Love can stand the test of time. Can it rise above the taint of Hell?
Age of Gray, Book 1
Lady Katherine Blakely is married to a monster. On the same night she witnesses how low her husband can sink, she meets a charming stranger, a gentleman from top to toe. Yet even her gallant rescuer is possessed of a dark side.
Lord George Draconis Thornton, commander of the Dominus Daemonum, is on a mission to expel the demon prince Damas back to the underworld. But a golden-haired beauty derails his plans and stirs an attraction he’s never felt before, not even for his centuries-dead wife.
Discovering Lord Blakely is in league with Damas, George sweeps Katherine away from the chaos and devilry threatening her life. With every touch, their love grows by joyful leaps and bounds.
Sensing his enemy’s vulnerability, Damas kidnaps Katherine to his hellish lair, where he wages a sensual assault on her defenses. As George tears at heaven and earth to find her, he is painfully aware of only one way to save her soul. The cost will break her heart…and destroy his own.
Warning: Contains wolves in gentlemen’s clothing, a precipitous descent into Hell, and a frightening glimpse of a post-apocalyptic world where angels and demons wage war for dominion on earth.
The Deepest Well
Juliette Cross
Dedication
To my KickAss Chicks—Andrea, Gemma, Kristi, Kyra, Sabine and Sarah—for sailing these rocky seas with me and reminding me to enjoy the ride.
Chapter One
A picture of perfection in coral silk with pale rose embroidery along the bodice, and a touch of pink on her cheeks and lips to offset her fair complexion, Lady Katherine Blakely lifted her chin with a confidence she did not feel. Nevertheless, she turned from the mirror and set her mind on yet another ball.
“Where are my gloves, Maggie?”
“Right here, milady.”
As she slipped the second one on, tugging it tight at the elbow, she asked, “Is Lord Blakely waiting downstairs?”
“I believe so, milady. He was in his study before I came up.”
“Having his evening brandy, I suppose.” She winced at her own bitter remark. “Forgive me, Maggie. I may look the part, but I’m not so sure I’m in the mood for another ball.”
The maid nodded, her wide mouth lifting into a smile. “But you are the loveliest lady I’ve ever seen. If I may say so.”
Katherine turned, her skirts whirling with her, then held out a gloved hand. Young Maggie took it and blushed when Katherine squeezed it tight.
“You’re such a dear one. If not for you, I’m not sure I could endure—” She caught herself. It wasn’t proper for a lady to complain of her misfortunes. She gave her maid a genuine smile without saying another word, then headed for the door to find her greatest misfortune of all.
As she strode down the long hall darkened by crimson carpeting and cherry-stained walls, the swish of silk on silk sounded too loud. The house too quiet. Almost desolate in its interior design and decoration. Even the dark furnishings were oppressive—an improvement her new husband had insisted upon before the ink on the marriage license was even dry.
And before her father’s grave had gone cold.
Her poor, dear father. He’d only wanted the best for Katherine, to see her well cared for in the home of her birth. When her father fell ill, Lord Blakely stepped to the forefront—his wit, charm and good looks a perfect façade to hide the ugliness within.
Katherine shook off painful thoughts of a past she couldn’t change as she descended the stairs, careful not to step on her underskirts. Time to look toward the future and salvage what she could of this life. Even if she was bound to such a man.
Chin up, taking a deep breath, she crossed the downstairs hall to his study, then opened the door with a soft knock…and froze. Mortified.
She wished with all her being that she could rewind one minute and be more observant. The house wasn’t always so quiet. If she’d listened, she would’ve heard the beast on the prowl and the sounds his prey made when he caught them.
Heat rushed up her neck into her cheeks as she stared, openmouthed, at the scullery maid bent over her husband’s desk. Her bodice was undone, one breast hanging loose and swaying with Clyde’s fervent thrusts inside her from behind. Agnes dropped her head in shame, but Clyde did not. A cruel grin cut across his face.
“Come in and close the door, Katherine. You might learn something.” He fisted his hand tighter in the skirts gathered at the girl’s waist, then pounded her hard. Once. Agnes grunted, though she remained facedown, her fingers gripping the top edge of the mahogany desk.
Still in shock, Katherine winced, remembering his fist in her hair several nights ago as he held her down. The back of her scalp still stung. She squeezed the doorknob, her corset suddenly more constricting as her breath came quicker.
“No, sweetheart?” He chuckled and thrust again. “Then get out. Either way, close the door. This one likes to make noise.”
His other hand slid to the woman’s thigh and slapped. Agnes grunted again with a sensual pant, never lifting her head, cheek pressed against the desk.
“Wait in the carriage, Katherine.” Clyde’s mouth tightened into a line, his focus sharp. “I’ll be along directly.”
Katherine shut the door and swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising all the way up her throat. Sweat dampened her chest and neck. The erotic noises on the other side of the door grew louder. She pushed away violently and strode for the front hall, where Edmund held the door open for her.
“Thank you, Edmund,” she managed to murmur as she swept out and down the front steps. As always, he was aware of her needs. And right now, she needed to leave this place as quickly as possible. Hard to believe it was a once-cherished home.
The coachman hopped down from the front of the carriage and opened the door.
“To the Weathersbys, Peter.”
“Shall we wait for Lord Blakely?” he asked.
Katherine settled onto the velvet cushion, chin up. “We shall not. You may return for him after you’ve taken me on.”
Peter hesitated, holding the door open. She leveled him with a look she had learned from her father, before he’d fallen ill and lost the fire in his gaze.
“You will tell Lord Blakely that I demanded to be taken on. Now close the door, Peter. And drive.”
“Y-yes, milady.”
He snapped the door shut. With a jostle of the carriage and a call to the horses, they were off. Katherine leaned back against the cushion, tilted her head heavenward and closed her eyes. This wasn’t the marriage her father had dreamed of for her. This wasn’t the marriage she deserved. But it was her fate nonetheless. She bit back the urge to weep till her chest ached with anger and humiliation. Too many nights she’d wasted precious energy doing just that. And what good had it done her?
“None,” she whispered to herself, dabbing the traitorous tear that had slipped down her cheek.
With a deep breath, she focused on wiping the image of her husband from her mind. It wasn’t even his betrayal of their vows that cut her to the heart. It was the utter disdain with which he treated her. She wasn’t so naïve as to think he’d been faithful the two years they’d been married, but his cruelty was too much to bear. She’d known of his infidelities. But tonight was the first time she’d witnessed the ugly deed firsthand.
“Don’t think of it, Katherine.”
She turned her thoughts to the Weathersbys. They held the most lavish balls, and always toward the end of the season. The hens would be pecking into her business when she arrived alone. She’d have to find her dear frien
d, Jane Karroway, the only one who could lighten her spirits no matter how dark they’d become. Jane was also the one person who knew her happy marriage was a farce, though Katherine refused to divulge the humiliating details.
The carriage slowed behind a long line, then bumped to a rolling stop. Peter promptly opened the door and helped her down.
“I’ll return with Lord Blakely as quick as I can, milady.”
She nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t.
Strands of the orchestra’s music spilled out onto the elegant members of the ton filing through the ornate columns to the front door of the Season’s main event. Shuffling up the steps, she managed to weave behind a portly man to avoid Mrs. Periwinkle and her ghastly husband.
“Pardon me,” she said, slipping through the door and jostling a gentleman with auburn hair.
“Not at all. My lady seems to be in a hurry. You must pardon me.”
Katherine had already squeezed out of the receiving line but turned at the warm tone and the sultry voice of the gentleman. He removed his top hat, gave her a smile that sent her heart fluttering, then winked, drawing her dumbfounded gaze to his electric-blue eyes. Someone bumped her to get past, knocking her out of her stupor. The stranger chuckled and dipped his chin with a nod, as if he were a familiar friend, before continuing on.
Puzzled, she smoothed her skirts and turned away. The ballroom was oppressive with too many warm bodies. The murmuring of gossip, the strain of violins and the occasional trill of laughter filled the air. Silver sashes draped the room. Golden ornaments and greenery crowned every window, doorway, archway and Greek column. The Weathersbys spared no expense in decoration.
The tops of the dancers’ heads spun in a whirling cotillion at the room’s center. She scanned the groups hovering along the perimeter. That was where she’d find Jane. Sure enough, she spotted her near a high-backed settee, where Jane’s mother was bent in conversation with Helene Weathersby. Jane waved her over, demure and elegant as always. With her honey-brown hair coiffed in a simple twist, a wisp of ringlets at the temples, and a cornflower-blue gown that accented her tiny waist, she was stunning. She was always beautiful in blue.
Pushing through the stifling throng, Katherine finally made it to her friend’s side. “Heavens, what an absolute crush.”
“Isn’t it? I’d say the ton have come out in droves for the final farewell.”
“Is this the final farewell?”
“It might as well be. No one of consequence will dare hold a ball to follow the Weathersby ball.”
“I can hear you, Miss Karroway,” said the white-haired woman sitting next to Jane’s mother.
“I wasn’t exactly trying to hide the information from you, Lady Helene,” said Jane, raising a brow at Katherine. “Everyone knows this is the Season’s main event.”
“Don’t patronize me, Miss Karroway.” The regal woman, who certainly knew her worth, turned to Mrs. Karroway. “You need to marry her off, Eleanor. And soon. She’s got a tongue too quick for one still unmarried.”
“Don’t I know it. It’s not as if I haven’t tried. But she’s the apple of her father’s eye. He’d rather she never married at all.”
“I can hear you, Lady Helene,” said Jane with a smirk. “And you, too, Mother dear.”
“Precisely,” said the hostess. “Now take dear Katherine’s lead and find yourself a good husband.”
Katherine had been enjoying the witty banter until that last remark. She had to fight to keep her smile in place. She wouldn’t wish a husband like Clyde Blakely on anyone, least of all her dearest friend.
“I’m looking,” said Jane, peering over the crowd as if the perfect man might materialize at any moment. “But it seems all the good ones are taken up.”
“And all the bad ones too,” whispered Katherine.
Jane nudged her with an elbow and gave a sharp shake of the head. Everyone knew that Lady Helene was more astute than any woman in London. With a whiff of discontent, she might try to nose her way into Katherine’s misfortune. But Katherine had always liked the older and quite wiser woman. Katherine had an inkling the leader of the ton knew much more than she let on.
Lady Helene swept her hand outward. “There’s a room full of bachelors here, if you care to take a closer look.”
To that, Jane flitted her fan and turned to Katherine. “I wish everyone would stop trying to marry me off. I’m not an old spinster. Not yet.”
Jane was three years Katherine’s junior. “True. But I’d nearly earned the title myself by marrying at one and twenty.”
“Speaking of husbands, where is yours? I didn’t see you arrive with him.”
Katherine scanned the room, looking for somewhere else to focus her gaze so her friend wouldn’t see the pain wrinkling her brow. Too late.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” Katherine forced a smile. “Nothing of consequence.”
“Liar. Tell me.”
“Not here, Jane. Not now.”
Katherine watched the mingling crowd. Debutantes vied for the attentions of the marriage-seeking bachelors, batting their eyelashes and laughing too loudly. A widower who often prowled the parties for a new lover settled in the corner with two potentials, gazing up at them with an expression highly inappropriate for a public ball. It was rather inappropriate even for the bedroom. The wallflowers picked at their gloves or stared longingly at the dancers, wishing to be amid the throng. And the gossipers—
“Heaven help us,” said Katherine, watching the Periwinkles approach. “Don’t look now, but we’re being descended upon.”
“Oh my.” Jane snapped her fan to the side and straightened her stance. “But look at the gentleman they bring in tow. Please descend, Periwinkles.”
Katherine glanced beyond Lord Periwinkle’s overly large head at the auburn-haired man with the undeniable swagger. She knew him at once. The gentleman at the door. As the threesome drew closer, his gaze rested solely on her. She wished she’d brought a fan to cool the heat crawling up her neck, as Jane did now, fanning with an overeager hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Periwinkle,” said Lady Helene, standing from the gold brocade settee. “So pleased you both could come.”
“We wouldn’t miss your ball for the world,” said Mrs. Periwinkle, her absurd ringlets bouncing with her bobbling head. “May I introduce Lord George Draconis, Earl of Thornton.”
“Ah-ha,” said Lady Helene, extending her gloved hand. “I wondered when the mysterious and elusive new Earl of Thornton would finally present himself to the curious ton.”
He took her hand and bent over it with a regal kiss. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I doubt you’ll find I live up to the enigmatic expectation.”
“On the contrary,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. The woman might be moving up in age, but once she’d been a tigress on the prowl. “Though I must say there is no family resemblance to the late Earl of Thornton,” she said with an accusatory but friendly tone.
The late earl had been a short, stout man with a swarthy complexion, as Katherine recalled. Nothing like the long, lean, elegant man standing before her.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been told I have the features of my mother. It was my father who was direct kin to the late Lord Thornton.”
“I see,” said Lady Helene. “May I introduce you to Mrs. Karroway and her daughter, Miss Jane Karroway.”
Lord Thornton swiveled smoothly, making his way back to his first target.
“And this is Miss Karroway’s friend, Lady Katherine Blakely of Harron House.”
His body and mannerisms betrayed nothing, but Katherine felt the burning touch of his gaze like lightning scoring up her body.
His every move—the way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his dimpled chin dipped too low, the way a lock of his auburn hair slid across his brow in an unruly manner—reeked of an undenia
ble rake of the first class. Jane extended her gloved hand for Lord Thornton to kiss. Katherine did not. Best keep some distance if she were to keep her head. Those broad shoulders and his intense, aquamarine gaze were temptation enough.
“So, Lord Thornton,” said Jane, “how long have you been in London?”
“A fortnight only.”
“A fortnight?” She snapped her fan playfully. “And you haven’t graced us with your presence until now?”
“I’m afraid it took longer than expected to settle in.” His tilted smile could melt a girl into a puddle on the floor. Katherine forced herself to straighten even taller. Jane’s fan was swishing at an alarming rate.
“That’s right, Jane,” said Lady Helene. “Acquiring servants, opening the hall, all of it takes quite a toll. And may I inquire if there is a Lady Thornton to assist you?”
His voice dropped impossibly deeper. “There is not.”
While Helene and Eleanor exchanged approving glances, they missed the fleeting look cast in Katherine’s direction. But she did not.
“I say. Is that young Godfrey?” asked Mr. Periwinkle, nearly forgotten on the edge of their circle.
“Why yes, it is,” his wife said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper. “And he’s with that man Radcliff again.”
Lord Thornton stiffened, angling to watch the two men in question approach. Helene’s composure hardened but kept the proper mannerisms to which she was born and bred.
“Good evening, Lord Radcliff.”
“Ladies. Gentlemen.” The black-haired man’s voice resonated with charm, confidence and a touch of something dark. Something indefinable. He flicked a scathing glance at Lord Thornton. A chill tingled up Katherine’s spine as he raked her with a cool, ascertaining expression. Peculiar that a catch of the candlelight tinted his pale eyes red for a fleeting moment.
As mistress of the house, Lady Helene swept through the introductions in a clipped manner. The interlopers didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Viscount Radcliff’s protégé was Alexander Godfrey, the polar opposite of him with his golden good looks. Katherine couldn’t ignore the tension tightening between the two lords, Thornton and Radcliff. While Alexander sidled toward Jane, engaging her in conversation, Lord Radcliff edged closer to her. She certainly couldn’t ignore the protective posture Lord Thornton adopted at her side. Before she could ponder this odd behavior from two men she barely knew, Lord Radcliff had her hand in his and swept an airy kiss across the knuckles. She withdrew it quickly.
The Deepest Well Page 1