evergreen trees. The landscape looked familiar, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything.

  A forceful gust of wind had her grabbing the pommel. Bits of dirt and grass pelted her face as well as her mount’s. The animal slowed, but kept moving.

  Dust whirled across the prairie. The horse’s hooves pounded in a steady lope. On and on. Daylight turned to gray. They crossed a dry creek bed, then topped a small rise. Through the swirling light and dirt, she spied a small cabin and a barn. As she rode up to the front of the house, she called out, but no one answered. There was no sign of anyone at all.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at a boiling mass of clouds sweeping across the ground. The first stirrings of a dust storm. Being caught out in it could be deadly.

  Fighting back panic, she decided to take shelter in the small cabin. She wasted no time settling the horse in the barn. After filling the trough with water from the pump just outside, she closed the animal inside and ran to the cabin, praying she would be able to get in. W
hen she tried the door, it opened and she slipped inside with a big sigh of relief.

  Shaking out her skirts then brushing off her hair and bodice, she took stock. A Franklin stove sat in the corner to her left, along with a sink and a pump and a short work cabinet. There was a small but sturdy-looking table, and straight ahead an open door revealed the foot of a bed.

  The windows, real pane glass, shook as the wind gathered force. Her shoulders and neck throbbed, but she searched for candles or a lamp in case she needed light later.

  Though small, the cabin was solid and would offer protection from the storm. Looking down, she stared at the bloodstains on her bodice. Her mind was empty. Why couldn’t she remember anything?

  A shiver rippled up her spine. Not only was she completely alone and lost—she had no idea who she was.

  * * *

  After a week of tracking Cosgrove, Bram had lost him and returned home. Whirlwind’s sheriff, Davis Lee Holt, had wired every lawman in the state and promised to send word to Bram if he received any news.

  Bram had duties at the ranch, but he still checked with Davis Lee every day about Cosgrove. Two weeks after the trail had gone cold, Bram got news. Surprisingly it was from his uncle, not the sheriff. Uncle Ike had witnessed Cosgrove robbing a bank in Monaco.

  Bram had ridden straight to the small town located northwest of Whirlwind, where he discovered Cosgrove had murdered a man during that robbery.

  Bram had picked up the outlaw’s trail again, this time headed east toward Whirlwind. Cosgrove would be a fool to go back there and probably hadn’t, but the approaching dust storm had erased any sign that he might have changed direction.

  The past three weeks had been hell, and Bram laid that on Deborah as much as the outlaw he chased. He hadn’t spoken to her mother or sisters again, though Bram’s brother, Jake, had. He had felt it his duty to let Bram know Deborah still hadn’t returned home.

  Bram tried to tell himself he didn’t care. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t him.