by Dawn Brower
Charming Her Rogue Enduring Legacy 10
A Linked Across Time Novel
Dawn Brower
Monarchal Glenn Press
Contents
Acknowledgement
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
Epilogue
About The Author
Also by Dawn Brower
Excerpt: Mesmerizing the Marquis
Chapter 1
Excerpt: Rebellious Angel
Chapter 1
Excerpt: Rescued by a Sea Nymph
Chapter 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Charming Her Rogue 2018 Copyright © Dawn Brower
Cover Artist and Edits Victoria Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Acknowledgement
Thanks to those that helped me polish this book. Elizabeth you’re my number one. You’re the best ever. Also thanks once again to my awesome editor, Victoria Miller. You make me a better writer and without you I might not be where I am today.
In life we are faced with many choices. This book is about loyalty, duty, and love. Each one plays a part in the decisions the characters make, and they are never easy, but that is the heart of living. We are never certain of what turn we should make or if it is the correct one. Oftentimes we don’t discover that outcome until it is too late to alter our course. This book is for everyone who is uncertain about their future, but keeps going in the face of adversity. Keep fighting, living, and loving. That is the only thing you can do. Just be you.
Chapter 1
June 18, 1914
Lady Catherine Langdon twirled the champagne in her glass, staring at the bubbles as they popped against the side of the crystal. Music echoed throughout the room as a violinist strummed out Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. Catherine would have preferred something a little more soothing to ease her current distress, but she didn’t have much say for anything in her life. She considered herself a modern woman, yet she had to continue to follow the dictates of society.
At one and twenty, she’d have liked to have found her own residence and used her inheritance as she saw fit. That wasn’t to be her fate though. Her father had ensured she had a guardian for all things, and she wouldn’t have control of her funds for four more years. If she married, they’d go to her husband. Catherine didn’t have any intention of allowing something so archaic to happen to her. No man would ever have power over her.
“Do you find these dinners dreary too?” a male asked from behind her.
She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she’d failed to notice his presence until he’d spoken. Catherine turned to glance up at him. He was tall and foreboding. Some ladies might be intimidated by that, but not Catherine. He had golden blond hair with highlights streaked throughout that suggested he spent time outdoors in full sunlight. One strand fell loose over his forehead in an enticing curl. His eyes were like shiny emeralds that mesmerized her for a few brief moments until she regained her composure.
“They can be rather tedious,” she confirmed. “But they appear to be a necessity for the ambassador.” Sir Benjamin Villiers, her guardian, worked as secretary to the ambassador. Catherine had been living in France with him since her father’s death over a year ago. Some ladies would have been excited to live in Paris and have access to the latest fashions, but not her—never her. Catherine’s dark hair came from her father, the former Duke of Thornly, but her sapphire blue eyes were from her mother. Her father’s title had passed on to a cousin she’d been barely acquainted with. Her mother had died in childbirth—after one of the several times she tried to give the duke an heir he desperately needed—or more apt—wanted. Unfortunately, neither her mother nor the child survived. She was completely alone in the world, and sometimes that was more than she could bear.
She wanted so much more than pretty gowns and shiny baubles. They were nice, and she did appreciate not having to worry about money. Some things were far more important though. She’d been secretly studying to become a nurse. Sir Benjamin would be appalled if he found out. She prayed he continued to remain ignorant of her pastime. With the current climate of the political world, she feared such skills might prove necessary—though she prayed her instincts proved wrong.
Certain gifts had been bestowed upon members of her family that dated back centuries. Some of her ancestors had been persecuted as witches. Her mother was a direct descendant of that line, and now her. Catherine’s name came from a variation of one of those long-ago witches—Caitrìona. Catherine even had the same gift as the woman who’d been presumed wicked and a servant of the devil. Those who didn’t understand their abilities chose to believe the people who had them were immoral, but her family considered their abilities a blessing from someplace good.
The thing about gifts—sometimes they came in threes. She’d been somehow blessed with all of the abilities, but one remained stronger than the rest. Her premonitions didn’t come in flashes, but more like feelings emphasized by the emotions of people around her. Her strongest and most reliable ability centered around that amplification, and sometimes she had trouble deciphering what it all meant. This man projected one thing loudly —secrets. He was hiding something, and whatever it turned out to be could potentially impact the world.
“Some people need society events to function,” he said evenly. “I’ve never been one to put stock in them. Do you enjoy them?”
“Not particularly,” she replied. “As you’ve stated—they’re more tiresome than entertaining. If you don’t like them, what brings you to this particular one? The ambassador’s guests are generally of the prestigious sort.”
She’d met numerous individuals that boasted of their importance. Catherine hadn’t found any of them especially noteworthy. She hadn’t relied on her gifts for any epiphanies where they were concerned. In her experience, if someone talked that much about themselves, it usually meant they were of little consequence. It was the quiet ones she had to watch and figure out. Like this man—he’d started the conversation, but gave little of himself away.
“It’s not my practice to boast about my connections.” He reached out and snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter as he strolled past. The man brought it to his lips and sipped the bubbly liquid. Once again, Catherine was transfixed by him, his deeds, and his inaction. Everything about him remained an enigma. What game was he playing? He lowered his glass and met her gaze. “Don’t you think it is far better to blend in and not allow anyone to notice you?”
She didn’t understand how he’d ever be able to make himself unnoticeable. He was by far the most handsome man in the room, and he oozed charm and arrogance, but perhaps he only showed her that side of himself. He seemed to be a man made up of several facets. He had his charm, the easy-going nature he showed the world,
but his eyes had a darkness to them that suggested he had something to hide. But she didn’t need to rely completely on suppositions. She’d been born with the ability to see past the façades people used to hide who they truly were. This man had an aura that screamed of secrecy. “I’ve never been much of a wallflower,” she replied. “I enjoy social interaction—most of the time.” In fact, she almost needed it.
He tilted his head. “No, you wouldn’t be. A woman like you stands out in a crowd. You must have numerous suitors.”
“Not particularly,” she answered. “At least not here in France. Back home I had a few.” None of them made her heart beat faster or her breathing shallow. This man did though. Something about him made her want to move closer, to touch him, and maybe even press her lips to his. To make it simple, he was dangerous to her well-being, and she still didn’t even know his name.
“That’s a bloody shame.” He sipped his sparkling wine again. “I expect you’d be like this champagne. Sweet, tantalizing, and overflowing with pleasure after one taste.”
He had to be a rogue of the worst sort. Gentleman didn’t say such outrageous things to a lady. Did he believe her to be a cyprian hired for the enjoyment of the men at the party? There were not many females in attendance. Such was the nature of political work—women stayed home more often than not. The other ladies there were wives of the diplomats and their employers. Catherine was the sole unattached woman in attendance. Perhaps she was reading too much into his statement.
“Sir, you’re too bold.” She narrowed her eyes to glare at him. “I insist you apologize.”
He lifted a brow. “You’re not any of those things I mentioned?” His lips tilted upward into a sinful smile. Damn him and his gorgeous face. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m not a lady you can insult without consequences.” She was the daughter of a duke, damn it. Catherine lifted her chin and pinned him with her most haughty stare. “Do you not know who I am?”
He chuckled lightly. “I think all of France is aware of your lineage—certainly everyone in England is.”
Catherine took a deep breath and prepared for the impending disagreement. This man rubbed her wrong—and right, at the same time. She fervently wished she didn’t find him so attractive. Her body almost hummed with joy in his presence. She’d always followed her instincts in the past; however, she believed, with him, she’d best exercise caution. He was able to hide a part of himself from her gifts, and she couldn’t trust him because of that. What made him special?
“Then why do you persist in being so discourteous?” For the life of her, she couldn’t discern his motivation for being so arrogant and condescending. She was pleasant to everyone, and he made her want to punch someone for the first time in her entire life. “What have I done for you to be this way with me?”
“Not a thing.” He shrugged. “You intrigue me, and I thought I’d ascertain your mettle.”
“Ohh…” If she was a lady inclined to give into temper tantrums, she’d already be stomping her foot and screaming at the top of her lungs. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you.” His lips twitched, and amusement fairly danced out of his eyes. “I do pride myself in being able to needle people in the most unexpected ways.”
She rolled her eyes. “In that case, consider your goal achieved.”
Catherine disliked him. He was the worst sort of man, and she couldn’t fathom what she’d found so compelling before. He could go back to hell as far as she was concerned. It would be a happy day if she never came in contact with him ever again. Some handsome devils shouldn’t be encouraged, and he was at the top of that list.
“Does one dance at these things?” He glanced around the room. “It seems as if most people are content with talking about inane topics sure to put me to sleep.”
“Let me guess,” she began. “You consider yourself and everything about you the very epitome of all that is exhilarating in the world.” God save her from men who thought the world revolved around them. She didn’t need their ilk paying any attention to her.
“Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “But I’m not so boring as to engender individuals into a catatonic state.” He gestured to a nearby group. “Just look at them all—their very faces allude to placidity—they’re practically asleep standing up.”
Catherine sighed. “If you’re in such a state of ennui why are you still here?” For that matter, why did she continue to converse with him? She was well past the stage of irritation and had entered into complete annoyance. “You could go home, and all would be well in your world, Mr.—”
“Lord,” he interrupted her. “I’ve never been a mere mister.”
Of course he was a lord. Arrogance such as his came naturally to some, but those of his ilk were weaned on it. No wonder he oozed it as easily as breathing and didn’t apologize for it. “Be that as it may…” She silently prayed for patience. “To answer your earlier question, this was never meant to be the dancing sort of gathering. It’s a dinner and conversation. If you want more, you should attend the ball later this week. I’m sure a lord such as yourself will have no problem finding a willing dance partner.”
“Will you dance with me?” His lips tilted upward into a sinful smile. His arrogance and self-assurance flowed through her in waves. “That is why you suggested I attend the next ball is it not?” He lifted a brow questioningly.
The polite thing would be to say yes. That was what was expected of her, after all… “Absolutely not.” She couldn’t stop herself from saying it. “I don’t believe we’d manage a full set before I wanted to strangle you. It’s best to save us both from that disastrous outcome.”
Instead of being offended, he grinned widely as if she’d complimented him. He was such a contrary bastard. “I think I like you.”
“Please don’t,” she begged. “I don’t need you to be charming. Liking you is the last thing I wish to do.”
At the start of their conversation she’d have liked nothing more. Now that she’d spent some time in his company she’d had a change of heart. He might be handsome, and something about him may call out to her, but he was entirely wrong for her. In her experience, it was better to cut all ties in situations such as this one. Catherine didn’t need any heartache in her life.
“Ah,” He leaned in a little closer. Heat flowed from him to her in waves. “But you do find me fascinating. If it helps, I’m equally charmed by you.”
“I assure you that was not my intention.” Her cheeks flushed as she warmed from the inside out. She sipped her champagne absentmindedly for lack of any other response to his attention. “Don’t take it to heart.”
“I fear I already have.” He lifted his champagne glass in salute. “But I know when to take a bow. To you, my dear, Lady Catherine.” He took a sip after his toast and then winked. “Until we meet again, for I’m sure we will.”
With those words, he exited the room. No one noticed, and she wondered briefly if she’d imagined him. No, her premonitions didn’t work that way. He’d been real and present. She couldn’t help but believe his parting words an omen of sorts—she wished he’d have at least introduced himself. A name would have been nice to know... Catherine fully expected they would cross paths more than once. Somehow, some way, their lives were intertwined. She’d never been wrong before; nonetheless, this was the first time it both terrified and invigorated her all at once.
Chapter 2
The flat that Asher Rossington, the Earl of Carrick, had secured for his time in Paris had little to offer. His home in England had a more lavish style to it—but nothing less could be expected from Seabrook. His father—the current Marquess of Seabrook—had thought he needed to explore the world a bit. With limited funds at his disposal, Asher didn’t see the point in letting something fancier. All he needed was someplace to sleep in relative peace and comfort.
What his father didn’t know was that Asher had been actively engaging in a secret mission with the Earl of Derby—who worked clos
ely with the Under-Secretary of State for War. For whatever reason, the old goat didn’t trust his cousin, Sir Benjamin Villiers—who was currently employed by the Ambassador of the United Kingdom to France. The position gave Sir Benjamin access to a variety of foreign officials. Asher didn’t know what he’d done to make his cousin distrust him so, but he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t do a little spy work while he was off finding himself. It did run in the family, after all. His great-grandfather—Dominic Rossington, the tenth Marquess of Seabrook, had been a spy during the Napoleonic Wars. He liked the idea of following in his footsteps.
A knock echoed through the room. Asher stared at the door as if it were a foreign substance. Who the hell could possibly be on the other side of it? Sure, opening it would give him the answer to that question, but he had no desire to take the effort. If he ignored it long enough, they’d go away and he could be left in peace. The person knocked again. Asher sighed, then stood and walked over to it. Once he reached it, he yanked it open.
“Telegram monsieur,” a boy said and shoved an envelope at him, then left
The front of the envelope was addressed to the Marquess of Seabrook. “Wait, this isn’t for me.” It couldn’t be for him. His father was the marquess. He wouldn’t hold that title until… Asher swallowed hard. The only way he’d inherit it was if his father died.
