by Jen Yates
Was he trying to make her pay for the weeks of silence she’d inflicted on him?
‘What?’
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘Mr. Troll is not very articulate—especially when looking straight at Mrs. Troll’s—’
Liberty snorted with laughter.
It was so good to laugh. To feel happiness welling up from deep inside her again.
‘Oh, you really are a troll. Now sit up and pay attention.’
‘Why?’
Liberty rolled her eyes as he laughingly struggled upright to sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
Dark, unruly curls flopped onto his forehead and he tossed them back with typical impatience. His big hands hung between the heavily muscled thighs, hands that nevertheless were gentle and sensuous. One dark brow hooked upwards as he peered up at her from those navy blue eyes that had always had the power to weaken her knees.
And steal her breath.
Scatter her thoughts and hide her words.
‘What? What did you want to say, Lou?’
But not this time. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. Though she might just give in to the need to sink to her knees.
‘Are you awake?’
‘I am.’
‘Good. Because this is important.’
‘What?’
She smirked at the exasperation in his voice, then folded to her knees at his feet.
Reaching for his hands, she held them tight, and looked up into those deep midnight eyes.
Naked, with nowhere to hide from each other, she could see into his soul—and he into hers.
She never wanted to forget how this moment felt. Wanted to remember every expression that passed over his face, showed in his eyes, transferred through their fingers.
‘I love you, Levi Longfellow. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?’
All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, as they stared at one another.
His shocked expression was comical, but she would never forget the beautiful glow that birthed in the depths of his eyes as his stunned brain realized what she’d said.
Slowly he toppled forward off the bed, taking her with him to the floor, then rolling until she lay beneath him, pinned by his long legs, and held within the cage of his arms.
‘Thank God you found my page in the book, love. Yes! I will marry you—tomorrow actually. It’s all arranged—and if you hadn’t asked me I was going to do the troll thing and drag you along to City Hall by the hair on your head. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ll come willingly.’
He had it all planned—already? How dared he plan their wedding without even consulting—
‘Tomorrow?’
His mouth crashed on hers, his tongue immediately delving, seeking, stealing her protest.
He lifted away only long enough to say, ‘I love you Liberty Lou, now and forever and I will be very proud to call you wife.’
He had it all planned already. For tomorrow. Dear God, she loved this man.
‘And you husband.’
***
Author’s Note
I sincerely hope you enjoyed ‘Wages of Sin’, the first in ‘Regency Rebelles’ series. I would be very grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon at:-
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08N5WZ8KQ
To find other books I have written please visit my Amazon Author page:-
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B009MSEA7U
NEWSLETTER
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Happy reading.
Jen Yates.
Read on for a Sneak Peek at Bk.2. in ‘Regency Rebelles’ series, ‘Courting Controversy’.
Sneak Preview of Bk.2. in ‘Regency Rebelles’ series.
‘Courting Controversy’
Chapter 1.
Pennington Towers. 9th August 1815.
Lady Lucinda Wolfenden hooked her boot heels over a lower rail, folded her elbows on her knees and observed the beautiful red horse prancing about the yard.
‘He's ready for a guid lang ride,’ her grizzled stable master stated, rubbing a gnarled hand lovingly down the big horse’s chest.
‘I believe he is, Dougal. I’ll take him out with the ladies this afternoon.’
Only the briefest twitch of a bushy eyebrow hinted that the old retainer had any private thoughts about his mistress and her friends’ penchant for riding hard and fast—in male attire.
With the briefest thought for the comfort of the buckskin trousers she wore for riding more often than not—and for sword and pistol practice—Lucy dropped a hand to Atlas, Grandfather’s ancient wolfhound, leaning against her leg, and returned her attention to the horse.
Now standing quietly in a corner, his long tail swished and the bold Roman nose quivered with the scents of his stable mates in the field beyond.
‘I think he’ll live up to our faith in him, Dougal.’
‘Aye, my Lady. ‘E’s got stamina, this one.’
Suddenly Red Demon tossed his head and blasted their ears with a raucous whinny, bringing their attention to a strange horse and rider galloping up the long avenue from the Oxford road.
Atlas also raised his snout and sniffed the air. His tail thumped once and he loosed one hoarse bark, the exact sound he’d made whenever Grandfather returned home from anywhere, and Lucy found herself staring.
This was not Grandfather. He would never return and she resolutely quashed the grief that wanted to surface and choke her.
The huge bay gelding loping into the yard was magnificent, the military precision of the rider, dressed in buckskins, a many-caped riding coat and dusty riding boots, even more so.
Horror skated across the surface of Lucy’s skin, freezing her in place.
Her buckskin-clad backside was glued to the top rail of the yard like a stable lad’s.
‘Dear God, Dougal,’ she managed to rasp out at last. ‘Whoever that is—and I'm afraid it must be the new earl himself—please cover for me—as if—I'm just a stable boy or something.’
Scrambling to the ground, she forced herself to saunter with the careless unconcern of a young man into the concealment of the stables. For once Atlas did not lope disconsolately at her heels.
Inside the building she crossed to the dusty window overlooking the yard where the very tall, elegant and stern-looking Gabriel Wolfenden, new Earl of Pennington, was handing the reins of the big bay to Dougal.
And Atlas, who’d ignored everyone else and only barely tolerated her since Grandfather died, padded across to him and stood quietly waiting.
Dismounting with lithe grace, the man extended his hand, palm up, for the old dog to sniff. Lucy had to fight down tears as Atlas lifted his huge paw and the new Earl grasped it and gravely shook hands.
Just so had Atlas always greeted Grandfather.
What had the dog recognized in this man to elicit such an unprecedented honor? One not even Lucy had been granted.
A delighted smile softened the man’s stern features and he said something to the dog, who simply settled on his haunches at his side while he spoke to Dougal.
Lord Pennington was every inch the proper gentleman.
While she—?
Could definitely pass for a gentleman, too.
Botheration.
‘McFarquerson, isn't it?’
The deep, rich voice reached Lucy easily in her hiding place. She couldn’t help but be impressed he’d remembered the name of a groom he hadn’t seen since he’d last visited seven years ago.
But was less so by the frissons of awareness it generated across her nerve endings.
Surely she’d long outgrown that girlish infatuation?
‘Aye, Mr. Gabe—er—my lord,’ Dougal stammered. �
�Welcome home—ah—we weren’t expectin’ ye, were we, m’lord? Looks as if ye’ve bin ridin’ hard—’
‘Indeed, my man. And Goliath has carried me well. Give him a good rub down and a bucket of oats, if you will.’
‘Right ye are, my lord. He’s a right fine animal—’
‘Bless you, Dougal. Keep him talking,’ Lucy whispered.
It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to be seen dressed in manly attire for she preferred it above all things when riding about the estates but—he was the new earl, a Colonel in the Horse Guards. He was doubtless a stickler for propriety and the proper order of things.
It was in that voice, the tone of command. The expectation that the world about him would conform to certain norms.
Hiding to one side of the window, she peered out.
The fact he towered over the doughty Dougal, meant she probably couldn’t look down on him, as she did on many men.
Where was his luggage?
If she didn’t take her chance and run for the house, she could yet be discovered lurking here.
Prudence suggested it sensible to delay enlightening him as to the order of things at Pennington these days.
Ducking out of sight she crossed to the door at the back of the stables.
Trouble was, given the day, he’d likely be confronted very shortly with the natural order of things on Wicked Wednesday at Pennington.
Ladies dressed in buckskins would be the least of it.
‘Hush.’ With a noisy exhale she admonished her inner rebel. ‘You should at least wait until he shows his colors before going on the defensive.’
Slipping out the back door of the stables, she waited until she saw the new Earl of Pennington, with Atlas at his heels, stride towards the front portico of the old Elizabethan mansion before she raced with indecent speed through the vegetable gardens and into the cavernous kitchens at the back of the house.
‘My Lady!’ spluttered Polly, the cook, side-stepping as neatly as one of Polly’s girth could with a bowl of dough in her arms.
‘I'm sorry, Polly,’ Lucy said, and leant against the door as if trying to prevent the devil himself from entering behind her. ‘Where’s Mrs. Wyatt?’
‘I think she said something about taking down the curtains in his Lordship’s rooms, my Lady, as you discussed yesterday—being as how we’ve no idea when his new Lordship might arrive to take up his inheritance.’
Lucy barely controlled a snort of annoyance.
‘He's here!’
‘His new—Lordship? Well, my Lady, he didn't send word to say he was coming, so if he finds us at sixes and sevens t’is not to be surprised at. He's here now, you say?’
‘Yes, Polly, and me—’
Lucy flung her arms wide in a gesture of exasperation.
‘Aye,’ the cook nodded sagely and placed the bowl of risen dough on the big deal table. ‘And my Lady looking like a well-dressed stable lad, as usual. Not like you to worrit about the fancy, my Lady.’
The staff knew her too well.
‘No it's not and if it was anyone else they’d take me as they find me—as always. But I did hope to give his Lordship the impression I was capable and trustworthy. Before hitting him over the head with the fact I’m also an unapologetic hoyden. I can only hope he didn't recognize me. What can you rustle up for luncheon?’
Lucy peered into the pantry where Amy, cook’s assistant, was labelling jars of preserves.
Plentiful but plain fare, had long been the norm at Pennington. Would that suit a man of Lord Pennington’s tastes? Whatever they were.
Impatient with her thoughts, Lucy turned back to Polly.
If his Lordship did not approve of the way things were ordered here, he would have to take a wife and reorder them to his own satisfaction.
‘I’m guessing a younger man’s tastes may be different to Grandfather’s.’
Grandfather. Six weeks and his loss still rubbed raw places in her soul. Her heart.
‘You leave it to me, my Lady. There's plenty of ham, a fresh round of cheese from the dairy, a goodly heel of bread from that sourdough loaf I made yesterday. Pickles, and cold duff from last night. I'll make some fresh custard to go with that and he shall count himself well fed—at such short notice. As for dinner, my Lady,’ she rattled on, easily divining Lucy's next question—and probably the fact Lucy had lost the power of speech for a moment, ‘mock turtle soup and a trout from Mr. Laking in the village. I'll put a haunch of venison on the spit directly lunch is served. Plenty of swedes, taties and cabbage in the garden, and apples for a cobbler with clotted cream.’
This recitation of the menu had allowed Lucy to settle her emotions.
‘You're amazing, Polly. Thank you. Now I just need to stop Mrs. Wyatt taking down the drapes in the Earl’s rooms—and ask her to prepare the room for him instead. Can you send Annie to tell her?’
Annie would be hidden away in the scullery scrubbing pots and would no doubt relish a break from the tedium of her job.
‘Leave it all to us, my Lady. It will all sort itself, you'll see.’
Thank goodness for experienced long-serving staff.
Now to warn what high society would surely consider her cohorts in crime.
‘Thanks, Polly, I'll just slip upstairs and find Miss Silverton. He would choose to arrive on Wednesday. Lady Raquelle and Lady Charity are due here any moment.’
The cook rolled her eyes, all too aware that Wednesday was the day four young ladies from the most noble households about the village of Stannesford, met to indulge their un-ladylike partiality for the manly pursuits of sword fighting, shooting and hard riding.
Lucy hurried out of the great, cavern-like kitchen and up the worn stone stairs to the ante room at the west end of the armory. Halting for a heartbeat with her hand on the door latch, she listened to be sure the Earl had not entered by the side door giving access to the chapel.
He hadn’t seen fit to warn them of his arrival so she probably could not count on him following the accepted protocol of entering by the front door. Years in the army had perhaps dulled his perceptions of polite behavior?
Having ascertained all was quiet, she darted across the open area to thrust open the tall paneled oak doors to the armory.
This vast, marble-floored gallery, along with the great hall, was the center of the house, around which the east and west wings with their four octagonal towers had been built during the reign of Queen Bess.
Miss Carly Silverton, Lucy’s secretary-companion was already there, dressed in similar scandalous fashion to her mistress.
Bending over the big carved wooden chest that was probably as old as the original part of the house, she was laying out the swords and vests they would use for practice.
‘Haven’t Quelle and Char arrived yet?’ Carly asked when Lucy swung the heavy doors wide and slammed them shut again behind her.
‘No, but—he's here.’
Looking like he’d stepped straight out of a Lucas Wolfe novel—
‘Who?’ Carly asked, alarm snapping her body upright and flashing from her eyes. The dusky curls loosely tied with a blue ribbon flew about her shoulders as she feinted and slashed with her sword against an imaginary foe—striving to appear as if she had no apprehensions about the arrival of a stranger at Pennington.
Immediately understanding Carly’s apprehension, Lucy hastened to reassure her.
‘The new Earl.’
Shock rippled through her as the image of him on the big bay flashed through her mind. Surely it wasn’t the memory of him she’d been calling on all these years to craft the heroes in the Lucas Wolfe adventures?
‘He's here already?’ Indignation replaced the fear in Carly’s eyes. Laying the sword on the old monk’s seat, she faced Lucy with her gloved hands on her hips. ‘He's here and he never sent word he was coming? That's rather shabby.’
Worse than shabby. Confoundedly inconvenient. Even embarrassing.
Lucy flexed her shoulders with annoyance.
&n
bsp; She cared little for what anyone else thought about her hoydenish ways and refused to allow herself to feel embarrassment. Why should he be different to any other man she’d met?
The eighteen year old who’d thought herself a mature young woman until he’d come to visit and almost totally ignored her, tossed her offended head.
Breath shuddering in her lungs, Lucy thrust the childish memories back down into her subconscious.
She did not care for his regard.
‘It is shabby,’ Lucy agreed. ‘If he planned to catch us unawares, he certainly did that. I was perched on the rails at the stable yard talking with Dougal about Red Demon’s training when his Lordship cantered up on a magnificent bay, seventeen hands at least.’
‘Trust you to notice the horse first,’ Carly laughed, visibly more relaxed. ‘And what of his Lordship?’
‘Atlas shook hands with him.’
Carly’s reaction was gratifyingly stunned.
Lucy dropped bonelessly on to an ancient wooden bench against the wall.
And what had she thought of his Lordship?
One of ‘Lucas Wolfe’s finest’ were the words that popped unbidden into her mind.
Oh no, you have more gumption than to still be harboring that childish infatuation, she snarled at herself.
‘Extremely elegant and proper. And me—looking like a stable lad. I almost fell off the rails and put on the performance of my life, sauntering into the stables, hoping for once God was on my side and his Lordship would not recognize me. It's several years since he was here.’
‘You recognized him,’ Carly pointed out unhelpfully.
‘No mistaking the arrogance—,’ Lucy began drily, proud of the evenness of her tone.
Then she bounced agitatedly to her feet at the sudden brief knock on the door.
A footman stepped into the room and waited for Lucy’s nod to speak.
‘Mr. Horsham sent me to tell you, my Lady, as his Lordship, the new Earl, has arrived and requests you attend him in the morning room.’
Her heart hit the back wall of her chest and her lungs seized.
‘The new Earl's arrived? Without any notice?’ Carly demanded, as if she hadn’t just been informed of that fact, giving Lucy time to untangle her tongue and her thoughts.