Excerpt
‘Still awake Kate?’
She’d not heard him open the door and so his quiet question startled her, she spun around to face him as her heart began to thump out a less than steady beat in her chest.
‘And still dressed, now why is that? Is your maid to be reprimanded?’
He moved over to her bed, looking down at the letters and the velvet pouch with its contents strewn there. He spoke without looking up.
‘Ah I now I see, you have been distracted, so engrossed in reliving the evening’s events that you have quite lost track of time and failed to prepare for bed. So tell me Kate, what conclusions have you come to? Have you revised your earlier estimation, are you afraid of me now?’
Now he looked up, eyes dark, fathomless as he waited for her reply.
‘No my lord, I am not afraid of you.’
All characters and events in this book are entirely the fictional work of the author and are not based on any persons either living or dead.
All rights reserved and copying of this book in any format is prohibited.
Castle Romance 2012
http://castleromance.webs.com
Cover image by Struck-Stock
http://struck-stock.deviantart.com/art/The-Lady-Stock-021-150131056
Maggie Pritchard was born in Wales. She still lives within a few miles of where she was born and shares her life with her husband, three spoilt dogs and a pampered cat, while her children and their families remain close. Introduced to romance novels at an early age she now writes women’s fiction as a release from an otherwise hectic but rewarding work and home life. This is her second ‘Castle Romance’ and again the story is set in fictional ‘Llangorfan Castle’, which is based on a house not a million miles from her home.
This regency romance whose heroine Catherine featured in Maggie’s first book as a helpful spirit, will appeal to romantics the world over.
Note from the author:
The ‘castle’ that inspired this story lies not far from my home and is more of a gothic house than a bona-fide Welsh castle. As I wandered its grounds I began to imagine what it must have been like to live there, to maybe sweep down the steps to the garden, lifting the heavy skirts of a period gown. Would my heroine have been alone, or would she be followed? I imagined a tall man, austere of countenance, a lover maybe or a husband, angry at some transgression yet to be imagined.
Catherine, having made her debut in my first book, came to life as if of her own accord in this charming regency romance. Spirited and courageous, I like her a lot and am confident my readers will too.
Kindest regards Maggie P
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady
By Maggie Pritchard
For my Mum, a hopeless romantic who loved the regency period best of all.
Chapter 1
Lord Alexander Tremayne dug his heels into the flanks of the big grey and gave the magnificent animal his head. He was rewarded with a turn of speed he knew he would never have elicited from a lesser horse and not for the first time he gave thanks to the age-old skill of Arab horse breeders. He rejoiced in the feeling of supreme power handling such a creature gave him and as they covered mile after thundering mile he felt the worst of his demons retreat. Finally, he began to exert the pressure to the leather in his hands that would slow their pace to a walk.
‘Hey Al-Ashab, enough now my impetuous friend,’ he spoke soothing the big horse who tossed his head and danced an eloquent protest at being reined in.
‘Enough now, for lord knows I may need to use your power to quell these demons inside me again soon enough.’
Al-Ashab seemed to understand and they continued for a while at a restrained trot. Alex concentrated on the ride, on covering the last few miles to where his enemy would be found. To let anger and grief cloud his thinking now would not serve him well. He would need a clear mind when they met, not one blinded and befuddled by the driving need for revenge that had possessed him of late. No, justice would be better served; she would be better served if he kept a cool head. In his mind he replayed the plan he had spent so many months perfecting. The payment for the crime would be in kind, an eye for an eye, or, in this instance an innocence for an innocence.
Deep in thought Alex hardly noticed the descent from the high downs and was soon riding towards the rich pastureland of rural Sussex. He knew he was close now. The village lay some half a mile hence, beyond the river. He could make out its tiny church hemmed in by the huddle of dusty cottages that crowded around it like so many hump-backed hayricks. Thick woodland rose up behind, and he knew his destination would be found less than two miles beyond that.
He urged Al-Ashab on, only to pull him up sharply as he rounded a bend in the road and a gypsy encampment came into view. It was no more than a cluster of brightly painted wagons, around a smoking central fire. As their hanging pots and bells sounded out in the light breeze, they reminded him of Spanish beauties, all clattering castanets and scarlet ruffles. There were less than half a dozen figures scattered around the encampment and a pair of nicely turned out, plump ponies in the care of a boy by the gated entrance, but what drew his eye was the big, night black stallion they were all watching dance in the early summer sunshine, a slight figure astride him.
In his early teens maybe, narrow shouldered and straight backed, the lad fought to control the beast, pulling hard on the reins. Alex watched entranced as slender thighs flexed visibly as he rose and turned in the saddle. A shaft of pure lust twisted in Alex’ gut at the sight of the boy’s curving bottom, but before he could analyse that, they were off, covering the ground with lithe grace, horse and rider fairly flew over the rough meadow that separated the encampment from the shallow river. Given his head the animal was magnificent and Alex expected to see the rider thrown, unable surely, to regain control before they reached the waterway. Then the boy rose in the saddle once more, leaning forward as if to direct his speech directly into the animal’s ear, and the battle was over. The huge beast allowed himself to be
reined in and his diminutive rider turned him to canter back into the midst of his silent audience. Alex watched, eyes narrowing as a stocky gypsy moved forward to take hold of the brute, laying a hand on the boy’s thigh as he did so, only to have it slapped away as the lad dismounted. There was a spirited exchange of words and suddenly the boy’s cap was dislodged and a mane of hair as black as that of the steed tumbled loose around those narrow shoulders. Then as quickly as the tableau had unfolded it was over. The girl joined the boy at the gate, mounted and together they cantered off, as the gypsy led the by now quiet horse away. Alex watched as the two moved rapidly out of sight still unsure what he had just witnessed and bemused by his own reaction, a girl, he should have known from his body’s response. Then shrugging he resumed his journey.
Half an hour later he turned Al-Ashab through an ornate gateway and onto the wide graveled drive of Holleydean Manor. They proceeded at a walk and Alex took in the well-tended lawns and flower gardens on each side, leading to an imposing 16th century manor house. Its mellow grey stone facade was graced by a central castellated porch and each side of this the panes of eight generously proportioned windows glowed gold with reflected sunlight. Here and there ivy climbed, softening harsh edges of stone and giving the house a sleepy look.
“Well let he who has slept easy within despite his guilt wake now, for the devil has come to exact payment.”
With that dark thought Alex urged his mount forward to be met by a groom who seemed to appear from nowhere. An indication, Alex noted wryly, that the family was expecting company. A celebratory dinner perhaps, to be graced by the local gentry, how very fortuitous, for if Sir Edward Calthorpe chose not to meet his de
mands there would be a ready made audience to hear the charges and condemn him for the rake he surely was.
The doorway was open to welcome the expected guests and as he strode through he was met by the butler who took his riding cape and passed it to a younger manservant.
‘May I take your name sir? And if you will follow me I will announce you. Sir Edward is greeting guests in the summer room as it is such a pleasant evening and Lady Calthorpe will be down shortly ’
After giving the man his name he informed him that he would be staying a few days at least, so his bags, which would arrive with his carriage shortly, would need attending to. Then as he followed the man into the summer room Alex took stock of his surroundings. The house was as impressive within as from without. The wide hallway was bright and airy, decorated in the latest mode and richly furnished. He was not surprised, it was common knowledge that Edward Calthorpe was a rich man and charming with it, qualities that had endeared him to poor Emily and sealed her fate. What society was not aware of, not yet at least, was that he was also the worst kind of rake and a despoiler of innocence. He felt his features tighten at that painful thought and made an effort to relax. No need to go in there with his mission written on his face, no, he needed to bide his time, get the man on his own and lay out his terms. And if Calthorpe did not agree, then he would call him out and there would be an end to it one way or another.
Maybe he should do that, simply walk in there and throw down the glove, end it tomorrow morning at dawn, but what of Emily if he did that? He, Alex, would have satisfaction or the blessed oblivion of death, but Emily’s fall would be known to all. Her name besmirched forever. No one would remember her sweet trusting nature, or know of her suffering, all they would keep in their minds and on their lips would be her shame. No, justice would not be served until Edward Calthorpe had suffered, as had his dearest girl.
‘Lord Tremayne milord.’
The butler’s monotone broke in on Alex’ thoughts as he moved into the room like an automaton. Stopping short as Edward Calthorpe turned to face him, dismissing the butler with a wave of one elegant hand.
‘Tremayne, I, we, were not expecting you...’
Alex took in the older man’s appearance with steely grey eyes. He had paled and his shaking voice held no authority. The devil had come to call and Edward Calthorpe was quaking with fear at what was surely to follow. In a voice harsh with emotion Alex answered.
‘No Edward? Did you think I would not come? You must have known I would eventually come to call you to account for...’
Before he could continue they were interrupted by the hurried entrance of three women. Lady Calthorpe he assumed, followed by her two daughters.
‘Edward, will you not introduce your guest?’
The older woman moved towards him extending a pale hand, which he took and raised to his mouth briefly. She was smiling, and it was this sweet smile and the questioning look in her deep violet eyes that brought him to his senses again.
‘May I present Lord Alex Tremayne my dear? Newly arrived back from the continent he has called by on business,’
‘You are most welcome my lord, may I introduce my daughters, Dorothea, lately married to Mr. Charles Brook of Bath, and Catherine, our youngest child, newly come out this season.’
Alex turned to acknowledge the younger ladies, noting the enquiring looks they gave him before demurely lowering their eyes.
‘Milord’ the elder, married daughter murmured as she dipped a barely perceptible curtsey. Her younger sister said nothing.
Alex recognized her immediately and wondered for the briefest of moments if she recognized him and then dismissed the thought. The girl at the gypsy camp had not once looked his way so engrossed had she been in her encounter with both gypsy and horse. No, she had not recognized him but he had surely known her and if the flush of colour along her high cheekbones and the almost imperceptible agitation she was doing her best to hide was anything to go by, she had only recently returned. Had she been found out in her escapade? It would account for the lateness of the ladies arrival. Calthorpe was speaking, and Alex turned his attention back to his host as he addressed his wife.
‘My dear, we must take our leave of you, Tremayne and I have some business to attend to. It will not take but a short while.’
Lady Calthorpe turned to Alex with a smile.
‘Do not let my husband keep you too long at this business my lord, though he did not inform us of your visit we are entertaining tonight and would be most pleased if you can join us, we are set to enjoy a most convivial evening I promise you.’
‘I look forward to it Lady Calthorpe and assure you our business will be swiftly concluded, we will be free to rejoin your party shortly.’
With that Alex turned to follow Calthorpe from the room, a tight little smile playing around his mouth as he did so. This would be easier than he’d thought and at least the chit was pretty and spirited.
‘Just what do you mean by coming here Tremayne?’
Edward Calthorpe rounded on his guest as soon as they reached the privacy of his study.
‘We have unfinished business, as well you know, did you think you would never be called to account for your behaviour? That her family would not hunt you down like the dog that you are and make you face your crimes?’
‘Crimes, of what crime am I accused? Of becoming beguiled and enslaved by that lovely girl. We did not mean to fall in love, what could I do? Emily knew that I could not be hers, and I hoped one day she’d forgive me for leaving. For doing the only thing I could and returning to my family.’
‘No’, Alex thundered close to losing control now.
‘You could not offer anything, you cad, having a wife and family here in England. What do you think that knowledge did to Emily? Knowing that you had deceived her, seduced her and then abandoned her.’
Calthorpe was shaking now and his voice shook as he answered.
‘Seduced Emily? No, we did meet and in secret, but to be together, to speak together. I would never have dealt her so ill and how could you believe her capable of that, good God man...’
‘Believe it, I have no choice to believe the awful truth of it. That she was taken in by you, a man so much older and more sophisticated, that you turned her head and led her to ruin. I have no choice because I am left to rear your bastard, the child you left her to bring into this world alone. So shamed and heartbroken by your betrayal that within a mere three months of his birth she could bear it no longer and threw herself to her death in the Po.’
He watched as Calthorpe crumpled onto a nearby seat. His face grey now and his eyes pools of black disbelief as they stared uncomprehendingly at his tormentor.
‘Dead, dead you say? Oh my dearest girl.’ He began to weep quietly.
‘You may weep now, but hear what I say, I am about to relay to you what price you will pay for her death. Oh believe me when I say that my first instinct as a gentleman was to call you out and deal you swift justice or die in the attempt. But you gave her no swift clean end with honour intact. No, hers was a slow dying, bitter with recrimination until she could take no more, and that is what I will mete out to you. Now weigh my words with care.’
Catherine pushed in through the shrubbery at the back of the kitchen garden. She was late, even having ridden poor Dolly, the only mount Papa would let the grooms give her these days, at as spanking a pace as the little fat mare could muster. If she made it unseen through the garden and into the kitchens she would be safe. Old Maggie the cook would not tell on her, any more than Jess the young groom she knew held a torch for her. They would cover for her and if she hurried to change she would maybe not be missed. She made it all the way to her bedroom, only to find Mama and Dorothea waiting. Faces like thunder and no doubt they had already told Papa she was late.
Catherine felt the familiar impatience flood through her. Why could they not see that there was more to life than parties and entertaining in order to find a husband? That Dorothea was happily wed,
well she maintained so at least, should be enough and would have to be enough. For she, Catherine, was determined she would not ever be wed. She would never give in, to be as good as sold to a man for his pleasure and to bear is children. Never to be free to speak her own mind, free to follow her own instincts. Never be free to read more than romantic novels and those tracts deemed fit to inform a young bride of her duties. She wanted to form opinions of her own, not just to mirror those of her husband as her mother did. She loved to spend those glorious, earliest hours of the newborn day thundering through the countryside on a horse with power and mettle. No husband would allow that freedom. She felt life swell through her and flood her body with a feeling she could not put a name to, but she knew she would not relinquish it to a husband and the wifely chores that came with him, not ever. But as usual she kept her thoughts to herself, Mama was nearly purple with vexation and Dorothea was pale and tense. But no matter, Papa would be talked around. Oh yes he would be angry to begin with, but it would not last, it never did, not where she was concerned.
‘Catherine, you have gone too far this time, you really have. Remove those unspeakable garments immediately, Dorothea, take these to the kitchen as see they are burnt. Then come back here to help me make this hoyden fit to be seen in public.’
As her sister scuttled away to do Mama’s bidding and burn the offending shirt and pants she had borrowed. Catherine hurried to dress, grateful that society no longer required the layer after layer of cottons and silks once deemed necessary for propriety. A simple chemise, her short corset accompanied by a petticoat and finally her gown were all that was required. No time for lace and ruffles so she found a silk scarf with which to adorn herself. She winced as her mother tugged the comb unmercifully through her tangled hair, then twisted and pinned it up, all the while berating her wayward daughter.
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 1