by Meara Platt
“Fat fee or no, I won’t let ye harm the girl.” Homer jerked the reins of his horse as he clenched a beefy fist. “I could never look Mrs. Barrow in the eye if I came home with blood on m’hands. So I’m warning you, m’lord. That knife of yours had better remain in yer fancy black boot, or—”
“What? I might find it stuck between my ribs?”
“Never, m’lord,” Homer said with a contrite shake of his head that caused his jowls to wobble. “I expect you’re a reasonable man, but these delicate situations have a way of gettin’ out of hand right quick. I wouldn’t like to see anyone hurt.”
“Nor would I,” Douglas said, arching an eyebrow. Though Homer showed all the physical signs of age, for his hair was gray, his girth expansive, step slow and lumbering, Douglas knew Homer had lost none of his sharp deductive abilities. He was the perfect man to find the elusive Julia Marsden … and of course, the boy. For that reason, he indulged the mild outburst.
Over the course of their weeks together, he had grown accustomed to the Bow Street runner’s lack of diplomacy, in truth preferring his bluntness to the feigned admiration so often encountered by one in his position. “My nephew shall be rescued unharmed. As for the Marsden girl, what happens to her shall depend entirely on her actions. Now,” Douglas said, signaling the end of their dispute, “tell me more about her.”
Homer hesitated a moment before responding. “As I said in my report, she lives just outside of town, in the shadow of the mountain. Her father was vicar here until his death several years ago.”
“And you’re certain she still resides at the vicarage?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Douglas shook his head. “A cozy arrangement with the new vicar, no doubt.”
“She lives there alone with the boy,” Homer replied with a frown. “The vicarage is little more than a cottage standing beside the more imposing St. Lodore’s Church. We’ll reach it by following the river out of town, then up a steep, wooded path. The route is quite treacherous when wet, particularly at this time of year when the leaves change color and begin to fall. ’Tis easy to slip and break one’s neck.”
Douglas sighed. “Mr. Barrow, you’re lecturing me again. Now, you’ve said in your report that she comes to market every Wednesday.”
“Aye, m’lord. She arrives around midday, punctual and precise. Rain or shine.”
Douglas gazed into the distance, noting the menacing red storm clouds that towered above the imposing crags. An odd, disquieting color. Those clouds would soon sweep into the valley on the quickening October wind. He drew his cloak about his shoulders as the sun, gleaming only moments ago, suddenly disappeared behind one of those gathering clouds. “Looks like rain today. Never seen such an ominous sky.”
“Aye, strange things go on in these parts,” Homer muttered, and then appeared to shrug it off. “We’ll have a downpour within the hour, for sure. But never you mind about ruining ’em fancy boots and fine clothes. If the skies open up, I’ll go to Julia and the boy on your behalf while you stay dry at the Ashness Inn. ’Tis an old place, been around since the days of Druids and pagan magic, but sturdy enough and the rooms are comfortable. I’ve secured the best they have, but in my name so as not to warn anyone of your arrival.”
“Julia, is it? You’ve become quite good friends… a fact you neglected to mention in your report.”
Homer’s face reddened. “You paid me to find ’er for you, m’lord, and I did. But she’s a decent sort, no matter what rot you hear from them’s that have never met ’er, and that’s just what I’ll say if I’m called to testify. No, Homer Barrow’s opinion cannot be swayed by coin and—”
“Enough, Mr. Barrow,” Douglas said with a light groan, surprised that the old man could be so easily swayed by a shy smile and a pretty face.
Eager to be on his way, Douglas spurred his mount down the hill and across a small meadow that ended at the bank of a gently rushing river that appeared little more than a small stream. He paused beside the river to wait for his slower companion, biding his time by watching icy swirls form over rocks lodged in the water’s path.
The swirls glistened like blue crystals, beautiful but cold … indeed, they almost seemed to be staring back at him like ice-blue eyes.
He dismissed the notion. Were his heart not so cold, were the betrayals by his loved ones not so deep, Douglas might have appreciated the beauty of his surroundings. But he had been betrayed, the boy hidden from him all these years, and someone had to pay.
He’d start with Julia Marsden.
THE END
Read on for a Sneak Peek at Garden of Dragons
SNEAK PEEK AT
GARDEN OF DRAGONS
by
Meara Platt
Chapter One
Lake District, England
March 1818
A chill March wind blew in as Saron Blakefield, Duke of Draloch, peered out of the window of his carriage as it wound its way up the snowy drive to Harleigh Hall. A young woman stood alone, apparently in wait for him, atop the steps of the simple manor house. Her red-gold hair gleamed in the sunlight, framing her face in a delicate halo. She appeared small and slender, not at all what he had been led to expect, but it was hard to judge her height from this distance and her formless black gown hid more than it revealed.
Ah, yes, he recalled. The girl was still in mourning for her father. That excused her poor choice of gown, but, he thought with no small disappointment, Lady Anabelle Harleigh was decidedly plain.
He could not blame her for being so, but in the course of his months of legal battle with her, he had indulged in picturing her a fiery temptress, tall and strong, in the tradition of the Valkyrie, the sort of woman who could save a man’s damaged soul. He ought to have realized that no such woman could exist in the quiet English countryside.
“What does she know about me?” Saron asked his companion, for he knew Lord Chalmers fairly well and thought him a good fellow. More important, Lord Chalmers knew Anabelle very well for they had been friends and neighbors for all of Anabelle’s twenty years.
“I’ve told her nothing, Your Grace, as you instructed. However, it does not sit well with me that so much should be hidden from her. She ought to know what she is getting into before–”
“Enough, Chalmers. I know what must be done.” All the more foolishly, he had been intrigued by Anabelle’s impassioned letters seeking the return of Harleigh Hall to the Harleigh family. Indeed, he had looked forward to her weekly correspondence and often read her delightfully forthright letters before opening more important mail. He had even enjoyed the legal battle Anabelle had initiated and readily admitted goading her into it.
But the game now neared its conclusion, and he realized wearily it had all been for naught. The brave and beautiful woman of his dreams did not exist. Before him stood Anabelle, meek and ordinary.
Disillusioned, Saron nevertheless continued to gaze at her. As if sensing his scrutiny, she stiffened her stance and for the first time, he noticed the hunting rifle at her side. He smiled imperceptibly before turning to Lord Chalmers once again. “Do you suppose she plans to shoot me?”
“One never quite knows what Anabelle plans to do until she does it,” he said, letting loose a jovial chuckle. “A most impulsive creature, but kind-hearted in the extreme. I doubt you will meet your untimely demise at her hands, Your Grace.”
Saron stretched his legs before him. He was a large man and found the enclosed space of his carriage most confining. “Are you certain? She detests me, believes I stole Harleigh Hall from her father. Perhaps she believes that, however indirectly, I caused her father’s death. He died shortly after losing the estate.”
“Your refusal to part with the place, considering the circumstances under which you acquired it, did hurt her deeply.”
“The card game was honest. Her father understood what he was doing and the risk involved.”
“Yes, yes, there is not a man in all of England who would disagree. Even her brother,
the young Earl of Cleve, will not blame you for his father’s death. He understands you have every right to Harleigh Hall and is displeased with his sister for initiating those legal proceedings against you. However, Anabelle will not accept Lord Markby’s decision.”
Saron patted his breast pocket and the judicial decision contained within. “She will have to, now that he has ruled.”
Chalmers sighed. “I cannot envision Anabelle without this place. Her spirit is so closely bound to it.”
So is mine. Saron merely raised a quizzical eyebrow, for although Anabelle was a most determined young lady, she was no match for the Dragon of Draloch, as Society had taken to calling him. Few understood how appropriately the name applied and he meant to keep it that way. “Nonsense,” he said with a scowl. “Harleigh is an unimpressive estate situated by a secluded lake in the middle of nowhere. What young lady would wish to remain here if given the chance to live lavishly in London? Though Anabelle is an unwelcome burden to me, I shall do my duty as honor demands.”
Chalmers began to shift nervously in his seat. “Your Grace…”
“Yes?”
“That is to s-say…”
“Out with it. You know you may speak freely to me. What is it you wish to ask?”
“Yes… well…” Chalmers drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. “What I wish to know… what all of London has been dying to know, is why did you let the game go so far? Why is Lady Anabelle so important to you? You could have simply sold Harleigh back to her and ended your entanglement. She would have given you anything for it.”
Saron regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ve often asked myself the same question. Perhaps when I meet the lady I shall learn the answer.”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed this taste of Garden of Shadows and Garden of Dragons. I look forward to your comments and reviews. Please be kind! This paranormal romance Dark Gardens series is a labor of love for me. I’ve always been a fan of paranormal stories and was delighted when the romance publishers finally gave paranormal romance the attention and respect it deserves. It took years and years for them to come around, and now I can’t wait for you to read the entire Dark Gardens series. Book 3 is a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart winner in historical romance, and I’m profoundly grateful for the peer recognition. Also look for my light-hearted Regency historical romances in the Farthingale Series. The first is My Fair Lily, but there are five sisters in all, and a swarm of meddlesome, well-intentioned family members that I hope you’ll grow to love.
About the Author
Meara Platt is an award winning, international bestselling author and an Amazon UK All-star. She has traveled the world, works as managing partner in a boutique law firm in NYC, occasionally lectures and finds time to write. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Regency paranormal Dark Gardens series to be released in December 2016 by Dragonblade Publishing.
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