Jane Charles's Blog, page 4

Still Rattled: The Baxter Boys #2 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

Still Rattled: The Baxter Boys #2 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

Only three things matter to Kelsey Fry: an envelope full of memories, a pink box full of hope, and a well-planned future, soon to be realized.
Alex Dosek knows that Kelsey needs more than the tattoo he gave her. She hoped to ink the memory of the daughter she gave up for adoption into her soul, but that wasn’t necessary. The memories were already there.
Who would have thought a house full of boys would be a refuge for Kelsey? The Baxter boys come to Kelsey’s rescue and all is well, but the past has a way of catching up with you, and Kelsey’s past reaches out with a phone call. The daughter she gave up for adoption is sick, and she needs something only Kelsey can give her.
It won’t be easy, but it will be necessary. Kelsey will look into the eyes of her daughter and then walk away, and take nothing with her but the letters she writes to her daughter on every holiday and every special occasion. In the evening, when she can’t sleep, she pours out her heart on paper.
When her daughter turns eighteen, Kelsey can reach out to her. Those are the rules. Not a moment before. But sometimes, the fates intervene. Or friends do. Call it what you will.
Karma and balance. Prices are paid.
The only thing left for Kelsey is Alex. 
The only thing Alex wants is Kelsey

***Recommended for adult readers due to language, sexual content and adult situations***

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 Kelsey
Alex “Douche” Dosek isn’t really a douche, or at least not anymore, and I should probably stop thinking about him that way. I get why he resented me. He didn’t have the whole story, and after his mother shit on him the way she did, of course he’d think I was just as heartless because I had abandoned my baby. But, now he gets it. If he didn’t, Alex wouldn’t have given me the most perfect tattoo. It’s exactly what I needed, from the little foot that I thought I wanted, to the little handprint over my heart that I hadn’t even considered. The manila envelope still holds those precious items: her birth certificate, sheet music from Brahms’ Lullaby and the pink rattle I snatched from the bassinet. I’ve always had these with me, but now that everything, with the exception of the rattle and the only picture I have of Brandon, is permanently on my midriff, just below my boobs, I’m not as worried about losing the documents. I’ll still keep them close though, in the pink box on the top shelf of my closet with the letters I’ve written to Brandy. But nobody can take the art from my body. Brandy and Brandon will be with me always.Shit! My eyes are tearing up again and everything in front of me is starting to blur. After sobbing inside of Reed’s, you’d think I’d be done by now.“Coffee?” Alex pulls his gloves on as he steps outside in to the cold.“Coffee!” I blink and quickly wipe away a few stray tears. I’m drained and really just want a nap, but it’s kind of nice spending time with someone I don’t have to guard myself around. Not so much protecting my feelings and heart and that type of stuff, but not having to watch what I say, or slip about Baxter, or mention I was once pregnant and lived on the streets. Those things are what people judge you by. Alex already knows the ugly. Far more ugly about my past than anyone else, with the exception of people at Baxter, like Mrs. Robak and a handful of therapists.“There’s a diner a few blocks down,” he says and we head in that direction, keeping our heads down against the cold November wind. My hands are shoved in my coat pocket because I lost my gloves on campus two days ago. At least I have a warm, though not exactly fashionable, scarf around my neck, and I duck my chin inside.I can’t believe that Alex did my tattoo. He’s lucky I didn’t walk right out when I found what artist had been assigned to me. Or, that’s what I thought then. I’m the lucky one. I don’t think anyone else could have done what he did. They would have given me the foot I asked for and left it at that. Alex stops and I look up and into the long windows. I like diners, but they usually aren’t this busy, with people sitting at every table and the counter. How good could their hamburgers, fries and milkshakes be? “They must have good food,” I mumble as we step inside. The heat from the bodies, kitchen and furnace engulfs me. I’ll be sweating in my coat if I don’t get it off me soon. “How long?” Alex asks.The waitress in her mid-fifties with mousey brown hair streaked with silver gives him a disbelieving look. “It’s Thanksgiving. I’ve got about fifteen people ahead of you.” Then I notice the sign. Thanksgiving Special. Turkey and the fixings $3.99. I glance around again.  I’d bet what remains of my savings that ninety percent of the people enjoying their meal are homeless or barely have two nickels to rub together. I so don’t want to take a table, or even a seat at the counter from someone who needs a cheap meal far more than me. And, $3.99 is way cheap for a meal in New York. A young couple, who look like they haven’t slept in days are in a back booth with two small children. Worn and dirty backpacks are on the floor beside them. All of the plates in the diner are filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, green beans and a roll. The works. There are also pumpkin pies lined up on the counter, waiting to be served for dessert. My mouth waters. I’ve practically existed on ramen to save money for the tat, make rent and pay for luxuries like internet. I wouldn’t even be paying for that if I didn’t need it for research and emails with professors.“We see Santa after this?” the little girl asked with excitement. She couldn’t be older than four or five.The parents share a look and my heart breaks in that instant from the pain in the mother’s eyes. I’ve seen many families like them. They can barely feed their kids, let alone give them a magical Christmas, and every kid deserves a visit from Santa. No, I don’t have money to spare, but I did save a lot by risking my tattoo on someone auditioning and not insisting on having a Reed do my tat. Pulling my wallet out of my bag I look at the bills, then take a deep breath and take out fifty dollars, leaving me with $200 from what I’d saved up, then I fish out an envelope and shove the money inside.“You keep envelopes in your bag?” Alex asks.“I write a lot of letters.” He doesn’t need to know who those letters are written to, or why. On the inside flap I write “For Santa shopping”.When the waitress comes by, I ask her to give it to the family in the back booth.Alex pulls me back outside.“What’s wrong?”“I forgot that it’s Thanksgiving.”Actually, I had to. Today was about my daughter turning six and getting a tattoo. “If you have someplace to be, no big deal. We can catch up later.”He shoves his hands in his front pockets and blows out a breath. It’s white in the cold air. “What are you doing for dinner?”I shrug. Maybe I’ll splurge and open a can of tuna. Turning, I glance back at the window and to the booth where the family is sitting. I want to make sure they get the envelope and that the waitress doesn’t pocket it. It’s not that I don’t trust the waitress specifically. I just don’t trust a lot of people to do the right thing.The mother is holding it, a hand is over her mouth and then she wipes a tear before giving it to her husband. He opens it and a small smile forms before he covers his wife’s hand with his own.I did need that money, but they need it a hell of a lot more and for once, I’m glad I acted spontaneously.“Roommates got stuff planned?”I blink up at Alex.“Roommates? Plans?” His blue eyes bore into mine as if saying Earth to Kelsey.“No, they went home.” Each invited me along but I had the excuse of the job interview tomorrow. They thought it odd that I’d interview on a day when schools are closed, but I explained that Baxter was working with my schedule. Nobody else needs to know that Baxter doesn’t celebrate holidays. Any holiday, and tomorrow is just another Friday for them. My roommates don’t know about the tat either, and probably never will. They don’t even know all of my past. Just that I’m an orphan and went to an art academy. It’s good enough for them, and thankfully, they don’t pry. Besides, I’d been to their homes and never felt comfortable. Families gathered around the table, being nice to each other because it’s a holiday, trying desperately to make me feel welcome, like one of them. Feigning interest in my school and future plans. It’s like being dropped into a foreign country where you don’t know the language and you’re without a translator. The job interview was my perfect out.Alex grins and grabs my hand. “Come home with me.”I pull back. “That’s okay. I’ve got stuff to do.”“You can’t be alone on Thanksgiving, Kelsey.”“I don’t exactly want to be with strangers, Alex.”His grin grows large. “But, they aren’t. Not really.”I narrow my eyes on him. Was he just trying to get me back to his place? He’s got to know that we may have started repairing a once burned bridge, but I sure as hell am not starting anything or getting involved with anyone at this point in my life.“Come on.” He pulls me toward the subway. “Great meal, great guys. You won’t be sorry.”I anchor my feet so he can’t pull me any further. “Alex, we haven’t seen each other in almost five years, and we were never friends.”His head drops, and he turns around, facing me. “Yeah, I know.”“Just go on home. I’ll go home, and maybe we’ll get coffee some other time.” I pull on my hand, but he’s not letting go. Normally this would send off alarms in my head and my gut, but it’s not.His blue eyes study mine. “Come with me Kelsey.”“Why?” What can this matter to him?“I fucked up. I should have gotten to know you, and because I was a stupid ass with a chip on my shoulder, I didn’t.” “It’s no big deal.” Though it was. At least back then, and the reason I hated him. But it’s not so much anymore. Not after today.“It is to me.” He grabs my other hand so that he’s now holding both, like he doesn’t want me to get away or something. “Come back to my place, enjoy an awesome Thanksgiving meal, and we’ll talk.”His phone dings and he lets go of one hand to pull it from his jeans pocket. After reading the screen, he grins at me and turns the phone so I can see. “See what awaits.”There’s a photo of a turkey, or what I think is a turkey, mostly wrapped in foil. Beside it on the counter are bowls and all kinds of pots on the stove in the background. Thirty minutes and counting. Browning, carving then eating, the text read.Damn. He’s offering turkey and all the fixings. My stomach grumbles. I don’t even have turkey-flavored ramen. Actually, I’m not sure if they even have that flavor, but if they did, I don’t have it. I know exactly what’s in my allotted cupboard back at the apartment. A can of coffee, half a loaf of bread, 3 cans of spaghetti, 2 cans of tuna and two packages of chicken-flavored ramen. Then again, I did save money by letting Alex do my tat instead of insisting and waiting for one of the Reed Brothers to be available, but that didn’t mean I needed to go out and spend it. Besides, I just handed over fifty to a family in need. “I’ll just go home. Enjoy your meal.”Alex types something into his phone and then shoves it in his pocket. “Nope. You’re coming with me.” This time he hooks his arm with mine and pulls me to the stairs leading down to the subway.I try and jerk it away, but he has a tight grip. Not that he’s hurting me or anything. Just being pushy. Or make that pulley since he is practically dragging me along behind him.“I saw that look in your eye when you saw that turkey. You want it, even if you don’t want to admit it.”Of course I want it. I’d love to sit down to a real meal for a change, but that doesn’t mean I should. Alex is still practically a stranger. What if he’s all weird and shit like that? He doesn’t strike me as dangerous, though. I’m not getting that vibe that usually warns me when someone’s a creep, but we don’t know each other. Not really.He stops at the turnstile and gets out his metro card and scans it. “You won’t be sorry.”I pull my card from my pocket and scan it, before following Alex down another flight of stairs to the platform. “I’m already sorry.” We get there just as the train pulls in.“Perfect timing.” We wait for the passengers to exit before getting on. There are no empty seats, and barely enough room to stand. I didn’t think the subway would be this busy on a holiday. “Where do you live?”“Brooklyn.” Alex answers as he grabs the pole for balance. I do the same. I’ve lost my balance before, and the last thing I want to do is end up on some stranger’s lap. “We’re renting a townhouse.”“How many live there?” “Six.” He shrugs and I gape at him. I’ve been in a number of brownstones and townhouses that were once gorgeous but were now broken up into apartments. One on top of the other, similar to the four bedroom I share with my roommates. Some were roomy and some, not so much. But six guys in one apartment? “That has to be crowded as hell.”He frowns and then his blue eyes lighten just before he laughs. “We don’t rent an apartment, we rent the entire townhouse.”Holy crap. I didn’t know tattooing paid so well. Those places cost a fortune.He’s shaking his head. “It’s not what you think. It was a family home but got to be too much for the older couple who owns it. They moved to a smaller apartment. He wanted to cut it up for apartments and even started to in the attic. He planned an apartment for each floor like a lot of owners have done. Make it into an income property.”I hate how so many early twentieth century buildings are cut up like the one I live in. Such beautiful architecture destroyed for the purpose of making as much money as possible.“The wife is completely against the idea and wants the place to keep its original charm. The rent was already cheap because of the condition of the place, but we talked the couple down because two of my roommates also work construction. In exchange for cheap rent, we’ve fixed the roof, plumbing and electrical, but there’s still a ton of work to do. We got the important stuff done, the rest is mostly cosmetic.” Sounds like a great deal. If I knew how to operate a power tool, I’d try to find something like that. But, since I can’t even hammer in a nail, I’m stuck in an expensive shoebox close to campus.“Each month we give him the receipts and an estimate on what a contractor would have charged, and he adjusts the rent. We don’t know what we are paying from one month to the next, but it’s the best deal in town, and he’s happy to have people living there who aren’t just keeping the place up, but making it better. It’s cheaper for him in the long run to have it done this way instead of hiring a firm to gut the place.”“So, who do you live with? You said they weren’t strangers, but we don’t exactly have the same circle of friends.”Alex chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
Alex
I didn’t even think when I asked Kelsey back to the house. The guys will be surprised, but I hope they aren’t pissed. Not that they should be. It’s not like I just grabbed a stranger off the street and brought her home to be fed. Not that they should have a problem if I did. Okay, maybe a total stranger in our home would be a bad idea. Kelsey narrows her eyes on me. “I don’t like surprises. And I’ve already had enough today.”The seeing me and almost bolting from Reed’s before getting her tattoo, or the tat that wasn’t just a foot? I’m not sure I want to know. She loved the tat, but she didn’t love seeing me, at least not at first.“Trust me. It’s a good one. You’ll fit right in.”Kelsey blows out a sigh. “Listen, I don’t do family meals well. Is somebody’s family going to be there?”I seal my lips and make a sign like I’m throwing away the key.“If I’m uncomfortable, I’m leaving, okay. No making me stay.”Kelsey has her defenses up, like she’s afraid. I get it. I’m not exactly open to strangers either, but she’ll be happy once she sees who’s there. At least, I assume she will be. “Only long enough to fix you a plate so you can take it home.” Maybe she’ll relax knowing she can walk out the door as soon as she walks in, if that is what she wants, though I doubt it will happen that way.She gave me a small smile. “Is there going to be pie?”“Chocolate, pumpkin and cherry.”Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as she groans. “I can’t remember the last time I had pie.”I’m surprised that particular dessert didn’t bring all kinds of unpleasant memories. She was delivering a piece of pie to Brandon when he was killed.The smile slips. “I couldn’t eat pie for two years after Brandon died.”Could she fucking read my mind?“Then I realized, if I hadn’t been taking him a piece, I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye and tell him that I loved him. I would have just gone home and waited for him to get off work.” Her dark eyes meet mine. “So, pie is good.”“And, these will be delicious.”The train slows and I glance out to see where we are. I haven’t been paying close attention to the stops, but we’re getting close.Close? Hell, this is my stop. If I hadn’t decided to look this time, we would have gone right past and that would have been a pain in the ass to get off at the next stop, and then go around and grab the train going in the opposite direction.“Here we are.”She takes a deep breath and steps out onto the platform. “Are you sure they won’t mind?”“I promise,” grabbing her hand, I head for the stairs to exit the subway.

The Rattle Box: The Baxter Boys #3 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

The Rattle Box: The Baxter Boys #3 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled) 

Two things stand in the way of Madison Cross realizing her dream of studying music performance and composition at a prestigious college:
1) Her parents, who don’t understand or get her, and want her to attend a community college and settle on a career that will actually support her one day; and 2) A private instructor.
No music school is going to take her seriously with only middle and high school instruction, but she has never been given the opportunity for private instructions (see #1 above).  Her one shot is convincing Mrs. Dosek, a well-respected pianist who teaches for free, but the woman won’t return an email, let alone talk to her.
When Madison discovers a pink box of letters hidden in her parents’ attic, she’s consumed with wanting to know more about the woman who wrote them. Through reading the heartbreaking letters, Madison comes to learn more than she ever dreamed of about herself, but now she has to face her biggest fear, and it has nothing to do with college.  She must learn where she came from in order to find out where she’s going.


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CHAPTER ONE
“She’s here,” I whisper to Peyton Walker, my best friend.Peyton leans around me. “Mrs. Dosek is here?”“Yes.” The moment I see her, my heart begins to pound as my palms break out in a sweat. I swipe them against my jet black skirt, take deep breaths and try to compose myself. Maybe this time Mrs. Dosek will hear me play. Then maybe, if I play well enough, I can become one of her students. One on a small list of exclusive students, some of which have been accepted to Juilliard.It’s my junior year of high school, and if I don’t get accepted to Juilliard before my senior year, I might never be. Music is my passion. The piano, cello and violin, though if I had to pick only one, it would always be the piano. I want to compose and play.  That’s all I want in life, but all my lessons have been limited to what’s been offered in middle and high school band and orchestra classes. I need more if I’m going to go any further. More meant a private teacher, something my parents couldn’t afford. Maybe if they hadn’t adopted six kids, they might have the money for lessons. It’s selfish, of course. Had my parents limited the number of kids, I may not have made the cut, and then where would I be? And, I wouldn’t trade my siblings for anything in the world. Well, except my youngest brother John, who spilled grape juice on my favorite white blouse this morning.  Luckily I have two others or I would have been screwed. Black and white – orchestra colors. Judges frown on color, and if nothing else, I am a rule follower. Music is too important. Winning competitions is necessary. Each win and award is another item on my application to Juilliard.The only thing I’m lacking is a private piano teacher. I need to become a student of Mrs. Dosek.I had first heard of her when I was in seventh grade. She only took piano and voice students who had talent. And, she didn’t charge. Ever!“I heard Brooke’s parents just offered Mrs. Dosek a thousand dollars a lesson,” Peyton whispers in my ear.“Wow! That’s a ton of money.” Brooke’s parents were loaded, and Brooke was convinced she was the best pianist to ever grace the halls of my high school, East Central. She had a baby grand to practice on at home. I have an old upright that used to be a player piano, it was that old. The kind that once had music on the inside and played at the push of a button. Those guts are gone now, but it still plays well. Brooke has always looked down on Peyton and me as if we aren’t quite good enough, even though Peyton’s parents are probably as rich, if not richer, than Brooke’s.“I know!” Peyton looks over my shoulder. “Mrs. Dosek turned them down. It’s not about the money but the talent.”I glance at Peyton from the corner of my eye. “I bet Brooke didn’t take that well.” I hate Brooke, and I’m jealous of her. Not only do the teachers fawn over her, but she’s had private lessons since she was five. I’m glad Mrs. Dosek turned her down because that would have killed me if Brooke got lessons with her and I couldn’t even get the woman to notice me.Peyton snorts. “Considering she thinks she’s the best of the best, no, she didn’t.”“Well, Mrs. Dosek is here today.” I blow out a breath. “I just hope she stays to listen for a change.”“It is weird that she always leaves right before your turn.” It’s something Peyton and I have talked about before. I’ve seen Mrs. Dosek at several competitions and concerts but she always leaves before I play. How the hell can I get her attention if the woman doesn’t stay long enough to listen? “I emailed her again.” For like the umpteenth time.“Response?” Peyton asks.“Silence. It’s as if she has something against me or something. If she heard me play and wasn’t interested, that would be one thing, but since she never has, and we’ve never met, I can’t imagine what she has against me.”“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. I know other people who have emailed her too, and she didn’t respond to them.”“At least I’m not alone.” Not that it makes me feel any better. I’m sure I’m just one of dozens of potential students trying to get her attention. “I just wish I knew the trick to get her to notice me.” The pianist before me finishes, bows and then exits the stage.“Good luck,” Peyton whispers.I take a deep breath, clutch my music.“Madison Cross,” the judge announces, and I step out onto the stage. I can’t help myself and glance to the seat where Mrs. Dosek had been sitting.It’s empty and I catch a glimpse of her just as she exits the auditorium.Tears spring to my eyes as I walk to the piano. Another opportunity lost.
After placing the music, I take a seat, as disappointment sinks into my belly. If I weren’t on stage, I’d completely lose it, but I hold my shit together and blink so the tears don’t fall, and I start to play. I can’t see the music, but I don’t really need to since I memorized these pieces long ago, starting with Brahms’ Lullaby—the first of my four Brahms’ selections for this afternoon. The judges want emotion, in addition to skill, along with four levels of difficulty. Well, I’ve got the emotion, and if even a quarter of it comes through in my music, I’ve got the competition beat. And, it’s Mrs. Dosek’s loss for missing it.

Landing a Laird

Landing a Laird(Novella)

Heiress Lady Moira Kirkwood will do anything it takes to marry a laird to take her north - far, far away from London and her domineering mother. Unfortunately, a pair of gentlemen overhear her jest about Scotland and compromising a fellow if she has to. Before the sun has risen the next day, Moira’s name and a scandalous wager have found themselves inside the infamous betting book at White’s. 

One penniless gentleman after another begs Gideon Baxter, Viscount Ainsely, for his assistance in wooing Lady Moira. Unfortunately, Gideon would like to woo the charming lady himself. If only she cared more for him than for the location of his estate, he’d could be assured of where her true feelings lie.

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Mr. Fiske bets Lord Alston three hundred pounds that Lord Lydell will allow encouragebe compromised by Lady Moira Kirkwood and be hauled off to Scotland before the end of the Season. ~ April 19, 1813
Lady Moira Kirkwood stretched her arms above her head, opened her eyes, and immediately sat up.  “Goodness, what time is it?”  Beatrice, her maid, popped her head out of the dressing room.  “It is close to noon, Lady Moira, but I am not surprised you slept so late, last night being your first ball and all.”If Moira hadn’t insisted Beatrice not wait up for her, the maid would have known she hadn’t been out until the wee morning hours, but that was not the case. In fact, she’d barely made an appearance at the Heathfields’ ball before her mother determined it was time to leave.  The only friend she had seen was her dear friend, Pippa, Lady Philippa Casemore, and that was from across the vast ballroom. They’d shared a quick wave before her mother had pulled her away.   Once the introductions were out of the way, Moira hoped to find Miss Patience Findley and join Pippa, who seemed to be having a grand time, but her mother insisted on leaving.  “It adds mystery,” Mother had insisted.Mystery?  “This is my first ball. May I at least stay long enough for one dance?”“No, you may not.”And that was it.  An hour after they walked through the door, they were walking back out.  Upon arriving home, her mother sent her to bed for a good night’s rest so that she wouldn’t develop wrinkles or bags or circles under her eyes, and to consider the gentlemen she had met that night.Instead of doing as she was told, which Moira rarely did, she made a list of the few eligible men that had made her acquaintance that evening.  There had to be at least one Scotsman, with an estate close to Edinburgh, preferably. The Highlands would never do because they were far too remote. One must have access to a good modiste, a lending library, and a haberdashery if one was to survive so far away from friends and family.  Moira rose from her bed, walked to her desk, and picked up the list she had penned before falling asleep.  There were only five names, and none of them sounded even remotely Scottish.  If her mother was going to limit her time at balls to only an hour, Moira needed a new plan.“The light blue will look lovely on you.”  Moira glanced at the walking dress Beatrice laid out on the bed.  Walking dress.  She was to meet Pippa at the entrance of Hyde Park today.  Moira glanced at the clock again. She still had two hours until their appointment.  At least Pippa would have stayed for the entire night and probably had a wonderful time. Moira couldn’t wait to hear the stories. Oh, why couldn’t she have an old, lax guardian instead of her mother?A scratch at the door drew Moira’s attention.  “Come.”Mary, another maid, popped her head inside the chambers. “Lord and Lady Hearne to see you, Lady Moira.”“Tell them I will be right down.”  Why were her brother and sister-in-law here?  “And have tea and cakes delivered. Lots of cakes, please.”  Her stomach grumbled.  Normally, she would have had her morning meal before now.“Very good.”  Mary bobbed a quick curtsey and closed the door.Moira rushed through her toilette, without allowing Beatrice to do much with her hair except brush and to pin it back before rushing to meet her brother and sister-in-law.  Nyle and Alvina had been at the Heathfields’. Perhaps they would have stories to tell.  “Moira Kirkwood, ladies do not run down stairs. They do not appear below stairs without their hair being arranged and their clothing properly attired.”She skidded to a halt, her slippers carrying her a few extra feet on the marble floor, the moment she heard her mother’s voice.  Moira glanced down at her gown. It was precisely what she’d planned on wearing to meet Pippa later that day.  Oh, she so hated changing clothing three, four, five times a day.  It was a terrible waste of time when one could be reading, shopping or simply enjoying a glorious day.She turned to face the woman who was the bane of her existence.  “Alvina and Nyle are here. I wished to see them and they don’t care how I’m dressed.”Her mother reached the foyer and raised an eyebrow. “What of other callers?  They will care.”Moira suppressed a sigh.  “There are no other callers, Mother, nor do I expect there to be any.”“Of course there will be callers,” her mother insisted.  “You made quite an impression last evening. I expect they will be arriving within the hour.”How did one make an impression when barely a few words were spoken and her outing had only lasted all of sixty minutes in a room full of at least one hundred people?  Her mother was daft.“Go upstairs and change into a morning gown, and have Beatrice do something with that hair of yours. Then you may visit with your brother and that wife of his.”Moira resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but she turned to do as her mother bade.  Thank goodness Beatrice had a talent for arranging hair, and in short order.[image error]“Explain to me why you would allow, encourage, or otherwise be compromised by Miss Moira Kirkwood?”  Gideon Waite, Viscount Ainsely, asked his former school mate who he happened to run into when he entered White’s.“I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve never even met the chit.” Peter Radburn, Marquess Lydell leaned back in his chair.  “And can a lady even compromise a gentleman?  Isn’t it usually the other way around?”“Of course they can,” Gideon chuckled. “It happens all the time.  Except, we call it trapped.  She encourages a stolen kiss in the moonlight, her father appears, and bachelorhood comes to an end.”“I suppose so.” Lydell shrugged.Mr. Jordan Trent pulled out a chair and joined the men at their table.  He signaled for the footman and ordered a brandy before he focused on Lydell. “About this bet…”“I know nothing about it.”  Lydell threw his hands up in defense.Gideon laughed.  Lydell was rather private and the more he tried to go unnoticed, the more society gossiped about him.  Of course, it didn’t help that less than a sennight ago all of London learned Lydell needed to find an heiress before the Season was done. Jordan grinned. “I do.”Both Gideon and Lydell leaned forward.“Fiske and Alston overheard Lady Moira speaking to Lady Hearne before the dowager Lady Hearne took her from Heathfields’ ball last night.”“Go on,” Lydell prompted when Jordan paused to take a drink from the glass just set before him.Jordan glanced at Gideon. “I should have known those two would make an issue of the young woman’s words.”“Jordan,” Lydell warned, running out of patience.  Gideon had seen these two in similar conversations over the last ten years.  The more Lydell wanted to know something, the longer Jordan took in the telling.  “You were there too?” Gideon asked.Jordan turned to him.  “I was right behind Lady Moira. Her mother had just glared at me. I don’t understand why mothers don’t like me.  Have I ever ruined an innocent, spoke cruelly to a young lady? It is very disconcerting to be treated as a pariah when I have done nothing wrong.”Nothing wrong.  The man was the very definition of rake, but what he said was true. Mothers hated him, and young debutants adored him.“What did she say?” Lydell ground out.Jordan returned his attention to the much frustrated Lydell. “Before this Season is out, I will find a gentleman to take me to Scotland, even if I have to compromise him to do so."“Good God,” Gideon stammered. “Why the devil would she make such a statement?”“I don’t know.”  Jordan shrugged.“Is it her appearance?  Does she think no gentleman will offer for her, so she’d best hie off to Gretna before he changes his mind?” Lydell prompted.“No, I don’t think so.  In fact, she was rather pretty.”Lydell sighed with annoyance. “Why was myname put in the betting book then?”“Her dowry.” Jordan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Five thousand pounds.Gideon sat back and whistled.  The amount of the chit’s dowry would have every destitute and non-destitute gentleman on her doorstep as soon as the news spread.  “Where did you come by this information?”“Her brother, Hearne. And he was none too happy after reading the book a short time ago.”

Devil in Her Dreams - A Duke of Danby Novella

Devil in Her Dreams(A Duke of Danby Novella)

Devlin Barrett was never meant to be Viscount Marston, but when his older brother and father die within a day of each other, Devlin not only inherits the title, but three younger sisters, all of marriageable age, and must retire from his former profession.  He is unprepared for the responsibility thrust upon his shoulders and determines the best way to care for his sisters, and see that they are happy is to marry them off quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the lady he wishes to make his wife, refuses to wait until he is free.

Louisa Whitton needs to find a husband of her own choosing before Christmas, and is left with only three months to accomplish her goal. While visiting her sister in the country before returning to London she meets the perfect gentleman, thus foiling the plans her grandfather has of her wedding a man of his choice, and probably a vicar like her father.  However, Marston refuses to even think about courting her until his sisters are wed and has the audacity to ask her to wait.  
Louisa knows her grandfather will never agree to a long courtship and sets out to find the perfect substitute for Marston during the first week of the little season.  
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August, 1813
Devlin Bartlett spotted his prey.  No visit to Bentley Manor was complete without teasing Lady Madeline Trent unmercifully.  She was strolling along the brick walk, sidestepping the puddles from the recent rainfall.  The gold in her blond hair gleamed from the bright sun, and for a moment he wished he could have thought of Madeline as something more than a younger sister.  Instead, he would have his fun and then seek out his old friend and former colleague, John Trent, to deliver the message from the Home Office one last time. His life as a courier and spy had come to an end.  But he wouldn’t dwell on the reasons now. It was too glorious a day and a certain lady needed his attention.He fell into step behind her. It wasn’t like Madeline to stroll calmly. Where was the bundle of energy that usually radiated off of her being?  The lady before him exuded tranquility.  As he came closer, her scent wafted back toward him.  Devlin closed his eyes and inhaled a light fragrance that reminded him of warm, lazy June afternoons, and of moonlight and wicked promises.  It had been months since they had seen one another. Could Madeline have changed so much? He had never been drawn to her like this before—the way a man is drawn to a woman.A grin pulled at his lips and narrowed the distance between them.  Coming up from behind Devlin put his hands over her eyes.  “Guess who?”The woman stiffened. “What the devil?”  The sound of her voice was all wrong and Devlin had a sneaking suspicion the lady he’d just accosted was not Madeline.  He let his hands drop, and she turned to face him, her jaw tight, eyes narrowed.  This most certainly was not his childhood nemesis but an entirely different delectable creature.  Her eyes were blue, for one. There was also a spray of delicate freckles across her nose, and her lush lips were far more kissable than Madeline’s had ever been. She also shared a remarkable resemblance to Lisette.  Could the two be related?  Devlin shook away the thought.    “Devlin is the name.  Many people have confused it with devil, though I can’t for the life of me understand why.” He linked his hands together behind his back. “Of course, the spellings are similar.”  Her eyebrows rose, and her mouth relaxed.  He hoped it wasn’t because she intended to scream for help.  “Do you often sneak up on unsuspecting young ladies walking in gardens?”“I apologize.”  He bowed his head toward her. “I thought you were Madeline.”“So, it is only my friend you attack?”  She tilted her blond head with the question.Devlin stepped back, affronted, and put a hand over his heart. “That was hardly an attack. Simply a prank.”The lady before him folded her arms across her chest and the right side of her mouth tipped up.  “A prank?  You seem to take great liberty with Madeline. Are you courting her?”“No.”She shook her head. “I didn’t think so.”What was that supposed to mean?“I am sure she would have mentioned you.”Devlin stuck his right leg out, pointed his toe and executed the perfect court bow from days gone by. “Devlin Bartlett, Viscount Marston, at your service.” He would have kissed the back of her hand, but it was not offered and she still had her arms folded over her ample breasts.  Devlin righted himself. “Usually when a gentleman introduces himself the lady follows suit.”“Miss Louisa Whitton.” She stuck her hand out as if to shake his. Very unusual.  Devlin gently grabbed hold, turned it, and placed a kiss on her exposed wrist. This intriguing creature dared him to want to do all sorts of delectable things considered scandalous in polite society. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Louisa Whitton.”  She yanked her hand back as if she was burned, the light taint of a blush stained her cheeks as her last name struck a chord.  “Whitton?”She took a deep breath and sighed.  “Yes. My grandfather is the Duke of Danby and my father is his fifth child, third son, and Vicar Whitton.”Apparently she was used to people noting her lineage.     Miss Whitton tilted her head as if to study him. “Your Christian name is rather uncommon.”  “My mother thought it sounded romantic.” He leaned in to whisper. “She was addicted to gothic and horrid novels.”“It is lovely.” She bit her upper lip.  Was she trying not to laugh? “The staff, while I was growing up didn’t always get it right, however. There were several occasions they called me Devil or Demon.  It is really unfair, I tell you.”“Somehow I think they got it right.”  A dimple appeared at the corner of her lovely mouth.Devlin put a hand over his heart. “You wound me, dear lady.  I was nothing but the most enchanting and delightful child.”* * *Louisa seriously doubted Lord Marston had ever experienced an angelic moment in his life.  The hint of mischief in his warm brown eyes was in complete contrast to the offended demeanor he tried to put forth. Why hadn’t Madeline ever mentioned this gentleman to her?  More importantly, why hadn’t Madeline set her cap upon him?  There must be something about Lord Marston that made him an impossible candidate for marriage, because she couldn’t imagine her friend letting him slip through her fingers otherwise.  Apart from his carefree and highly inappropriate behavior toward a young lady to whom he had not been properly introduced, there was something intriguing in his manner.  Or, perhaps it was simply the fact that he stood tall, a head above her, with broad shoulders yet a lean frame as if he hadn’t allowed any portion of his body to go soft.  Louisa’s face heated.  Goodness, she should not be thinking about his lean frame. She didn’t know anything about him.  “Marston, is that you?”Louisa and Lord Marston turned toward the voice of her brother-in-law, John Trent.  Elizabeth, Louisa’s sister and John’s wife, walked by his side.“John.” Lord Marston grinned before a perplexed look came to his face. “Lise—,”“Marston,” John interrupted. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Elizabeth Trent.”Louisa narrowed her eyes at the stranger.  He’d almost called her sister Lisette. This triggered a suspicion of exactly how Marston knew her brother-in-law, and sister for that matter.  Not that they were any the wiser.  As far as those two were concerned, they thought she still believed they’d met in France, after her sister became a widow of course.  However, Louisa had learned the truth, the complete truth, this last Christmas after listening through secret panels and at doors at Danby Castle.  Thank goodness she had, or otherwise she would have been more worried about the stack of special licenses on her grandfather’s desk. He had not yet determined who her husband would be, and thus, he had set her aside for the moment.She didn’t dare think grandfather had forgotten. No, there were still a handful of Whitton grandchildren of an age to be married, and, if Louisa didn’t take matters into her own hands soon, her grandfather would see her married to a virtual stranger before this year was at an end.  “It is an honor.”  Lord Marston bowed before Elizabeth. When he straightened, he kept glancing between the two women.“We are sisters,” Louisa finally clarified.  “Two lovely sisters, indeed,” Marston replied.  “Trent, how did you meet your bride? I thought you were roaming the Continent until recently.”Louisa folded her hands before her and adopted a pleasant smile, waiting to hear the lies spill forth from her brother-in-law’s lips.  “While I was traveling in the south of France,” John began to explain. “I made the acquaintance of Elizabeth.”Marston nodded, and Louisa fought not to let her mind wander.  She’d heard the story so many times she could recite it herself. Still, she kept an interested expression while John told a blatant lie. Worse, Marston listened intently, as if he believed every word. If what she suspected was true, he knew it was a lie, too.  But, until she knew for certain, she would continue to put forth the demeanor that had served her well through the years.  She behaved as the perfectly dutiful daughter of a vicar, and nobody ever suspected she was up to a blasted thing whenever she was found lurking outside of closed doors or cracked windows.  It amazed Louisa at what she got away with, because no one would ever expect her to misbehave or step out of her assigned role, unlike her sister Elizabeth, who was a spy for the English crown, though nobody knew that of course. Those in the parish at home assumed Louisa would follow in her mother’s footsteps and marry a vicar herself.  They were wrong. Louisa would remain a spinster, whether Grandfather liked it or not, before that happened.  She just needed a bit more time to find the right gentleman who would offer some excitement.  And the best way to learn who the best candidate was, was to remain quiet and listen. “I finally agreed to play the part of her deceased husband so Danby wouldn’t force her to remain at Danby Castle. When he found out the truth—”“Truth?” Marston interrupted John with a raised eyebrow.Yes, the truth would be nice for a change.“That we traveled alone and were unmarried,” John explained slowly.  Marston nodded, and Louisa has hard put not to snort.  “He insisted his granddaughter had been compromised and that we should marry.”The devil with the warm brown eyes chuckled.  “It wasn’t really force.” John looked down at Elizabeth.  Unmasked love shone each time he looked at his wife, and Louisa’s heart lurched. Would any man ever look at her like that?  Elizabeth returned his gaze.  Marston cleared his throat. “I can see that.”John sheepishly looked away from Elizabeth and shrugged. “I was sorry to hear about your loss,” John said a few minutes later.“Thank you. And yours.” Marston nodded.  “It has been an adjustment.”The group turned and began to stroll back to the seating area in the gardens. “Do you have any plans?”  John continued.Marston didn’t say anything for a moment but glanced at Louisa.  “I have to give up the life I have lived these past six years.”Do you mean you can’t be a spy any longer?  Oh, she would love to ask that question and shock all three of them.Elizabeth sank into a chair. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”    Louisa took the one beside her.  There was no way she was going to leave them to discuss matters without her.  If she were gone, then there would be no pretense to talk around the secret subject, and she so enjoyed them trying to search for the right words to convey an entirely different meaning.“My older brother was killed in February after coming to the assistance of his friend who had been set upon by footpads. I was with Father when we were told.  He had an apoplexy and died within the day.”Louisa brought her hand to her heart. “Goodness, how horrible for you.”Marston offered a weak smile. “Thank you.” He turned back to John.  “I’ve now found myself in a position I never expected, nor prepared for.”John hitched a brow. “Managing estates and duty to title?”“Worse,” Marston ground out.“What?” Elizabeth sat forward.“Three younger sisters, all of marriageable ages.”John snorted.  “I never thought to see the day when you were a guardian of young women.”Louisa suspected nobody in their right mind would give him that duty intentionally. His sisters were safe, of course, but she wouldn’t trust him with a non-relation.  If the kiss he’d planted on the inside of her wrist was any indication, Lord Marston had probably been kept far away from the proper young ladies of the ton.“When I learned you were here I decided to visit and escape Bartlett Court.  Those three are about to drive me to Bedlam.” Marston pushed his fingers through his deep auburn hair, and Louisa suspected he may not be exaggerating. “They insist on attending the Little Season.  I will meet them in London at the end of the week.”“I don’t see the harm,” Elizabeth uttered.Marston leveled his eyes on Louisa’s sister. “When you meet them, you will understand.  Trying to guard one is difficult enough, but all three may prove to be impossible.”Louisa giggled.  “Surely they can’t be all bad.”“Trust me, they are.”  He pushed his fingers through his hair again then pulled at his cravat.  The thought of his sisters really was unnerving the poor man.  “I do have my own plans, however.”“Yes?” Louisa prompted.“I plan to marry each of them off as quickly as possible.” Just like Grandfather!  Why did gentlemen think the best way to deal with an unmarried lady was to simply marry her off as if that solved everything?  Well, he may be a handsome, interesting devil, but he could be someone else’s. With a huff she stood. “Good day, Lord Marston.”

Compromised for Christmas - A Tenacious Trents Novella (Book 1)

Compromised for Christmas - A Tenacious Trents Novella (Book 1)

Lady Elizabeth craved excitement and adventure. Unwilling to endure further boring Seasons, she convinces her uncle, who has lived a more adventurous life than anyone else she knew, to let her work for him. A few years later Elizabeth was established in Tuileries Castle, a servant in Napoleon’s court known as Lisette Renard.
John Phillip Trent has been working in the stables of Tuileries as Jean Pierre Bouvier for the past two years. His only English contact being Lisette Renard, a lovely blond lass, who he desired but kept at a professional arm’s length.

When Lisette receives a summons to return home for Christmas, John learns that she is none other than the granddaughter of the Duke of Danby and she had named Jean Pierre as her husband. Their cover is compromised with the same letter and the two find themselves escaping the palace and France, knowing they could very well never see each other again and must face the truth of how they truly feel for the other.
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Elizabeth,
I expect you, along with your cousins and their parents, at Danby Castle by December 24th. You, my absentee granddaughter, will present yourself before me along with that husband of yours, Jean Pierre Bouvier. I will accept no excuses.
Danby
Paris, December 7, 1812
Elizabeth Whitton folded the parchment and stuck it into her pocket.  Why hadn’t her contact or the Home Office translated this one into code like all of the other letters?  Surely they understood the danger.  Maybe they feared making an error, given the author.  Grandfather did have a way of striking fear into people.  Yet all of his other letters had been coded. Why not this one?  It was odd seeing the name Elizabeth. She hadn’t been addressed as that in over two years. She no longer thought of herself as Elizabeth, either. She was Lisette Renard. It was safer this way, even in her silent thoughts, to pretend Elizabeth did not exist.  Nevertheless, she must somehow find a way to be back in England by December twenty-fourth and then return to her position here without anyone being the wiser as to her true purpose.  She had worked long and hard establishing her place within Tuileries Palace and liked to think she was valuable to the English crown.She picked up the rag and wiped the shelves in the library. Who would have dreamed two years ago she would have been given such free rein at the palace?  It took almost a year of delivering eggs before she ever found a way to get beyond the kitchen, but eventually the head chef took pity on her, believing the pathetic story of how she needed to earn more to support her aging grandmother and siblings.  Her original job had been simply to learn what she could through the kitchen staff and other servants.  Nobody thought it possible that she would actually become one of the few entrusted with cleaning the emperor’s private apartments and study.  Certainly not her father or uncle, and they were the only two in her family who knew the truth. The rest believed she’d fallen in love and married a Frenchman.  So, what was she to do? Her grandfather expected her home for Christmas, with her husband, and one did not ignore a direct order from the duke.  It would be good to return to Yorkshire. An ache developed in her heart when she thought of her family.  She missed them more than she realized, especially Louisa, her sister.  It would be good to see her again, even for a short time. But they had to believe she was happily married to Jean Pierre and not a spinster spy employed as a maid at Tuileries.  As much as she hated the idea, there was no other choice but to tell her husband.  Lisette returned her cleaning supplies to the closet and made her way outside and into the vast gardens, towards the stables. Jean Pierre would either be working within or exercising the horses.  Why had she named him as her husband?  She knew she could have come up with a different identity, but when she wrote of her marriage a few years ago, her supervisor had made the suggestion and the name flowed easily from the quill.She spotted him long before he noticed her approach.  If he weren’t so full of himself, he might be attractive.  She shook her head and corrected her thought. Despite his conceit, he was a pleasure to watch.  Jean Pierre must have just finished exercising one of the studs, because he was lifting the saddle from its back.  His shoulders and upper arms tightened with strength, straining against his shirt as he lifted and handed the leather off to a stable hand.  He bent a moment later to pick up a brush and began grooming the animal.  She knew without a doubt the man was all muscle. Not that she had actually seen him without clothing, but the fit of his pants and shirt were enough.  In addition to his physical labor, Jean Pierre kept himself fit, as she did, in the event they were called on to do more than their currently assigned duties.  He turned to face her when she grew close, as if he sensed her presence behind him.  “Ah, mademoiselle, such a lovely picture this afternoon.” He bowed before her. His green eyes twinkled with mischief and a black curl fell onto his forehead. She fought the smile pulling at her lips. The man was a charmer, and she refused to succumb. They both had a job to do for England. Any type of relationship would hinder them both and could be downright dangerous.“I need you, Jean Pierre.” She blurted the words out without thought.His smile grew wide, revealing straight, white teeth, much in contrast of those who worked with him.  He placed a hand over his heart. “I’ve longed for two years to hear those very words from your lips.”She put her hand out to stop his stride in her direction. “It is not in the manner in which you think or hope.”  “If not amour, what else is there?” He shrugged and lifted his hands in question.Lisette rolled her eyes. The man thought of little else besides bedding willing females.“I need a husband,” she whispered.He took a step back. She knew those words would cool his ardor quicker than a sudden ice storm.  Jean Pierre liked to think of himself as a lover whose talents should never be limited to one woman, unless it was only for a night—but never a lifetime.  He had been playing his role longer than she.  Lisette had no idea who he really was or how he truly felt about women and the institution of marriage. Not that it mattered, as long as he played along for the month it took them to travel to England and return.  He took a step away from her.  “My dear, sweet Lisette, you know I desire you above all others, but I cannot even consider such a radical choice.  A married man must be faithful, and I could never promise fidelity, my sweet.” Unlike hers, his words were loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear.  Lisette would like nothing better than to throttle him.She caught the sight of three of the stable hands nearby. No doubt they heard everything and would report back to whomever they reported to. There were always ears and eyes watching everyone at the palace, not unlike those in society she encountered during her two Seasons in London.  Except it was much easier to navigate the dangers here than any ballroom back home.  She knew there was gossip about her and Jean Pierre. They met too often for it not to be noticed, but it couldn’t be helped if she were to pass the information she gathered in the house on to him.  Jean Pierre saw that it was delivered into the right hands, along with any information he discovered.  The mission demanded they work closely together, but not too closely, and thus a relationship developed with Jean Pierre chasing her skirts and Lisette refusing so much as a kiss without a promise.  The other maids encouraged her to succumb to his charms, but she wasn’t here for Jean Pierre’s pleasure any more than he was for hers.  Lisette stalked after the retreating groom. “Are you so sure you would ever want another after me?”His eyebrows shot up.  She had never been the bold one, but she didn’t have time for games.  The stable hands laughed, and she half expected Jean Pierre to turn and run from her.  She grabbed his hand and pressed the folded letter against his palm.  “Think on what I have said.”  She winked then lowered her head.  “Eleven tonight,” was whispered for only his ears. Lisette whirled around and made her way back to the palace.  [image error]John Phillip Trent unfolded the parchment once he was alone in his room above the stables. He had expected some sort of information as to Napoleon’s movements, not this letter.What the hell had she done?  Why the hell wasn’t this letter in code?  Why did she name me as her husband?  Well, not him exactly, but Jean Pierre, and the two were one and the same.  The thoughts flew around his mind and he couldn’t settle on one.  He never knew her real name was Elizabeth or that she was the granddaughter of the Duke of Danby, just like she had no idea he was John Phillip Trent. How the hell did a duke’s granddaughter become a bloody spy?  If any of Savary’s men got hold of this letter, she would be hanged, if not beheaded, for spying, and he along with her since apparently he was her husband.  Savary wouldn’t care that she was related to a duke and would probably relish the torture all the more.  He shuddered at the thought of what type of punishment the Ministry of Police would use before she was put to death.John tore the letter into tiny pieces, tossed them into the stove in the corner of his room, and grabbed his coat. Not Lisette, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, the granddaughter of the powerful Duke of Danby and cousin to Jean Pierre’s school chum, Edgeworth. Well, not Jean Pierre’s school chum, but John Philip Trent’s school chum. Just as he had no idea who Elizabeth was until now, she still didn’t know his real name. John shook his head in frustration. Clearly Edgeworth had no idea what his cousin was up to because he couldn’t imagine that his old friend he would have allowed such a thing.  Of course Edgeworth didn’t know, or anyone else in her family.  Which again begged the question, how had a duke’s granddaughter become a spy, and how did she remain a spy?  His anger only grew as he marched towards the orangery where Lisette waited.  Why had that letter not been in code?  Stupid mistakes like that got spies killed.When he entered the building, the musty heat overwhelmed him. John shrugged out of his jacket. Lisette paced the center of the building, her cloak folded on a bench.  Her blond hair was pulled back tightly behind her head to make working and cleaning a palace more efficient. Her shoulders were square, tense. Some of his anger dissipated. She hadn’t sent the blasted letter, so he couldn’t fault her for nearly ruining their cover.  In fact, her entire body was rigid with either worry or anger, he couldn’t tell.She turned and saw him, and her shoulders immediately dropped. Had she been afraid he would not come?  Her steps quickened towards him.  “How am I to manage getting out of Paris, home and back?”  The words rushed past her lips.“You aren’t.”  She was mad to even contemplate the idea.  The safety of England and knowing what Napoleon was about were far more important than a family reunion with Danby.  If it were possible to leave, he would have visited his own family long ago.“I must.”“If you go now, you won’t be able to come back.”  He paced from her and ran his fingers through his hair. This was the problem with having a female in such a delicate position.  One always ran the risk of her becoming too emotional to think the matter through clearly.  John turned on his heel, stalked forwards and grabbed her shoulders.  “You are the only person we have within the household. We never thought it possible to have someone that close to Napoleon. Your position is too valuable.”She looked up at him, blue eyes wide.  “How long do you think it would take to get someone else in your place?”“You don’t understand.”He threw up his hands and backed away. “No, apparently, you don’t understand.  Was this only a game until Grandpapa called you home?”Her shoulders straightened and her eyes narrowed in anger. “You know it wasn’t.  If that summons had come from anyone else, I would have ignored it.”“The old man cannot have so much power.”“I fear him more than Savary.”  Her words were barely over a whisper.John planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which reminds me, why wasn’t that letter in code?”“I don’t know,” Lisette shrieked and threw up her hands. “I didn’t send it.”He knew this but he needed to vent his anger on someone.  “And why the hell did you name me as your husband?”Her face grew red at the accusation.  “It wasn’t my idea.  Dolan suggested it when I achieved the position in the palace.”He would kill Dolan for this, if the man weren’t already dead.  He must have thought it a fine joke at the time.  “I knew he jested, but I was pinched for time and couldn’t think of another reason why I wouldn’t be returning home.”“Where does your family think you have been all this time?”“You own a lovely chateaux outside of Sainte-Maxime with a beautiful view of the Mediterranean.”He was dumbfounded. Were there other details he should know about? “And children? Have we been blessed with any?”Her face grew pink again. “No, which is probably one of the reasons grandfather summoned me home.”“He would blame me?”She shrugged a shoulder. “You are the Frenchman.  An Englishman would not neglect such a duty.”  A smile pulled at her lips.The laughter began in his belly and soon overcame him.  “I assume this has been mentioned to you before?”She looked down. “Yes, in an earlier letter. Several actually. Grandfather always demands to know if I am increasing.”  Her face was a bright pink by the time she finished speaking.It would be quite pleasurable to go about the act of creating babes with Lisette. John quickly squelched the thought. The last woman he needed to be involved with was her.  It was too dangerous and could compromise both of their positions.  The sudden desire was probably because it had been months since he had been with a woman, and a man could only take so much.  He had the younger stable hands believing his thirst for making love was never satisfied, which helped explain the many nights he was away from the stable. They would laugh if they knew the truth, that he hadn’t bedded a woman in well over a year.“I hope those were at least coded.” He settled onto a bench underneath one of the many fruit trees.Her head whipped up. “Yes. This is the first time any letter has not been, and I don’t understand why.”“How was the letter delivered?”“By the same boy who has delivered our messages for the past year.”This bit of information did help him relax. Had anyone else brought it, the risk of discovery would be higher. “Still, you cannot return home, you know that.” He softened his tone, hoping she understood.Lisette settled on the bench beside him. “I suppose so.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I will tell Grandfather though.  He is likely to come after me.”“I doubt that.”  John resisted the urged to put a comforting arm around her.  “You don’t know my grandfather.”A crash reverberated from the back of the orangery and the two stiffened and stood.  John placed his fingers to his lips so she would be quiet.  Lisette scowled at him.  She was right. She had been at this long enough to know when to be quiet. No doubt, he’d just insulted her.  He pulled a knife from inside of his boot, and she took a similar one from a hidden pocket. With a nod, they both turned in opposite directions and made their way towards the back of the building.

A Misguided Lord - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 2)

A Misguided Lord -A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 2)

            It is time for Clayton Trent, Earl of Bentley, to take a bride.  He knows exactly what he needs and the type of lady who should become his Countess.  His life is orderly, scandal free and exactly the way it should be until Miss Eleanor Westin careens into him, upsetting the perfect balance of his world.  She is everything his father said he should not marry.  Yet, he cannot put her from his mind, not even when a decade old scandal threatens the very foundation of his family.
            Miss Eleanor Westin has spent her life in the country on the brink of poverty and raising her siblings after the death of her parents until her grandfather finally decides to do his duty and brings her to London.  Eleanor simply wants to find a gentleman who is willing to take on her family in the bargain.  Love is not even a consideration if she can land security.  Unfortunately, the only gentleman who has made any offer is Lord Bentley, and he will never do.  If only he would stay out of her dreams so she could forget him and his intoxicating kisses.

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London, April, 1813
I am a fraud.  Miss Eleanor Westin took another step back.  The ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Pranth became more crowded and noisier with each passing moment. It was a wonder anyone could even breathe. I do not belong here. Nor did she have any business dressing in this manner, wearing a frothy yellow ball gown that cost a small fortune.  While Eleanor had every right to be included in polite society, her mind and soul were more comfortable amongst the servant class.  Still, she must do what she must and in as short a time as possible.  She needed a husband:  a wealthy, kind and understanding husband.  Was there such a gentleman in London?  At least her grandfather’s sudden interest came at the perfect time.Her sister Leigh had encouraged this endeavor, yet Leigh had no idea just how desperate their financial situation was at the moment.  Her grandfather understood, yet he would not lift a finger to help anyone but EleanorSoon, if all went well, she would be out from under his roof and in the home of another,  her family safe and protected.The crowd thickened and Eleanor found herself stepping back further.  She glanced down at her gown.  The cost of this garment alone could have fed them for weeks.  Oh, how she prayed this wasn’t a waste.  Then again, her grandfather had provided the wardrobe so Eleanor hadn’t actually spent any of her limited funds.Soon, she found herself pressed against the wall.  This will not do at all.  If she were to find a husband, she shouldn’t be standing in the corner.  After she pasted a smile on her lips, Eleanor began to work her way through the crowd and to her grandmother’s side where she could be introduced to those who could help her.  To secure funds, food and shelter. Actually, the shelter wasn’t a problem.  The food and funds however, were.  In return, she would be a wife none could ever fault.    Eleanor tried to squeeze between two separate groups of people speaking.  If the music would just start than maybe some of these bodies would take to the dance floor.  She managed through the small gap without an elbow to her ribs and turned toward her grandparents and right into the hard wall of a gentleman.  Goodness, was he made of stone?  Eleanor stumbled and his hands grasped her elbows to steady her.  Eleanor tilted her head back to look at the gentleman who saved her from a spill on the parquet floor, her skin tingling from his touch.   He was frowning and his deep green eyes narrowed on her.Oh dear!“Excuse me.”  She muttered, fighting for breath. Why was her chest so tight and her pulse racing?  It must be from the heat in the room.  Perhaps she needed to step outside and cool off, and take a deep breath.The gentleman may be scowling at her but he was the most handsome man she had ever encountered.  Aquiline noise, high cheek bones, dark hair, the purest green eyes, and firm, frowning lips.  Heat radiated from his body, warming her through their clothing.“Do watch where you are going.”Eleanor stiffened and pulled back, affronted.  How dare he? He was not there a moment ago. “You are the one who stepped into my path.”He arched a dark eyebrow.  “I was calming strolling. You are the one who careened through the crowd without looking where you were going.”Eleanor gasped. Of all the nerve.  “As I do not have your height, I can’t see nearly as well as you. I do apologize.”  She jerked her elbows from his hands and grasped her skirt.  “If you will excuse me, I promise to watch my step and stay out of your way.” With a huff, she lifted her chin and marched to her grandparents.  If this is what she expected from the gentlemen in London, Eleanor wasn’t sure she wanted to marry.  “Where have you been?” Her grandfather, Earl Stanhope, hissed in her ear from behind.  “You are here to meet a proper gentleman so you can marry and be settled.”If her grandfather had actually been concerned with her future, he would not have waited until she was four and twenty to bring her in from the country. Eleanor still didn’t understand his sudden desire to see her wed.  In the past she had gone months with no word from him, even an entire year when she was eighteen.  Why the sudden interest now?  She’d asked when she first arrived but he had only grunted. “You look lovely, Eleanor,” her grandmother assured her. “I am sure you will attract any number of gentlemen.”Eleanor glanced around the room and found the likelihood to be very doubtful.  She was past the fresh bloom of youth and closer to the shelf, whereas a number of young ladies, dressed in the white or pastel gowns, were radiant by comparison.  Those were the ones the eligible gentlemen were paying attention too, not her. [image error]Clayton Trent tossed back a glass of champagne and looked for a footman so he could replace the empty crystal for a full one.  You know your duty.  His father’s deathbed orders whispered through his mind.  Clay would reach three and thirty in a month and couldn’t put off taking a wife any longer.  At least his step-mother, and his father’s third wife, Rose, was not here to help.  Rose’s idea of the perfect mate and his were completely different. With his father’s passing in January, she and his younger sister, Madeline, needed to refrain from public outings whereas he was forgiven.  He was now the Earl of Bentley and of an age when a man should take a wife, with the duty of producing an heir and a spare hanging over his head.    Well, if one was to find a bride, this was the perfect place.  Dozens of young ladies danced below.  He focused on the debutants dressed in the palest of colors from a balcony overlooking the ballroom as society carried on as it had done for years.  He’d had his fill of batting eyelashes, pouty lips and giggles and wondered if there was a lady in the bunch who could carry on a simple conversation without flirting.  The newest lady caught his attention once again.  His eyes kept returning to her since their earlier encounter, and she had rarely left the side of Lord and Lady Stanhope.  Was she a relation or was Lady Stanhope simply sponsoring her?  Not that Clay could guess her age, but the woman was a few years past what should have been her first season so where had she come from? Even from this distance he could see her brown eyes spark with humor and an easy smile came to her full lips.  Why had he been so rude to her? He was the one who had stepped into her path. He should have seen her.  The top of the young woman’s head barely came to his chin and no doubt she was lucky not to have been trampled before their encounter. The ballroom was a crush and there would certainly be a number of bruised toes before the night ended.  As it was, Clay decided to remain on the balcony, away from the throng of people below. Who was she and should he apologize?  Of course he should, but Clay knew nothing about the woman, except that his eyes were drawn to her every five minutes.  Perhaps it was the simple contact of their bodies. He hadn’t held a woman in months and her soft breasts pressed against his chest was an almost foreign feeling. His body had heated immediately and it took all his energy to keep his hands at her elbows when he wanted to slide them up her arms and draw her close.What had gotten into him? He had never reacted so quickly to a woman before and he didn’t even know the lady, yet her warm breath and sweet scent reminded him of springtime. It had lingered about them and stirred something within. Almost a longing, and completely unexplainable.  Clay couldn’t even think of a flower the perfume reminded him of, just that it brought forth fond memories from long ago.  Adele!  She smelled like Adele.  Clay’s eyes narrowed on the young woman.  In fact, much of her reminded him of Adele, his father’s second wife.  Though he was only a boy of ten when the woman left, only to be killed, he recalled her as if they had spoken yesterday.  Not only was the scent the same, but her easy mannerisms as she spoke, gesturing to make a point or explain.  Gentlemen had surrounded her like moths to a flame.  It wasn’t that she was a beauty, though the young woman was pretty enough.  It was something she projected. Her laugh was quick and easy and her movements more free than others.  The tinkle of her laughter drifted up toward him and Clay was forced to block out the memory of the woman who had abandoned four small boys.  Despite his sudden attraction, it was best to put her from his mind. He knew the heartache his family had suffered because of a woman like her and he would not repeat past mistakes.Clay forced his eyes away and studied each lady in the room. There had to be someone here he could consider for his wife.  The quicker he was done with his business the sooner he could get back to running the family estates and managing their business ventures and investments.  It was simply a matter of priorities and responsibility and as soon as the goal of finding a wife was accomplished he could focus on the duties that came with his title.  In the far corner was a young woman, blond hair piled upon her head, ringlets falling to her shoulders.  Her eyes remained downcast, a slight smile on her lips.  A blush stained her cheeks when Lord Averton said something to her.  Clay racked his brain for a name. Oh yes, Lady Anne Houghton.  This was her second season.  She was a young woman who rarely left the side of one of her parents.  Yes, she was the one. That was the woman he would marry.  

A Perfect Gentleman - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 3)

A Perfect Gentleman - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 3)

Matthew Trent always knew what was expected of him and that was to become the Perfect Vicar and a Perfect Gentlemen. When Grace Cooper enters his life he is forced to face what he really wishes to become.Grace Cooper has three options for marriage available to her in the small village where she resides. However, Grace would rather be placed on the shelf than enter into a miserable union.When someone threatens her father and then makes an attempt on her life, it is Vicar Trent who vows to protect her and brings scandal to her doorstep, upsetting the delicate balance of both of their worlds.
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Yorkshire, England, October, 1813
Grace Cooper ran across the field of wildflowers, one hand on her bonnet to keep it in place. The church bells tolled in the distance and she picked up speed. A lady would have taken the carriage, or at least traveled upon the road. But, as she was simply the daughter of landed gentry, lady not attached to her name; Grace reasoned a simple miss could do as she pleased – almost.The new vicar was to give the sermon today. She had not yet met him, but rumors and gossip claimed him to be quite young, and handsome. Not that it mattered. Grace just didn’t like to leave a poor first impression. She frowned. Which was exactly what would occur when she entered the sanctuary several minutes late. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice. The church was sure to be full, if not over packed. Everyone would come to see and hear him. Oh, how she wished she could recall his name. She was certain several people had told her, but the information was no longer in her mind. Grace crested the hill and looked down at the simple parish church. Curricles, carriages, landaus and horses crowded along the circular drive. She had never seen so many show for Sunday Services. Perhaps there wouldn’t even be a seat available. It would serve her right. If she hadn’t tarried in the dairy, she would have arrived on time. Gaining more momentum than she planned going down the hill, Grace had to force herself to slow before she lost her footing and rolled the rest of the way. Arriving late was one thing. Arriving late and disheveled was another matter entirely.Grace reached the front of the church and skidded to a halt. A quick tap of her head fixed her hat, a pat across her dress smoothed the material, and a stomp of her foot loosened a chunk of dirt stuck to her shoe. After a deep breath, she smiled as she opened the door and stepped in. The parishioners were seated and she stopped short. The minister pinned her with a look and frowned. Heat infused her face. Yes, a very bad impression, indeed. But, it could not be helped. The rumors were correct. He was young, and handsome. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but his hair was a rich brown with a hint of red. Few lines marred his face, and his lips were firm.Instead of walking further up the aisle to her regular pew, Grace attempted to slide in to the last bench next to Mrs. Montgomery. The woman harrumphed and refused to move so Grace had to step around her to the empty space. The new minister glanced over his notes and she studied him. Vicars were usually older, with thin or graying hair. This one couldn’t be over thirty. Of course, most ministers probably started out young. She had just never met a vicar this young before.Grace glanced over at Mrs. Montgomery and noted the narrowing of her eyes. She was probably imagining her daughter marrying such a pillar of the community right now. Too bad Audrey wasn’t here to dissuade her mother. ***Matthew, Vicar Trent to his parishioners, tried to ignore the knot in his stomach, paused in his sermon and looked at those gathered in the pews, staring at him. They appeared attentive, for the moment at least. This was the most important sermon of his life. Or at least it seemed that way. The dozens who looked up at him were the very ones who would now seek his guidance. He could not make an error. This message had to be perfect, just as he was required to be perfect. So far, the sermon had been.The door opened and beams of sunlight bathed the newly polished wood floor. A young woman stepped into the back of the sanctuary. Her smile lit the room and for a moment all his thoughts fled. Deep mahogany hair shone from the sun and arranged curls fell to her shoulders. Her smile was crooked, the left side higher than the right, which he found endearing. One eyebrow was slightly elevated, as if she knew something nobody else did. He could not take his eyes off of her.Someone cleared their throat and Matt’s face grew warm. This was not the time, or place, to be dumbstruck by a pretty girl. He gritted his teeth and glanced down at his outline. He’d just finished with the poor in spirit. Next was blessed are those who mourn. Matthew looked up and out the windows to the right of the church. A cemetery lay just beyond. How many in this room had a loved one resting under the neatly clipped grass beyond these walls? He knew about mourning all too well. First his mother, then his step-mother and half-sister, all before the age of seven.Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had been doing well until the young woman walked into the sanctuary and now he couldn’t seem to concentrate on what came next. He had been nervous, no to be honest, he had been scared before delivering the sermon in the first church he had been assigned. He wasn’t ready for this. After years of training he still wasn’t prepared for the vocation assigned to him. As long as he could remember he had been told he would be a vicar, and that is what he became. And, even if he could do something else with his life, Matthew didn’t know what that would be, so he would be the perfect vicar, as was expected. He put his hand in his pocket to caress the familiar foolscap. He did not need to read it to know what it said. Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Matthew 5:45.Matthew cleared his throat and focused once again at his parishioners. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. What Jesus is telling us is that no matter how deep the sin or how unbearable the loss, He is here to comfort us. The Lord God will soothe your pain, take away your sin, bring you comfort. You only have to trust in Him.”The words he rehearsed and memorized came back to him and he no longer looked at his outline, but focused on those in the pews. He had to reach them. Each and every one. Even the tardy young woman in the back. Yes, his purpose was to be perfect for God, a perfect gentleman, a perfect vicar, and thus, make sure each of them was as perfect as they could be. It was a duty instilled in him from a very young age and he could not fail.Though Matthew tried to look to those in the front as well as the back, he did not glance in the direction of the very last pew. He could not afford to be distracted again. By the time he said the final prayer, his hands no longer shook. He nodded to Mrs. Phillips, and she played the last Psalm of the morning. Matthew took a deep breath and moved to stand by his seat. He’d delivered his first sermon in his very own church. Singing the song from memory, he looked at his flock. The room was packed but he didn’t deceive himself into thinking it would always be this way. He was new and positive several of those in attendance came simply to judge him. Though he wished it were different, he wasn’t so naive to believe otherwise.There were older people, some with canes that sat by themselves or with an equally aged spouse. There were younger couples with children settled between them, some becoming more fidgety as the morning grew long, and every age in between. He remembered having to sit through church as a small boy when the weather was perfect for running and playing. He used to stare longingly out the window while Vicar Hinrich rambled on about one lesson or another. Though he should have paid attention to each and every word, by the time Sunday arrived, Matthew already knew what the sermon was by heart. Vicar Hinrich had practiced it in front of him and as he got older, Matthew had even helped him write a few. He glanced to the tardy woman in the back. Her face shone in happiness as she sang. Why did he look in her direction? An older woman stood next to her. When she noted his focus, she glared at the younger one. Matthew was not sure what to make of it. Was she piqued because the younger one was late? Or, perhaps the young woman couldn’t sing at all and it appeared she sang loudly by the joy on her face. It was difficult to appreciate an off key voice blaring in one’s ear. Perhaps it was the woman’s joy. A person should show respect and be serious and repentant in a church, not glow with happiness as if she were attending a party.There was no point in speculation. Matthew knew nothing about the people in this parish, but would soon enough. Then he would be able to know who liked and disliked who and why.When the last verse began, he placed his Bible on the pulpit and made his way down the aisle and stepped out into the bright sunshine. Soon the parishioners would exit the church and he would greet most of them for the first time. His palms began to sweat anew and he swiped them against his robe.They came out of church in single file, waiting in line to meet him. Nobody skipped out through the wide door to avoid an introduction. Instead, the line continued all the way down the aisle. How many people were here? The names and faces swam in his brain. How long would it be before he could remember each and every one? After an eternity, the end was in sight and the older woman from the back stepped forward.“It was an invigorating sermon, Vicar Trent. I am so glad you joined our parish.” The woman practically gushed.“Thank you, um, Mrs . . . ““Mrs. Montgomery.” She beamed. “You must come by for tea. Or better yet, dinner. As a bachelor, I am sure you would appreciate a nice meal in the company of others. It is not good for the digestion to eat alone.”“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.” Each wife and widow, old and young, had invited him to dinner. At this rate, he would not have to eat alone for six months.“Is tomorrow too soon?” she asked.“I am afraid it is. I am still trying to get settled.”A look of disappointment crossed her face.“Might I call on you later in the week, Mrs. Montgomery? We can discuss a convenient evening then.”Her smile returned. “I look forward to it.” She stepped away and glanced at the young woman behind her. Mrs. Montgomery stopped. “I promise that not all of the young, available women in this parish are as inconsiderate as you might have witnessed. Why my Audrey would never be late to a service.”Matthew bit the inside of his cheek. So, the woman had a daughter. Why did every mother think a vicar needed a wife? No, he amended his thoughts. Every bachelor needs a wife. “I don’t recall meeting your daughter. Did she come through earlier?”“Oh, no.” The woman waved her hand. “My Audrey is visiting with her aunt, Lady Hartley. The countess. She will return from London this afternoon, now that the little season is coming to a conclusion.” He wondered what Mrs. Montgomery would think if she knew his father had been an earl until his death back in January. Until recently, he had been third in line for the title. But now that Clayton had married, Matthew would move further down the list, as he should, once Clayton’s heirs were born. No doubt Mrs. Montgomery’s opinion of him would increase but in truth, titles meant nothing to him. Souls however did.

A Lass for Christmas - A Tenacious Trents Novella (Book 4)

A Lass for Christmas - A Tenacious Trents Novella (Book 4)

Lady Madeline Trent had grand plans for her future until she learned her family’s awful secret and a fall through the ice that landed her in the arms of a handsome Scot.
Lachlan Grant, Marquess Brachton, may hold an English title, but he was determined to marry a Scottish lass, until his fate is altered one snowy night.
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Brachton Manor, December 1813
"Damn and blast.” Lachlan Grant stared out the window at the quickly falling snow. He would not be able to leave today as planned.  “Perhaps it will let up and we can travel tomorrow.” Lachlan turned to Dougal Ferguson. They had been friends since childhood and when Lachlan became of age to need a valet, his friend applied for the position as there was little work in Scotland.  In truth, Dougal was a lousy valet and for the most part, he simply lived where Lachlan did.  Not that it bothered Lachlan. It wasn’t as if he needed another man to help him dress, and he was glad for the company of a friend who had known him almost since birth. How was it possible that the Scots had lost major battles to the English lords who couldn’t even shave themselves? He shouldn’t have such uncharitable thoughts. It was this damnable weather keeping him here that had put him in a foul mood. He knew several Englishmen who could get by without the assistance of a servant, and just as many who would be lost without one.  “It is bad enough havin’ to live in England half the year, but I wanted to be home in Falkirk by Christmas.”“It could be worse,” his old friend said. “How could it possibly be worse?” Lachlan turned from the window and stomped toward the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky.  Besides, there were few bottles left and according to his brother Ian, the stills have been busy and the grain plentiful.  There were rich stores of whisky hidden and ready to be brought back to England, as long as he wasn’t caught.  At least that was one benefit of being Marquess of Brachton, nobody searched your carriage.  Whisky had gotten his family through some very dark times whether it was to be imbibed or to be smuggled to sell to the English, and none of the brothers were eager to bring an end to the secret family business. “You could be livin’ in that molderin’ manor house with barely a scrap of food on the table.”Lachlan eyed Dougal over the rim of his glass. “As the Marquess of Brachton, not only did ye inherit this estate that ye despise, but riches to help yer family. Guilt settled in his stomach. He should be more thankful for this good fortune than he was. “The late-Marquess did nothin’ to assist yer family while he was alive and ye’ve made his fortune yers.”“I never wanted the title,” Lachlan grumbled.  Even though he knew since he was ten that it would be his, once his uncle kicked up his toes, he hadn’t wanted it. To prepare him for the future, Lachlan had been sent to Eton and then to Oxford, to be educated as an English gentleman. His uncle hoped to bury the Scot in him so deep that nothing remained once Lachlan became a man.  Little did his uncle know that Lachlan would remain a Scot through and through regardless of title or land, or that his father had been English. His mother’s family in Falkirk was all the family he needed and that was where his heart lay.  Not in Yorkshire. “But without it, yer mother and siblings would have nothin’.”It was the fact that his mother, brothers and sisters could now live in comfort without a care in the world that made being an English lord palatable.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be with them at Christmas. They were his family.  He’d never missed a Christmas with his family and he wasn’t about to now. Dougal helped himself to the decanter and poured himself a whisky.” Perhaps the roads will be clear tomorrow and ye can return home. “And if not?” Lachlan glanced out the window once again. At the rate the snow was falling they would be buried by the time the sun rose. “We could leave in five days and still make it home in plenty of time for Christmas.”“I wanted to leave today,” he grumbled much like a petulant child while he stared out over the landscape at the side of the house. The lawn, now covered in white, ran alongside the road with only a copse of trees separating the two.  The partially frozen small lake was already covered in snow. If one did not know it was there you would think there was just a dip in the land.  Such weather made for treacherous travel and he could only hope the clouds moved on so he wasn’t stuck in this house into next year. “I planned on bein’ in Edinburgh the week before Christmas,” he reminded Dougal. “Then home in Falkirk by Christmas Eve.”“Aye, for the MacFie’s annual Christmas ball.” “Among other things,” Lachlan agreed.  “I need to find a wife and that is the best place to look.” Dougal turned to him.” Ye have met a number of ladies who would do well as your marchioness this past spring during the Season. Ye may have met more had ye bothered to attend any of the balls during the Little Season. “I will not marry an English woman. My bride will be a Scottish lass and I planned to find her by Christmas. It shouldn’t take more than a week at the most.” Lachlan tipped back his glass and drained the contents.  He did not want to marry a fragile, silly twit of a girl.  He wanted a woman.  Someone who spoke her mind and didn’t rely on him to tell her how to think or feel. Someone who would match his passion for the marriage bed, not some miss who would be frightened and lay still and do her duty, making the ultimate sacrifice to produce an heir. How did these Englishmen bed their ladies? He hadn’t met one lady who he wished to bed and since one couldn’t make a courtesan his wife, he remained unattached. “A lass for Christmas? That is what ye’re wantin’?” Dougal chuckled.  “I will find her in Edinburgh,” Lachlan insisted.  “I will not return to England without a bride.” Lachlan stomped over to the sideboard and refilled his glass.  Well, if he was going to be stuck here tonight, he was going to get good and bloody drunk. He could sleep it off in the carriage tomorrow. “Piquet or Vingt-et-un?” Dougal asked. Lachlan eyed his valet. The man could quit his employ and easily earn his riches at the tables of one of the many gaming hells of London if he wished, and Lachlan had no desire to have his pockets emptied by Dougal. ”Chess.”A knowing smile came to Dougal’s face. "I’ll get the board.”
***
Madeline watched the snow pile onto the ground, giddy with anticipation. If it kept snowing this heavy, they would be stuck here. At least she would have Christmas with her mother, two of her brothers and a new sister-in-law instead of a bunch of strangers.  Her oldest brother, Clayton didn’t have to leave Bentley Manor and traipse halfway across England, so why should she?  He was allowed to stay snuggly at home with this wife, Eleanor, and her siblings, whereas John, the youngest of her four older brothers was with his wife at Danby Castle.  The entire family had been invited for the holiday and instead of remaining at Bentley Manor where she had spent all of her Christmases, Madeline had been forced to travel to Yorkshire so her mother would not have to spend another Christmas away from John, since she hadn’t spent it with him for the last five years.  At least Jordan, the second eldest, was made to join them and didn’t wish to visit Danby Castle any more than Madeline did.  The only good thing about this trip was they stopped in Grosmont to visit Matthew, her third brother, though Madeline suspected much of this visit had to do with Mother chastising Matt for marrying too quickly for her to attend the wedding. At least Matt had married a likeable girl, Grace. And he had lost much of his stuffiness.  Madeline never thought she would see the day, but was glad for it.  She had never seen Matt so lighthearted and relaxed, and if Grace were the cause, then Madeline knew she would like her, once she got to know her of course.  Only she and Jordan remained unwed, though Madeline doubted Jordan would marry in the near future, if ever.  However, she would find her lord this spring.  Her first Season had been miserable.  She tried everything in her power to go unnoticed and spent most of it ill to her stomach, on edge and plagued with constant headaches. Her father was trying to decide on the perfect husband for her and none of them were what she wanted.  She lived in fear of the day he would announce her betrothal to some bad-tempered ancient lord.  She was eternally thankful that none of those who asked were good enough for what Father had wanted.  What should have been her second Season was spent in mourning since her father passed away only a few months before it was set to begin. She and mother spent it alone in the country at Bentley Manor.  This spring would be different.  A smile pulled at her lips and she twirled in the center of the room. She was going to dance, laugh, flirt, wear gay dresses, take rides in Hyde Park and thoroughly enjoy herself in a way she had never been allowed to before.  There were several handsome bachelors who had caught her attention that first Season, not that they even knew she existed, but most of them remained unwed as she learned this past Little Season.  Given her family’s lineage and wealth, she could pick almost anyone she wished.  Madeline would just need to convince the one she picked that he wanted her as well. Oh, she longed to be married, to host balls of her own, and dress in any color of gown that wasn’t a pastel.  A giggle bubbled up inside and she twirled again, enjoying the way her soft green woolen dress flared out at her ankles.  She would have a spectacular time this spring and nobody was going to stop her.  She was going to fall in love, drink champagne and have a grand wedding at St. Paul’s before the Season was over.  Now, if only this snow would bury them, all would be well and she wouldn’t have to travel to some dilapidated strange old castle for Christmas. With a sigh, she turned and wandered out of the room.  If she recalled correctly, the library was two doors down.  A good book, cup of tea and biscuits were the perfect way to spend a snowy afternoon. The door to the library was closed but for a crack and Madeline lifted her hand to knock. She would hate to intrude on anyone, especially since she was a guest in the house, only having arrived yesterday morning. “There is something we must share with you, Rose,” Jordan began.  Madeline leaned closer, her hand still poised but wanting to know what Jordan had to tell her mother.  “But you can never, ever tell Madeline.”Her hand dropped to her side and Madeline straightened.  What couldn’t she know? She pressed herself against the wall and turned her ear toward the crack so she didn’t miss a word. “This is going to be difficult. Are you sure you don’t wish for a brandy or glass of wine?” Matt asked. “Get on with it, you are worrying me.”“It is about father’s second wife, Adele.”What news could there be about Adele? She died over twenty years ago, when the carriage she and her daughter, Julia, were traveling in went over the side of a bridge.  They both drowned and their bodies swept out to sea. Madeline often wondered what it would have been like to have an older sister.“I think you had better pour me that brandy.”Madeline’s eyes popped open.  Her mother requesting a brandy was completely out of character however. “Do you already know?” Jordan asked slowly. “That they didn’t die?” Her mother returned.” Yes.”Madeline sank to the bench outside of the door. How was this even possible?“You married him knowing his former wife still lived?” Matthew demanded, his tone harsher than ever before. “Of course not!” her mother snapped. There was a pause and Madeline imagined her mother sipping brandy, for why else would there be silence.  They didn’t know she was here did they? She glanced at the floor and the lighting. Her shadow fell opposite the door so she hadn’t given herself away. “I learned when your father started searching for them right before Julia’s eighteenth birthday.” Madeline couldn’t ever remember her mother sounding this angry or bitter, not even when she was vexed.  “He informed me that he wanted Julia back so that he could match her with Lord Purlingham.”Madeline’s stomach churned.  The viscount was older than her father had been.  And even though she knew nothing about Julia, especially since she thought her half-sister had been dead for the past twenty-three years, Madeline couldn’t imagine any young woman of eighteen would wish to marry someone that old.  It was no different than her only Season.  Did Father never wish to match his daughters with younger lords?“They disappeared after that,” Jordan offered. “Yes,” mother agreed. “All of those years he had been sending funds to France to support the two when all the while letting me and the rest of society believe that he had been widowed a second time and that Julia had died.” Her mother wasn’t just bitter, she sounded hurt and angry. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Matthew asked. “What was there to say? All four of you boys loved your stepmother and Julia.  I didn’t know if you would seek her out. And, I also didn’t want you hurt by her betrayal.  She is the one who ran away.” Mother sighed and Madeline leaned closer to the door.  “We already knew she was running away the night she supposedly died,” Matthew offered. “How?” Her mother questioned.” I am certain your father didn’t tell you.” “Clay saw her leaving and tried to make her stay.”“Do you know why she left?” Madeline leaned a little closer. It had to have been something very important, perhaps scandalous because ladies did not just up and leave their titled husband, especially with a child in tow. “Do you?” Jordan countered. “Your father said she was running off to meet her lover, but I never truly believed that.”“He started taking the switch to Julia before she was even two.”Madeline suppressed her own memory of Father swatting her.  “I was afraid it was something like that. I have vague recollections of Adele, before she married your father.  Our parents were friends. She would not have stood for her child being struck.”“You did,” Jordan stated coldly. It wasn’t Mother’s fault, Madeline wanted to yell, but didn’t dare bring attention to herself. “Rarely, and the first time he struck her she was seven.”“How did you avoid it for so long?” Matthew asked. “I never let Madeline leave the nursery.  After I saw how he punished you boys for the mildest infraction, I couldn’t risk him doing that to a much younger child.” She sighed.” I tried to intervene where you boys were concerned, but sometimes I made it worse. I am sorry for that.”“Yet, you did nothing when you learned the truth about Adele,” Matthew pointed out. “I didn’t know what to do.  And then there was the fear that if anyone learned, I would be ruined, but it wasn’t about me.”“No. You wanted to protect Madeline,” Jordan confirmed. “If anyone learns that my marriage was not valid they will paint Madeline a bastard and society will turn on her. She is innocent in all of this and doesn’t deserve to have doors shut on her.”Madeline grasped the wall to steady herself as the floor swayed before her.  She was a bastard, born on the wrong side of the blanket. That thought hadn’t even entered her mind when she heard Adele was still alive. “You are innocent of any wrong doing as well,” Matthew offered. “I was until I learned,” Mother sighed.  “But I am just as guilty for holding my tongue after he told me the truth.”“You had to protect your daughter.”“Which I still intend to do,” she said with vengeance. “There could be a problem,” Jordan hedged. “What? Has something happened?” There was a slight hint of panic in her voice. “Adele and Julia left France some months ago.  They were tracked to Scotland but we no longer know where they are,” Jordan explained. “We thought you should know so that you could be prepared in the event they show up in London.”Madeline’s heart stopped.  They couldn’t come here. “Do you think she would?” Mother asked with the same panic Madeline was experiencing. “We don’t know what they will do, but John has been looking for them.” Matt answered. ”She must have learned that father died and there is no reason for her to remain away.”“We must stop her. She can’t come here. Not until Madeline is married.” She could hear the rustle of her mother’s skirt. The woman was always the calmest person she knew, but Madeline could hear her moving about the room. She stood in the event her mother was about to walk into the hall. She couldn’t be caught.  “Please refill my glass, Jordan.”Madeline brought a hand up to her mouth.  Her heart raced and she looked around for an escape. Oh, nothing good came from listening at doors. “As long as Madeline never learns, or anyone else, we don’t have to worry.”

A Reluctant Rake - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 5)

A Reluctant Rake - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 5)


Mr. Jordan Trent, the spare, was raised to be a rake.  Not only did his father encourage his roguish life, but insisted that Jordan do nothing except enjoy the life of women, gambling and fine brandy – the life his father had wanted.  It is a life Jordan enjoyed until he realized something, or someone, very important was missing.
Miss Audrey Montgomery had been warned to avoid rakes like Jordan Trent but fell under his spell like so many ladies before her.  She should have known better and vows to protect her heart whenever he is near. If only his kisses weren’t so delicious it would be so much easier.  
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London, England – Spring, 1814
Miss Audrey Montgomery stifled her groan. What was he doing here? She had chosen the Peyton ball because out of all the events this evening Mr. Jordan Trent would least likely be here.   He was a confirmed bachelor, rake, rogue, and all manner of immorality, and Lord Peyton had three unwed daughters. What was Peyton thinking by inviting such a lothario into the midst of so many innocent young ladies?Audrey knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid Trent the entire Season, but she had hoped not to see him at her very first ball.  She drew a deep breath in hopes of calming her erratic heart. Why did Trenthave the power to set her pulse a flutter? He wasn’t even looking at her. Besides, she was well aware of what a despicable creature he was, yet he still had the strangest effect on her senses and she knew better than to succumb to his charms.  She had been attracted to him last Season, as had every other lady in London, but she knew better now.A sigh escaped. He did look handsome in his dark blue double-breasted coat with tails and black trousers.  Trentstood with one hand in his pocket and when he moved she glimpsed the gold waistcoat beneath. Trent’s broad shoulders filled out the coat perfectly and she had danced with him often enough at the beginning of last Season to know he did not use padding, or have a need for it.  His dark hair was cropped short and she suspected by the waves that it would be a mass of curls if he let it grow out.  The snowy white cravat made his cobalt eyes all the bluer.  She gasped.  Why hadn’t she noticed he was looking at her, otherwise she would not be able to see his eyes?  Perhaps he was merely looking in her direction and not directly at her.Audrey glanced around.  Nobody else was looking at him and when she turned back, he wasn’t looking at anyone else.Oh, drat! He was looking at her.  The last thing she wanted to do was encourage that rogue, but apparently she had.  A slow, sensual smile came to his lips and that blasted dimple emerged.Audrey closed her eyes for a moment, hoping he would disappear. When she opened them, he was walking toward her. This was the last thing she wanted or needed and she certainly hadn’t meant to encourage him.  And, why would he want to even be near her after the way she treated him last fall when he visited his brother?  Of course, he deserved every bit of her rudeness after what he had done, and more, so why was he approaching her now? Mr. Jordan Trent stopped before Audrey and her aunt and uncle.  His eyes focused on her after greeting the older couple and he bowed deeply before speaking.  “You look beautiful this evening, Miss Montgomery.”Before she could respond someone bumped into her from behind and she found herself pushed into Mr. Trent. He grabbed her by both elbows to steady her and leaned forward. “Delicious as well,” he whispered.Heat stole into her cheeks and Audrey pulled away.  Oh, he was wicked indeed.  He held his hand out to her. “Might I see your dance card?”Audrey forced a smile. “I am afraid they have all been claimed.”  Thank goodness. The last thing she wanted was to dance with this rake.  It was bad enough she had to stand and speak with him. Her aunt and uncle would never understand if she refused a dance.  Actually, they would if they knew the horrible truth, but that was a secret she must keep for her dear friend, Millicent, now Lady Lydell.“A pity.”  Trent frowned as if he were disappointed but she was certain he would recover and move on to another lady to partner, one more willing than she.  “Perhaps a turn about the room?” He offered his arm.She simply stared at it.  She did not want to touch him, let alone go anywhere with Mr. Trent.  “Do go on, dear,” her aunt insisted.  “The musicians will not begin again for a little longer.”“Yes, please.” Mr. Trent still had his arm out, elbow cocked, waiting for Audrey to slip her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. Blasted man!  Perhaps she should stroll with him so she could finally give him a piece of her mind.  “Thank you.” She smiled sweetly and nodded to her aunt and uncle before allowing Trentto lead her away.“For a moment I thought you were going to deny me the pleasure of your company,” he muttered when they were out of earshot.“If this were not a public venue that is exactly what I would have done.”  She nodded to acquaintances as they passed.  “I believe I made my feelings for you perfectly clear this last fall so I see no reason why you wish to be in my presence to begin with.”  She spotted Lord and Lady Lydell ahead. Millicent narrowed her eyes and she frowned at Audrey.  She would need to explain the circumstances to her friend later. Now was not the best time.  Trent turned her toward the doors leading to the gardens before they reached the Lydells.  Audrey was about to voice an objection but thought better of it.  Out of earshot of the ton she could finally tell him exactly what she thought. The things she should have said months ago. As they stepped out onto the terrace a cool breeze washed over her heated skin.  Audrey hadn’t even realized how hot she had become from the dancing and being in the crowded ballroom until the coolness blanketed her.  They followed the few steps down into the garden and stopped before a fountain. There was nobody else present so she would be able to tell Trentexactly what she thought of him.  As Audrey turned to face him, she opened her mouth to speak but he swooped in, claiming her lips before a word could be uttered.  She was too stunned to react.  He tasted of wine and cake and the heat of his mouth sent tremors through her body.  He delved and she bit back a moan.  Is this what he meant by delicious? Her knees grew weak and Audrey grasped his shoulders so as not to crumble. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close to his hard, rigid body.    Trent pulled back for a moment. “I knew beneath your cool exterior lurked passion.”Audrey’s eyes popped open. What was she doing? She knew better than to fall under his spell like so many others, yet with one kiss he muddled her senses.  She pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”Trent sighed and allowed her to step away from his body.“What were you thinking? Anyone could have come upon us.”His grin was unrepentant. “Then I suppose you would have been compromised and I would have been encouraged to do the right thing.”“Not that you would have and then I would have been ruined.”The smile fell from his face and his shoulders grew rigid.  “What exactly do you mean?”Audrey narrowed her eyes, remembering all the reasons why she should never speak to Jordan Trent, let alone kiss him. “You know very well what I mean.”“No, I do not.” He punctuated each word.  Did he think her a fool?  Or perhaps he didn’t think she thought at all. “I know all about you, Mr. Jordan Trent.  You play with hearts and ruin ladies’ lives.”He planted his fists on his hips and stared down at her. “What exactly have I done?  At the beginning of last Season you seemed to enjoy dancing with me then with no explanation at all you developed a strong dislike for me.  Did I step on your toes?” How dare he pretend like he had done nothing wrong?  “You know exactly what I am talking about though you probably didn’t count on me finding out. Did you underestimated how close Millicent and I are?”His brow furrowed in confusion but she wasn’t going to stand here and wait for him to come up with an excuse or deny his part in Millicent’s ruination.  Audrey turned and stomped away from him before she looked back over her shoulder.  “And I will never forgive what you did.”  She whipped back around, lifted her chin and walked back into the ball.  She would never speak with that rogue again and she would certainly never allow herself to be alone with him otherwise she might end up just like Millicent and that would never do.[image error]Jordan Trent stared over the throng gathered below in the Peyton’s ballroom and wondered what horrible offense he had committed to make Miss Audrey Montgomery hate him.  At least she desired him, if her kisses were any indication. It had not been his intention to kiss her at all. He simply wanted to talk.  She was his sister-in-laws best friend and he knew they would be seeing each other often this Season and he hoped to mend whatever had come between them last year.  Yet, the moment she turned to him, her mouth parted, Jordanacted without thinking.She tasted as sweet as he imagined. No, better than he imagined and when he pulled her close she fit against him as if she were made for him.  He could have gone on kissing her much longer so why had he said anything?  He could kick himself for breaking that kiss. He should have remained silent and weakened any resolve she held against him.Unfortunately, she remembered she hated him before he could press any further.  Not that he would have attempted too much of a seduction since they were standing in the garden and any number of people could have come out.  This is the exact place he had stood last year when he noticed Miss Audrey Montgomery for the first time and he was watching her again. Last spring he had been at a cross-road and longed to shed the debauched persona he had been forced to wear all of his adult life.  Force may be too strong a word, but sometimes Jordanbelieved it was the perfect definition.  His father, blessedly deceased, had refused to allow him even a chance at normalcy, to find love, settle down, and become respectable. Each time Jordan hinted that he wished for the stability of a family and wife, his father threatened to cut him off without a farthing.   “You have riches and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you waste them on a wife and children. I’ve given you everything a gentleman could ever want and you don’t even have the pressure of producing an heir.”  Jordan grimaced, hearing his father’s words echo in his head.  “Don’t disappointment me by starting to believe in love,” his father had practically spat.  “It is a waste of time and doesn’t exist. Focus on what is important and the simple pleasure of being between a woman’s thighs.”His stomach churned recalling that last argument. It had taken place a month before his father’s death.  Jordan sipped from the glass of wine and stared at the beautiful blonde across the ballroom.  Her hair was pulled up and away from her face in a style similar to most young ladies, but ringlets escaped, caressing her shoulders and neck. What had he done to make Miss Audrey Montgomery hate him with such venom?  If he knew he would certainly apologize, but the chit wouldn’t tell him. Hell, she barely acknowledged him this past fall when he visited his brother, Matthew, with the exception of when she tried to slap him because she assumed he had seduced Grace, his now sister-in-law.  Jordan had never seduced an innocent in his life, and never would.  Why was it necessary when there were so many experienced ladies willing to share his bed?  Why would he want inexperience when such talented hands, and mouths, were eager to give pleasure?  The only innocent he planned on ever bedding would be his wife, on their wedding night.And what the hell did Millicent have to do with anything? She apparently figured into Miss Montgomery’s rejection of him but he didn’t have the foggiest idea how.  He glanced around the room looking at all the ladies though there was only one Millicent that he knew of and she was married to Lydell. That chit had been the bane of his existence last Season.  She had been Lady Millicent at the time and had hounded his steps to the point that Jordan almost gave up going into public for fear she would somehow compromise him. Jordan barley knew the chit but she must be the one Miss Montgomery referred to because the two were often in each other’s company last spring.  Jordanhad made the mistake of dancing with her on a few occasions, but that is only because he had first asked Miss Montgomery and it seemed rather rude to ask one lady and not the other but that was as far as his relationship went with regard to that Millicent and he could think of no others.  Apparently that was all the encouragement the young woman needed before she showed up wherever he found himself.  His only escapes last spring were his clubs, the Inns of Court, Gentleman Jackson’s or the privacy of his own home.  Jordan hadn’t been cruel in his rejection.  Actually he hadn’t rejected her at all, simply did not encourage her and never asked her to dance again.  So, how did she figure into all of this?He had been on the verge of courting Miss Montgomery.  He didn’t know her well, if at all, but the few times he danced with her held promise.  He had left but for a few short weeks with every intention of officially calling on her upon his return to London only to find her not at home to him.  His plan was to take her driving in the park, ices at Guenters and all the normal things gentlemen did when courting a lady to see if they would suit but he never got the chance.  After his return he was only able to secure one other dance and that is because he had practically stolen it from his brother, Clayton. Yet, even during that last waltz she refused to speak with him.  If he could get some answers he would at least be able to offer an explanation, apologize or finally be able to move on without Miss Montgomery inhabiting his thoughts every night.  Maybe he would be able to forget about her.  His obsession made absolutely no sense either.  What could anyone tell of another person from a few shared dances?  Yet he was obsessed.  If it were simply desire he would find a substitute. He never suffered from a lack of female companionship, but he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Miss Audrey Montgomery despite the fact that she clearly hated him.Miss Montgomery laughed at something Grace said.  Meanwhile, Matthew, his brother and former vicar, smiled at Grace, the warmth of love in his gaze.  It made Jordan nauseous.  Hell, admit it to yourself.  He was jealous of each of his brothers and their wives and the love each couple shared. Jordan downed the contents in the glass and searched for a servant.  He would need more than one glass of wine to get him through tonight.  Even his younger sister, Madeline was married and over the moon for her husband, Brachton.A footman came within sight and Jordan strode over and placed his empty glass on the tray and picked up another.  Why was he here? He glanced across the room.  Because she was! He and Miss Montgomery would either come to an agreement by the end of the Season or he would learn why she hated him. Then he could put her behind him and find a lady of his own.  The question was -- why did he care? Why did he even wish to pursue a woman who wanted nothing to do with him?  It was just one of the many questions he had asked himself over the past year but he couldn’t move on until he had answers. Could it be that it was simply because she was the only lady who had ever rejected him? No. There was something about Audrey Montgomery that intrigued him, far more than simply rejection.

Lady Revealed - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 6)

Lady Revealed - A Tenacious Trents Novel(Book 6)

Juliette Mirabelle knew one life and it was one as a ballerina. 
The moment Drake Finton, Viscount Acker, saw the ballerina take the stage in Milan he knew he must have her. Yet, Juliette would not be his and when she disappeared he returned to his life in London.  Now she was here and Drake intended to make her his.
All Juliette wishes to do is dance, but will the secrets of her past destroy her dreams?
Julia’s story.
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Milan, Spring, 1813
Juliette peeked through the side curtain and scanned the audience until she spotted the dark blond hair in the third box just right of the stage.  This gentleman, who she believed to be Lord Acker, had attended at least a dozen performances already. She had no idea when he began coming to the ballet but the first bouquet appeared a month ago. His card always asked that she meet him after the performance and was signed Drake Finton, Viscount Acker. Each time Juliette had left a note thanking him for the flowers but disappeared from the theatre immediately after the performance. Her mother warned her time and time again not to encourage gentlemen because they pursued dancers for one reason only: to be their mistress.Maman had repeated those warnings after Juliette brought home the first bouquet and showed her the card from Lord Acker. At first maman’s face had gone very pale, and she looked frightened, as if she had seen a ghost, and then she crumpled the card before tossing it into the fire. “You will have nothing to do with that gentleman,” she ordered.  “Why?” Juliette had asked.“He is English,” she practically spit. “He will use you and discard you. Stay away from him Juliette or you will end up like me.”After her mother’s strong objection to Lord Acker, Juliette had not taken any more bouquets home, nor showed her another card.  Yet, Juliette still wanted to meet him.  Had he only sent the one bouquet she could have forgotten about him. But he had sent six different arrangements, including the flowers today.  She should thank him in person, at least once, shouldn’t she?Tonight the gentleman she believe to be Lord Acker shared the box with two couples.  He was never with the same people or in the same seats. “He is here,” she whispered.“Come away from there before someone sees you,” Genviève, her sister admonished.“I need to fix the tear and we haven’t much time.” Hélène, Genviève’s twin, grabbed Juliette’s arm and pulled her away from the stage.  “Besides, you don’t even know if he is this Lord Acker.”Juliette stepped onto a small stool so Hélène could ply her needle to the tear at the back of her costume.“Who else would he be?” she asked.  “Each time I receive flowers that man is in the audience. He must be Lord Acker.”  She peered down at her sister as she nimbly sewed to repair her skirt.  “Besides, who comes to a ballet as often as he? Most people see the performance once, rarely twice, but never three or more times.”Genviève stood in front of Juliette, folded her arms across her chest and gave a stern look.  “You aren’t thinking of meeting him, are you?”Hélène paused in her sewing and looked up.Juliette lifted her chin in stubbornness. “Why not?”“He is an English gentleman,” Hélène hissed and went back to sewing“Does that make him evil?”  Juliette asked.  It seemed rather rude not to meet with him after all the lovely flowers he had sent.  Besides, what could happen to her at the theatre? Dozens of dancers and patrons were backstage after performances. It wasn’t as if she were going to meet him alone in a dark alley.“Mother warned us that the English view dancers as little better than prostitutes,” Genviève reminded her.Juliette blew out a breath.  “That does not mean that he does.”Hélène cut the end of the thread and fluffed out Juliette’s skirt.  “Try not to get it caught again,” she said as she rose to her feet.  The twins now stood side by side.  Genviève was smartly dressed in a pale green gown, practical yet pretty. Her red hair, so much like Juliette’s, was pulled back into a neat bun at the base of her neck.  Had they lived a different life, Juliette always thought Genviève would make an excellent governess by the way she always took charge, even though she was the youngest.  She had taken over the running of the household when maman didn’t seem to care enough and Juliette had to admit that everything ran much more efficiently under Genviève’s guidance and maman was happy she didn’t have to deal with the day to day issues involving servants and decisions.  The only time maman decided to take charge was when she determined it was once again time to move.  After her great grandmother died, they rarely resided in the same house for more than a year.Hélène wore a serviceable gown with a number of needles stuck through the fabric at the bodice, each with a different color of thread streaming from them. There was a small apron tied at her waist and Juliette knew it held more thread, scissors and other items her sister needed for quickly repairing torn costumes. Her warm chestnut hair, often uncontrollable, was pulled back, yet curls escaped and framed her face. While Genviève’s eyes were light grey, Hélène’s were a clear, light blue.  When not acting, Hélène costumed the troupe or assisted with makeup and styling hair for the stage. She prided herself on making others, and sometimes herself, unrecognizable.Juliette studied them.  “If I stay to meet Lord Acker will you tell Maman?”The sisters looked at each other, their lips pursed. Never had they gone against their mother but Juliette wanted more for her life than to simply dance.  Though she loved the ballet and could not imagine her life without it, she also wanted to marry one day, have a home of her own and possibly children. That would not be possible if all she did was teach children during the afternoon and dance at night.  There was never an opportunity to meet men nor did her mother allow her to greet the few admirers after a performance.  She was already four and twenty. If she didn’t meet someone soon it would be too late.“Just this once, but I am staying with you,” Genviève insisted.“As am I,” Hélène insisted.

Drake Finton, Viscount Acker, wiped his damp palms against his breeches. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met an actress, singer or dancer following a performance before.  Some of his favorite mistresses had been performers, but the anticipation of meeting Juliette Mirabelle caused an anxiety he hadn’t experienced since the first time he attended a ball and became besotted with a beautiful young debutant he wished to partner.  The ballet was almost at an end. Juliette Mirabelle would soon twirl, collapse and die as the story came to an end.  At the moment she was being lifted, her graceful arms spread, toes pointed and neck lengthened as she looked above. He had never seen a more beautiful or graceful sight in his life.  Would she meet him tonight?  He took great care in finding the perfect arrangement of the freshest and most beautiful flowers and paid a lad to have them delivered to the theatre prior to the performance.  It was larger than any of the others before. All he could do was hope that she remained tonight and he didn’t find another note thanking him for the bouquet.Why didn’t she ever remain to meet him?  Did she have a protector like so many female performers? Or worse, was she married?Acker still recalled the first time he had seen her dance. He had been dragged to the ballet by a friend now living in Milan. He’d attended the ballet once when he was younger and quickly learned that it wasn’t something he enjoyed. That all changed the moment Juliette entered, dancing the lead role.  Acker hadn’t been able to take his eyes from her and had returned to the theatre every night he could.  After a week he sent her the first bouquet.  Acker leaned forward, the end was near. Her graceful movements slowed and arms folded across her breast as she fell, caught in the arms of her onstage lover, and died.  The roar of the audience’s approval reminded Acker he was not alone in the theatre. So caught up in watching the young woman dance he had forgotten there were four companions with him.  He came to his feet as Juliette entered to take her bow, a delicate smile on her lips and then she was gone again. Acker’s companions stirred and moved toward the entrance leading to the corridor.“That was marvelous,” Signori Bellibi proclaimed.  He was the man who had originally brought Acker to Milan. Bellibi worked within the government of the Kingdom of Italy, but he and others secretly worked with the English to find a way to bring an end to Napoleon and break his hold on the region.  Acker had been gone from home these past six months visiting with those who supported England in their war against Napoleon and should have been done with this business and onto Prussia but he could not leave Milan without first meeting Juliette.  The Home Office had not questioned his delay but they soon would and Acker couldn’t exactly report that he remained because of a ballerina and not for the war effort. “Thank you for the invitation.”“It was my pleasure,” Acker responded.  He was quickly running out of people to invite to the ballet. He couldn’t very well attend on his own. How would that look to others? His companions filed out into the corridor already crowded with patrons leaving the theatre.“Will you be joining us for a late supper?” Bellibi questioned.Acker shook his head. “No. You go on.”The man simply nodded and escorted his wife toward the stairs that would take them to the entrance. Soon they were swallowed by the crowd and Acker made his way to the back of the theatre.His heartbeat increased with each step. Had she waited for him or would he find another note?  Was he a fool in pursuing a dancer when he had important work to do? The back of the theatre was crowded with performers and patrons, much like it was each night he ventured here.  The door leading to Juliette’s dressing room was on the far side and closed.  For a moment he was hopeful. All other times it had been open, but empty. Had he caught her in time? Had she not left?He paused before the scarred wood entrance, took a deep breath and knocked.  It opened a moment later by a young woman with auburn hair pulled into a knot behind her head.  Perhaps she was the ballerina’s maid.  “May I help you?”“Might Juliette Mirabelle still be here?”The young woman tilted her head and studied him.  “Whom shall I say is inquiring?”Acker cleared this throat. “Viscount Acker.”She nodded, stepped back and fully opened the door.  Across the room stood Juliette, no longer in her costume but dressed in a simple gown of pale blue. His breath ceased when he looked into her clear emerald eyes.  Speech failed him at that moment.