Under the Mask: A Multi-Genre Collection

by Monica Corwin

  Know that I love you and am very proud of the woman you are and will become.

  All my love,

  Andrew

  Tears spilled from her eyes masking the words and staining the paper.

  "Oh, Andrew," she sobbed.

  Hannah unfolded the last page and looked at the image printed on it. Her hand covered her mouth as a choked laugh burst forward. Beneath it was Andrew's handwriting. This is it.

  A worn but recognizable image of her and Lachlan standing in front of the hotel fountain.

  She cried until the tears no longer fell. The letter lay in her lap as she stared into the fireplace. Grief, hope, love, regret, and a hint of fear mingled together creating a war of emotion deep inside her. Hannah lost herself in the tide.

  The door opened, and Lachlan stepped in.

  He spotted Hannah sitting before the fire.

  "Are you well, love?" he asked, stopping beside the chair. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  She smiled. "Yes, I'm fine." Hannah tucked the letter back inside the envelope. "Andrew said goodbye."

  Lucian kissed the top of her head. "If you are feeling well enough, I would enjoy your company at dinner."

  Hannah glanced down at her robe. "Damn it. I'm not dressed. It's not like I can throw something on quick."

  He drew her to her feet. "I will help you dress."

  She followed him into the bedroom. "I doubt that."

  "I undressed you, did I not?" he picked up her garments and helped her put them on.

  Hannah glanced at the letter in her hand before setting it on the desk. "Lucian, can I make a request?"

  "Anything, just name it."

  "I'd like to keep a journal." She turned to face him as he put the corset on her.

  "As you wish, I shall procure one in the morning." He walked around her and began to lace the infernal contraption, keeping in mind her sensitivity to it.

  "Good thing these go out of style in a few years," Hannah said with a smirk.

  Lucian's hand stilled. "Hannah." He leaned close, his lips brushing her neck. "Would you think me wicked if I asked what else you know of the future?"

  She turned and gazed into his gorgeous eyes. "That depends."

  "On?"

  "If you're planning on changing history?"

  He shook his head. "Curiosity, mostly."

  "Then you're in luck." Hannah kissed him softly. "Because I love history."

  "Could you love me too?" Lucian drew her close, his arms around her waist.

  "We'll see. Only time will tell." Hannah glanced at the letter on the desk, and her heart soared.

  About the Author

  Jen Bradlee can get away with murder, metaphorically speaking of course. She is a sensual woman who enjoys people watching, belly dancing, and taking walks in the rain. Give her a man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and plays hard. The ones with rough edges and a little scruff are the best. She finds cathartic release when she pours all her fantasies and desires into her writing. Comes with a warning label. “Too hot to handle.”

  Her sexy romantic side comes out in her writing. Inspired by Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch, she creates characters who have multiple facets to them…the gentleman in the streets but with a wild, dangerous side behind closed doors. She loves villains and anti-heroes, bad boys and irredeemable men. We all have a dark side, sometimes it must be freed.

  For more information:

  JenBradleeAuthor

  www.JenBradlee.com

  Masked Pain

  Leona Bushman

  Masked Pain © 2017 by Leona Bushman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About Masked Pain

  Another evening of broken promises where Ariel's husband has left her to play with another woman arrives, but this time, Ariel decides to go to the party without him. A masquerade set in an historical home is just the thing she needs to forget about the pain of her present situation. A mysterious stranger asks her to dance, promising her she was safe. Intrigued by his odd promise, she agrees to dance with him. The pull of him came strong and hard, confusing her.

  Runes lead her to a time warp and sends her back to the Regency era, where her masked stranger has prepared for her arrival. Can she stay with him, or will she choose to go back to her own time?

  Richard, Lord Remington, has been looking for a woman who inspires the kind of love his parents shared. A letter from the future inspires him to take action for the promise of such a love. His relationship with the prince gives him the ties he needs to prepare for Ariel's arrival, giving her the security she needs to choose to be alone and live a good life or be with him...and hopefully he could provide that good life. Can Richard convince Ariel to risk another marriage with him in an earlier century before it's too late, or will she go home, jaded, to live a life alone?

  Can Ariel live in another time? Is it even real? Only time—and her heart—will tell.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Monica Corwin and Deadra Krieger for reading and editing my MS. You guys rock.

  Chapter One

  England, 1814

  Lord Montgomery stood with head bowed as he leaned against the mantel. Another mother and daughter trying to trap him—or rather his title—into marriage. Though his business interests and land holdings in England and abroad had kept him from being impoverished and desperate for a wife with money, he wanted a wife, a family. However, he wanted a life as he'd seen his parents have.

  A rare love match amongst the ton, especially the forty odd years ago his parents has started courting. As a child, he'd not understood the difference. As an adult, he could see how his and his sister's childhood differed from many of his peers, and until his father had died, the way his parents treated each other, even in public, showed him the love they had for each other.

  Regrettably, the odd few women he'd met who weren't after his money hadn't sparked his interest. He didn't know how to explain it. A deep sadness spilled through him. He understood his duty to the title, but perhaps he'd let it fall to his sister's children.

  A creaking sound followed by stone against stone renting the air caused him to step back from the fireplace. A whoosh of wind moved past his face, and then an envelope floated down as the fireplace moved back into place.

  Richard stared down at the envelope. "What in the hell?" He bent over and picked it up to read the inscription on the front. Very clearly, Richard, Lord Montgomery was hand written on the envelope. He fought the impulse to tear it open, and instead, sat on the closest chair and carefully opened it.

  Dearest Sir,

  You don't know me, but perhaps my mother has mentioned me. I am her daughter Bethany. My mom is Ariel Wellesley Townsend. You and her have made a love match despite everything. My father is deplorable. I am sorry to say this, but he treats her abominably. He is even now, with another woman, giving her love, money, attention, leaving my mother to take care of me and my brother. This has been going on for many years.

  My mother went to a masque ball locally—The Wellington Mansion in Kentucky—and through some miracle, found her way to your time. She's told me how gracious and loving you've been, but how she came back for me and my brother. I implore you to tell her we say to stay where she is loved and happy. Also, I believe she is pregnant with your child now.

  This must be hard for you to read and comprehend, but I implore you to believe me. My mother is from the year 2017. I believe the fireplace is blessed or special and brings soulmates together, even if it takes a miracle. You are my mother's miracle.

  She came back to my time wearing your ring and telling me fantastical tells. I almost didn't believe her, but her happiness, her very being has changed my mind. I grew up on tales of magic and fairytales set in En
gland, and so I am choosing to believe in her happily ever after.

  I ask you to love and cherish my mother the way my father won't. Most of all, to make her feel safe. She has never been completely safe with my father, I see that now. I also ask you to please continue to let her put letters through the fireplace so that I may know how she and any siblings I have from that time fares. In the 1820s, you must move this fireplace to your holdings in Tennessee and rebuild it exactly. This is very important. If you do not do this, your miracle, my mother's miracle, will not happen.

  I love my mother. I believe you do too. Please, write back to let me know you received this and will cherish her forever. Once I get word, I will be sure to get her back to you, even if I have to push her through the fireplace myself.

  Thank you for loving my mother and making her happier than I have ever seen her. I only hope that I may find a man half as beautiful inside as my mother believes you to be.

  With much hope and faith,

  Bethany Townsend

  PS There are Celtic rune writings along the lower mantel. My mom met you by you touching those runes and coming through the fireplace to our time and dancing with her.

  He tapped the letter against his hand as he thought. He'd been praying for a miracle at the moment the letter came through. Could he risk it? How could this be true? Then again, the letter and fireplace had moved.

  He left the room and headed for the stables. In short order, he had his horse and went for a long ride, contemplating the content of the letter and the appearance of it, which he scarcely believed despite having witnessed it with his own eyes. A hard gallop in the cold night air brought a clarity of mind. He'd prayed for a miracle and one crossed his path. Still, he had plenty of flesh and blood women in his own time. Was he mad to even consider this Bethany's words, much less hope they were true?

  After a few hours riding his lands, he returned and left his horse in the capable hands of his groomsman, and then strode back into the house to the room with the fireplace. He stared at the runes for a long time. Could he believe in the miracle? Should he? He thought of all the boring soirees and parties he'd been dragged to and the women he'd met. He should settle on one of them.

  He vehemently shook his head no. He refused. He wanted a loyal woman. One who would raise his children with love and respect. He again read Bethany's words then tapped the letter against his thigh as he thought. Well, he had nothing to lose if this was a joke being had on him, other than a bit of dignity. But if it were real, it sounded like he had a lifetime of love to gain. His mind made up, he went to the secretary and penned a letter to Bethany.

  Dearest Bethany,

  Thank you for your letter. I have not met an Ariel yet, so your letter must have crossed in time. I promise you, that if I said I love you to your mother, I meant it. Part of me considers that I might be mad for even believing this, but part of me is praying that it is the miracle I long for.

  If this is true and not a joke, I shall endeavour to be everything she has said I am.

  Yours respectfully,

  Lord Montgomery

  He trailed his fingers on the runes along the mantle, and all of the sudden, the fireplace moved. He held his breath and cautiously put his hand through the opening, and then tossed his letter through, all the while thinking himself insane.

  The fireplace hadn't even closed when another letter popped through.

  Dearest Sir,

  I am so sorry! She said the first time she met you, you came to her in our time. You were dressed as a pirate. You made her feel safe. Always, she felt safe with you. You do not understand how serious and precious that is for her. No one has made her feel the way you do.

  I know I am young, but I love my mother and want her happy. She stays with my father out of a sense of duty. In our time, it is okay to be divorced, so she could, but she wants us (my brother and I) to be secure and safe and happy. She doesn't do what makes her happy. You made her happy. Please, she is saddened so without you.

  With much thanks,

  Bethany

  With shaking hands, he folded the letter back up and left the room, storing the letter in his jacket pocket. A quick stride had him back at the secretary. He quickly penned a letter, his mind racing, already making plans. If he were to do this insane thing, he'd do it up proper. Besides, this young woman knew things that confirmed that this could be his and her miracle.

  Bethany,

  I have a masquerade that I am hosting soon. I even have the costume of pirate already made for me. I now have no doubts that this is true. You must be a loving daughter to be willing to give her up to a time and place you cannot visit. I will prepare for her coming as best I can with what little I have to go on. Do you know anything of her past? Who her ancestors are? If I can use that, I can perhaps make a solid past for her.

  Yours respectfully,

  Richard

  Over the next few weeks, they exchanged many letters. Each letter solidified the idea that his miracle had indeed happened. He saw Ariel's ancestry and came up with a believable story for her. The science in the next two hundred years would truly be amazing. He'd been concerned about making sure he didn't make her Irish and have her be Spaniard, but found she had a history that he could not just give her a good identity with, but a title.

  His mother took some convincing. After his impassioned words and reading the letters for herself, she welcomed the idea of having a woman with that sense of duty and honor loving her son. Together, they worked tirelessly, not knowing exactly when Ariel would show up, just that it would be soon.

  Excitement built for the masquerade he hosted, which he'd only originally agreed to because his sister asked it of him. Now he pushed to have the place spotless, though he had no reason for it since he'd be the one going to her time, but he felt a compulsion. Every nook and cranny of his manor received intense cleaning and inspection.

  He knew he took a risk, but he went to the king's son. They'd gone to school together, chased some of the same women. He'd once saved the prince's life from a runaway carriage when young men, and they'd been fast friends ever since. He now asked his friend for a favor. The prince helped him, giving her a Scottish title and putting her in their peerage. He'd been a little worried about the prince believing he'd lost his mind, but he agreed that the daughter's letters were compelling and said it wouldn't hurt anything to set her up with a title, lands, and even an allowance. He made her a ward of the crown, and a widow.

  "These are lands We can't bestow upon Our favoured general for political reasons. It will give Us pleasure to pass it to his descendants."

  Richard’s lips twitched at the pompous formality of the prince’s speech, even though used to it. Seemed odd to have it directed at himself after the years together.

  "If you are right and you fall in love, it will bring me personal pleasure to then give them to the man who saved my life before knowing who I was. I wish I could do it officially, but father and the rest of the country would have a fit if they knew I'd ran off without my security and how close I'd come to dying. You've been a faithful friend these long years."

  Lord Montgomery bowed. "It has been a pleasure. I will not forget this."

  "If she loves you as her daughter believes, I will be happy. Now, go prepare for a life of love and money before We change Our minds and make her Our mistress."

  They shared a laugh, and Lord Montgomery left full of hope and gratitude.

  The night of the ball finally arrived. He would meet her tonight. He used extra care in preparing himself for the evening. He kept changing his mind as to which masque and which boots he'd wear. He hadn't been this nervous about courting a woman since he left for University.

  Tonight was it.

  He'd meet his love, or he'd learn he was insane.

  Chapter Two

  Her heart squeezed sharply, though her laughter rang out true while saying goodbye to her kids as they left to friends' homes for the evening. She didn't want to spoil their evenings wit
h her own hurt.

  Once again, her husband left her to fend for herself in an unfamiliar place. They'd had plans to attend a masquerade together, but he had a "better offer" with someone else. She pretended it was fine. After all, she'd done her duty of "an heir and a spare." He never hid the affairs from her. Though he professed to love her, he barely stood to be seen with her, except when society demanded it. Her pride stung, but her heart turned cold.

  Months of talking, of good sex, and still, he left her alone on a night he promised to accompany her. And his anger toward her whenever another woman kept his attention cut her too deep to ignore. Normally, she tucked tail and ran, so to speak, and wouldn't attend whatever event he'd promised to her. Not tonight. No more. She'd only leave him if he beat her or the kids. He knew that and pushed as far as he could, but never over. So, she would stay married to him for the kids, but no more hiding in shame while he dallied with whomever crossed his path. It was 2016, not 1716 after all. She could have an affair as well.

  In fact, her husband had told her to find many lovers because he was tired of handling her voracious sexual appetite. Something that hurt her, but she joked about anyway. Though tempted many times, none met her criteria. No one made her feel safe enough to try.

  "Damn my mother's instincts, anyway," she said to herself, angrily brushing her hair while holding back tears. "Why can't I just do like him and sleep with anyone who takes my fancy? Why am I worried about if they'd be nice to the kids? They're nearly grown."

  But she knew why. How many men had forced themselves on her as a child? How many crazy women had she had to chase off because they endangered the children? No, she wouldn't mourn her overprotectiveness, but she would go out and dance the night away at the mystery masquerade ball tonight and think seriously about whether it was worth staying with a man who felt so little for her. Were the children enough of a reason, or had they reached an age where she could leave?