A RECKLESS ROCKWOODS NOVEL
Series: The Reluctant Rogues
Book: #2
Genres: Historical Romance
Heat Level: 4.5
Publisher: Maroli SP Imprints
Publication Year: 2021
ASIN: B08V5GK9XZ
ISBN: 978-1-948505-09-3 (Digital)
Formats: Digital, Print
Heat Level Legend
This book opens with an unintentional indiscretion some readers may find an objectionable trope.
Heat Levels Legend
I write open-door male/female romantic sex. So if you don’t like sex scenes in your books, I’m not the right author for you.
However I do have to emphasize that my sex scenes are sensual, emotional, and romantic. I use minimal physical descriptions and focus on the emotions the characters are experiencing during the sex scene. Books with a 4.5 or higher rating were written at the beginning of my publishing career. They are not as polished as as my later books.
Level 2 — One tame sex scene
Level 3 — One or two steamy sex scenes
Level 4 — Two or more hot sex scenes
Level 5 — Multiple sex scenes ranging from hot and raw to visceral, up-against-the-wall sex
Language Use — My heroes use the word FUCK to demonstrate anger and frustration. It depends on the hero and what’s happening the story as to how often it’s used. You will never see the word sh*t, in my historicals. It brings to mind images of raw sewage and filth, nor does it really emphasize true frustration in my opinion. I use the word fuck because it’s raw, visceral, and the guttural sound makes it perfect for harsh emotions. You have been warned. *grin*
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As one of the Reckless Rockwoods, Constance Blakemore, Countess of Lyndham, is determined to help her friends find love, but at what cost?
Experience taught Gideon Lethbridge, Earl of Chelmsford, women will sell themselves for money and social position. When a passionate interlude in a dark garden sets Gideon’s heart on fire, he’s furious to learn his lover is an American heiress who bought herself a title. Despite his anger at being hoodwinked by Viscountess Helstone, she’s haunted Gideon’s dreams for the past five years. Now he’s planning her seduction, and he intends to make Phoebe surrender to one wicked, sinful moment of pleasure after another.
Five years ago, despair and a need for solace sent Phoebe, Viscountess Helstone into the arms of a stranger for one fiery moment of indiscretion. Now a penniless widow, Phoebe is the anonymous author of the Currer Chronicles mocking the Marlborough Set. When Phoebe comes face-to-face with the man she’s never forgotten, she’s horrified to learn she’s ridiculed him mercilessly in her satirical serial. With Gideon determined to seduce her, Phoebe is desperate to keep her writing a secret while trying not to admit she’s been in love for the past five years.
Like most Reckless Rockwoods, the an dara sealladh is a part of who Constance Blakemore, Countess of Lyndham is. Although her husband, Lucien, insists Constance stop using her psychic abilities to meddle in the affairs of others, she cannot abandon a friend in need. But ignoring Lucien’s wishes puts Constance’s marriage and happiness in jeopardy as well, and Constance might lose the one thing that will destroy her, Lucien’s love.
The Rogue’s Countess is a Reckless Rockwoods Novel. These novels prominently features different members of the Rockwood family as they meddle in their friends’ lives to ensure they find a happy ending
The following excerpt is unedited and may differ from the final format and/or published work.
This book opens with an unintentional indiscretion some readers may find an objectionable trope.
May 1895
Moonlight draped a pale shroud over the garden landscape as Phoebe descended the wide stone stairs leading into Lord Montjoy’s gardens. Behind her, the music spilled out of the ballroom. It followed her as she moved deeper into the large decorative gardens that extended away from the mansion. The further away from the house, the softer the music became until it faded to a mere whisper. Despite the heat of the day lingering in the garden, it was a welcome respite from the crowded ballroom and its stifling heat.
She had deliberately waited until Alfred was engrossed in conversation with his latest mistress and several of his friends before she’d dared to venture out into the garden. If Alfred had realized what she was planning, he would have stopped her, which meant her efforts to save her dearest friend would fail. Failure meant Lawrence would pay a far greater price than any humiliation or pain Alfred could inflict on her.
In the six years they’d been married, her senses had become dulled to Alfred’s drinking, philandering, and cruelty. She’d learned to step outside of herself when he rutted on top of her, but it was much harder to insulate herself from his verbal tirades. Those she tried to avoid at all cost. It was so much easier if she didn’t incite his anger.
Tonight had been one of those rare moments when she’d failed to keep her wits about her. It had been a long time since she’d spoken without thinking in Alfred’s presence. Instinctively, Phoebe’s hand reached up to touch the back of her head. Her scalp still stung from where Alfred had pulled viciously on her hair earlier this evening.
From the beginning of their marriage, her husband had never shown her kindness, and her inability to give him an heir had made things worse. After her second miscarriage, Alfred accused her of having taken steps to rid herself of a child. It was the farthest thing from the truth, A child would have made life more bearable, and his cruel words had made her lose her tongue.
Alfred had become enraged when she’d declared he might be the one responsible in the matter as well. She’d pointed to his drinking, which usually made him impotent when he shared her bed. The moment the back of his hand had hit her face, she’d learned a hard lesson. It was the first and only time he’d actually hit her, but Phoebe had never made the same mistake again until tonight.
It was only when Alfred was between mistresses that Phoebe ever had to dread him entering her bedroom to demand his conjugal rights. It was why she’d been surprised to see him enter her room earlier. He had only recently taken up with his latest paramour, and she’d been too bewildered to think twice. Before she could stop herself, she’d questioned his reason for being in her rooms. Normally, Alfred inflicted pain with cruel words. In his inebriated state, he’d tried to slap her. When she’d darted out of the way, the only thing he’d been able to grab hold of was her hair. She winced again as the memory seemed to make her scalp sting worse.
The garden path darkened as the row of trees lining the pebbled walkway blocked the night sky. Ahead of her, she could see where the path broke outward to encircle a small fountain illuminated by the moon. As she left the trees’ shadows, she sat down on one of the white marble benches situated around the ornamental structure to wait. Lawrence would be here soon.
Soft voices echoed nearby as other guests sought a more intimate setting. It wouldn’t be difficult for her and Lawrence to convince someone that they were having an affair. Rumors of a liaison would simply be seen as the result of a longtime friendship. Alfred would most likely beat her for daring to cuckold him, but it didn’t matter. News of her alleged affair would save Lawrence from prosecution. Phoebe frowned as she recalled how frantic her friend had been when he’d visited her that morning.
Phoebe had just finished pouring a cup of tea when Lawrence had called on her. Although clearly upset, her friend had managed to wait until the door had closed behind Bateman before speaking.
“I’m done for, my pet,” Lawrence exclaimed in a hoarse voice as he kissed her cheeks in greeting then turned away to pace the floor like a caged animal. Her friend was rarely rattled, but his manner was that of a hunted man.
“What’s wrong?” she exclaimed softly.
“I was careless.” One hand shoving its way through his blond, wavy hair, her friend prowled the room with a dark and grim expression. “I wouldn’t be in this damnable position if I had simply used my head.”
Even despite his obvious fear, Lawrence still struck a dashing figure. With his firm, full mouth, long, sooty eyelashes, and crystal blue eyes, women in the Set always vied for her friend’s attention. It wasn’t simply his looks that caused a stir. He was witty, charming, and kind. Although, as far as mothers were concerned, it was her friend’s title and money that was the true attraction. Already wealthy in his own right, as the future Earl of Linshal, Lawrence stood to inherit a great deal more once his father was gone.
Yet, none of those things were what made Phoebe adore her friend. As an American heiress, her father had bought her a title. It wasn’t something she’d ever asked for or wanted. In fact, she would have preferred to simply wait to fall in love with a man who loved her as well. But her father had been adamant that only a husband with a title was good enough for his daughter.
Worse, he’d had made no effort to be discreet about the fact when hunting for a husband suitable for his daughter. While her dowry had not been something to sneer at, it had been less than substantial to secure her a duke or earl. Her father’s blatant, and often uncouth, efforts to gain her a title was why a great many of the Marlborough Set had always viewed her with disdain. Alfred’s bombastic, often drunken behavior only exacerbated the situation. Nor did her husband’s low standing on the social ladder in terms of land and wealth.
The first few social events she’d attended after her wedding had been nothing but haughty condescension and outright snubs. It was at one of those affairs that Lawrence had witnessed several women snub her. He’d immediately charged to her rescue and introduced her to members of the Set who had willingly included her in their circle.
From that moment forward, she and Lawrence had been best friends, and over the past six years, the bond they had formed was akin to that of brother and sister. Although Alfred disliked Lawrence, her husband knew Phoebe’s friend opened doors all the way up to the Prince of Wales himself. Doors that would have remained closed to them without her friendship with Lawrence.
It was a social power Alfred was keenly aware of, and she was certain it was the only reason he’d never forbidden her to discontinue her friendship with Lawrence. It was a fact for which she was grateful as Lawrence was the only person she could confide in completely. In turn, her friend had placed his trust in her as well.
“Come sit down and tell me what’s happened.” Phoebe patted the cushion beside her on the settee. Like an obedient child, Lawrence sat down next to her.
“It’s Coombs. He saw Anthony and me leaving the Boulders club together,” her friend rasped. “He’s denounced me as a sodomite to several of his friends.”
“Dear lord.” Phoebe stared at him in heartfelt dismay.
Almost from the beginning, Phoebe had known Lawrence was different than other men. It didn’t make her love him any less. She’d always believed Lawrence was who he was simply because it was the way God and nature had made him. Now he might be punished for the fact, and the thought horrified her.
“Ever since the bastard lost all that money to me when my mare beat his stallion at Newmarket, he’s had it in for me.” One hand rubbing his forehead, Lawrence leaned forward to stare at the rug beneath his feet and shook his head. “Now he’s determined to ruin me or worse, have me locked away.”
“Are you certain he saw you with Anthony?”
“Yes,” her friend said with a dark note of dismay in his voice. “He didn’t say a word. He just smiled, and I knew he wouldn’t simply turn his head away as someone else might have.” A shudder ripped through her friend, and Phoebe wrapped her arm around his shoulder.
“Surely there’s something we can do to discredit Coombs so others think he’s simply trying to make trouble.”
“I’ve been up all night trying to think of something. Anthony has already left for France, and I can’t think of any other alternative for myself.”
“No, there has to be another way.” Phoebe shook her head in protest at the thought of losing her closest friend.
“I don’t see how, my pet.” Her friend released a harsh breath. “My money might keep me out of Newgate, but the scandal…Father’s unwell, and it will devastate him.”
“We’re not going to let it come to that. We’re going to find a way to stop Coombs,” Phoebe said with a firmness she didn’t feel. “And I find it reprehensible that Anthony deserted you so easily.”
“He didn’t desert me.” Lawrence rebuked her with a gentle glare before standing up to pace the floor again. “He pleaded with me to come with him.”
“And you chose not to leave because of your father.”
“If the scandal doesn’t kill him, Phoebe, learning the truth from someone other than me would.”
“Then you’re going to tell him?”
She eyed her friend with sympathy. For years, Lawrence had debated whether to reveal his lifestyle to his father. The two men were close, and the thought of his secret destroying that relationship tormented her friend. On more than one occasion, Phoebe had encouraged her friend to tell his father the truth.
She’d suspected the old earl already knew his son’s intimate relationships were not with those of the female persuasion. The fact that Lawrence’s father never pushed his son to marry made Phoebe believe he already suspected the truth. Her friend closed his eyes and jerked his head in a positive response.
“I have no choice,” he said grimly. “Coombs would take great pleasure in telling Father if I don’t tell him myself.”
“He loves you, Lawrence. That won’t change when you tell him the truth.”
“Perhaps. But he will be devastated nonetheless.”
Phoebe nibbled at her lip as she contemplated her friend’s predicament. He was right. Even if Lawrence’s father had already guessed his son’s secret, the earl would most likely still be upset by the news. It was one thing to ignore the possibility of a truth and something altogether different to be confronted with the reality of it.
No matter who told the earl that his son’s lifestyle was outside society’s boundaries, it would still distress the old man. She liked Lord Linshal a great deal and despised the thought of him being hurt by scandal. Phoebe released a soft sigh.
“If only fate had been kinder to us both. If you’d not been in France for all those months Father was prowling London in search of a title for me, things might have been different,” she said wistfully.
“Husband and wife.” A look of sadness crossed his handsome face as his mouth twisted in a slight grimace. “It would have been the perfect solution for both of us, would it not?”
“Yes.”
Phoebe nodded as she met her friend’s gaze. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of what might have been. If they had been married—she drew in a sharp breath at the idea that flitted through her head. There would be a price, but she would willingly pay it to save her friend.
“You don’t have to tell your father. No one has to know,” Phoebe said in a resolute voice. “There is a way to make Coombs look like he simply wants to cause trouble.”
In quick succession, puzzlement, hope, and protest swept across Lawrence’s face as she’d laid out her plan. He’d immediately dismissed the idea stating no one would believe what she was proposing. Unfaltering in her determination to help her dearest friend and protect his father, Phoebe countered all of Lawrence’s arguments until he’d reluctantly agreed that it might work. It took her only a few minutes more to convince him that tonight was as good a chance as any to stop Coombs.
The only drawback to her scheme was Alfred’s reaction. She knew her husband would be furious at the thought of being cuckolded, but a part of her wanted a moment of vengeful satisfaction for all Alfred had put her through for the past six years.
Water splashed quietly into the stone basin from the fountainhead behind her as a shrill, feminine laugh nearby made Phoebe tremble with trepidation. Where was Lawrence? She’d dropped several hints to Lady Lydia that she had an assignation in the garden. The woman was an infernal gossip, and Phoebe knew the woman would be watching her like a hawk to learn who her lover was. If they were to be caught in each other’s arms when Lady Lydia stumbled upon them, Lawrence needed to arrive soon.
Had he rethought his decision and decided not to follow through with her idea? If Lawrence thought for even an instant that Phoebe would suffer Alfred’s wrath, her friend wouldn’t meet her as they’d arranged. No sooner had the question slipped through her mind than a heavy tread on the gravel path made her jerk her head toward the sound.
Relief swept through her at the sight of the tall, masculine figure walking through the shadows in her direction. Only a short distance away, she heard another couple talking. When he hesitated, Phoebe leapt to her feet. She refused to let Lawrence rethink her proposition, and the presence of another couple nearby would help propagate the notion that they were involved.
“You came,” she exclaimed, making her voice loud enough to carry, but still inviting as if she were greeting her lover. Rushing forward, she launched herself into her friend’s arms and pressed her lips to his. It took only a split second for her to realize her mistake.
The body she’d flung herself against was hard and solid. Lawrence was not a weakling, but this man was a rock by comparison. Stunned, Phoebe stood braced against him and struggled to comprehend the error she’d made. The stranger’s lips held the warmth of sunshine on a summer’s day as his mouth moved gently against hers. Still disoriented, Phoebe didn’t pull away as his kiss sent a pulse of heat through her.
Unlike Alfred, this man didn’t crush her mouth beneath his. He made no attempt to dominate. Instead, the stranger’s lips teased and cajoled a response from her with disturbing ease. Dear Lord, she needed to stop this insanity. She was a married woman.
Laughter drifted through her head with bitter mockery. A financial arrangement was not a marriage. She was nothing more than chattel. A pound of flesh for Alfred to rut with like a common whore when he was without a mistress or a whipping boy when he was angry.
The warmth of the stranger’s mouth was a tantalizing caress that sent her senses reeling. Unable to move, her protest died in her throat as strong arms pulled her deeper into his embrace, and a hot tongue gently pushed its way into her mouth. Despite the fire in his kiss, the stranger’s touch was gentle, tender almost.
His fingers stroked the side of her face in a way that made her feel as though she were a beautiful jewel. No one had ever kissed her like this before. This was a sweet seduction that offered a promise of pleasure, not a cold, painful act of humiliation. With a shudder, she jerked her head backward and away from his incredibly sensual lips.
“Forgive me,” she choked out as she stared up into gray eyes that were almost silver in the moonlight. “I thought…thought you were someone else.”
“A mistake I’m happy to forgive.” The words were a sinful, velvety caress across her senses, and she trembled as his fingers trailed their way along the curve of her exposed shoulder to the edge of her sleeve.
“Perhaps…if you would release me.”
“Is that what you really want?” The quiet question sent another tremor rippling through her.
“I don’t understand.”
Phoebe’s heart fluttered like a frantic bird in her breast as she saw the desire flashing in his eyes. Incapable of pulling away from him, she tried to keep breathing as his fingers caught her by the chin, and he swept his thumb across her lower lip in the lightest of caresses.
Every inch of her was on fire, unlike anything she’d experienced before, and she realized she wanted more of his touch. The thought made her suck in a sharp breath of surprise and trepidation. This man was dangerous not only to her senses, but to everything she’d come to accept as her lot in her life with Alfred.
“Most women would have protested quite vigorously the moment they realized their mistake.” The silken whisper layered her skin with frisson. He lowered his head and brushed her ear with her lips. “And yet, you seemed quite content to remain in my arms.”
“That’s not true.”
It was a lie. She knew she should have put several feet between them the moment she’d realized he wasn’t Lawrence and certainly when he’d returned her kiss. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done so already.
“You’re not a very good liar,” he murmured with obvious amusement as he bent his head to tease her lips in a hot kiss. “You’re still in my arms.”
Wild excitement washed over Phoebe at the playful caress. Quivering, she closed her eyes and breathed in his masculine scent. Brandy, leather, and pine poured over her senses as his mouth nipped at hers. It was a heady sensation. Tantalizing.
“I am not about to struggle with you like a damsel in the arms of a cad,” she snapped as her eyes flew open to see him studying her with amusement. “I am waiting for you to release me.”
“Another lie?” he chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, unlike Alfred’s malicious ones. The stranger’s soft laugh declared he was teasing her. “I think you enjoyed kissing me, and I think you’d like me to do so again.”
“I would not,” Phoebe gasped as she stared up at him in dismay. Another lie, but she could hardly admit the truth.
“Very well then,” he said with a wicked smile. “I won’t stop you from fleeing.”
In the next instant, his arms were no longer wrapped around her, and he took a small step backward. The loss of his warmth stunned Phoebe. It was as if she’d been abruptly thrust out into a cold and bitter winter day. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. When she didn’t try to escape, he reached out to stroke her cheek with his forefinger.
“I wonder if you know how lovely you are,” he murmured as his finger grazed its way across her bottom lip once more in a sensual stroke.
Phoebe flushed at his compliment. She knew she should run back to the sanctuary of the ballroom as fast as she could, but logic was swiftly overruled by her desire to stay. His kiss was the first intimate touch she’d ever experienced that hadn’t involved some form of cold humiliation. It was impossible to deny his touch had stirred a longing deep inside her. A yearning for something more in her life, if only for the briefest of moments.
“I…” She shook her head as she struggled to describe what she was feeling.
He closed the narrow space between them once more but didn’t touch her. Instead, he bent his head, his warm breath feathering its way across her ear lobe.
“Have you never been properly kissed, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said with a catch in her voice. His mouth nibbled at her ear. The sensation sent shock waves rippling through her.
“Your kiss is reticent, almost innocent,” he murmured with the merest hint of puzzlement. “It’s as if you’ve never been kissed before.”
The stranger’s observation made her throat close up with emotion. What he’d said was true. Phoebe couldn’t recall a single instance when her husband had kissed her as this stranger had done. Alfred’s touch had always been a cold, painful assault on her mouth. It had always created a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. This man’s kiss was the first taste of pleasure she’d ever known.
“I am no stranger to a man’s bed, if that’s what you mean,” she said in a tight voice as images of Alfred rutting over her like a pig filled her head.
“Then it was a poor lover who left your mouth tasting so delectably untouched.” His mouth singed hers for the briefest second as he kissed her lightly. “You might be acquainted with a man’s bed, but whomever he was, it’s obvious he left you longing for something more.”
She drew in a sharp breath at the way he’d seen into her soul so easily. He kissed her again, this time his hands cupped her face. The caress sent her heartbeat skidding out of control. Pleasure tingled its way down her spine as she leaned into him and reveled in the fire of his touch. Everything faded away as she experienced something she’d only dreamed about.
The stranger pulled her close once more, and her mind reeled as her mouth eagerly parted for him. His kiss connected her to him in a way that made her forget everything but the way his touch heightened her longing for something that had never been within her reach until now. Common sense tried to push its way through the mist of pleasure enveloping her, but it was smothered by the honeyed languor flowing through her limbs.
From deep inside, the years of longing for a lover’s gentle caress welled up to engulf her. Held hostage to the sensations gripping her, she willingly allowed herself to drown in a whirlpool of arousal and need. Blinded to everything but the taste of him, she explored his mouth with a fervor that stunned her. In response, his lips broke away from her mouth and down the side of her neck.
White heat skimmed over her skin, and her head fell back as his mouth nipped at the side of her neck and moved downward. A fraction of a second later, his tongue slid hot and wet into the valley between her breasts. It was a decadent caress that pulled a low moan of pleasure from her. It made her crave something even more intense and intimate.
Desire washed over her at a frightening speed as somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized exactly what she’d been missing from her marriage bed. Wild and erratic, her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears as molten heat streamed its way through her belly down to the sensitive spot between her legs. The rush of warmth there tugged a small cry from her as she shuddered against him.
“Oh, please, I…please. I want…” she gasped.
In a bold move that made her heart thud violently, she stroked him through his trousers. He jerked at her caress then pulled her tighter, trapping her hand between them until his erection pressed deeply into her palm. A shudder rippled through her at the thought of him inside her, while a small voice cried out a warning. Desire silenced the soft cry. A dark growl rumbled in his chest. The sound reverberated against her lips before he lifted his head to stare down at her.
“I think it best I let you return to the ballroom before I lose control completely,” he rasped.
Desire blazed in the depths of his gray eyes as he stared down at her. It was clear he was attempting to be a gentleman despite the heated caresses that had already passed between them. The fact that he was unwilling to push his advantage said a great deal about the kind of man he was—a man who was honorable enough to forego acting on his carnal needs.
This was a man who would be a considerate lover. He would never take without giving in return. The knowledge sent a pulse of stark need streaking through her. If only for this singular moment in time, she wanted to experience a lover’s touch without revulsion or dread.
“I don’t want to return to the ballroom,” she whispered and impulsively tugged her head down to his.
All she wanted was to feel alive—to revel in an ecstasy she’d never experienced in her life. His mouth spoke of passion, but his touch was gentle as he stroked his fingers along the curve of her neck.
There would never be another moment such as this, and every second was a gift she would cherish. This brief interlude would be a memory she would summon whenever she was faced with the harsh reality of her daily life. It would remind her that someone had once touched her gently and passionately. She would remember that for a few short moments she had been more than an object used to satisfy the base physical needs of a man.
The spicy scent of him filled her nostrils. He smelled clean, strong, and powerful. Every part of him overwhelmed her senses until desire violently stripped her of all reason. She didn’t protest as he guided her off the path into the darkness of the foliage that lined the path. Instead, she went willingly, frantically as her body demanded something she’d never experienced before, but she still recognized it. The cool night air nipped at her thigh before a large hand seared her skin. From deep within her, a passion rose up to engulf her until her mouth was clinging to his. Long fingers tangled with hers as they worked the buttons on his trousers free.
Seconds later, his heavy weight was in her palm, and with inexperienced fingers, she ran her hand over him. The touch made him groan before his hand slid up her thigh to reach the heat of her center. He rubbed lightly against her sex, and she jerked. Her breaths hot and rapid, she thrust her hips forward.
“Oh, please. Now. I need to feel…” Her words trailed off into a low moan as he increased the pressure to the small nub of flesh between her legs.
There was no right or wrong, only this moment of human connection that promised to fulfill her in ways she’d yet to realize. His hand forced her to wrap her leg around his waist, and in the next breath, he filled her with a mind-numbing thrust that pushed her over the edge of an abyss.
Almost as if he knew what her reaction would be, his mouth swallowed her cry of intense pleasure. Hard and fast, he stroked her body with his. A pitched sensation grasped her insides until she felt her body tighten around him. Her spasm drew a dark growl from him as he increased the speed of his thrusts.
Suddenly a wave of fire engulfed her, then skimmed its way across her skin and downward to the apex of her thighs. White-hot heat raced through her blood until it tightened her insides and convulsed with an intensity unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Her cry of ecstasy was silenced by a passionate kiss. Beneath her hand, his heartbeat pounded a fierce rhythm against her palm as he possessed her at a blistering pace. A second later, he buried himself deep inside her and throbbed against her with a ferocity that matched her own climax. Ever so slowly, the rasp of his harsh breaths and Phoebe’s frantic ones slowed to normal.
Reluctant to give up the power, warmth, and comfort of his touch, she clung to him. She wanted this moment to never end. She didn’t want to leave the tenderness of his embrace or give up the brief moment of contact that said she was alive inside. This stranger had pulled her deepest desires up from the depths of her soul until she’d been blind to everything except the sensations holding her prisoner.
Her eyes fluttered open to stare up into a pair of gray eyes smoky with the remnants of desire. Strong and rugged, his features spoke of a strength that was as much physical as it was emotional. It was impossible to tell if his hair was black or dark brown in the dim light, but it was his eyes that hypnotized her. It was the first time she’d consciously studied his features. She’d been so consumed by an overwhelming need to connect with another soul it wasn’t until now that she’d truly looked at him.
His mouth twisted in a slight smile, almost as if he could read her thoughts. With obvious reluctance, he retreated from her. The tip of his finger traced the curve of her bottom lip in a sensual invitation. It made her ache for him all over again. What would it be like to spend one night after another in this man’s bed? Phoebe drew in a sharp breath.
Dear God, what had she just done? Horror held her rigid as the full extent of her folly took shape in her mind. She’d lowered her personal standards to that of her husband. Not once during her marriage had she ever contemplated having a liaison with any man. The thought had been unthinkable. Not because she feared Alfred, but because she possessed little except her self-respect. Something she’d surrendered to a stranger in a few brief moments.
It didn’t matter that Alfred meant nothing to her, that he was cruel to her, or that he had a string of mistresses. She’d lowered her standards to that of her husband. Guilt and shame lashed through her in the form of a shudder. Avoiding the stranger’s gaze, she quickly stepped aside to shake out her skirts. With trembling fingers, she tried to restore her appearance, all too aware of the lock of hair brushing her shoulder that would be difficult to pin up.
“Here, let me,” he said in a deep, husky voice.
Phoebe stiffened as he turned her around and proceeded to repair her hairstyle and brush off the back of her gown. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she experienced gratitude for the fact her dress was a midnight blue. The color would hide any dirt left behind from her wild, rash behavior.
When he’d finished, the hands glided across her shoulder and down her arm while his mouth nibbled at the curve of her neck. It was a lover’s caress, and she struggled to fight the strong urge to lean back into him, but guilt held her in check. With a jerk, she pulled away from his touch and spun around to face him.
“I…I must go,” she breathed.
“First, tell me why.” It was a gentle command, but a command nonetheless.
“Why?” Phoebe pressed her hand against the base of her throat as if she didn’t understand his question. It was a pointless gesture. She knew precisely what he was asking. She shook her head with a sense of helplessness. “I…needed to feel…”
“Desirable.” He finished her statement, but it wasn’t the right word.
“No,” she whispered. “I needed to feel human. To feel alive.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his gray eyes scrutinizing her in a way that made her avert her gaze. A warm hand stroked her cheek, and somewhere in her tumbled thoughts, she ached at the thought she would never feel alive again. The knowledge jolted painfully through her, and she closed her eyes to stave off tears of self-pity.
“And do you feel alive now?” The soft question made Phoebe draw in a deep breath as she met his gaze.
“Yes.” So alive that I shall never forget you. Her throat tightened as she remembered the reality she had to return to.
“I want to see you again.”
His soft words made Phoebe jump, and her heart stopped for a full beat before it resumed. For a fleeting moment, she almost said yes. She wanted to feel him touching her once more. She wanted to feel alive over and over again. Shame washed over Phoebe at the thought. In one swift stroke, she’d failed to save Lawrence as well as sacrificing her principles.
Where was Lawrence? He should have been here by now. Phoebe peered into the shadows of the garden path, willing her friend to appear. When he didn’t, she looked back at the stranger. An odd glint flashed in the silvery gray of his eyes as he lightly touched her cheek. A knot formed in her throat. How could her plan to help her dearest friend have gone so terribly wrong?
“I want to see you again.”
Gideon ran his thumb across her lower lip. There was something fragile and vulnerable about her. It was an emotion he was certain she rarely showed to anyone. Hesitation swept across her beautiful features, and he thought she was about to say yes. Intense disappointment sailed through him when she shook her head vehemently.
“No. It’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” he said firmly. “Tell me why you won’t let me see you again. Are you married?”
The moment he asked the question, a voice in the back of his head clanged as loudly as the bells on a fire wagon. Gideon had made it a rule never to indulge in liaisons with married women. He’d restricted himself to widows and courtesans. Now, for the first time in his life, he was considering setting aside his principles to see this woman again. A powerful surge of emotion pumped its way through his blood and told him to do whatever it took not to let her go.
“Tell me.”
Instantly, she retreated a step at his softly spoken command. As she darted backward, Gideon quickly reached out and caught her arms in a gentle grasp to keep her from fleeing. A shudder rocked its way through her body and into his. Christ Jesus, she was terrified. He jerked away from her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. Was her husband a brute? Is that why she kept looking behind her?
Shame darkened her face as she averted her gaze from him and nodded. Gideon’s heart sank as she confirmed the truth. He’d been desperately hoping she was a widow even though instinct had told him otherwise. Gideon knew he should simply walk away, but he couldn’t. He caught her chin in his fingers and tipped her head upward.
“Does he beat you?” he demanded roughly. Surprise flared in her gaze as she stared into his eyes, then shook her head.
“I have learned not to give him any reason to do so,” she whispered. She pulled free of his light hold of her chin and turned her head away. Fury flooded his limbs at the thought of someone hitting her. A man who hit a woman deserved to be beaten until they were one breath away from death.
“Please, you must let me go.”
“Let me help you.” For a split second, Gideon saw her waver as she debated his offer then shook her head.
“You cannot,” she whispered.
“I don’t believe that.”
Frustration sailed through him as he watched several different emotions flash across her features. Confusion, dismay, shame, and fear. It was the fear that gnawed at his gut. Gently he cupped her face and forced her to look at him once more. She stood frozen in front of him before she pulled away with a sharp movement. Gideon saw her swallow hard as if something had lodged in her throat.
“What happened….it was a mistake,” she whispered.
“You’re wrong.”
Although he spoke softly, there was a ferocity in his voice that made her draw in a sharp breath. She denied his statement with a shake of her head, but the anguish in her eyes convinced him that she’d experienced the same bewildering connection between them. Loud cries demanding he keep her from leaving echoed in Gideon’s head. He had no explanation for his reaction to her or why it was so imperative he should not allow her to leave.
Silence filled the space between them, and he released a harsh breath of frustration. She suddenly took a step back and extended her hand as her expression became polite yet distant. It was as if she’d crawled into a shell where no one could see anything except a woman of serene composure.
“I must go before…I trust the remainder of your evening will be an agreeable one.” There was an absurdity to her words that angered him.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as he caught her smaller hand in his. “At least tell me your name.”
“It’s best we remain strangers. What happened here was a moment of madness,” she said firmly, but he could see the despair engulfing her in spite of her matter-of-fact manner. In the shadows, her beautiful eyes were soft and luminous, and a grunt of frustration made him tighten his fingers on hers.
“And if we meet at some point in the future?”
“We will act as if we’ve never met before.”
“Do you really think it possible either one of us can forget what passed between us?” he said tersely.
“We must, and if we should meet again, I’ll have your word as a gentleman you’ll act as though we’ve never met.” When he hesitated, a look of determination settled on her face. “Your word.”
Gideon shook his head in protest at the sharply spoken demand. At his silent objection, her eyes widened with panic. She grew still as a small animal in the face of danger. It was impossible to tell if it was a fear of him refusing to abide by her demand or something else that caused her to remain unmoving in front of him. The urge to pull her close and simply hold her until her fear receded twisted his gut.
“Don’t ask me to—”
“Your word,” she demanded.
One idea after another crashed through his head with a desperation he didn’t understand. Every possible argument he could think of to make her change her mind was useless. The moment her lovely mouth thinned with determination, Gideon accepted the fact there was nothing he could do except agree to her request.
Resignation slid through him as he slowly turned her hand over in his and pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist. A small shudder rippled through her at the touch, and Gideon closed his eyes as he breathed in the soft, sweet smell of roses. It was as if she’d picked the most fragrant of the flowers in his garden and brushed them across her skin. He slowly lifted his head, and their gazes locked as, with great reluctance, he nodded.
“You have my word,” he bit out.
The air between them vibrated with raw tension. Relief flared in her eyes before guilt and shame replaced the stark emotion. Her vulnerability returned as she tugged her hand out of his to take two quick steps away from him. Without thinking, Gideon immediately followed then stopped as she stretched out her hand as if to hold him at bay.
“Please, please don’t make this even more difficult for me than it already is.” The plea in her voice sent a bolt of awareness through him. She was as reluctant to leave him as he was to let her go. His throat closed, and it became difficult to breathe.
“If you have need of me in the future—”
“I shall not,” she said with resolve, despite the bleakness reflected in her wide eyes.
Then with a sharp inhalation of breath, she spun around and hurried back along the garden path leading to the ballroom. Gideon took two strides forward as he started to run after her, but his mind brought him to an abrupt halt. He’d given his word to her. To break it would only cause her pain.
The moment his mysterious enchantress disappeared around the bend in the path, his anger and frustration exploded in a vicious gesture. As the side of his fist slammed into the rough bark of a nearby tree, he grunted at the lack of satisfaction the resulting pain gave him. It was doubtful he would find someone at this late hour to join him in the ring. Even if he did, it still wouldn’t be enough. He needed a brawl.
What the devil had just happened to him? One minute he’d been on his way to meet Lady Westerly for a brief moment of pleasure, and in the next, he’d found a passion, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in the past. From the first moment she’d thrown herself into his arms, it had been difficult to let her go. Who had she come out to the garden to meet? A lover?
Gideon found that difficult to believe, even though she’d flung herself into his arms with a breathless greeting. The note of relief in her voice had been distinct and poignant, almost as if she’d been afraid her lover wouldn’t come. He was also certain it was the first time she’d ever allowed herself to consider a liaison. The horror in her eyes after having lost all her inhibitions in his arms convinced him of that.
Every emotion visible on her expressive face told him she’d been appalled at having lost control of her senses. Even despite her shock of having made love to a stranger, he firmly believed she’d not wanted to leave him any more than he wanted to let her go. With every caress and touch of his hand, she’d responded to his touch like a violin did at the hands of a virtuoso. She’d held nothing back, and neither had he.
The realization stunned him. It was the first time since he’d been witness to Edith’s shallowness that he’d broken his vow. An oath he’d made to never let another woman cause him to lose his head. But the bewitching creature he’d held in his arms for just a short time had done exactly that. All of his liaisons had been physically satisfying, but not once had he allowed himself to feel anything more than gratification and pleasure in a lover’s arms.
The moment a woman indicated she wanted more from him, Gideon ended the relationship. Although he’d remained friends with one or two of his past lovers, his feelings for them were that of friendship and nothing more. All of that had changed moments ago. Not only had he broken his firm rule never to cuckold another man, but he’d also broken the promise he’d made to himself. Not since Edith had he forgotten everything but the woman in his arms.
Still dazed by his lack of discipline where his sweet enchantress was concerned. Gideon headed back toward the ballroom. Gideon knew he should at least seek out Lady Westerly and express his regrets, but he was in no mood to pander to the woman after what he’d just experienced. Everything about his mysterious temptress had thrown him off balance. Something Edith had never done where he was concerned.
Gideon’s stride was long and fast as he returned to the house. He’d agreed not to recognize her if they met again, but she’d not extracted his promise not to search for her. In the back of his head, he heard a voice reminding him that she was married. If he’d known that before he’d made love to her, would it have made a difference? The resounding no, echoing through his head, emphasized how deeply his mystery lover had affected him.
As he strode up the steps leading onto the patio outside the ballroom, Gideon paused to study the guests from his position in the shadows. Despite his hunger to catch another glimpse of her, the sea of people made it impossible to find her among the throng. Resigned as to his ability to find her easily, he muttered a vicious oath beneath his breath.
The heat of the ballroom pressed into him as he walked through the French doors leading into the house. No matter which direction he turned, he still couldn’t see her. Had she left the ball to avoid meeting him again? A low chuckle on his left caught his attention, and he jerked his head toward the sound.
The sight of Sebastian Rockwood, Earl of Melton, smiling at him renewed Gideon’s hopes he could be able to find her. Sebastian was someone everyone sought to know. The Reckless Rockwoods, as the Set called them, knew almost everyone in polite society. An introduction would at least give him the opportunity to enjoy her company even if he never had the chance to feel her in his arms again.
“You look extremely frustrated, Gideon. Who is she?” His long-time friend arched an eyebrow at him as the two of them shook hands.
“I don’t know.” At his reply, Sebastian’s eyebrow rose higher. A small smile touched the Earl of Melton’s lips.
“Perhaps she’s all too aware of your reputation where the ladies are concerned.”
“No,” he snarled at his friend’s jest. “We’ve never met before tonight.”
“Are you certain?” Sebastian frowned with confusion. “That’s highly unusual. What is her name?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me,” Gideon ground out his reply between clenched teeth as his gaze continued to search the room.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were beyond enamored with this mysterious woman.” There was a touch of amusement in his friend’s voice, and Gideon shot a fierce glance in Sebastian’s direction. The moment their gazes met, a somber look darkened his friend’s face.
“What does she look like?” Sebastian asked quietly. “I’ll help you find her.”
Gideon quickly described his elusive enchantress, and with a nod, Sebastian joined him in the search. The two of them studied the room in silence for several moments before a soft feminine laugh floated through the air toward them.
“The two of you look as though you were searching for something that impossible to see.” At the light-hearted teasing in the Countess of Melton’s voice, Gideon turned to greet Sebastian’s wife. Forcing a smile to his lips, he carried the hand Helen offered him to his mouth to politely kiss her hand.
“Good evening, Helen. How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you.” The countess tipped her head to one side and eyed him with curiosity as his gaze darted back to the crowd. “Are you looking for someone?”
Gideon didn’t answer Helen as his gaze found the woman he was so desperately searching for. Indecision barreled through him. He’d found her. Now, what was he to do? She was moving toward the exit on the arm of a man he vaguely recognized. Gideon jerked his head in the couple’s direction.
“There, Sebastian. At the main entrance to the ballroom. Do you know her?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Helen, do you know her?” The earl turned his head toward his wife. “The one standing close to Lady Montjoy.”
“The pretty woman in the midnight blue gown?” Helen asked quietly. A quick glance in her direction showed a perplexed expression on the countess’s features. Gideon jerked his gaze back to the man and woman.
“Yes,” he said in a tight voice.
“That’s Viscountess Helstone.”
“The woman just about to go out the door? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Helen said with a nod. “She’s one of the American heiresses that took London by storm last year. I believe she married the viscount a few months after she arrived.”
Gideon grew rigid as his gaze never left Lady Helstone. She’d married a title. The anger crashing through him made his muscles knot painfully throughout his body. For a second time, he’d played the fool to a woman who’d married for social position.
“I’ve heard that it’s a very unhappy marriage,” Helen said with a note of sympathy in her voice.
“No doubt.” Gideon turned away from the woman he’d broken his own rules for and met Sebastian’s puzzled gaze. With a shake of his head, Gideon’s jaw locked with tension as he bowed in Helen’s direction.
“Helen. Sebastian. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you goodnight.”
Before his friends could say a word, Gideon turned away and made his way to the exit. There was a brawl with his name on it somewhere in town.
Five years later
April 1900
“You look lovely, dearest.”
Constance Rockwood Blakemore, Countess of Lyndham, forced a smile to her lips as she met her baby sister’s gaze in the full-length mirror. Louisa’s dismay was obvious as she stared at her reflection in the cheval glass inside Madame Sabine’s shop.
“Doesn’t she look lovely, Helen? Patience?” At Constance’s silent urging, Helen Rockwood, the Countess of Melton, quickly nodded her head.
“You look beautiful as always, Louisa,” Helen said with a smile despite the hesitant note in her voice.
Standing to the left of her sister-in-law, Patience released a small noise, and Constance wasn’t sure whether it was suppressed laughter or a sound of disagreement. Louisa tipped her head slightly to see the reflection of the Mistress of Cairnlarich in the mirror. The hat Patience wore had a netted veil, and it covered her face making it difficult for any of them to read her expression. When their middle sister didn’t say anything, Louisa whirled around to face her sister.
“Well, Patience?”
“You are beautiful, but all those flowers, ruffles, and bows make you look like a wedding cake, and you, dearest, are the bride, not the cake,” Patience said firmly. “If you wear that gown, you’re quite likely to appear as a figure of fun in Currer’s next serial installment.”
Patience’s words made Louisa’s eyes widened in horror as she spun about on her heel to study her appearance in the mirror. Her younger sister’s mention of the Currer Chronicles made Constance start slightly. The biweekly serial had turned the Set on its ear in recent months as P. Currer had slyly taken aim at various members of the peerage by including them in his stories.
A work of fiction, the author’s characters were based on actual members of the Marlborough Set. Although names were changed, there was little left to doubt in the reader’s mind as to who the author was poking fun at. The skill and precision with which Currer lampooned the antics, scandals, and behaviors of the peerage was an amusing read until one was on the receiving end of the author’s mighty sword of ink. With a brief glare in Patience’s direction, Constance turned her head toward her baby sister, a placating smile on her lips.
“I find it highly unlikely Mr. Currer would mention a wedding dress,” Constance said firmly with a shake of her head in her attempt to reassure Louisa. “The man has a great deal of fodder to draw from given the recent antics of Lord Barrington and his latest mistress.”
“We are not the Reckless Rockwoods without justification, Constance. I truly think we’re living on borrowed time in escaping evisceration by the man’s wicked pen.”
Patience tilted her head in a defiant manner as she disagreed with the eldest of the three sisters. It was impossible to read Patience’s features through the netted veil, but the Mistress of Crianlarich’s bearing emphasized her irritation. Constance knew her sister’s dissent was not without merit. The Rockwoods had been lucky to date when it came to being singled out in Currer’s serial.
“It’s true. I had fully expected Currer to target Percy for threatening to thrash Lord Sproats last week.” Louisa lent her voice of support to Patience. At the mention of the viscount, Patience’s posture became one of fierce anger.
“Our brother was well within his right to dress down the man. Sproats’s comments were crude and deeply insulting to Rhea,” Patience snapped. “It’s a small wonder Percy didn’t pound the man into the ground, and he would have without any trouble at all.”
“And if Rhea hadn’t displayed such grace under pressure, our brother might easily have found himself in Newgate.” Constance glared at her middle sister before she sighed. “But I agree that Percy was well within his right to threaten the man for his insulting advances toward Rhea. I’m simply grateful she insisted on returning to Green Hill House the next day.”
“Well, we might remain untouched by Currer’s caricature of the Set, but some of our friends have not.” Anger swept across Louisa’s face. “Look at how Gideon has been taken to task in recent months.”
“For heaven’s sake, he’s a grown man,” Constance bit out through clenched teeth. “His reputation for breaking hearts is well-established.”
Currer’s droll, doubled-edged word-play had recently made the Rockwood family friend, Gideon Lethbridge, Earl of Chelmsford, the latest character in the Currer Chronicles. As one of the Set’s most eligible, yet elusive, bachelors, the earl had been mocked in the latest serial. Now, Patience had dumped oil onto the fire by suggesting Louisa might be mentioned in the next edition of the satire. As Louisa stared at her image in dismay. Constance quickly stepped forward to wrap an arm around her younger sister’s shoulder.
“We’ll have Madame Sabine find a way to fix the dress.”
“The wedding is in two weeks, and she hasn’t finished half of my trousseau,” Louisa said in a voice filled with panic. Mortification crossed her face as she shook her head. “Patience is right. I do look like a wedding cake.”
“You could walk down the aisle in rags, and Ewan would still find it impossible to look at another woman. The man is blinded by his love for you.” Constance smiled with encouragement. “I’m certain Madame Sabine can fix this gown. We all know the woman will move heaven and earth to keep her most devoted and lucrative client happy.”
“I agree whole-heartedly. Madame Sabine would face the hounds of hell to ensure you’re happy.” Helen, who’d remained silent until now, smiled with confidence at her youngest sister-in-law. “I know how high your dressmaker bills are. Sebastian is constantly muttering his frustration every time he sees the latest bill from Madame Sabine.”
“But it’s not his money he’s spending,” Louisa replied as a cheerful grin replaced her dismay.
“A fact I remind him of whenever he expresses his disgust and outrage at what your dresses cost,” Helen replied with a laugh. “That and the fact he promised never to begrudge you a dress bill again for helping him rescue me from Lord Templeton.”
The mention of those frightening events more than ten years ago caused a shadow to sweep across the countess’s face. Louisa quickly stepped forward to clasp her sister-in-law’s hands and kiss Helen’s cheek with great affection.
“My brother is fortunate to have a wife who patiently listens to his complaints.” In the next second, a mischievous smile curved Louisa’s lips. “But even if he had listened to me to begin with, he still would have been forced not to begrudge my fashion vice.”
Laughter followed Louisa’s mischievous remark. Satisfied things were on even keel for the moment, Constance turned away, intent on finding Madam Sabine. The seamstress could weave magical gowns that almost equaled Monsieur Worth but at far less a cost. If Sebastian knew how much a gown by Worth cost, he would be appalled.
Constance’s dressmaker bills were rarely as high as her younger sister’s. In fact, Lucien had remarked on more than one occasion he was glad she didn’t have her sister’s extravagant tastes. But the bill from Monsieur Worth last year had put Lucien in a state of shock. It had been an impulsive purchase, but the moment she’d seen the gown, it had been impossible to resist.
She’d excused her extravagant purchase based on needing a new gown for Helen’s and Sebastian’s anniversary ball. She’d also been seven months pregnant with Isabel, and Monsieur Worth’s creation had emphasized all her best features, while cleverly hiding the true size of her expanding girth. She bit back a smile as she remembered her husband’s outrage when the bill had arrived.
His anger had been short-lived when she’d modeled the gown that had arrived with the invoice. Instinctively, he’d realized she’d been feeling like a large cow, and the dress had bolstered her spirits. Her husband had then proceeded to demonstrate he would always find her beautiful.
The soft swish of the curtains that hid the inner confines of Madame Sabine’s workshop pulled Constance out of her musings. A woman emerged from the back of the shop carrying several bolts of material with her chin pressed into the one on top to manage her load better. As the clerk set the material down on the counter, Constance stepped forward to capture her attention.
“Pardon me, would you please tell Madame Sabine that Lady Westbrook needs to speak with her about her wedding dress?” The moment the woman looked up to meet her gaze, Constance stiffened with surprise. “Lady Helstone.”
The woman flinched at Constance’s soft exclamation before she shook her head vehemently. Cheeks flooded with a rosy color, the woman cast a furtive glance around the shop.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but my name is Mrs. Hodges.”
At the woman’s denial, Constance stared at her in disbelief and tipped her head to one side to study the woman’s features more closely. A sliver of doubt made Constance frown. It had been more than two years since she’d last seen Lady Helstone. The viscountess had disappeared from society after her husband had been shot and killed by his mistress.
Even with the spectacles the woman wore and her hair pulled back in a severe bun, Constance would have wagered a heavy sum that the woman was Lady Helstone. She had the same large brown eyes, and the auburn highlights in the woman’s golden-brown hair were still visible despite the severity of her appearance.
“Forgive me, but the resemblance is uncanny.” At Constance’s observation, something flashed in the clerk’s eyes before a wry smile tilted her lips upward as if she were enjoying a private joke.
“So I’ve been told, my lady. Even Lady Helstone has remarked on our similar likeness.” Her ironic amusement vanished as Mrs. Hodges glanced over her shoulder at the curtain, hiding the workshop behind her. “Let me find Madame Sabine for you, my lady.”
Constance frowned as the woman vanished through the curtains in search of the dressmaker. The woman was lying. She was certain of it. But why? What in heaven’s name would make Viscountess Helstone deny who she was, let alone work in a dressmaker’s shop?
Constance paid little attention to gossip, but news of Lord Helstone being shot and killed by his mistress during a lover’s quarrel wasn’t a tidbit one quickly forgot. Even though it had been more than two years ago, the scandal had been in the news for months. The trial had been a spectacle, with Helstone’s mistress pleading self-defense and subsequently being acquitted. Her gaze drifted toward the bolts of cloth the woman had set down on the counter.
With just one touch, the an dara sealladh might tell her something about Mrs. Hodges. The gift of sight and royal blood of the Stewarts had flowed in her mother’s veins making Constance and her siblings far more unique than most people realized. Except for her brother Sebastian, all of her siblings had varying strengths of the an dara sealladh, but it wasn’t something they openly put on display.
While Lucien supported her assisting those who actually came to her for help, he objected strongly to Constance taking it upon herself to help people who didn’t ask for her assistance. She winced. Lucien didn’t just object to her interfering without someone’s permission. He was vehemently opposed to her meddling in the affairs of others, particularly when it involved matters of the heart. If he were here now, he would drag her out of the shop to prevent her from satisfying her curiosity. They seldom argued, but when they did, it made her feel awful.
Constance winced slightly as she remembered the argument they’d had two months ago in front of the family. The memory made her debate walking away from the counter, but a whisper in the back of her head protested strongly. Of course, the an dara sealladh might not even show her anything at all. This last thought ended her indecisiveness.
In a leisurely fashion, Constance walked along the counter and stopped in front of the material Mrs. Hodges had brought out from the back of the shop. As if she were merely examining the bolt of silk, Constance ran her hand over the spot that still bore the slight indentation from Mrs. Hodges’s chin.
Closing her eyes, Constance drew in a breath and waited. After more than a minute, she released a sigh of frustration. It seemed she would have to accept Mrs. Hodges’s story, after all. Constance slowly turned away from the counter and saw Madame Sabine at Louisa’s side, exclaiming with horror at the dress. She was about to rejoin her sisters when the bell over the shop entrance jingled. Constance turned her head toward the door to see Lady Wrotham walk into the dressmaker’s shop. The moment the marchioness saw Constance, a wide smile curved the older woman’s mouth.
“My dear Constance, how lovely to see you.” Lady Wrotham hurried forward to clasp Constance’s hands in hers in a warm greeting.
“It’s wonderful to see you as well, my lady,” Constance said as she bussed the woman’s cheek.
“How is the dowager? I heard she had taken ill a month ago.”
“Grandmama is recovering nicely. We’re fortunate she was in town when she became ill. She wanted to return to Lyndham Keep, but Lucien was adamant she remain here with us. He indulges her, and me, quite often, but this was one occasion when he refused to be swayed by Grandmama’s protests.”
“And how is that devilishly handsome husband of yours?”
Amusement sparkled in the older woman’s gray eyes. The marchioness had been a friend of Aunt Matilda’s for years, and Constance had accompanied her aunt to Lady Wrotham’s house on many occasions. The woman had buried three husbands, and Constance had always marveled at the woman’s indomitable spirit in the face of so much grief. She wasn’t sure she would be able to find such strength to go on if anything happened to Lucien. An image of her husband’s face filled her head, and she smiled at the marchioness’s question.
“Other than experiencing frustration with me from time to time, Lucien is quite well. And you?”
“Desolate,” Alva sighed with obvious frustration. “My secretary decided to run off to Gretna Green and marry a school teacher, so I decided a new dress would cheer me up.”
“I’m so sorry. How long had she been with you?”
“Almost six years. It has come at a most unfortunate time too.” The marchioness released another sigh. “The charity ball for St. Catherine’s is little more than a month away, and Lydia’s skill with numbers made her invaluable. I placed an advertisement in the Times this morning, but I fear finding a new secretary will prove quite difficult.”
The marchioness’s voice became a distant sound as the an dara sealladh pulled Constance down into a familiar darkness. Like a theater curtain being pulled open to reveal the stage, she found herself standing in a cold, uninviting room. A shiver skimmed through her as the chilly air slid across her skin. Twilight filtered through a small window, but it barely illuminated her surroundings.
Small fragments of charred wood were scattered about in the hearth, which made Constance believe there had not been a fire in the hearth for some time. The bed in one corner appeared less than sturdy, while a table was pressed against the opposite wall. A ladder-back chair was angled away from the table as if someone had left their place with great haste. Against another wall was a wardrobe. It was a bleak room filled with the weight of defeat.
The emotion eased slightly as a soft glow on top of the table caught her attention. The light surrounded a stack of papers, but it shone brightly on the name written on the top sheet. P. Currer. For some odd reason, the light engulfing the papers was as if a ray of hope had found its way into this grim, dreary room. Behind her, a door creaked open, and she turned toward the sound. She barely had time to register Mrs. Hodge’s face when she was hurtled forward into a well-lit room where smoke created a haze in the air.
Her brothers, Percy and Sebastian, were seated at a card table with their friend, the Earl of Chelmsford, and another man. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, her brothers were grinning like cats who had swallowed a handful of canaries. In a split-second, she was standing behind the patriarch of the Rockwoods. Sebastian pointed toward the pile of banknotes in the center of the table as Gideon shook his head in disgust.
A movement to her left caught Constance’s attention. The sight of Mrs. Hodges moving to stand beside Gideon took her by surprise. As the woman reached out to touch his cheek, Mrs. Hodges’s expression was one of confusion, longing, and another emotion that puzzled Constance.
Suddenly, she heard a quiet sound that she recognized as laughter. Constance jerked her head toward Percy, who was grinning with triumph as he reached toward the middle of the table to collect his winnings. As he did so, the bank notes dissolved into a mist to become a sheaf of papers.
Constance instantly recognized the papers as she watched the last sheet fall onto the stack with a soft light shining down on the author’s name, P. Currer. Amused resignation swept across Gideon’s face. With a wry twist of his lips, the earl dropped his cards onto the baize-covered tabletop. The cards fell downward in slow-motion, and the an dara sealladh threw her back into the present.
The transition was more abrupt than usual, and she swayed on her feet. Immediately, a firm hand cupped her elbow, and she recognized Patience’s soft voice expressing concern. Incapable of responding, Constance kept her eyes closed for a moment as she struggled to maintain her balance.
The an dara sealladh always left her drained emotionally and physically for a short period, but this time it was more debilitating than usual. Everyone in the family experienced different physical reactions when they emerged from their visions. They were all well-acquainted with the signs of the an dara sealladh as well as each other’s unique type of after-effects from their visions.
Normally she was seated when she emerged from her visions, but this time she was deeply grateful for Patience’s firm grip as her sister wrapped her arm around Constance’s waist. If not for Patience, she was certain she would have collapsed to the floor. As the remnants of the an dara sealladh faded away, Constance opened her eyes to see Alva, her sisters, and Madame Sabine gathered around her with varying levels of concern and understanding on their faces.
“My lady, you must sit down,” Sabine exclaimed in a low voice as she glanced at several customers in the shop. Constance rejected the suggestion with a small wave of her hand, but the dressmaker dismissed her silent response. “I insist. My office has a comfortable place for you to rest.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re going to sit down, Constance,” Patience said quietly. “If you could see how pale you are, you wouldn’t argue. Now come along.”
Surrendering to Madame Sabine’s and Patience’s insistence, which Helen’s and Louisa’s quiet voices reinforced, Constance nodded her consent. In short order, she was seated in a comfortable chair in Madame Sabine’s office in front of a cheery blaze in the fireplace. Once the dressmaker was satisfied Constance was comfortable, Sabine excused herself to resolve the problem of Louisa’s horrendous wedding gown. Patience was about to sit down opposite her, but Constance waved her hand in protest.
“No, I’ll be fine. Helen will need your support to help keep Louisa calm,” she said with a small smile.
“All right,” Patience nodded, then grimaced behind her veil evident. “The dress is most assuredly a disaster. It’s nothing like what Louisa described.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, do not mention the Currer Chronicles to her again.” Constance narrowed her gaze to eye her sister sternly. “I have no doubt Sabine will manage to make that disaster of a dress into something superb, even if the woman has to make a completely new gown.”
“I think it will be a new gown entirely,” Patience said dryly before her demeanor changed, and she bent over to rub her hand over Constance’s back in a soothing gesture. “But I’m not sure I should leave you alone. You were dreadfully pale. If I wasn’t so certain you’d experienced the an dara sealladh, I would have thought you on the verge of morning sickness—”
“Heaven forbid! It’s been less than seven months since I had Isabel,” Constance exclaimed as she remembered how difficult her daughter’s birth had been. “I’m not ready for another baby so soon, even though I know Lucien would like to have a son. He’s not said so directly, and until he does, I have no intention of broaching the subject with him..”
“All right, but do not move from that chair. If you were to have another—”
“I doubt that will happen, but I promise not to move until I’m certain I’m fully recovered.”
She smiled at Patience, who studied her for a moment from behind the veil that shadowed her features and hid the scarred tissue on the side of her face. As if satisfied with Constance’s answer, Patience gave her a quick hug and headed toward the door of the dressmaker’s office. Her sister had almost reached the exit when Constance called out to her.
“Oh, Patience, I would love a cup of tea. Would you ask Mrs. Hodges to bring me a cup?”
“Of course.”
“And Patience, see to it that it’s Mrs. Hodges who brings me my tea.”
“Mrs. Hodges?” Her sister stiffened slightly as she looked over her shoulder at Constance.
“Yes, Mrs. Hodges.”
“If you’re thinking of doing what I think you are, have you forgotten what happened two months ago when Lucien—”
“Go, Patience. I am already feeling much better, and I can only feign distress for a little while longer.” Constance frowned and waved her hand at her sister.
Although she couldn’t see her middle sister’s arched eyebrows, she knew Patience was eyeing her with more than a hint of concern. The family had all been privy to her terrible argument with Lucien when he’d learned she had advised Lady Reigate to reconsider accepting Lord Shively’s proposal. With a shake of her head, Constance glared at her sister for questioning her.
“I really could use that cup of tea, Patience.”
With a sharp nod, her sister hurried out of the room. Left alone with her thoughts, Constance pushed the thought of Lucien’s disapproval aside to contemplate her vision. Whether Mrs. Hodges was Lady Helstone or not, the woman was living in squalid circumstances.
The conditions would be heart-wrenching for anyone, whether they were a member of the working class or the nobility. However, Constance knew such poverty for a noblewoman was highly unusual. What had happened to reduce Lady Helstone to such a penniless state?
Constance remembered the woman had been one of the American Dollar Princesses who’d arrived in London seeking to marry a title. All of those brides had brought substantial dowries to their marriages. It didn’t make any sense as to how the woman could be penniless upon Helstone’s death. She frowned as she contemplated what she’d seen in her vision.
As always, the an dara sealladh had revealed only bits and pieces of the story, and everything she’d seen was too jumbled to make much sense of it. The most puzzling thing was Lady Helstone appearing at Gideon’s side. It was quite likely she’d met the earl, but the expressive emotions on her features as she’d reached out to Gideon indicated a relationship far closer than simply acquaintances or even friends.
There had been something intimate about the woman’s manner that made Constance feel as if she’d intruded on something deeply personal. Despite its lack of clarity, the an dara sealladh had convinced her of two things. The woman calling herself Mrs. Hodges was living in squalid conditions. Two, the woman was also connected to P. Currer and Gideon somehow. Whatever had brought the woman to such circumstances, Constance was determined to help the woman if she could. She even had a solution to make it happen. The question was whether Mrs. Hodges and the marchioness would like each other.
The soft sound of china rattling outside the room broke through Constance’s thoughts. Her gaze focused on the doorway, and she watched the woman calling herself Mrs. Hodges enter Madame Sabine’s office with the tea Constance had asked for. As the woman set the tea tray on the side table on her left, she avoided Constance’s gaze.
“Do you require anything else, my lady?”
Instead of answering the woman’s question, Constance reached out to pour a small amount of milk into her cup, then added tea. She didn’t look up, but it was easy to sense the rising tension in the woman.
“Do you know who I am, Mrs. Hodges?” Constance took a sip of her tea as she looked up at the woman over the rim of the delicate teacup.
“Yes, my lady.”
“And do you know anything about me?” When the woman didn’t answer, Constance released a sigh and gestured toward the chair opposite her. “Please sit, Mrs. Hodges.”
“I cannot, my lady, I have—”
“I insist,” Constance narrowed her gaze on the woman who was clearly ready to dart from the room. “Madame Sabine will not question you as I shall explain you did so under protest.”
The woman didn’t move for a moment, and Constance sighed. Setting her teacup and saucer on the tray, she shook her head.
“You leave me with no choice but to stand as well.”
“Oh no, my lady.” The genuine concern in Mrs. Hodges’s voice was reflected in her expression. Although she showed a distinct reluctance to do so, the woman sank down into the chair opposite Constance.
“Thank you. Now then, let me ask you again. Do you know anything about me other than my name?”
“I have…I have heard rumors.”
“Would you please elaborate on that statement?”
Mrs. Hodges hesitated at the softly spoken command for a moment before she straightened in her chair and met Constance’s gaze steadily.
“It’s rumored you can talk with the dead.”
“The rumors are true, although my family and I are discreet about our abilities.”
Constance winced at the half-truth. The Rockwoods had earned their reputation for impulsive behavior justly, and their unique talents had added to their sometimes reckless behavior. Pushing the thought aside, she picked up her teacup again.
“I am the only one in the family who actually does consultations with those seeking to reach out to lost loved ones. However, even those are by referral.”
“If you have a message from beyond the veil you wish to share with me, I’ve no interest in hearing it.”
Bitterness threaded its way through the woman’s voice as her chin tipped slightly upward in defiant disdain. Startled by the woman’s reaction, Constance took another sip of the beverage that was still hot.
“I received no message to pass along to you, but there’s one thing the rumors appear to have left out. I also have the ability to see things from the past as well as what the future might hold.”
“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Hodges drew in a sharp breath. Although her features were serene and unreadable, trepidation flashed in the brown eyes behind the spectacles she wore.
“I sometimes see things about people I meet. People such as yourself.”
“Me?” Although her expression remained emotionless, the woman’s body language conveyed her apprehension. Her back was ramrod straight as she sat rigidly in her chair while her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. “I’m uncertain what your…experience might have revealed about me, but I doubt it was anything of significance.”
“I confess my vision was confusing on several points, as is often the case.” Constance shrugged her acceptance of how the an dara sealladh worked. “But I do know you’re not Mrs. Hodges, are you, Lady Helstone?”
The observation was a gamble on Constance’s part, but what little doubt she had was laid to rest at the woman’s reaction. Dismay and resignation crossed Lady’s Helstone’s face as she averted her gaze from Constance. It was only for a brief instant before the noblewoman lifted her head in a regal movement to meet Constance’s gaze with a direct look.
“You are correct, my lady.” Constance quickly set her teacup down on the tray at the woman’s response and leaned forward in her chair.
“But why?” she asked with avid curiosity.
Anger darkened Lady Helstone’s face, and Constance immediately regretted not holding her tongue. It had been a rude, impertinent question. Remorsefully, she reached out to touch the woman’s hand. The woman quickly jerked away from the touch as anger and possibly even fear darkened her brown eyes. Clearly, the woman had heard a touch was enough to trigger the an dara sealladh.
“Forgive me. That was terribly rude,” Constance said softly as she drew back from the woman. “In addition to our gift of sight, every Rockwood is somewhat reckless when it comes to acting or speaking without considering the ramifications.”
The woman nodded sharply in response to Constance’s apology. The cold anger on her oval-shaped face faded, but her eyes still flashed with outrage. Constance winced with self-reproach.
“I truly am sorry, my lady. My curiosity was prompted out of concern for you and my desire to help.” The remorse in Constance’s voice made Lady Helstone relax slightly as she nodded.
“Your ladyship is kind, but I have no need of assistance, despite anything you…anything you might have seen.”
“What I saw were lodgings with a fireplace that hasn’t seen a fire in days. A bed that looks as if it will fall apart the moment someone lies in it, a small chifforobe, a table, and a chair,” Constance exclaimed with indignation at the description. “It wasn’t fit for the working class, let alone a noblewoman.”
The woman paled slightly, but her expression didn’t reveal what she was thinking. If anything, the woman exuded a quiet strength as she narrowed her gaze at Constance in silent indignation.
“And once again, my tongue has given offense,” Constance sighed quietly at her inability to guard her tongue. She was fortunate Lucien wasn’t within earshot, or hellfire would be raining down on her head. “Forgive me. It was not my intent to cause you discomfort. It’s simply that my family is familiar with the hardship of others, and we always do our best to help those in need.”
“If your rash nature is indicative of the rest of your family, then I understand why the Set refers to your family as they do.”
A wry smile touched Lady Helstone’s lips as she met Constance’s gaze with a small flash of amusement in her brown eyes. Relieved the woman was willing to excuse her behavior, Constance released the breath she’d been holding.
“You are most gracious in forgiving my insulting manner, not once, but twice.”
“Your comments reflect concern for my welfare, and I appreciate your kindness in doing so. However, as I’ve already said, I have no need of assistance.”
Constance frowned with frustration. It was obvious the woman thought Constance was offering her charity. She needed to tread lightly if she wanted to ensure Lady Helstone understood it wasn’t charity but an opportunity. Whether the noblewoman’s decided to seize upon the chance to improve her living circumstances was her choice.
Based on her observation in the past few minutes, Constance was certain Lady Helstone would work well with the marchioness. The real question now was whether or not the woman possessed the skills the marchioness required. A quick glance at the woman’s hands revealed she lacked the usual calluses on her fingers that most seamstresses had. So that begged the question as to what she did for Madame Sabine.
The question of why sent a dozen more questions thundering through Constance’s head, but she managed to bite her tongue. As she took another drink of her tea, a soft laugh echoed out of Lady Helstone. At the sound, Constance jerked her gaze toward the viscountess to see a small smile on the woman’s face.
“It truly is a struggle for you not to ask questions, isn’t it?”
“I confess it is far more difficult than most people realize,” she sighed with exasperation as the woman’s face lightened with a smile of amusement.
Constance smiled in return. She liked Lady Helstone. In fact, she was certain they would become great friends, especially if she was correct in thinking the viscountess was meant to be with Gideon.
“Then, I shall put you out of your misery and tell you that I do Madame Sabine’s books.”
“Her bookkeeper,” Constance murmured as she remembered Lady Wrotham bemoaning the loss of her secretary and the woman’s skill with figures.
“Such as it is.”
“How long have you been working for her?” Deliberately, Constance turned her head away from Lady Helstone and reached for the teapot to freshen up her cooling tea.
“More than two years.”
The response made Constance swallow a gasp of dismay as she remembered Lady Helstone’s impoverished circumstances. The viscountess’s words triggered several questions in Constance’s head, which immediately triggered more. That meant the viscountess had been employed by Madame Sabine shortly after Lord Helstone had been shot and killed. The timing was not lost on Constance. What had happened to make the viscountess’s finances so dire? Helstone had been a brute, but the viscount’s death should not have changed Lady Helstone’s financial situation. If anything, her husband’s demise should have given the woman a great deal more freedom than most women enjoyed.
Images of the papers she’d seen in her vision popped into her head. As if the mental pictures were a puzzle falling into place, she drew in a quick breath. P. Currer. If she remembered correctly, Lady Helstone’s first name was Phoebe. Given her vision, it was not much of a leap to think the woman was the Chronicles author. Working in Madame Sabine’s shop was the perfect place for gathering the latest gossip that the woman could use in her satire. The question was, why? Without thinking, Constance tipped her head to one side and stared intently at the other woman
“Tell me, Lady Helstone, are you acquainted with the Currer Chronicles?