ASHLEY KATH-BILSKY
THE SENSE OF HONOR
Special Edition
A Timeless Historical Romance©
Kindle Format
First Printing: February 2007
Special Edition: July 2014
ISBN-13: 978-0-9892570-3-9
ISBN-10: 0989257037
Cover Artist: Ramona Lockwood
Cover Image: Romance Novel Covers
Illustrations: Elissa Marie
THE SENSE OF HONOR
Overall Winner
Daphne du Maurier Award
For Excellence in Romantic Mystery and Suspense
Voted #109 of the
1001 Best Books Ever Written
By Readers of Romantic Times Book Reviews
“A sensual, not-to-be-missed tale that leaves you yearning for more."
~ Romantic Times Book Reviews
“A love story so beautifully written, I had tears in my eyes.”
~ Coffee Times Romances
“Historical romance of the highest caliber.
Ms. Kath-Bilsky gives her readers breathtaking romance.”
~ Love Romances & More
“A riveting read that must not be missed!
~ Cata Romances, Single Title
It's been a long time since I've read a story this wonderful!
“I was hooked on the first page, and couldn't put the book down until the very end. It's been a very long time since I've been this engrossed in a romance novel. Your hero, Devlin, was perfect. Just the kind of man I want to fall in love with. And your heroine, Christiana, was just the kind of head-strong heroine I enjoy reading. The many twists and turns in the story were well written, only giving brief hints at the right places until the perfect time to reveal the Abbey's secrets. I have put you on my list of favorite authors, and your stories will be an auto-buy for me from now on. Keep them coming, my dear!” ~ Phyllis Campbell
A Must Read!
“The Sense of Honor is as sensual on the inside as the cover is on the outside. Ms. Kath-Bilsky has written a story of secrets and honor, treachery and love. A truly remarkable book of honor and love. And a not-to-be-missed historical romance!” ~ Anna Kathryn Lanier
Beautifully Written Historical Romance!
“An inherited estate and missing ward bring Devlin Grayson, the Duke of Pemberton, into the path of Christiana Tatum, housekeeper at Bellewyck Abbey. Both have secrets they must keep from each other, yet the secrets weigh heavy as attraction grows between them. This was a well thought out plot with well defined characters. I enjoyed the author's prose, her story, and the way her characters slowly and believably grew into better, more trusting people. The resolution was very satisfying. There are sensuous scenes, not at all gratuitous, but well written which contribute to the story. Anyone who as a child had dreams about their own knight in shining armor will love this story. I did. I highly recommend The Sense of Honor and look forward to this author's next novel.” ~ Gerri Bowen
The Perfect Novel!
“Ms. Kath-Bilsky has written a perfect romance novel with a most apt title. The story is all about honor and courage and most importantly, love. Christiana's story is unveiled intriguingly. Devlin has his own secrets. Watching them unravel their truths is a most pleasurable journey. Watching them fall in love even through all their unanswered questions and suspicions is where Ms. Kath-Bilsky's talent shines. I am in awe with every facet of this novel - its wit, its intelligence, its heart, the sophistication of the writing, the engaging main characters, and the eccentric but honest and loving secondary characters, all written as fully realized persons. Descriptions of clothing, countryside, and abbey are rich in detail, the words used sparingly, but brilliantly to set a scene that stays in your mind. The Sense of Honor is a remarkable story with many threads which all come together in the immensely satisfying ending. It is definitely a “keeper”, and I will be awaiting the next book from Ashley Kath-Bilsky.” ~ Jane Leopold Quinn
Excellent Story!
“I loved this book!! It was a great, suspenseful story. The heroine was strong and witty. The hero quite likable. The sensuality was just right. There were times I found the characters' interaction funny, too. I didn’t want to put the book down,” ~ Ann K.
Copyright ©2007 Ashley Kath-Bilsky
Special Edition with Illustration Copyright ©2014 Ashley Kath-Bilsky
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including but not limited to photocopy, electronic, mechanical, or audio recording, without the prior written consent of the Copyright Owner/Author.
This book is a work of historical fiction. Events, names, characters, organizations, and locations portrayed in this novel are products of the Author’s imagination, or used fictitiously for entertainment purposes. Any similarity or resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is coincidental. The appearance of any historical individuals in this book resulted after extensive research confirming their actual documented presence during the time period and setting(s) of this book.
The Sense of Honor
Special Edition
A Timeless Historical Romance©
ASHLEY KATH-BILSKY
PROLOGUE
“For never can true reconcilement
grow, where wounds of deadly
hate have pierced so deep.”
~ John Milton
(1608-1674)
Paradise Lost
8 September 1812:
No. 7, Royal Crescent ~ Bath
Determined to deny the trembling of her body, Christiana Tatum stared back at the pale, haunted face in the window. Against the yawning dark of night, her reflection seemed more a mirror into the past, a disturbing glimpse into the soul of a long forgotten child.
She hadn’t expected this assault on her emotions. From the moment she’d entered the lavish Bath residence of Lord Bellewyck, fifteen years of memories had rushed to the surface unbidden and unwelcome. Memories of a cold, antiquated abbey in Kent—and of hours spent in darkness and shadow. Seemingly unending moments of insidious cruelty and deadly treachery—and all of them inflicted upon a frightened, orphaned child.
Apprehensive at the prospect of seeing his lordship again, she hugged her waist and walked over to stand before the fireplace. Vibrant amber and yellow-gold flames twisted and danced upwards like warring tongues from evil serpents. Here, too, came remembrances, cold and bleak, of a small child forced to sweep chimneys to earn her keep whilst below, in the Great Chamber of his ancestral home, sat Lord Bellewyck. He claimed her fear of darkness gave him the idea, but there had been another purpose.
Quite simply, he wanted her to fall.
Even worse, he wanted her to die.
“He will be dead come morning,” she whispered. “And his power over me and those I love will end. Forever.”
Despite the softly spoken words, ‘twas difficult to accept anyone as evil as Archibald Bertram, Earl of Bellewyck, could die. And yet, a sickly sweet smell affirmed someone had gone to great lengths to disguise the rank odor of disease and putrid flesh. Indeed, a lengthening abyss of unnatural silence gave eerie testimony to one truth.
The veil between life and death was lifting.
Christiana sensed more than heard someone enter and glanced over her shoulder.
The earl’s valet stood in the doorway, a candle extended aloft as if peering into a cave. She remembered the manservant all too well. Bellewyck’s minion had always carried out the cruel commands of his master with keen satisfaction, exuding a snobbish indifference that so defined the valet and the man he served. Malcolm Vickers knew
all of his lordship’s secrets and most of his sins. For that reason alone, she could little help but look upon the man now with contempt.
“His lordship will see you now.” Vickers turned, clearly expecting her to follow.
She gathered the hood of her black cloak to cover her head, shielding her face from view. Instinct, more than intent, prompted the gesture.
Each step upon the stairs, Christiana’s thoughts tumbled and whirled like a crippled boat trapped in a tempest. Battering her with images and cries she’d forced herself to forget. But no surging squall, no fiery lightning bolt, and no rocky coastline conjured by a rush of memory would steer her off course.
She would focus on calming her breathing.
She would strengthen her resolve to show no fear.
She would embrace every scar and every painful memory like a suit of armor.
The long ago child forced by circumstance and fate to endure Bellewyck’s cruelty had survived. Tonight, a woman of intelligence and courage would leave this house the victor.
In silence, she followed Vickers along a dimly lit hallway at the top of the staircase. A moment later, the valet directed her into his lordship’s bedchamber. Unlike the rest of the darkened residence, the room’s bright candlelight proved nearly blinding. And the costly extravagance stole her breath.
Lord Bellewyck reclined against several large silk pillows on the bed. An effective tactic, designed to give one the impression death might not be so near. But she knew the man well enough to see through the illusion.
With a whisper of sound, Vickers approached the bed to wake Bellewyck. After a few awkward moments, the earl’s eyes opened.
“She has come,” Vickers announced.
Bellewyck motioned for the valet to leave, a request that seemed to surprise Vickers. Once the chamber door had closed soundly behind the servant, the earl fixed his gaze upon her. She tensed as he scrutinized her attire and, in particular, the deep hood all but concealing what he’d always called her saintly face.
Nay, she was not a saint. He’d best think of her as the angel of death come in his weakest hour to finish him off.
“Have you nothing to say?” His voice sounded surprisingly strong.
“Why have you sent for me?”
“Why indeed.” He narrowed his gaze. “Come closer.”
She hesitated, but stepped nearer the bed.
“Much has passed between us since you had the insufferable temerity to enter my life.” He paused for breath. “Oddly enough, I could not depart this world before I spoke with you.”
“Do not think to ease your conscience with me. Turn to God if you seek forgiveness.”
“Bah. Repentance is for cowards.”
“Then say what you will and be done with it.”
“Now, now, patience is a virtue. Then again, you have never been particularly virtuous. Indeed, from what I understand, you are quite common now.”
She raised her chin. “You are hardly one to judge others.”
“True,” he allowed and relaxed further against the pillows, closing his eyes. “There is a strongbox beneath my bed. Take it with you when you leave.”
“And have your man accuse me of stealing?”
“Such a suspicious creature.” He snorted. “My valet knows nothing about this box or its contents . . . yet.”
Christiana mulled over his words then shook her head. “I think not, Lord Bellewyck. There is nothing I want from you.”
His dark eyes opened. “Do not be so sure, and pull back that damnable hood. I would look upon my enemy one last time.”
“You made me your enemy.” Realizing she trembled again, and her throat felt as if tied in knots, she turned away. She’d not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
“Be that as it may,” he continued. “I intend to honor the agreement we made long ago. Or, have you perchance forgotten what you wanted from me upon my death?”
She must be hearing things. Looking over her shoulder, Christiana eyed the figure on the bed. Was it truly possible he intended to honor his promise? The fact he remembered it gave her pause. Then again, facing one’s mortality might prompt a person to mend their wicked ways.
Hesitant, she studied him a long moment then knelt to remove the strongbox. With hardly a care for the man or his infirmity, she placed the box beside his body and frowned at its iron lock. “Where is the key?”
“Show me your face.”
Christiana tossed back the hood of her cloak. “Now, give me the key.”
He fingered his bony chest, tapping a gold chain resting upon a soiled nightshirt. “I find I am indisposed. If you want the key, remove it yourself.”
Do not trust him.
“First, tell me what is in the box.”
“Freedom,” Bellewyck answered with a patronizing grin. “Had you not come, my dear, that box would have been delivered into the hands of my heir.”
“You have no heir.”
“Ah, but indeed I do.”
“What are you talking about? You never married, and God knows you never sired a child.”
“True, but a distant male relation shall come into an unexpected inheritance upon my death. No doubt it will come as quite a surprise to him as well. What will he do with the estate, do you think? He is a man of great power, intellect, and influence; a man who holds honor and duty to king and country above all else. Such a man may prove keenly interested in Bellewyck’s history…of late.”
“Who is he?”
“The Duke of Pemberton.”
Her stomach tensed, and nausea slithered up the back of her throat. How had Bellewyck unearthed not just a male heir, but a duke? What kind of future would she have with the estate in the hands of such a powerful man? And what would Pemberton do with the abbey and everyone there, especially if he discovered the truth?
Bellewyck smirked. “Ah, I see you have heard of him. Is it not providence my ancestral home will be in such noble hands upon my death?”
“Damn you,” she whispered. With nary a moment’s hesitation, she yanked the chain from about his neck, ignoring the raspy chuckle he made when she fumbled for the catch. Key in hand, she opened the strongbox and searched its contents. Once satisfied with what she had in her possession, she placed the papers back inside the box and locked it again, pocketing the key.
“You are a most contrary creature, my dear.” He sounded amused.
“Because I prefer freedom over bondage?”
“Nay.” Bellewyck shook his head in an almost piteous manner. “Because your freedom is bondage.”
After pulling her hood up again, Christiana took the strongbox in hand. “Ironic, is it not, that you are the one soon to be bound in the chains of hell for all eternity?”
“How very judgmental.” His voice wavered in strength. “There is a scripture regarding the casting of stones. The exact quote eludes me. Surely you know of which I speak.”
“I know it. But I have always held a fondness for the saying, ‘death comes like a thief in the night’. Alas, here I am.”
Bellewyck’s lips twisted with familiar disdain. “Take your freedom, my dear. Guard it well…while you may.”
CHAPTER ONE
“An oath sworn with the clear
understanding in one’s mind
that it should be performed,
must be kept.”
~ Cicero
(106-43 BC)
Pemberton House,
Mayfair ~ London
The Earl of Bellewyck is dead.
No matter how many times David ‘Devlin’ Grayson stared at the letter in his hand, its meaning remained the same. Another member of his illustrious family had cocked up their toes, leaving no heir to inherit an entailed estate.
Some measure of sympathy was warranted; after all, a man was dead. Yet he’d never met Lord Bellewyck, or even realized that somewhere in the lofty branches of his ancestral tree they shared a blood relation.
He tossed the letter onto his desk. “I do n
ot know what I resent more, Lord Bellewyck dying or the relation who made it possible for me to inherit the man’s estate.”
Someone cleared their throat, a reminder he wasn’t alone.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
Suffering the consequences of overindulgence is a private matter for any gentleman; it is a necessity if that gentleman is the Duke of Pemberton. He longed for the quiet oblivion of sleep, the comfort of his darkened bedchamber, and the total absence of any other form of life. Instead, he found himself seated in the library of his town residence at a most ungodly hour of the morning facing his mother, a portly solicitor by the name of Virgil Higginbotham, and news of an unexpected inheritance.
He still couldn’t believe his mother, the ever-refined, ever-graceful Dowager Duchess of Pemberton, had sent her coachman to scour London and hunt her son down like an escaped felon. And like all of his mother’s blindly loyal servants, Nash had dispatched his duty with nothing short of dogged determination. Never was that more apparent than when the man forced his way into the bedchamber of London’s leading actress to find his prey.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, prompting Devlin to grimace. “Even the elements are against me.”
Leaning back in a chair made of butter-soft leather that conformed perfectly to his body as it had for his late father’s, Devlin closed his eyes and gently massaged his temples. He listened while the solicitor addressed various aspects of Lord Bellewyck’s estate.
Unfortunately, Higginbotham’s deep voice—reminiscent of a bullfrog—made it difficult to remain awake, let alone understand what he said. Indeed, the man spoke with such unfettered fluency that he refused to pause, swallow, or even breathe until near the point of asphyxiation.
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