Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

  He had his answer.

  Breathless, her eyes glowing, she touched his face.

  “Yes, Chester. I’ll marry you.”

  “Eden? Look.” He rotated her until she saw what he’d spied. Almost reverently, he snapped the blossom from the bush and presented it to her. “It’s an omen. I’m sure of it.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “The first Blue Damask rose to bloom in decades. It’s as if some force knew we were meant to be together.”

  “Indeed, my love. And who am I to argue with a legend?”

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  Brighton, England

  August 1823

  Eden leaned back into Chester’s embrace as they observed the future Duke of DeCourcy and his grandmama playing in the gardens. Behind them, Old Ronald tended the flowerbed dedicated to the Blue Damask roses.

  “Byron darling, come away from the fountain,” Mama said as Mr. Wiggles tried to herd the determined auburn haired, blue-eyed baby toward his Grandmama.

  Mattie laughed and picked up the sailor cap Byron had lost whilst running from them.

  “Goggy,” Byron giggled, digging his pudgy fingers into Mr. Wiggle’s fur.

  Mr. Wiggles promptly flopped onto his back, all four feet in the air, and proceeded to wiggle in the manicured grass, which sent Byron into another round of hysterical giggles.

  “Can you believe he’s almost two years old already?”

  Eden tilted her head to meet Chester’s eyes.

  “No, I cannot. A note arrived from Father this morning saying he’d be here by week’s end for the celebration. I think naming our son after Byron finally bridged the chasm, and he was able to let go of the past.”

  “That and forbidding him to see our son until he’d apologized for his awful conduct and showed he was truly repentant.” To the duke’s credit, his behavior had markedly improved.

  Chester patted her tummy and nuzzled her nape.

  Her birthmark no longer embarrassed her—how could it when Chester loved to kiss her there? She’d taken to wearing her hair up, especially when Byron thought it funny to grab fistfuls if she left it down.

  “And soon, there will be another cherub for his grandparents to dote over.” Chester kissed her neck again.

  “Oh, this baby’s a girl. I can tell.” Eden framed the small mound with her hands. “Simon, Candace, and the boys are coming too, by the way. It was truly generous of you to advance him the monies to invest in sheep ranching. Candace says the woolen mill is doing well too. I can rest easier now knowing their financial reverses are on the mend.”

  “Only because I control everything he does at this juncture. I’m confident in time, he’ll be able to stand on his own two feet once more.” Chester nipped her ear, sending another delicious spark to those places he was so accomplished at exploring.

  “Come with me.” She seized his hand, and with a quick glance to make sure Mama had Byron well in hand, pulled her husband into the house.

  “What are you about, sweet?

  He knew full well.

  She laughed at the wicked grin he gave her.

  In a trice, they’d reached their chamber, and without preamble stripped away their clothing. The cool air was most welcome.

  Chester lifted her, and as he carried her to the bed, nibbled her neck, his tongue flicking out and touching that sensitive spot that turned her brain to mush.

  “Hurry, Chester.”

  “Eager are you, sweet?”

  He grazed a kiss across her breast as he hooked her knee over his hip and slid home. “Better, love?”

  Eden groaned as she moved against him, “Yes.”

  It had been like this from the beginning.

  One touch, one look, and she was done in. This man had brought her happiness she’d never imagined. As she soared higher and higher, almost at the pinnacle, she clasped him to her.

  “I love you.”

  “And I adore you, my beloved wife.”

  The wave crashed over her, his peak following an instant later.

  Once she’d caught her breath, she rested her chin on his chest and ran her fingers through the crisp hair there. “Do you think the legend of the Blue Damask rose is real?”

  “How can it not be, my darling? We should have been enemies, but look at us.” He brushed his fingertips over the swell of her breasts. “A love like ours is as rare and wonderful as the Blue Damask. It’s legendary.”

  Groggy with contentment, she snuggled into his side. “I like that. A legendary love— forever and always.”

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  Dearest Reader,

  I’m so delighted you’ve chosen to read Chester and Eden’s story, A ROSE FOR A ROGUE. I adored Lord Sterling in THE WALLFLOWER’S WICKED WAGER, and though he didn’t win the heroine in that tale, I decided he’d have his own story someday.

  As was true of most women during the Regency Era, Eden and her mother had little recourse but to accept the stipend Walter Andrews bestowed upon them. While women today have options available if they find themselves in circumstances similar to what Eden and her mother faced, such was not the case in the early 1800s.

  I strive to create stories as historically accurate as possible. Respectable employment was difficult for women to acquire back then, let alone a job that could provide enough income to support a household. That’s one reason why London’s streets teemed with prostitutes.

  While some readers might be offended or frustrated at the lack of choices I offered in this story, my intent was to create believable characters and situations for that time period. To impose today’s standards and norms on a prior era, I cannot and will not do.

  I hope you enjoyed getting to know Chester and his sweetheart as they struggled to overcome their obstacles to true love.

  Please consider telling other readers why you enjoyed this book by reviewing it at Amazon, Goodreads, Apple, or Barnes & Noble. Not only do I truly want to hear your thoughts, reviews are crucial for an author to succeed. Even if you only leave a line or two, I’d very much appreciate it.

  So, with that I’ll leave you.

  Here’s wishing you many happy hours of reading, more happily-ever-afters than you can possibly enjoy in a lifetime, and abundant blessings to you and your loved-ones.

  Collette Cameron

  Connect with Collette!

  www.collettecameron.com

  Follow her on:

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  The Gentleman’s Seduction

  Lauren Smith

  The Gentleman's Seduction

  Lauren Smith

  Copyright

  This book 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 coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Smith

  Cover design by EDH Graphics

  Stock Photography by Period Images

  Lauren Smith supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact Lauren@Laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Gentleman's Seduction

  Lauren Smith

  Prologue

  London, December 5, 1814

  “Please, you cannot do this!” The hoarse pleading echoed in the silence of the hall.

 
; Seventeen-year-old Martin Banks hid in the shadows, watching his father plead for mercy with Edwin Hartwell in the foyer of their small townhouse on Gracechurch Street. Edwin’s tall stature, broad shoulders, and cold face cast fear into Martin’s young heart. His twin sister, Helen, clutched his arm as they peered around the curtain’s edge from their hidden vantage point.

  “I can and I will.” Edwin’s face was hard as he stared at William Banks. “You owe me ten thousand pounds, and I’m calling in that debt. If you cannot pay, you shall be out within the week.”

  “Out?” Their mother, a lovely woman with a delicate constitution, leaned heavily against the banister for support. She should have been resting upstairs, not facing this brute next to her husband. Martin wanted to go to her, but he was frozen with a childish fear. If his father was afraid of Edwin, then Martin knew he had no chance to stand against him.

  “Yes, madam.” Edwin’s reply was cold enough to ice over the river Thames.

  “Oh, please, you can’t. What about the children?” She held a hand out beseechingly to Edwin, but he shrugged off her touch and stepped back.

  “If you had cared at all about your children, you would not have made such a risky investment. I loaned you the money, and I am owed my due.”

  Martin’s throat tightened, and he curled his hands in fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

  “I’ll get you the money,” William said, rushing to reassure Edwin.

  “You may try, but none of the banks will extend you credit.”

  “They might,” his father argued. “I have not fallen completely out of favor with them.”

  “We shall see. If not, you will be cast out in seven days.” Edwin set his hat on his head, and the butler opened the door for him. As the man stepped out into the night, Martin stared at the his back, burning the sight into his memory forever.

  Edwin Hartwell, the man who ruined their family.

  “William, what shall we do? If the banks won’t help us…” his mother began.

  “I still have friends at Drummonds. I’ll go there first thing tomorrow.”

  “Please, I’m so worried. It is so close to Christmas. What if we cannot afford another place to live?” His mother hugged his father, and Martin’s heart swelled with hope. Surely his father would be able to do something. He had to; they needed a home to live in.

  “Everything will be all right, Mary. You’ll see. There’s bound to be some rooms somewhere, even if we must move to a less respectable area of town.” His father let her go, and she brushed away a tear, her hands trembling.

  >“Go upstairs and rest. You’ve had too much to worry about today.” William’s eyes were dark with concern. Martin was worried too. In the last few days, his mother had grown weaker than she ever had been before.

  She started for the stairs but suddenly collapsed. Her body crumpled to the floor.

  “Mary!” his father shouted and rushed to her side, cradling her in his arms.

  “Mother!” Martin fled the shadows and joined him, Helen right behind him.

  His mother lay like a fallen angel in his father’s embrace, her lashes fluttering like the frantic wings of a butterfly trying to stay aloft in the midst of a storm. Her ashen face, pale lips, and cloudy eyes warned Martin of a truth he had never wished to see—that one’s parents were not invincible.

  “Fetch the doctor!” William shouted.

  Martin grabbed his coat from an anxious footman and ran into the street, calling for a hackney. The doctor they knew lived only a few streets away, but Martin feared even that short distance would be too far. He’d seen his mother’s face, pale and her limbs going slack. He had seen death.

  Edwin Hartwell had stolen more than Martin’s home—he’d taken his mother’s life, and someday Edwin would pay.

  The Gentleman's Seduction

  Lauren Smith

  Chapter One

  London, December 10, 1825

  Martin Banks despised Christmas. He sat in his armchair at his club, Brooks’s, and listened to the men around him discussing the balls and winter festivities to be held over the next few weeks leading up to the holiday. He unfolded his copy of the Morning Post, trying to focus on the articles and block out the stories of the men around him as they shared memories of snow forts, figgy puddings, and quests for a Yule log.

  Nonsense. Foolish, sentimental nonsense.

  At the age of twenty-eight, he was past his reckless youth but not old enough to look back fondly upon it either. Men his age were celebrating the holiday with new brides or new children. But not Martin. He had taken careful steps to avoid marriage, which had been easy in his early twenties. After his mother died, his father had lost his will to live, and their lives had fallen into shambles.

  By age twenty, he and his twin sister, Helen, were orphans and had moved to Bath to seek employment, him as a clerk and she as a governess. They’d both failed to achieve those respective goals. Fortunately, Helen had married, and her husband had given Martin financial support while he’d worked his way into the world of investments. Without much money at hand earlier on, the young ladies of Bath had ignored him despite his fair looks. Not that he cared. It hadn’t been until a few years later when he’d earned his fortune that women looked upon him with eyes toward marriage, and by then he’d lost his desire to marry.

  I won’t make the same mistakes my father did. A man who doesn’t love anything can’t lose anything.

  For the past eight years, he’d worked toward establishing himself as a smart investor. Unlike his father, he had far more luck and had amassed quite the fortune. Now ladies looked at him with open interest, which he happily ignored. He didn’t need a wife, but if he was honest with himself, he needed a new mistress. His bachelor residence was a bit lonely at times. He knew many men wouldn’t set their mistresses up in their own residences and would simply visit them. Martin had preferred the closeness of his companions much more than he cared for society’s rules. Since he did little entertaining it didn’t matter overmuch that his mistresses usually lived in his town house.

  It had been a while since he’d had a mistress under his roof. Martin didn’t like that he was having fits of the blue devils more frequently. At times, the only cure was to visit his twin sister, Helen. Her two young children, his niece and nephew, gave him no end of joy.

  “Banks, you devil, where have you been hiding these days?” A familiar jovial voice broke through Martin’s grim thoughts. A ruddy-cheeked man with a ready smile stared down at him over the top of his newspaper.

  “Rodney!” Martin grinned and folded the paper and set it aside. “Join me, would you?” There were plenty of men Martin could claim as friends, but Rodney was closer to a brother.

  “Just for a bit. I have to escort my wife to Bond Street. The children need presents, you know.” Rodney’s delight was evident by the warmth with which he said this and the way his eyes glinted with fatherly pride. A twinge of pain in Martin’s chest surprised him, but he buried the pain with another smile.

  “I haven’t seen you in months,” Martin said. “Did you take the course of action I suggested on the annuities?”

  Rodney nodded and took a seat close to Martin, glancing around the room at the other men.

  “I certainly did. Paid off handsomely. Still is, in fact.” Rodney slapped his thigh and leaned back in his chair.

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” Martin had known Rodney for eight years. When they’d first met, the man had been a bit of a gambler, but he’d outgrown the habit and settled down, prosperously.

  “And you? Tell me, are you still seeing that opera singer? She was most enchanting.”

  Martin chuckled. “Stella and I parted ways four months ago. I didn’t mind her upkeep, but we had both tired of each other. Once the spark is gone, it’s gone,” Martin said with a sigh. “Still, she is doing well in Paris, I hear.”

  “Why don’t you come out with me tonight? I’ve got an invitation to meet with some
gentlemen at the Argyll Rooms. They’re having a ball of sorts, and a few tables of faro and whist will be set up, I imagine.”

  “I don’t know. Who are you meeting with?”

  “Lord Pentwith, Mr. Smythebrooke, and a few others. Come, Martin, have a little fun this evening.”

  Martin stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall.” He could always leave early if the evening bored him.

  “Splendid. Meet you at the Argyll Rooms at nine tonight.” Rodney rose from his chair and gave Martin a congenial thump on the back as he departed.

  Folding his paper, Martin decided it was time to go. He waved at one of the reading room attendants, and the boy fetched his hat and coat. As he left the club, he inhaled the crisp, cold winter air and looked skyward at the purple skies and the setting sun, which softened the harshness of the city at twilight. In a few hours he would be at the Argyll Rooms, and he would likely have a chance to make the acquaintance of a few lovely ladies looking to secure a protector and benefactor. It was a role he would be happy to fill for an enterprising young beauty who might catch his eye.

  By the time he reached his residence on Park Lane, he was eagerly looking forward to meeting up with Rodney again. The townhouse had cost him thirty-three thousand pounds, but he had embellished it with renovations and furnishings for another hundred thousand pounds, so now it was quite an attractive home. Any woman he met tonight would be quite enthusiastic to share it with him for a time. The front door opened as he carefully wiped his boots on the boot scraper to rid them of the ice from the pavements.

  “Welcome home, sir.” Mr. Harris, his butler, collected his hat and coat, passing them to the first footman.

  “Evening, Harris. Please notify Mrs. Wilson I shall be out tonight and won’t need supper.”

  “Of course, sir. Should I have your coach ready at a certain time?”

  “Half past eight would be sufficient.” He glanced about the Palladian-style home with its grand white marble staircase, envisioning a beautiful young lady ascending the stairs, ready to be taken to his bed.