First Kyle, then Dominic, gave brief, flattering introductions of the seventh Lord Seabourne. At this point, Gavin was supposed to take an oath of allegiance to Crown and country, then quietly sit down. On some later date he would give his maiden speech on an uncontroversial topic, and anyone who spoke after him would offer compliments on the speech. All very orderly.
Yet when he stood, once again unreality crashed in on him. How could a lad who’d grown up barefoot in Aberdeen be about to join the House of Lords? How could a blunt American sailor be putting down roots in England? His gaze went to his wife again. Most of all, how could a man who had thought himself incapable of loving again be so lucky as to find a woman like Alexandra?
With sharp insight, Gavin realized that before he could move into this amazing new life he’d chosen, he must turn this ceremony into a statement of who and what he was. Though in the future he would be a dutiful and well-behaved earl, today he would speak his heart.
“My noble lords, this is a most unexpected honor,” he said in a voice honed on the open seas. “Having been born in Scotland and raised in America, my mind and heart were shaped by rebellion and republican ideals. I embraced the belief that all men are created equal in the sight of God, and I scorned the concept of a decadent aristocracy.”
His gaze swept the chamber. “I was truly horrified to discover that I had inherited an earldom, and that it was as much a part of me as my blood and bone, impossible to disavow. Then this august body judged me, and condemned me to death.”
Frowns appeared at his bad taste in bluntly referring to such an awkward matter. He didn’t care. He lacked the flourishes of traditional orators who had been trained in rhetoric, and must rely on American directness.
“That was the day when I truly came to respect this chamber and the men seated here. Not for the mistaken verdict that came of my trial, but for the proof that even a peer of the realm is not above British justice. For the first time I recognized that what I love most in America is rooted in British custom and law, and I hope and pray these shared ideals will keep two great nations forever friends.
“British justice and love of freedom have joined with compassion to create a society that is a beacon for the world. It is Britain that has led the fight to end slavery, which is an abomination in the sight of God.” His gaze went again to his wife. A lesser woman would be shocked at the way he was speaking out against tradition, but Alex nodded fierce approval.
“In the last decade, the Mother of Parliaments has created reforms to better the lot of men, women, and children throughout this great nation, and the work has only just begun. I hope to join here with other men of goodwill to help shape the Britain of the future—a land where justice, honor, and compassion will prevail.”
Though traditionalists among the lords looked pained, the reformers nodded approval. Across the chamber the other American-born peer, Lord Markland, was openly grinning. Today Gavin had claimed his ground, and in the future he would work with men of like mind to build a better world. That was not a bad goal for a man’s life.
Solemnly he took the oath of allegiance and became a member of the House of Lords for the rest of his natural life. The remainder of the short session passed quickly, and at the end a group of approving peers surrounded Gavin to shake his hand and welcome him to the House. The Duke of Ashburton said with a glint in his eyes, “Some of the noble lords are already regretting that you cheated the hangman.”
Gavin laughed. “They’ll regret it more before I’m done.”
He was turning to Lord Markland when Alex appeared through an aisle that opened for her through the crowd. Clasping his hand, she said softly, “I am so proud of you, my love.”
He gazed into her aqua eyes, forgetting his surroundings in his wonder at how they had found each other. “The greatest prizes are the hardest won,” he murmured. Then, because he’d already broken plenty of rules today and might as well break another, he kissed her.
Author’s Notes
THE EAST Indies are the world’s largest archipelago, with more than thirteen thousand islands sprawling across two million square kilometers of tropical seas. In the early nineteenth century, the cultural range reached from ancient, sophisticated societies to some of the most primitive tribes on earth. Almost seven hundred languages are still spoken in modern Indonesia. While Islam is the dominant religion of the islands, Bali has retained its Hindu traditions, there are pockets of Christianity, and ancient animistic customs are visible almost everywhere.
Given that rich diversity, I’ve taken the liberty of creating the fictional island of Maduri (not to be confused with the real island of Madura, which is adjacent to Java). The Lion Game is my own invention. Bali has a dance called the Sanghyang Jaran that is performed by young boys and involves dancing around and through fire while in a trance, but fire walking as a male rite of passage is also pure imagination on my part.
The Komodo dragon, largest reptile in the world, is real enough and can be extremely dangerous, but since the beasts are apt to spend hours sitting still without so much as a twitch, I devised a specially bred strain of them for fighting purposes.
The wine vaults under the docks were quite real, including the unique white fungus dripping from the roof and the cats who patrolled to keep the rat population at bay.
To call the British legal system in the nineteenth century complex is an understatement of massive proportions, so it’s not surprising that peers had their own form of justice, including practices different from the standard courts. The Lord Ferrers mentioned in the story was real, almost certainly mad, and hanged at Tyburn in 1760 a mere four months after murdering his steward for no good reason. Other cases I’ve read of peerage trials indicate that usually the lords were disgracefully easy on their own, which is probably why being tried in the House of Lords was abolished in 1935.
And for those of you who are not cat people, they really do deposit dead rodents as a sign of affection for the humans who feed them.
Books by Mary Jo Putney
THE GUARDIAN SERIES
A KISS OF FATE*
THE BRIDE TRILOGY
THE WILD CHILD*
THE CHINA BRIDE*
THE BARTERED BRIDE*
FALLEN ANGEL SERIES
THUNDER AND ROSES
PETALS IN THE STORM
DANCING ON THE WIND
ANGEL ROGUE
SHATTERED RAINBOWS
RIVER OF FIRE
ONE PERFECT ROSE*
SILK TRILOGY
SILK AND SHADOWS
SILK AND SECRETS
VEILS OF SILK
OTHER HISTORICALS
DEARLY BELOVED
UNCOMMON VOWS
THE BARGAIN
THE RAKE
REGENCIES
THE DIABOLICAL BARON
CAROUSEL OF HEARTS
LADY OF FORTUNE
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES
THE BURNING POINT
THE SPIRAL PATH
TWIST OF FATE
NOVELLA COLLECTION
CHRISTMAS REVELS
* Published by Ballantine Books
Read on for a sneak peek at Mary Jo Putney’s
enchanted and passionate new romance
A KISS OF FATE
On sale now.
Chapter 1
Summer 1745
Richmond, England
Duncan Macrae inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the rampant scents of summer. Having arrived in London the night before after a long, grueling tour of the Continent, he would have preferred to spend the day sleeping, but his friend Lord Falconer had insisted on dragging him from London to Richmond. Now Duncan was glad he had come. He glanced at the sky. “Lady Bethany chose her day well. Britain at its best.”
“As you know, she has some Macrae blood. Enough to always choose a fine day for her entertainments despite our chancy English weather.” Simon lovingly smoothed a wrinkle from his blue brocade sleeve. “If rain threatened, I’d not have worn this new
coat. It was damnably expensive.”
Duncan grinned. His friend mimicked the manners of a fop so perfectly that even Duncan, who had known him since the nursery, sometimes had trouble remembering that Simon was the most dangerous mage in Britain. Except, perhaps, for Duncan himself. “Where is Lady Bethany? I should pay my respects to our hostess. It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”
Simon shaded his eyes to scan the crowd. “Over there, below the gazebo.”
The men turned their steps toward their hostess. As they neared the gazebo, he heard a string quartet inside, playing music as lighthearted as the day. “It’s hard to believe that the shadow of civil war lies over Britain,” he said softly.
“That’s why you’re here,” Simon said with equal softness. “And it’s why I and others have spent so much time in Scotland. The future isn’t fixed. If we Guardians build enough bridges between our nations, perhaps war can be averted.”
“Perhaps, but the Scots and the English have been fighting for centuries, and such bloody habits are not easily broken.”
The group they were approaching included half a dozen men and women, with the rounded figure and silver hair of Lady Bethany Fox in the center. Though past her seventieth year, she had the posture and fine bones that had made her an acclaimed beauty her entire life. She was a passionate gardener, a doting grandmother, and the most powerful sorceress in Britain.
Lady Bethany laughed at something said by the woman at her side. Duncan shifted his gaze, and stopped dead in his tracks, entranced by Lady Beth’s companion. Tall and elegant, she wore a creamy gown of modest cut, yet her demure garb couldn’t disguise a lushly curving figure designed to drive men mad. As if that wasn’t alluring enough, under her straw bonnet was a classically featured face that sparkled with humor and intelligence. This was a dangerous woman.
“Dear God,” he breathed as thunder cracked in the distance. “Helen of Troy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Following Duncan’s gaze, Simon said, “Ah, Lady Brecon. A lovely lass, but launch a thousand ships? I think not. Five or six at the most.”
“Ten thousand ships. More. She is like an ancient enchantress whose glance could drive men to madness.” Duncan gave thanks that Lady Brecon was unaware of his devouring gaze. “Lord Brecon’s wife you say? The earl has good taste.”
“She’s not wife to the present Brecon, but widow to the old one. You were on the Continent when they married, but it was something of a scandal since she was only seventeen and Brecon was over seventy. She seemed rather a plain girl at the time.”
“Plain?” Duncan watched as the lady turned her attention to a languid young fop in gold brocade. The pure curve of her throat mesmerized him, and that luminous skin begged to be caressed. “Her?”
“She blossomed during the marriage—a wealthy husband often has that effect. But she and Brecon seemed most sincerely devoted.”
Absurdly grateful to learn she was a widow, Duncan tried to remember when the fifth Lord Brecon had died. A little over a year ago, he thought. “She must have legions of suitors now that she’s out of mourning.”
“She has many admirers, me among them, but I’ve never seen her favor any in particular.” Simon cocked one brow. “I haven’t seen you like this since we went to the gypsy horse fair and you spotted that gray hunter.”
His friend was right. Duncan had been sixteen when he saw that horse, and his reaction was the same as today when he saw Lady Brecon: He had to have them.
He drew a slow breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t sixteen anymore. The lady might be a shrew, or she might find him as alarming as most women did. One might purchase a desirable horse, but women were more difficult. “If she was Brecon’s wife, she must be a Guardian?”
“Yes, one of the Owenses. She has no power to speak of, but she grew up in the library at Harlowe and is a notable scholar of Guardian lore. Since her husband died, she lives here in Richmond with Lady Bethany.” Simon grinned. “Hard to believe they’re sisters-in-law. The dowager countess looks like Lady Bethany’s granddaughter.”
If the lady was bookish, it didn’t show. From her powdered hair to her dainty slippers, she was an exquisite confection designed to ornament the highest social circles.
Thunder sounded again, this time closer. Duncan’s eyes narrowed. Directness was out of place in aristocratic London, but it was the only way he knew. “Introduce me to the lady, Simon, so I can learn if she is as perfect as she appears.”
Gwynne smiled at the appallingly bad sonnet Sir Anselm White had recited to her. Though his heart was in the right place, his verses were leagues away in the wrong direction. “You flatter me, Sir Anselm. My eyes are light brown, not ‘sapphires bluer than the summer sky.’”
His languid gaze came briefly into focus as he studied the color of her eyes. “Golden coins that outshine the sun!”
She guessed that a metaphor had fallen on the poor man’s head when he was an infant and he had never recovered. Since a small amount of Sir Anselm’s poetry went a long way, she was glad to hear Bethany say, “Lord Falconer, how good to see you again.”
Giving Sir Anselm a last smile before turning away, Gwynne greeted the newcomer warmly. “Simon, my favorite fop!” She extended her hand. “You’ve been neglecting me, you rogue.”
“A fop?” He sighed dramatically. “You wound me, my lady.” He bowed over her hand with consummate grace, looking not at all wounded. “Allow me to present my friend Lord Ballister. You’ll have heard of him, I think, but he’s been traveling abroad for some time and says you’ve never had the opportunity to meet.”
All Guardians had heard of Lord Ballister. Chieftain of the Macraes of Dunrath, among the Families he was known as Britain’s finest weather mage. Some said he was even more powerful than his ancestor, Adam Macrae, who had conjured the great gale that destroyed the Spanish Armada. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ballister.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Ballister bowed.
His storm gray gaze struck Gwynne like lightning. Destiny…The word echoed in her mind, along with a dizzying sense that the world had changed irrevocably.
She scolded herself for too much imagination. The world was exactly as it had been. The sun was shining, Bethany was composed, and Falconer his usual exquisite self. As for Ballister, he looked normal enough. Though his height and broad shoulders drew attention, his face was too craggy to be called handsome, and his navy blue coat and buff waistcoat were plain by the standards of aristocratic London.
Only his intense gray eyes were remarkable. She remembered a natural history demonstration she had once witnessed. The lecturer had said that electricity was a wild, mysterious force that could not be controlled and which no one understood. Surely that was electricity in Ballister’s eyes, and in the very air that danced between them….
She had spent too much time listening to Sir Anselm—his metaphors were contagious. “You have been on the Continent, Lord Ballister?” she asked politely.
“I arrived back in London only yesterday. This morning Falconer dragged me from my bed, swearing that Lady Bethany wouldn’t mind if I came uninvited.”
“The lad would have been in trouble if he hadn’t brought you,” Bethany said severely. “I hope you’ll be staying in London for a time, Ballister?”
“Yes, though I do long to return home to Scotland.” After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Lady Bethany, may I steal your lovely companion to show me the gardens?”
“Please do,” Bethany said, her expression thoughtful. “That will leave me free to flirt outrageously with Falconer. Gwynne, be sure to show Ballister the parterre.”
Glad for the chance to talk more with the Scotsman, she took his arm. Though she was a tall woman, he made her feel small and fragile.
The parterre was lower on the hill, near the river. As they crossed the velvety lawn, he said, “I understand that you live here with Lady Bethany?”
“Yes, she invited me to join her after Brecon’s death.”
/>
“It was too difficult to stay on at Harlowe?”
Surprised at his understanding, she glanced up, and was caught by his eyes again. The gray was changeable, warm now rather than intense. “Yes, though not because of the new earl and his wife. I have the use of the dower house whenever I wish to be at Harlowe, but Lady Bethany and I were both in need of companionship, so I was pleased to accept her offer.”
As Gwynne and her companion entered the parterre, an elaborate pattern of carefully cropped shrubs, Ballister halted and studied the pattern with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t only decorative, is it? The pattern is designed to magnify power.”
“Yes, there’s a power point here. That’s why Lady Bethany and her husband bought this property. The circle in the center of the parterre can be used for rituals.”
“I can feel the earth energy tugging at me. Can you?”
She knew what he was asking. “I have no real power. I can sense atmosphere and energy and emotion a little, but no more than any sensitive mundane.” Even the happy years of marriage and her acceptance into the Guardian community had not eliminated her wistful regret for what she lacked. “What of you, Lord Ballister? You’re called the Lord of Thunder or the Lord of Storms. Did your power manifest early?”
“Not until I was on the brink of manhood, but I always loved weather, the more dramatic the better.”
Gwynne smiled. “Since you’re a Macrae, I assume your parents recognized early that you were a weather mage.”
“Aye, it runs in the family, and where better for us to learn than in Scotland, when the weather changes every five minutes with or without a mage’s help?” He smiled wryly. “No one even noticed my successes and failures when I was learning.”
The Bartered Bride (Bride Trilogy) Page 35