by Darcy Burke
Imogen cocked her head, the massive set of lilies in her hair tilting. “Beautiful. I know.”
“Imogen!”
“Heavenly,” Imogen further supplied, nodding in clear agreement with herself. “Bloody marvelous.”
Oh, yes and yes to all of the above.
Ryder looked transformed. The black that had formed his identity was gone—completely. Everyone, even those who were dancing, stared at him. His usual glower had even seemed to disappear, leaving him with a decidedly boyish though weathered expression.
And she simply could not tear her eyes from him. At last, he turned, the candlelight glinting off his jet black hair, and their eyes met.
The air slipped away and everyone in the room vanished save them.
Kate bit down on her lip, tears stinging her eyes at the sight. It was there in his eyes. A lightness that had never been before. He had not only physically shed the trappings of mourning, but dare she hope he had also done so in his heart?
Kate grabbed hold of Imogen, suddenly determined. Determined that she would never let this man go again. No matter what it took.
A slow smile curved his sensual lips, lighting a fire in his gaze. He strode forward cutting through the crowd, his gaze never leaving her face.
Just a few weeks ago, she walked out of his life sure they would never speak amiably again. Here he was crossing a crowded room towards her, absolute certainty on his strong face.
“What do I do?” Kate demanded, her mind a sudden blank.
“What else do you do with a man like that?” Imogen shrugged. “Drag him into the hallway and have your way with him.”
“That isn’t helpful,” Kate hissed, still unable to take her eyes of his approaching, muscular form.
“Hear what he has to say then. Then have your way with him.”
Kate swallowed, for a moment unsure. Unsure that they could ever find the friendship they had lost. “What if—”
“Kate,” Imogen said quietly. “He’s here for you, you know. Look at him. This change, ’tis for you.” She squeezed Kate’s hand. “He is here for you.”
Lord, she hoped Imogen was right, but with Ryder she could never be sure. He was a man of mysterious ways. He had ripped her heart up and done it without even truly intending to hurt her. She knew that. But he’d still done it.
And he might do it again.
“Don’t let him beg forgiveness too easily,” Imogen said. “Make him take you on a trip for his ill behavior. To Italy, I think.”
Kate was tempted to reply she’d never been further from Shropshire than London, let alone the continent, but before she could answer, Ryder stood above her. His broad frame towered over her.
Her hands ached to reach out to him. To touch his face, to hold him in her arms. But it would be foolish to pretend as if nothing happened.
Despite herself, she glanced at his wrist. She couldn’t see if the ribbon was there, his sleeve ever slightly too long.
Wordlessly, he lifted his arm and gently pulled back the ivory fabric, exposing his bare wrist.
Kathryn blinked, her gaze snapping up from his wrist to his face. “I—”
Ryder held out his arm to her. “Would you care to walk with me, Kathryn?”
Kate stared up, hanging on the gentle purr in his voice. Had the beast within truly been tamed? She slowly placed her hand on his arm. The gentle touch sent a shock through her, and even she felt the way his muscles tensed beneath her hand.
Together, they made their way through the crowd.
Kate risked a glance up at Ryder. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret,” he replied.
She contemplated him from the corner of her eye. He seemed nervous, yet oddly relaxed. A slight tension played at his shoulders, but his strong face was more peaceful than she could ever recall seeing it.
They walked through the crowd, then into a side hall, then down a barely lit narrow hall. Finally, they came to a tall, white-washed door. Ryder twisted the latch and the balmy night air, full of the smell of hyacinth wafted towards them.
“Come,” Ryder whispered. He took her fingers in his strong grasp and led her out onto the stone path that wound into the small garden.
For her life, she couldn’t understand exactly why she was following him or not demanding they speak of what passed between them. But she couldn’t find the words. Nor at this moment did she care to. Instead, she savored the closeness of him allowing herself to not be bullheaded just this once.
Kate breathed in a deep sigh of relief at the wonderful feel of the cool evening. She tilted her face up to the full moon beaming down on them. The sky was scattered with endless glittering stars. All meant for their wonderment.
Her thin slippers gripped the stones along the path as he led her forward. Fruit trees lined the little lane, and rose bushes were artfully planted beneath them. As they walked in silence, Kate fought back her own nerves. A woman who was less foolish, one who had learned her lessons, would never have come out of the house. She would have stayed firm and protected her heart from further pain. But she’d learned a new lesson in the last weeks.
One could not control their heart, and it was just as foolish to control it as to give it freely.
The path finally led out into a small open area with a stone bench and a sparkling fountain. Trees, their leaves rustling ever so slightly in the breeze, circled the quiet spot.
“You know this place well,” she teased.
Ryder squeezed her hand. “I know a vast many things well. But it is you I wish to know the most.”
Kate’s heart slammed in her chest.
“Kathryn, you have every right to doubt my love for you.”
My love? She knew she should tell herself she was dreaming this. That at any moment she would awake alone in bed, her eyes wet. Lord, he sounded so blissfully beautiful she was certain hyacinth dust was clouding her ears.
He turned to face her, his fingers lacing with hers. “I have treated you most ill.”
She opened her mouth to assure him then stopped. He had treated her ill, but. . . “I never should have allowed it.”
He raised his brows, surprise written across his features. “Allowed, madam?”
“I was afraid of losing what we had, so I didn’t tell you how much you were hurting me or how I saw it hurting you. That was my weakness. I should have out and out told you you were an ass, not sat waiting for the thunderclouds to roll by.”
He blinked several times, then shook his head, lines of remorse pulling at his mouth. “I—”
She lifted a finger to his lips. “No. I promised myself I wouldn’t live in fear when I came to London.” She smiled ruefully. “But I did. I was afraid of caring for you, of angering you, but most of all, of loving you. Hardly the actions of a fearless woman.”
He kissed the pad of her finger then slipped her hand down to rest on his chest. “And yet?”
“And yet, I have realized that no matter what you do, whether you accept my love or return it, my heart will want what it wants. I should never be afraid of that.”
He gazed down on her with what appeared to be wonder. “Oh, Kathryn. I don’t think you have ever truly been afraid. When you desire something you go after it. Fiercely. Beautifully.”
Kathryn had to swallow her heart back at such loving words. So she arched a brow in mock warning. “Nor should I be a mat for you to trod upon with your brusque moods,” she pointed out, not wanting him to forget.
“Never. You will always have only my highest esteem.” He let out a sigh, then brushed a loose curl from her temple. “Kathryn, I am the one who has been afraid. Afraid to let go of the past. Afraid to make myself vulnerable again. And afraid to love you. I know what loss is. I don’t want to feel that way again. And by pushing you away, I lost. I lost the most important thing in my life. The woman I love.” Ryder pulled her to him, caressing his hands down her back. “I love you, Kathryn. I love you.”
Tears sprung to Kathryn’s eyes. “A
nd what has brought this about? Why?”
“You showed me I had chosen to live only a semblance of existence. And you made me want so much more. I won’t live with the past anymore.”
Kate fingered his ivory coat. “You have shed your demons?”
“You slayed them.”
She beamed up at him. “I rather like that idea.”
He smiled back at her, his face full of happiness. “What?”
“That I am your knight in shining armor.”
He cupped her chin, his eyes dark with love. “You are the protector of my heart. It is yours to do with as you will.”
“Then I shall take it and keep it safely for you, with my heart where it shall always be loved.”
Lowering his hand, he let out a rushed breath. The tension in his shoulders eased. “You have no idea how sure I was you would send me away.”
“We have both made mistakes.” She reached up and touched the side of his face. “I’m certain we shall make more. We have a lifetime to make them. I know.”
A laugh filled with pure joy bubbled form his throat. “Indeed.” His face grew more serious. “But now. . .”
Kate bit her lip, unsure what he was about to do.
The Duke of Darkwell, one of the most powerful men in the realm, pulled slightly away from her and lowered himself to one knee.
Kate gasped. He couldn’t. It was—well, it was—for goodness sake, they were already married! She clasped a hand to her cheek, a smile tugging at her lips. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“My dearest Kathryn, I am on my knees asking you to be my wife. Not because of scandal, nor duty, nor fortune but because I love you and because you have given me my happiness again. There is nothing better I should like than to spend the rest of my days in your company, your bed, but most of all in your heart.”
Tears sprung to her eyes, and she could barely breath she was so overwhelmed. “Oh, Ryder. Yes. I’ll marry you today, tomorrow, forever.”
Ryder jumped to his feet, grabbed her waist and yanked her against him. “Forever, darling. We have forever.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her ever so slowly as if they had all the time in the world.
And to Kate’s delight, she realized they did. They absolutely did.
THE END
Want notification the moment the sequel to Once Upon A Duke, Dreaming of the Duke is out and on its special release price of 99 cents? Sign up for Eva’s release notification letter here:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Eva-Devon/1464806663776356?id=1464806663776356&sk=app_208195102528120
Acknowledgments
My deepest thanks to Lindsey, Carol, Theresa, Delilah, Jenn, Kati, and Erin.
Without you all this adventure wouldn’t be possible.
Follow Eva on:
Twitter https://twitter.com/evadevonauthor
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pages/Eva-Devon/1464806663776356?ref=hl
Dark Surrender
By
ERICA RIDLEY
Copyright © 2014 Erica Ridley.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1939713210
ISBN-13: 978-1939713216
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design © Erica Ridley.
Cover Photograph © Jimmy Thomas.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
CHAPTER ONE
April 1835, Livingstone School for Girls, Lancashire
“At the end of the week Mr. Percy Livingstone, our beloved founder’s heir, will evict us all in order to turn our philanthropic school into a profitable venture. Next Monday, he will begin converting the grounds into an exclusive sanitarium catering to the mentally unstable offspring of society’s wealthy elite.”
Miss Violet Whitechapel stared uncomprehendingly at the misty words escaping from Headmistress Parker’s mouth into the early morning fog. The heir planned to do what? Desperation seared the breath from Violet’s lungs. She sent a frantic glance at her colleague, Miss Belham, who appeared as shocked and devastated as the other instructors. For the first time in Violet’s memory, even the headmistress struggled to maintain her hallmark serenity.
In disbelief, Violet turned from her associates to face the long-standing campus she’d delightedly called home. Five and a half glorious years with clean water, honest work, a cot of her own in a room with a door she had no need to bar at night. She had found paradise, and she’d be damned if she lost her home to some spoiled toff more interested in lining his pockets than helping orphans.
Old Man Livingstone had been a godsend—or at the very least, the only man of Violet’s acquaintance who had actually meant the words “benefactor to underprivileged girls” without dehumanizing strings attached. He’d started this school, given ladies like Miss Parker and Miss Belham positions of some power, and when Violet had blown onto the doorstep willing to do anything—yes, anything—for a crust of bread and a delousing, he’d rung her a bath and a hot meal and offered her a position. And not a position like “on yer back, now, there’s a gel,” either. A respectable position. And a home.
“The new heir and his surveyor are currently perusing the property,” the headmistress continued relentlessly. “You’ll recognize them by their Town finery, I’m sure. They plan to have the sanitarium operational within a fortnight. Nonetheless, young Mr. Livingstone is providing each of us a month’s wages as a courtesy, in the hopes many will seek new environs immediately.” The headmistress began doling out tiny satchels to each instructor.
Violet’s jaw fell open. “A courtesy? By sending us—and the children—back to the streets? We’re supposed to be saving these girls from such a fate, not consigning them to it. Without the school, they’ve nowhere else to go!”
“We cannot fight the law.” A crack in Headmistress Parker’s firm voice betrayed her frustration. “Young Mr. Livingstone is the legal heir, and his changes are already in motion.”
“Well, I’ll just have to stop them.” Violet’s fists curled with rage. “For close on twenty years, I survived out there as best I could, and to speak plainly, there were many times survival wasn’t worth the sacrifices. Where is this so-called gentleman, whose only desire is to benefact his pockets?”
“‘Benefact’ is incorrect in that context,” the deportment instructor murmured.
“You quite take my meaning,” Violet snapped back, although she was more upset at her helplessness than with Miss Belham. She tried so hard to be as stoic as the headmistress, but strong emotion released the terrified street urchin she desperately tried to keep caged beneath the façade of a proper young lady.
“You cannot save everyone, Violet, no matter how fervently you may wish to.” Headmistress Parker’s ever-ramrod spine seemed to grow even straighter. “There will be no petitioning Mr. Percy Livingstone. He has already finalized his contracts and accepted pensions from families who wish to conceal ... unfortunate situations. We must all find a new home.”
“How?” Violet fought the stinging in her eyes. Not only had she herself climbed out of the gutters, she was finally able to keep others from returning. When these girls found themselves tossed in the dirt, how was she supposed to live with herself?
How was she supposed to live?
“I have heard enough,” she said stiffly, trying and failing to think of words of encouragement to share with her pupils later. In that moment, she’d never hated a man more than she hated Mr. Percy Livingstone. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a promising new student awaiting me for special instruction.”
She barely paused for Headmistress Parker’
s nod before turning on her heel and striding across the foggy green to the art studio. If they were all to be tossed out with the bathwater, she would make the most of every moment between now and then. Oh, God, what was she to tell her students?
Children like Emma made the thought of losing the school utterly insupportable. The girl was almost fifteen, but a lifetime of malnourishment had given her the tiny frame of a twelve-year-old. When she’d arrived, Violet had gently washed off the layers of grime only to reveal a patchwork of bruises and scars. Furious at whoever had harmed a child, Violet had made Emma’s physical and mental recovery her personal mission. There’d been precious little progress these short two months, but although Emma still hadn’t spoken a single word—and refused to interact with the others—she’d been fascinated by the paintings in Violet’s studio, and was hopefully waiting there now for her first lesson in watercolor.
Candlelight blurred the morning mist as Violet drew closer to the tiny cottage. Her heart warmed. Emma did keep their meeting! Violet’s relieved smile faltered when a painfully familiar sound escaped from the other side of the closed wooden door. The barely audible whimpers of a terrified young girl ... and the impatient grunting of a grown man.
Violet picked up her skirts and burst through the door.
Two expensively groomed toffs loomed inside her studio. Young Mr. Livingstone and his surveyor! Violet couldn’t begin to guess which villain was which, but it hardly mattered. One perched on the edge of a work stool, cravat awry, looking for all the world like a scoundrel chomping at the bit to take his turn.
The other had Emma—Emma!—bent across an art desk, petticoats to her hips. He was too busy struggling to undo the buttons of his fall to have noticed Violet’s arrival, but the blackguard upon the stool leapt to his feet at once.