by Cheryl Bolen
“No, he's-”
“Go now, Appleby, and see that you never return. Nor will you ever approach your cousin again.” Max cut off her words.
“You want to marry Hero?”
Hero could see the surprise on her cousin's face and then it was suddenly replaced by cunning. “We will, of course, need to talk about her settlements.”
“So help me, Appleby,” Max ground out, releasing Hero. “I will kill you if you do not leave this property and Neathern at once.” He took a step towards her cousin but he must have seen the rage and jumped into his carriage and slammed the door and in seconds, she was watching it hurry down the driveway.
They stood in silence for several seconds, breathing in the bitterly cold air, and then Hero turned to face Max.
“Are you all right, Hero? Did he hurt you in any way?”
Ignoring his words, Hero said, “You should not have lied to him like that. He will tell others, who, in turn, will tell others and then it will have reached all corners of England that you are to wed me.”
“It wasn't a lie...”
*
When Max had entered that room and saw her holding the fireplace poker aloft, fear in every line of her body, he’d wanted to kill Appleby with his bare hands. It had taken all his restraint not to, and only the fact that she appeared unhurt had kept him from pummelling the man senseless.
“It wasn’t a lie, Hero. I meant every word,” he said again.
“I entered into what we did last night willingly, Max. There need be no repercussions so please put your gentlemanly morals aside.”
Her cheeks were flushed and her hair tied back in a haphazard fashion with a piece of wool and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt it then, the love stirring his insides. She was everything he had never wanted in a wife. She would be demanding, argumentative and want to play a full roll in his affairs and suddenly Max couldn't wait.
“We will be married as soon as I can organize it, Hero.”
She blew out a frustrated breath, which drew his eyes to her soft, pink lips. He wanted to kiss her again, now, out here in the cold, with possibly the entire household watching.
“No, Max. Now be sensible about this. My home is here with my children. I am not a lady of society, nor will I ever be. You deserve a beautiful wife who will be a wonderful hostess and someone you can parade about on your arm during the season. I would never tie you to me because we spent last night together.”
He cupped her cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman I know, Hero Appleby, both inside and out.”
That made her blush but she did not lower her eyes. “My life is here, Max, not in London.”
He looked up at the house behind him and located the children in an upper window, all crammed together in the small space peering down at them with Mrs. Bonny at their backs.
“Then we will live here, but I insist on making repairs to this place.”
He saw the hope flash across her eyes and then it was gone.
“Don't play with me, Max. It's hurtful and beneath you.”
He wasn't going to win this argument without support so he simply took her hand and dragged her back inside.
“Where are we going?”
He didn't speak, just towed her past the huge tree and up the stairs until he located the children, who had flown into seats and were now pretending they had not been pressed to the window just seconds before.
“Move your feet, Hero,” he said urging her further into the room.
“Max, what are you doing?”
Ignoring her whispered words, he spoke to the children. “I want to marry Hero and live here with you all but she is reluctant to accept. Therefore, I would like to hear what you all think.”
“No… Dear God, this is terrible,” Hero moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Will you beat us or cuff us about the ears?”
“No, Owen,” Max said solemnly, knowing the boy had suffered these things at his father's hand. “I will never raise a hand to you but I will discipline you if you misbehave.”
“That's fair, don't you think?” the boy said, looking at the others, who, in turn, nodded.
“Will you kiss us goodnight and read us stories like Hero does?”
“Uh, Emmaline, is it?” Max tried to find the right words as he addressed the little girl. “In truth, I have not had a lot of experience with children but I would like to learn and hope that you will teach me. I'm good at reading and I think a hug and a kiss goodnight are important parts of any child's day.”
Max felt sweat bead his brow as the children stared at him. Proposing to Hero had been easier than this.
“All right, then. I like you cus you rescued Charlotte and Owen, so you can marry Hero.”
“Because,” Max corrected the little girl.
“You gonna correct us like Hero does all the time?” another little boy said in disgust.
“Yes,” Max said simply.
“Oh, well, leastways she'll have company cus it ain’t easy having just us.”
“I love having all of you. Surely you know that by now, Colin,” Hero cried, flying across the floor to hug the little boy.
“I know you do, Hero, but sometimes you look a bit sad.”
Max saw the tears in her eyes as she stood.
“Do I?”
All the children nodded.
“I have another question.”
“There, now. Surely we've asked enough of Lord Caruthers, Emmaline,” Mrs. Bonny said, coming to his rescue.
“But does he love her? Me Ma once said nothing else matters if a man loves his woman.”
Christ.
All eyes were trained on him and even Hero had fallen silent and was looking his way. She had an expression that said she wondered how he was going to get out of this one. Obviously, she didn’t think she was worthy of his love.
Max took a deep breath. If he must declare his love for her in such a public arena, then so be it. Moving to her side, he took both her hands before she could tuck them behind her back.
“The reason I know I love you, Hero Appleby, is because I have never loved before, and since meeting you, I’ve begun to feel. You’ve exposed something inside me, Hero, and given me hope.”
Mrs. Bonny sighed and the little girls clapped loudly and the boys both made gagging noises.
“And now I think it's time for us to have our afternoon tea, children. Then we will begin decorating the tree.”
Max gave Mrs. Bonny a grateful look as she started herding the children from the room.
“But I want to stay and hear what Hero has to say.”
“Emmaline, if you don't come now, I'm setting you to scrubbing out the chamber pots this afternoon.”
The little girl's face looked mulish for a few seconds. Then she sighed. “All right, but I get to hang the star on the top of the tree.”
Protests started as they left, with all arguing over the right to place the star. Finally, the door shut behind them and Max was alone with Hero.
“Will you marry me, Hero Appleby?”
She snatched her hands from his and took a step backwards, her eyes going to the fire.
“You cannot mean this, Max. It’s unnecessary, I assure you, and I do wish you had not broached the subject in front of the children.”
He moved closer and then, taking her chin, he turned her to face him. Confusion clouded her eyes.
“Do you think a selfish and indulgent man such as I would do something he had no wish to?” She tried to escape him so he simply wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Max kissed her softly until he felt her respond. Only then did he stop. “I did not plan to love you, Hero, nor did I plan to wed a woman with as many children as you have, yet it seems I must, my sweet.”
“Why must you?” The words were whispered.
“Because in just a few days, you have captured my heart and soul, Hero. You're so strong and brave and beautiful that I want to lock you away
so no other man will ever look upon you but I.”
“Oh, Max.”
“You've made me believe in life, Hero. You've made me understand how to give and what it is to be happy for the first time in years or perhaps ever. Don't throw me back to the darkness, love. Let me live with you in the light.”
Max held her while she cried. “I hope these are tears of happiness?”
“Y-yes.”
“Will you marry me, Hero?”
“Yes, please.”
Max kissed her until someone banged on the door.
“There will be no peace, Max,” Hero said as he tucked her hands into his chest to hold her close. “The adjustment for you will-”
“Be easier because I have you at my side and the love we share,” Max said softly.
“I don't know what miracle has given me this chance at happiness, my lord, but I will grasp it with both hands and never let you go because I love you, too, so very much.”
“It is the miracle of love, Hero, ours and the children’s.” Max kissed her once more until the hammering on the door grew too loud to ignore. He then led her from the room and into a future that was clear and bright and filled with hope.
EPILOGUE
“Charlotte, take your fingers out of Colin's ear.”
“But he’s in my way, Max,” the little girl said, planting a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek as he bent to glare at her, which made her giggle. Max then stood to reach for Emmaline and lift her high so she could place the star on top of the tree.
Hero leaned on the wall below the stairs, watching Max help the children decorate the tree. They had been married for two years now and each day she loved him more. There were still times when the children outsmarted him and she had to gently remind him not to let them walk all over him, but for the most part, he was a wonderful father figure in their lives. He genuinely cared for them and they, him, and each day they all blossomed in the happy environment that was now their home.
“Just place the bleedin’ thing, Emmaline, so we can go and eat. My stomach’s rumbling.”
“Owen, mind your language, please,” Hero said, running a hand over the boy's head to soften her words. He loved her touch now and that of the other children. Since Max had come to live with them, he had blossomed and was a happy boy full of mischief.
“There, now, we can all have supper,” Max said after he had lowered the little girl gently to the ground once more.
“If you will all follow me, we shall proceed in an orderly manner.”
“Stow it, Freddy, we’re too hungry to be orderly!”
Hero laughed as Freddy chased after Emmaline as they all thundered down to the kitchens where Mrs. Bonny would have the food ready on the table.
“Come, Lady Caruthers, it is time to feed both you and our baby.”
Hero went willingly into her husband’s arms, although it was not quite as easy now, as her stomach seemed to get in the way.
“I love you, Lord Caruthers.” Hero kissed him softly.
Max looked up and saw the cat perched above them on the stairs. Nudging Hero back a step, he kissed her again thoroughly.
“You’re standing under mistletoe, love, and I believe the tradition is a kiss must follow.”
“So it must,” Hero replied and it was quite some time before Lord and Lady Caruthers joined their children for supper.
Lillian Elizabeth Caruthers was born two weeks later, much to the delight of Max and the women in the household. Colin and Owen, however, were heard to mutter that the odds were firmly stacked against them and that it was Max’s job to even them up…and soon.
The End
ABOUT WENDY VELLA
Wendy Vella is a lover of all things romantic. Her novels are sensual with just a touch of wicked and set in the often intriguing backdrop Regency England. Writing is something she has always found time for; and penned her first novel at eighteen, though she is adamant it will never make an appearance further than the closet in which it currently resides.
MISS WATSON’S FIRST SCANDAL
Overworked London banker David Hawke has two goals for his week in the seaside town of Brighton: one, recover an overdue debt from a good friend and neighbor and two, relax for the remaining holiday without any further distractions. When his friend’s impulsive younger sister barges into his home to beg his aid, he’s drawn deeper into her life and scrambling to keep their relationship on a professional level.
Abigail Watson may be considered too young to have the cares of the world on her shoulders but her brother is in financial trouble and she’s desperate to help him recover. Despite the impropriety, she appeals to the bachelor next door for an extension on the debt and his help to secure her brother a wealthy wife. However, matchmaking never runs smoothly and falling in love is something neither one counted on.
Copyright © 2013 by Heather Boyd
CHAPTER ONE
David Hawke breathed a sigh of relief when the first sign of Brighton came into view through the grimy coach window. He marked his place in the latest K. L. Brahm novel he’d been reading and reluctantly closed the book on the wonderful tale. The journey from London to the seaside resort town appeared to grow longer each year and he longed to already be at his destination, at home in his snug terrace house. If not for his client’s witty novel, he would have drowsed the entire way or grown cross with his companion’s frequent jostling.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his thigh as impatience clawed at him. He was desperate to stretch his legs, desperate to escape the strangers seated opposite in the mail coach and their assessing glances. He’d dressed a little too finely to be completely ignored by his companions and his seat partner kept reading over his shoulder. Their curiosity compelled him to be vigilant of his possessions and he was weary to the bone.
The coach drew to a stop and he jumped out as quickly as he could manage. He should have hired a chaise for the journey but sitting in the large conveyance alone was a wasteful way to travel in his opinion. He caught his remaining possessions as a groom tossed them down from the carriage rooftop then he set off for his seaside home.
By design, his path took him the long way through the deserted streets of Brighton just so he might catch a glimpse of the dark waters of the channel before he went to bed. The gentle ocean breeze blew the stench of London from him; the scent of brine cleared his head and cooled his exposed skin. He drew in deep cleansing breaths and a smile broke free. It was good to be home again. He’d missed swimming each morning with his neighbors, if they still came here at this time of year. It had been a long while since he’d had a letter from any of them and he’d come with no illusions they would have time to see him.
But the destination itself still made any uncertainty worthwhile. He’d spent many years here as a boy and his pulse raced at the familiar sights and sounds. Returning each year for a week-long holiday had become a necessary pilgrimage.
After a time, he forced himself away from the water, making his way up Cavendish Place toward his home. Lights burned in the windows of several residences along the street. The Radleys appeared to be here, the Mertons, too. The George’s residence was dark and silent but that was not an unusual circumstance. The young Walter George preferred to go out and his sister was rumored to retire early.
He stopped outside the Watson residence, a three-story town house, second from the end of the street. Peter Watson’s front door stood beside his own, but their circumstances couldn’t be more different. His good mood evaporated. There was one unpleasant matter David needed to take care of for the bank before he could truly settle down to a much needed rest.
The Watson’s account was substantially overdrawn with no certainty of further funds arriving to repay the debt. His partner, Knight, had wanted to close the account three months prior. However, David had managed to convince him to wait and give the Watsons more time. Unfortunately, time had run out and he couldn’t stall any longer. He had to arrange a meeting with Peter Watson for tomorrow m
orning. Best to get the unpleasantness over and done with so he could try to enjoy the rest of his stay.
He stepped up to the door. Raucous laughter filtered through a partially open window. Damnation. He’d forgotten it was games night: cards, food, and copious amounts of wine. The fellows from Cavendish Place had likely come to gamble with Peter Watson, a man who should be saving every penny and pound and not wasting it on Lady Luck. Would it be better to wait until tomorrow to pay his call?
If David had learned one thing in London it was that business came first before fun and friendship. He applied the knocker soundly and waited.
Eventually, the door opened and the Watson’s butler squinted at him. “Good Lord, Mr. Hawke. I nearly didn’t recognize you. Is everything all right?”
David winced. He’d been dodging the same question from every customer of the bank he’d met with for the past month. The constant enquiries about his health set his teeth on edge. “Of course, Simpson. But I am travel weary.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “Would you be so good as to inform Mr. Watson, after his guests have departed, I’ve come to Brighton and need to speak with him about an urgent matter. I’d like to arrange a meeting with him tomorrow morning if it suits.”
Simpson opened the door wide. “Come in, come in, sir. Your friends will be so happy to see you. They were just remarking on your absence from the game, but I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from Brighton altogether.”
David smiled ruefully. “The sea has called to me all year up in dreary London.” He crossed the threshold, set his bag aside, and then removed his hat and gloves before handing them to Simpson. He checked his watch. “I assume they are rather bosky by this hour?”