by M. S. Parker
Fear And Honor
The Lightwood Affair Book II
M. S. Parker
Belmonte Publishing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC
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Book Description
In an instant, my entire life was turned upside-down when a car accident somehow catapulted me more than two hundred years into the past. And if that wasn't enough, I fell in love with a man I never should have met.
Having chosen to give up trying to find a way back to her own time, Honor Daviot focuses on her new marriage to the wealthy colonist Gracen Lightwood...and to ensuring that he aligns himself with the rebels as the Revolutionary War creeps ever closer. As Honor discovers just how different 1775 is from her own time, she begins to wonder if what she has with Gracen is worth the sacrifices she has made.
Follow Honor and Gracen to France as their story continues in M.S. Parker's sizzling Time Travel romance.
Chapter 1
~ Note from the author ~
This is book two in The Lightwood Affair series. If you haven’t read book 1 yet, you can CLICK HERE to download it now.
“Are you ready?”
I looked up at my husband and gave him a weak smile as I pulled on my dress. I'd woken up this morning with a strong feeling of dread, a stirring inside that set me on edge. I'd enjoyed the makeshift honeymoon and appreciated the time I spent with Gracen. It had definitely helped us adjust to the situation before we had to head back to the Lightwood estate. But I still felt like there would never be enough time to adapt to the circumstances we’d been flung into.
Then again, considering I'd been born in 1986 and today was July 7, 1775, I wasn't sure if any amount of time would ever be enough. I'd served in the United States Army, and now I was living in and experiencing a time and place where that army didn't even exist. I still didn't know how a car accident on my way to my parents' house outside of Boston had transported me more than two hundred years into the past, or if whatever had done it would take me back.
And as I looked over at the man I married just a few days ago, I knew that I truly didn't want to go back to my own time. I loved my parents and my brother, the men in my unit, but Gracen Lightwood had quickly become my world. I'd never believed in love at first sight, or even second or third sight, but I'd also never believed in time travel either, so the past couple of weeks had been quite the eye-opener.
Strong arms slid around my waist and pulled me back against a lean, hard body.
“You will be fine,” Gracen whispered, his breath caressing my ear. I didn't have to look up at him to know the exact shade of his emerald eyes, of his raven-black waves. To know every line of his face and body.
“I wish I was as sure as you are,” I muttered as I put my hands over his. I wasn't only worried about me though. Once we returned to the Lightwood estate, Gracen would be at the mercy of his father, and I knew that our new, unannounced marriage wouldn’t make things any easier for him.
Roston Lightwood was going to shit a brick when he found out what Gracen and I had done.
“It's time to head back.” Gracen shifted and took my hand in his. “No matter what happens, we're in this together.”
I nodded and mustered the best smile I could. This wouldn’t be easy, and not only because of the revolution ahead. The Lightwoods were well-known Loyalists, and Gracen's father wanted his only son to join the British army to uphold the integrity of the family name. Gracen and I weren't only going back into an awkward situation. It was a dangerous one.
Knowing that didn’t push me into talking him out of it though, and I still let him lead me outside to where a carriage was waiting for us. I scowled at my skirts as I climbed inside, wishing I could dress in the uniform I'd arrived in, but that wouldn't exactly be a good idea, not if I wanted to blend in. I loved my new husband, but I didn't love the eighteenth-century clothes.
I leaned against Gracen as the carriage started to move and tried not to think about anything other than him and the time we spent together over the past couple of days. Pleasant memories to steel me against what was to come.
We made good time and arrived back at the estate a little after mid-day. Part of me had hoped for a few delays along the way, but there’d been nothing to spare us from the inevitable encounter with Roston. Only the silence between Gracen and I as we mentally braced ourselves for the welcome we were sure to receive.
Titus, the steward of the house, was the first to notice our arrival when Gracen walked into the estate, and he wasn't pleased to see me.
“Welcome back, Master Gracen.” Titus spoke to my husband, but his dark eyes were trained on me, the sheer disgust and contempt clear.
Titus had hated me from the first moment he'd seen me, and judging by the way his mouth twisted into a scowl when he saw Gracen's hand wrapped around mine, that loathing had only gotten worse.
“Where’s my father?” Gracen asked with barely a look in the steward's direction.
“The library, I believe, Master Gracen.” Titus's tone said he didn't like being put in his place, even though his face was carefully blank.
I followed Gracen without a backward glance. My stomach was in knots, but I refused to show it. We were already married, and as far as I knew, there'd be no getting around it without a scandal. It definitely wasn't like the time I was from. While arranged marriages weren't quite as commonplace as they had been in the past, there was definitely a stigma to marrying outside rank, and those in the higher class were strongly encouraged to follow their parents' suggestions when it came to choosing a spouse. Gracen deciding to marry a girl who'd been a kitchen maid only a short while ago would shock the whole of society.
He led me down the hall I’d swept, dusted, and scrubbed numerous times over the past few weeks, and the surreal feeling surrounding me grew with every step. Even though enough had happened to prove to me that this was indeed my life at the moment, it still felt like some sort of strange dream.
My husband didn’t bother knocking on the heavy oak door, but pushed it open, striding in with his hand still firmly wrapped around mine, despite knowing how his father felt about me. In that instant, my love for him flared bright and hot, reminding me of why I'd chosen to remain here instead of seeking a way back to my time.
Roston Lightwood sat behind his colossal desk, a Loyalist friend of his seated on the other side, but when we entered, the elder Lightwood shot to his feet, myriad expressions crossing his face, one right after the other – none of them pleasant. His eyes darted from his son’s face to our intertwined hands, hatred and embarrassment mingled in his glare. It was obvious that our expectations of his reaction had been entirely too accurate. The man was already fuming, and we hadn't said a word. Roston’s visitor stayed where he was, looking back and forth between Roston and Gracen, as if the entire thing was an amusing spectacle. Based on the other friends of Roston's I'd met, I didn't doubt for one second that he was hoping for something to gossip about.
Roston's cold hazel eyes once more slid down to where Gracen’s hand was linked with mine, and a muscle in
his jaw tightened. “I trust you have an explanation for this.” His voice was steel.
“Good evening to you too, Father,” Gracen responded coolly.
“For heaven’s sake, disentangle yourself from that servant girl right this moment.” Roston gave a quick glance to his friend. “Have you no decency? I’ll not have you bringing disgrace to our family name by flaunting something so...unseemly.”
Gracen raised his chin slightly. “I believe we have quite different opinions as to what disgraces a family name.”
Roston's face went white, but I doubted it was from anything other than fury. He turned to his friend. “If you'll excuse us, I have a family matter which needs attending. Shall we continue our discussion at a later time?”
“Of course,” the visitor replied, barely hiding his glee at the altercation. He stood and allowed Roston to lead him to the door.
After instructing Titus to walk their guest out, Roston closed the door and turned on us. “Did you abandon your post for her? Have you any idea the penalty for such actions?”
“I never enlisted.”
Roston’s face was slowly turning into a light shade of red, and his hands curled into fists. Without an audience, he made no attempt to rein in his temper. “Then you’re worse than a deserter. You’re a coward.”
My nails dug into my palm as I made a fist of my own. I'd kept my mouth shut and my head down when I was a servant here, but I'd done it mostly to avoid putting Gracen in danger. My patience, however, only stretched so far, and it was reaching its breaking point. Gracen's hand tightened on mine, as if he could sense that I was close to snapping.
“As for you,” Roston turned to me, “you're no longer welcome in this house.”
Gracen responded before I could. “We will leave at first light then.”
Color filled Roston's face so suddenly that the medic in me wondered about his blood pressure. “Titus will show this girl to the door, while you and I have a conversation regarding where your loyalties should lie. I will not have my only son chasing after a servant–”
“Honor is my wife.”
The silence was suddenly deafening, stretching out between us. I held my breath as I waited for what was to come.
Roston crossed the distance between us in only a few long strides, grabbing the front of Gracen's shirt and pulling us apart as he shoved Gracen back a few steps.
“Stop it!” I yelled as Gracen's hand was ripped from mine.
They both ignored me as Gracen set his feet and brought them to a halt.
“How could you be this foolish?!” Roston's voice was low and dangerous. “We have a reputation and a family name to uphold! You may bed a servant if you wish, but you do not marry them! Your selfish actions may have very well ruined us!”
I reminded myself to let my husband respond. Not because he was a man and it was his place, but because this was his father which made it his right. He took a step to the side, his gaze locked on his father until Roston released the front of his shirt.
“I am my own man, Father.” Gracen's voice was stiff. “I know you have always wished that I followed more closely in your footsteps, but I will not fight a war I do not believe in.” He held out his hand for me, and I took it. “I love Honor, and I have married her. I do not regret it, and I will not apologize for it.”
Roston's hand cracked against the side of Gracen's face, the sound echoing in the momentary silence.
“You bastard!” I snapped as I took a step forward.
As soon as the words left my mouth, Roston swung his hand toward me. Before I could make a move to defend myself, Gracen put himself between me and the blow. He didn't even flinch as the backhand slap meant for me caught the side of his neck, Roston's ring leaving a jagged cut across his skin. Blood welled instantly, the crimson stark against Gracen's tanned skin.
“Get out. Now.”
Chapter 2
I slowly seated myself on the bed next to Gracen, dipping a rag into a mixture of warm water and witch hazel so I wouldn't have to look at him just yet. I was having a hard enough time keeping my hands from shaking as I wrung excess water from the rag. I took a slow, steadying breath and pressed the rag against his neck. He sucked in air through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as I wiped the blood from around the wound. I couldn't even look at the red handprint on his cheek. I'd dealt with injuries exponentially worse than this, but those hadn't been my husband. Or my fault.
“Gracen, I’m so sorry,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “So, so sorry.”
“You are not to blame, my love.” He wrapped his fingers around mine and raised our hands to press his lips against my knuckles.
“Yes, I am.” I swallowed hard. “If I hadn't come here, if you hadn't found me and brought me home...” I trailed off.
“Then I would have been lost,” he said firmly, eyes blazing. “You coming into my life gave me the courage to stand up to my father. To do what is right. You gave me a reason to fight.”
I blinked back the tears that burned against my eyelids. I lifted our hands, pressed my lips against his palm. “How could he do that to you? You’re his son,” I whispered.
“He's a hard man,” Gracen replied. “Some of the servants say that things were different before my mother died, but I was too young to remember.” He kissed the top of my head. “Besides, this is nothing. You should have seen the beating I received when he caught me feeding my dinner to the dog when I was a young boy. Such a thrashing that I couldn't sit for three days.”
I jerked back and glared up at him. “That's not funny, Gracen.”
He gave me a wry smile. “It didn't feel that way at the time either.”
I started to get up, but he grasped my arm and pulled me down next to him again, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Did I say something wrong?” He reached up to tuck a strand of chestnut brown hair behind my ear.
“Child abuse isn't something to joke about.” Images flashed through my mind, memories of a friend I'd had as a child. A little girl who'd come to school with black eyes half a dozen times before I'd finally broken my promise to stay quiet and told my father.
“Child abuse?” Gracen's forehead furrowed in confusion. “I don't understand.”
Of course he didn't. This was the eighteenth century. Using hands and fists, belts, and whatever else came to hand, to discipline a child or servant – or hell, even a wife – wasn't only seen as a normal and everyday course of action, it was expected. Unless it resulted in some sort of permanent damage, no one blinked.
I laced my fingers between his and tried to explain. “Where I'm from, people aren't allowed to use that sort of physical discipline. Beating a child – beating anyone – can get a person arrested, and their children may even be taken away from them.”
“Taken away?” His eyes widened in surprise. “By who?”
Rather than trying to explain all the twists and turns of social work in the twenty-first century, I kept it simple. “The government.” I squeezed his hand as my gaze drifted to the cut on his neck. “It's to keep people safe.”
“You come from a truly strange time.” Gracen slid his arms around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. “Since we are not there, it is my job to keep you safe.”
“We’ll keep each other safe,” I corrected softly. I may have been a woman out of time, but I would do whatever I could to keep the man I loved from harm.
I turned in his embrace, mentally cursing my skirts as I put my knees on either side of his lap. Gracen had taken me to a store yesterday to buy a dress that was more appropriate for someone of my new social standing. Clearly, it hadn't done anything to impress Roston, but Gracen had wanted it, so I'd agreed.
He leaned into my touch as I ran my fingers through his raven-black waves, his eyes closing for a moment. When he opened them again, they were serious. “You are my home, Honor. Far more than these walls ever were. I do not regret for a moment loving you.”
The tip of his finger traced my
lips, and my nipples hardened under my layers of clothing. He ran his hand through my hair until he cupped the back of my head. My hair was longer now than it had been when I joined the army, but it was still short by these contemporary standards. Still, Gracen seemed to like it, and that was all that mattered to me.
Chestnut was the color my mother had always used to describe my hair. That, as well as my almost silver-colored eyes, had gotten me my fair share of male attention growing up, but only Bruce Pacer had had the nerve to ask me out. I pushed thoughts of my former fiancé aside. The only man I wanted was right in front of me. Bruce wouldn't be born for more than two hundred years, and I was fairly certain I'd fallen out of love with him even before I came here.
I slid my hands over Gracen's firm chest, then leaned back so I could reach beneath my skirts. He sucked in a breath as my fingers skimmed over the front of his pants.
“Honor...” He breathed out my name.
I leaned forward and brushed my lips across his. “Let me show you my gratitude for your protection.” I mimicked his way of speaking, earning a smile.
I made short work of the fastenings, then smiled as I wrapped my hand around his thick shaft. Until we'd arrived here, we'd spent the majority of our time since our wedding in bed. At one point, Gracen had expressed his surprise at how much I not only enjoyed sex but initiated it. I'd responded by taking his cock in my mouth and making him shout my name. I'd become intimately familiar with every part of his body, but it hadn't been enough. As I stroked him to a full erection, I wondered if I'd ever have enough of him. It wasn't only having gone so long without sex while I'd been deployed overseas either. It was him. I wanted him in a way I'd never wanted Bruce.
I locked my eyes with Gracen's emerald ones as I moved over him, the tip of him grazing against my damp curls. His fingers flexed against my waist, but he made no move to take control. I let out a small moan as I slid down on him, taking him one delicious inch at a time. While I loved everything about sex with Gracen, it was this part I enjoyed the most. Not because it physically felt any better than anything else we did, but because, to me, that initial penetration was my reminder that I wasn't alone here, that I'd made my choice for a reason. Feeling him filling me, my body molding around his, I felt complete in a way I’d only ever felt with him. It wasn’t like I hadn't been a full person on my own, but rather that there was a part of me I never realized was missing until I found him.
