by Amy Patrick
Crimson Crown
Book 4 of the Crimson Accord series
Amy Patrick
Contents
About
1. Sisters
2. Where Will I Go
3. Put it On
4. The Way It’s Always Been Done
5. Total Honesty
6. Not Alone
7. The Box
8. Sadie
9. Not While I Live
10. Grumpy Guard
11. No Wonder
12. Acting More Queenly
13. Lost and Found
14. A Matter of Survival
15. A Sure Thing
16. The First Time
17. Secrets
18. Something Better to Think About
19. No Time to Cry
20. The Power of Our People
21. Newest Soldier
22. The Real Reason
23. Power and Peace
Afterword
Also by Amy Patrick
The Complete Hidden Saga
About the Author
About
Crimson Crown
The Crimson Court is at a turning point.
* * *
Abigail Byler's life is about to change profoundly... or end for good. It remains to be seen what will become of the vampire queen, Imogen.
* * *
And Abbi's eternal love, Reece, faces the possibility of taking on a job he was never meant to have while living without the only girl he's ever loved.
* * *
In this fourth and final installment of the Crimson Accord series, the fates of both the vampire and human races are at stake, and it all depends on who will wear the Crimson Crown.
* * *
Enjoy the exciting conclusion to the Crimson series!
Sign up now for Amy Patrick’s VIP List and get a free book, exclusive content, and other fun freebies, plus book and sale news!
Join the VIP list
* * *
Keep in touch with Amy Patrick!
Join Amy Patrick’s Peeps on Facebook
Like Amy on Facebook
Hang with Amy on Goodreads
Follow Amy on Bookbub
Follow Amy on Instagram
* * *
The Crimson Accord Series
Crimson Born
Crimson Storm
Crimson Bond
Crimson Crown
* * *
The Hidden Saga
Hidden Deep (FREE download)
Hidden Heart
Hidden Hope
The Sway (FREE when you join my list!)
Hidden Darkness (Dark Court, 1)
Hidden Danger (Dark Court, 2)
Hidden Desire (Dark Court, 3)
Hidden Game (Ancient Court, 1)
Hidden Magic (Ancient Court, 2)
Hidden Hero (Ancient Court, 3)
Hidden Heir
1
Sisters
Hampshire, England 1835
Father would positively murder me if he could see me now.
No, actually, he’d have his servant Thomas do it. Heaven forbid the Earl of Pembury get his soft nobleman’s hands dirty.
Will’s hands are definitely not soft, thanks to his work on my father’s estate and here in the stables where he cares for our horses and maintains the carriages.
And I like him dirty.
Pulling him away from the carriage he’s polishing, I lead the tall, muscular young stable hand to a shadowed corner of the carriage room and press myself against him, heedless of the perspiration stains his damp chest and abdomen will leave on my light cotton summer gown.
It’s not the first time I’ve come to seek him out at the stables. Will grew up here at Stony Hill Park with Sadie and me. The youngest of my father’s servants, he came to work on the estate at the age of ten.
We played together as children. Now, at the age of seventeen, our games have changed.
“Imogen, what are you doing?”
In spite of his words, Will knows very well what I want him to do and doesn’t bother resisting the pressure of my fingers on his nape.
Glancing around first to make sure we’re alone, he dips his head and kisses me.
His lips are hot and demanding, and the boredom and frustration of my stifling day-to-day existence fades away. There is only the taste of him and the feel of his firm body against mine and the hungry sounds he’s making.
My heart is pounding, and my knees are threatening to give way. I hold Will tighter, partially for support and partially because times like this with him are always so fleeting. It’s hard to get away from the house for long, and he’s always working, sunup to sundown.
Lack of opportunity is why we’ve never gone farther than kissing. That, and the aforementioned likelihood of murder. If not mine, then certainly Will’s. I don’t want to endanger him, but I also can’t seem to stay away.
And Father isn’t home at the moment. He’s away in London on business.
Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling braver than usual. As we kiss, I tug at the hem of Will’s shirt, freeing it from the waist of his trousers, sliding my hands underneath and greedily caressing the steamed skin of his abdomen and back.
He lets out a tortured groan and breaks the kiss, panting quietly against my lips. “Imogen. Don’t do that. You know we can’t.”
“Yes, we can.” I pout. “I love you, and you love me. And who cares if I’m a virgin?”
He huffs a laugh. “I believe your father, the earl, cares very much. Or he will when the grand lord you marry finds out on his wedding night he’s been handed a soiled dove.”
“It’ll serve both of them right,” I spit out. “My father and whichever decrepit old man he barters me to. It’ll probably be some widower with children a decade older than me. And it’s not my fault Father mismanaged his inheritance and ran the estate into the ground.”
It’s a poorly kept secret the earl is approaching a state of desperation.
While large and elegantly appointed, our country manor home is on a gradual slide toward disrepair. Our town home in London is woefully understaffed as Father let go some of the help to conserve funds, and the last time Sadie and I went to the modiste in the city for new dresses, the woman carried on a not-so-discreet conversation with her assistants about how late Father was in paying his account with her.
Like many titled Englishmen, my father inherited land and homes with his prestigious title but precious little money to maintain them all.
Noblemen don’t work, of course. It’s considered beneath the members of first society. And there are only so many socially acceptable ways to infuse an impoverished crumbling estate with cash.
Marrying your daughters to peers with deeper pockets is the current favorite.
“Still...” Will says, looking at me with obvious regret. “We should stop. I have work to do.”
I grab the braces of his pants and pull him toward me again. “Work can wait. I can’t. I want you. Kiss me again. Please.”
His resolve crumbles, as I knew it would, and he takes me in his arms again, kissing me with renewed fervency. Holding me tightly against him, he turns us so I’m pinned between the wall and his body—exactly where I want to be.
I renew my efforts to get his shirt off, unbuttoning it as he begins to gather my long skirts, working them upward.
“Imogen?”
A confused sounding female voice breaks the quiet and causes us to spring apart in surprise.
Turning toward the doorway, I glare at the person who has, all our lives, been in possession of the world’s worst timing.
My sister.
If I had my hand in the cookie tin, you could practically guarantee Sadie would wander into the cook’s pantry and catc
h me. If I ever sneaked out of the house at night to look at the stars or hunt frogs with Will, Sadie would inevitably have a nightmare and come to my room for comfort then alert the entire household I’d been “kidnapped,” prompting a search party.
“What do you want?” I demand.
“Father has returned from London. He’s looking for you. He wants to speak to us both together.”
My sister folds her hands primly in front of her and averts her innocent gaze as Will turns toward the opposite wall and hurriedly rebuttons his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers.
“He has the housekeeper in a tizzy, and all the footmen are out combing the estate grounds for you,” Sadie informs me. “I thought it would be best for them not to find you... like this.”
Setting my own clothing to rights, I stride toward her. “Like what? Having fun? Having a life? If it were up to Father, all we’d do is sit in the parlor all day writing letters and doing embroidery.”
“That is what the daughters of noblemen do. We’re lucky to live a refined life where we have time to pursue—”
“Husbands,” I interrupt. “That’s all we’re allowed to pursue. And we’re hardly lucky. Father wants to marry you off to Lord Hertsford, who’s positively ancient and has a goiter the size of his head. And Mother told me he has his eye on another dusty old duke for me. Well, no thank you. I don’t want any of it.”
When Will’s fully dressed again, he comes to stand beside me, giving my sister a sheepish grin. “Hello Sadie.”
“Hello William. The carriage looks wonderful. You’ve done such a good job on it.”
“Don’t talk to him like a servant,” I snap.
“But he is a...” Sadie cuts herself off, pasting on a demure smile. “Do excuse us, William. Our father has requested our presence in his office, and we must go at once.”
He gives her a half-bow. “Of course, my lady.” Then he turns and goes back to the carriage, lifting the polishing cloth from its lantern hook and resuming his work without another glance in my direction.
Obedient. Dutiful. I want to throw up.
Just to make a point, I go to him and plant a goodbye kiss on his cheek before joining my sister for the walk to the house.
She says nothing about it. Or the fact she caught us groping in a dark corner. And she doesn’t ask for gratitude over the fact she prevented someone else from catching us groping in a dark corner.
It irritates me that I am grateful. It’s even more irritating to see yet another bit of evidence of just how honorable she is.
Ever the rule-follower, Sadie fell right into line and started playing the role of wellborn lady as soon as she turned seventeen and was presented to society for her first season.
She should have been snatched up off the marriage market immediately. With her English rose beauty and her perfect manners and her natural sweetness, she’s exactly what every nobleman wants in a wife.
Unfortunately—for her—our family name carries with it the thing English noblemen want least—debt. Only those with the oldest and richest estates could afford to marry one of us.
That is the only reason Sadie has gone through two London seasons without a single marriage offer and, at the age of nineteen, is rapidly heading for spinsterhood.
I’ve only had to endure one season so far, and I was thrilled when it turned out to be just as “unsuccessful” (Father’s word, not mine) as Sadie’s had been.
Mother is a different story. She sees our wallflower status as her failure, and Father doesn’t discourage that conclusion. Mother was so upset after the final ball of the season that she left for a tour of the continent with her sisters.
As we do each summer, Sadie and I retreated to our estate in the country. I couldn’t wait to get back to its relative peace and freedom. And to Will.
Instead of coming with us, Father stayed behind in London to conduct “business” of some sort. I’d hoped it would last several weeks, at least, but apparently a few additional days was all he’d needed to spend there.
“When did he arrive?” I ask Sadie.
“An hour ago. He took a hired coach. Apparently he was quite in a hurry to get here for some reason.”
“Do you have any idea why he wants to see us?”
In noble families like ours, parents—particularly fathers—don’t spend much time with their children—particularly daughters. It’s the servants who do most of the childrearing, and even though Sadie and I are no longer young girls, we rarely see our father. He certainly doesn’t summon us to his office often.
“I don’t know, but I overheard the housekeeper talking to one of the kitchen maids,” Sadie answers. “She said something about a ball.”
“A ball. Here? Do you think he means to hold a house party?”
While I have little interest in the endless succession of stuffy London balls, summer house parties are another thing entirely. Guests come and inhabit the manor’s ample guest rooms for weeks at a time, and there are lawn games and trail walks and hunting parties during the day and festive dinners and dancing at night.
Most house parties begin with a welcoming ball. It seems odd Father would plan such an event in Mother’s absence though.
“We’ll find out his plans soon enough, I suppose,” Sadie says.
We reach the house, a romantic, gothic mansion fronted with towering columns and tall Palladian windows that want cleaning, as do the ten chimney stacks and the white exterior which once gleamed like snow but has now dulled to an eggshell tone.
Inside we traverse the marble entrance hall floor and ascend the grand staircase to the second level, walking down a long, carpeted hallway to the heavy wooden door of Father’s office.
Sadie raps lightly on it with her knuckles.
Father’s gruff voice comes from within. “Enter.”
My sister and I step into the dark, masculine room with its heavy brocade draperies and forest green silk wall panels. Father sits behind a large cherrywood desk where he works by the light of a single lamp. A ledger book lies open in front of him, and a deep furrow bisects his brow.
He stands as we come to a stop in front of his desk. The crease in his forehead doesn’t relax as he looks us each over with an assessing eye.
I once thought of my father as a tall man, but as I’ve matured, I’ve realized it’s only his extreme leanness that makes him appear so. He’s actually of average height.
With his slight build, one might take him for a younger man at a distance, but up close like this it’s possible to see the evidence of years of worry and disappointment etched on his face.
And then his face brightens with a rare smile. “Daughters. I have excellent news of great importance, and it concerns you both.”
Inviting us to sit in the uncomfortable hardbacked chairs in front of his desk, he explains.
“There is to be a ball here in three days. Our neighbors from the other Hampshire estates will be in attendance, as will a special guest.”
A special guest? That’s intriguing. And based on Father’s expression this guest is quite special indeed.
“Who is it, Father? A member of the royal family?” I ask.
He smiles again. “Even better. He is a foreign prince, from Moldavia, and he’s in need of a wife. I made his acquaintance at my club in London, and he’s very eager to meet you both.”
Sadie sits back in her chair, staying silent, as well-bred young ladies are expected to do. I scoot forward to the edge of my chair.
“A prince! What is his name? How old is he? Where is Moldavia?”
In a rare moment of indulgence, Father answers each question. Even seems happy to do so.
“Moldavia is a principality in the Ottoman Empire, a small country but very wealthy. His name is Alexandru. I’m not certain of his exact age but he has the look of a twenty-five-year-old.”
Sadie’s eyes flare with surprise, though I’m the only one who says aloud what we’re both thinking.
“Only twenty-five? He’s youn
g then.” My heart leaps with hope. “And you say he’s wealthy?”
Still grinning, Father slides a hand into his pocket and pulls it out again, opening it to reveal a handful of sparkling gemstones. I’m no expert, but they look like diamonds and rubies and emeralds, some of them quite large.
“Prince Alexandru gave them to me for safekeeping,” he says. “He’ll be traveling from London by carriage the night of the ball and didn’t want to risk running into highwaymen who may have gotten word of his fortune.”
It seems the furrow has jumped from Father’s forehead to Sadie’s. She finally speaks. “That is an... interesting request.”
Father beams. “I think it shows great trust and confidence in my honorable nature. An auspicious beginning to an agreeable partnership. He says the rubies are particularly valuable. Blood rubies, he called them. His country is apparently quite rich with them. In fact, he requested I present each of you with one as a token of his esteem.”
Shaking his hand side to side so the gemstones roll and flash in the lamplight, he says, “Go ahead. Choose one.”
While I reach out and select the largest of the sparkling red stones, Sadie folds her fingers together on her lap.
“I’m not sure how he can hold us in high esteem when he hasn’t yet met us,” she says. “And it’s improper to accept a gift from a gentleman we don’t even know.”
Father’s usual sour demeanor snaps back into place.
