Once a Rebel
Page 1
FRIENDS TO LOVERS
“I am not your brother!” he repeated, his voice rough this time. And he leaned forward and kissed her.
As his lips covered hers with warm command, shock jolted through her. This was not the way things were supposed to be!
Her startled reaction was swiftly followed by sensations different from any she’d ever experienced. Heady, disturbing feelings curled through her from head to toes, bringing alive all parts in between.
For the first time she understood why women ruined themselves with men. She felt a promise of something wild and compelling in Richard’s touch, and it terrified her. When he moved a warm hand to her waist, mere inches from her unbound breasts, she shoved herself away from him, ending up plastered against the wall beside the bed. “This is a really, really bad idea!” she said in a choked voice.
Books by Mary Jo Putney
The Lost Lords series
Loving a Lost Lord
Never Less Than a Lady
Nowhere Near Respectable
No Longer a Gentleman
Sometimes a Rogue
Not Quite a Wife
Not Always a Saint
Other titles
One Perfect Rose
The Bargain
The Rake
Mischief and Mistletoe
The Last Chance Christmas Ball
Once a Soldier
Once a Rebel
MARY JO PUTNEY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
FRIENDS TO LOVERS
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Historical Notes
Teaser chapter
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Mary Jo Putney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-4094-1
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4095-8
eISBN-10: 1-4201-4095-7
In memory of Jo Beverley. A marvelous writer, an even better friend.
Acknowledgments
I had a wonderful time researching history that is literally right on my doorstep, and want to give special thanks to my Mayhem Consultant, a native Baltimorean who knows his local history, and where to find local historic cannons.
Over the years I’ve read numerous local articles whose authors I don’t remember, but my thanks to all of my fellow Marylanders who share my passion for history.
My principal research books were Walter Lord’s excellent The Dawn’s Early Light: The Climactic Shaping of “the Land of the Free” During the Hazardous Events of 1814 in Washington, Baltimore, and London. Another fine book is Steve Vogel’s Through the Perilous Fight: From the Burning of Washington to the Star-Spangled Banner: The Six Weeks That Saved the Nation. Out of print and hard to find but excellent is The Rockets’ Red Glare, by Scott S. Sheads, a ranger-historian at the Fort McHenry National Monument for many years. This slim volume has many direct quotes from primary sources.
A very good PBS documentary is The War of 1812, by Lawrence Hott and Diane Garey. It describes the origins of the war and the fighting that took place on the Niagara Frontier, in the American West, and on the Great Lakes and the Chesapeake Bay.
Chapter 1
Kingston Court, Lancashire, 1799
“Richard! Richard!”
Lord George Gordon Richard Augustus Audley, third and most worthless son of the Marquess of Kingston, snapped awake at the hissing voice outside his open bedroom window. Callie? She wasn’t supposed to be home from school for another week. He frowned; it had to be her. Only two people had ever called him Richard, and she was the only one who might be climbing up the thick vines below his window.
In the warm night he wore only his drawers. Though he and Callie had been best friends since they were in the nursery, they weren’t on terms of seminudity, so he grabbed his robe and tied the sash as he swung from the bed.
He leaned out the casement and looked down into the rustling vines. In the light of a full moon, the heart-shaped face and shining red-blond hair were unmistakable. But what the devil was the Honorable Catherine Callista Brooke doing scrambling up to his room in the middle of the night?
“Callie, you’re insane!” he said affectionately as he leaned out and extended a hand to help her up and over the sill. “If I’d known you were home from school, I could have called tomorrow in a perfectly civilized manner.”
Her hand clamped onto his and she scrambled over the sill and into his room. She was dressed as a boy, which was sensible for climbing vine-covered walls.
He was about to say more when the moonlight revealed shining streaks on her face. Callie was crying? She never cried. She had nerves of Damascus steel. “What’s wrong, Callie?” he asked sharply.
“Everything!” she replied in a raw voice.
She was shaking, so he instinctively wrapped comforting arms around her. He must have grown in the last months of school, because she seemed smaller as she buried her face against his shoulder. “Steady, Catkin,” he said quietly as he patted her back. “We’ve been in and out of enough trouble to know how to fix problems.”
“Not this kind of problem.” She took a deep breath and stepped back, though she kept hold of his arms as if not trusting her balance.
Moonlight touched her face, revealing a dark mark on her left cheek. Swearing, he skimmed a gentle fingertip over the bruise. “Damnation, your father has been beating you again!”
Callie shrugged. “I’m used to that, being the most disobedient, rebellious, devil-touched daughter in England, as he informs me regularly. But this time . . .” Her voice broke before she continued. “It’s much worse. He’s going to marry me to some
horrible old planter from the West Indies!”
“Good God, how has that come about?” Gordon steered her to a chair, then retrieved his hidden flask of forbidden brandy. He poured a small measure into a glass and added an equal amount of water before handing it over. “How would a planter from the Indies even know you exist?”
“He’s some kind of distant connection of my father. A widower.” She sipped at the watered brandy, coughed, sipped some more. “He called at Rush Hall to discuss business, saw me, and offered marriage because I’m so beautiful!” She almost spat the words out.
“Beautiful?” Gordon blinked at the thought. She was . . . Callie. Pretty enough with that sunset red-gold hair, and she was athletic and graceful as well. An old man might consider the hair and Callie’s vibrant good spirits enough to be beauty. “You’re only sixteen, so surely that means a long betrothal.”
She shook her head violently. “He wants to marry immediately, before he returns to the Indies! He’s staying at the Hall now. As soon as my father said he could have me and good riddance, the fellow sent to London for a special license. It came today. My father told me this evening that I’ll be married the day after tomorrow.”
“He can’t force you to marry a stranger!” Gordon said, aghast. “Just keep saying no. It won’t be easy, but you’re practiced at disobedience.”
She shook her head, shaking again. “If I don’t obey, I’m afraid he’ll take his anger out on my sisters.”
Damnably, she was probably right. Callie’s sisters were vulnerable, and her father was quite capable of bullying or hurting them to insure Callie’s cooperation. Gordon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, murmuring soft, comforting words until she pulled away with a smile that almost worked. “You’re talking to me like I’m one of your horses.”
“It works with frightened fillies, so it seemed worth trying.” He smiled when she rolled her eyes with elaborate disdain, but sobered swiftly. “What do you want me to do, Callie?”
“I’m going to run away and I need money,” she said bluntly. “Can you lend me some?”
He frowned. “Run away to where?”
“My Aunt Beatrice. She’s my godmother and has said I’m welcome to visit anytime. I’ll be safe with her.”
“But for how long? If your father comes to drag you off to get married, she won’t be able to stand up to him.”
Callie bit her lip. “Then I’ll change my name and disappear into Manchester or Birmingham. I’ll find some sort of work.”
“Become a mill worker?” he asked incredulously. “This is not a good plan, Callie!”
“Not a mill worker! You know how good I am at sewing. I’m sure I can find a job as a seamstress,” she said impatiently. “If you can lend me twenty or thirty pounds, it will be enough to get me away and support me until I’m established somewhere my father will never find me.”
He bit his lip, thinking how many disastrous things might happen to a pretty, inexperienced girl, even one who was intelligent, ingenious, and brave.
He caught his breath as a thought struck. Yet it made sense. “I have a better idea, Callie. Marry me. We can be in Scotland in two days and we’re old enough to marry there without permission.”
She gasped, her hazel eyes widening. “And you think I’m insane! We’re too young to get married, even if it is legal in Scotland. Marriage is forever.” She bit her lip. “I’ve always wanted to marry for love.”
“My parents did that and it didn’t work out particularly well,” he retorted. “I’ve always thought that in the unlikely event that I marry, it would be to a friend, and aren’t we best friends?”
She frowned as she considered his proposal. “I suppose marrying you would be better than a fat old planter with damp hands.”
He grinned. “I am so very flattered.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just that marriage seems so . . . so extreme.”
“It is, but so is being bullied into marriage to a man you can’t stand.” He shrugged. “If someday you meet someone you really want to marry, I won’t stand in your way. It’s easier to get a divorce in Scotland than in England. In the meantime, you’d be better off with me because I won’t try to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“There is that,” she admitted. “If we’re married, we’ll both be free of our fathers and able to look out for each other.”
“It would be a grand adventure,” he said, liking the idea more and more. “At twenty-one I’ll have control of half the money my godfather left me. It’s enough for us to live comfortably. Between now and then, we’ll discover what life is like for average people. We’ll find work with some decent country squire. You can be a lady’s maid and I’ll look after the horses.”
Callie’s face lit with laughter. “You’re right, it would be an adventure! Far better than marrying a dreadful stranger. We’ll make it work. We always do. No more adults telling us we’re too rebellious and ill behaved!”
“Too wild and fated to come to a bad end!” Exhilarated, Gordon swept Callie into his arms and kissed her. He started the kiss as a friend, and ended it as . . . something else. She was sweet and warm and strong in his arms, and for the first time ever he thought of her as a girl. No, not a girl, but a young woman ripe for marriage.
She also reacted to the kiss, leaning into him, her lips parting. Heat kicked through him. He’d admired his share of pretty girls and stolen a few kisses, but this was different. More. She would be his wife and they would have physical and emotional intimacy beyond anything he could imagine. The prospect was alarming, but also exhilarating.
Callie drew back, her eyes shining. “The adventure of a lifetime,” she breathed. “And the sooner we begin, Richard, the better!”
* * *
Within a quarter of an hour, they were on their way. Gordon had always been good at saving, and he had nearly a hundred pounds, a small fortune. He tucked it into a money belt around his waist, then dressed for the journey. He gave Callie a hat to stuff her hair under and a shapeless coat he’d outgrown. He grinned at the result. “You can pass as my little brother if no one looks too closely.”
“That should make us harder to follow.” She folded a light blanket into a canvas sack that could go into a saddlebag. “What route should we take?”
“There’s only one decent road toward Scotland from here, but once we get beyond Lancaster, we can cut east on some less traveled roads. Slower, but we’re less likely to be discovered.”
“Do you think we’ll be pursued?” She slung the canvas sack over one shoulder. “Even if they figure out that we’ve run off together, they might just think good riddance to both of us.”
Gordon shook his head. “My father won’t miss me. I’m just a third son and one he doesn’t like. Since your father has an advantageous marriage for you, he won’t shrug off your disappearance. But it will take them time to realize that we’ve eloped. If we travel fast, we should be in Scotland before they can catch us.”
Silently they left his bedroom. He wondered if he’d ever see it again. Callie’s father might not want to let her go, but his own father would be glad if he disappeared.
They left through the kitchen, adding bread and cheese to their bags. The wind was from the west and there was a faint, sulfurous smell of burning from the smoldering coal seam not far away. He wouldn’t miss that smell.
In the stables, he saddled two horses that he knew had excellent endurance, and they headed out. They made good speed along the moonlit roads for several hours, but rain blew in from the Irish Sea as dawn approached.
Callie was drooping with fatigue, though she’d never admit it, so he suggested, “Let’s stop for a few hours in that barn there. We and the horses need rest, and with the rain, it’s hard to see the road.”
Wordlessly Callie turned into the lane that led to the low barn. No farmhouse was near, so they should be safe for a few hours. In the barn, they tended to their horses, then curled up together in a pile of
hay since the night was chilly. As Callie tucked the blanket around them, she murmured, “Thank you for saving me, Richard. We will do well together.”
He brushed a kiss on the top of her head, feeling a tenderness and protectiveness that were new to him. “We will. Sleep well, Catkin.”
He knew society would find their elopement outrageous, but they were both used to outraging people. It gave them so much in common. With a smile, he drifted off.
* * *
“They’re in here!” a voice bellowed as the barn doors swung open.
Sunlight flooded into the barn as Gordon fought his way free from the blanket and hay. He knew this was disaster even before the looming figure of Callie’s father, Lord Stanfield, appeared in the open doorway. Behind him—dear God, it was Gordon’s father, Lord Kingston! And two Stanfield grooms.
“Lord George Audley. You filthy bastard, you’ve ruined my daughter!” Stanfield carried a driving whip in his right hand, and he slashed it viciously at Gordon.
The lash knocked Gordon off balance, and before he could regain his footing, the two grooms had grabbed his arms. Stanfield closed in and began pummeling Gordon with his huge fists, smashing into his face and gut. Gordon had learned some fighting skills at the Westerfield Academy, but he couldn’t break free of the grooms.
Callie screamed and tried to wrench her father away. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”
“Good!” Her father jammed a knee into Gordon’s genitals.
Gordon collapsed in agony as the world blackened. Callie dropped to her knees and covered him with her own body. “He hasn’t ruined me! He was helping me to escape that vile marriage you’re trying to force me into!”