by Laura Landon
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Laura Landon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477807408
ISBN-10: 1477807403
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013933192
To all my readers…you are the best!
Thank you!
Contents
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
About the Author
Chapter 1
November 20, 1857
Griffin Blackmoor glanced up from where he sat in a secluded corner of the Rooster’s Inn and watched with cautionary curiosity when the door opened. Out of habit long perfected, his nerves snapped to attention at the commotion at the front of the room. He relaxed when his longtime friend, Freddie Carmichael, Marquess of Brentwood, entered.
Griff leaned back in his chair and waited while Brentwood’s gaze searched through the hazy smoke. A smile lit his friend’s face the second he found Griff. With determined steps, Brentwood made his way across the crowded room.
“Another chance meeting, Freddie?” Griff said, unable to keep the grin from his face. “This is your third visit in the last two weeks. My company must be more enjoyable than I realized.”
Freddie sat down in the chair adjacent to Griff and, with a hearty gulp, finished the last of the whiskey in Griff’s glass. Griff laughed, then motioned for the barmaid to bring another glass.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Griff. I didn’t come here for your pleasant companionship.” Freddie reached for the glass the barmaid set before him and took a swallow. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then set the glass down on the table with a dull thud. “I came here because of the fine ale they serve.”
Griff halted the glass halfway to his mouth and gave a snort that nearly resembled a chuckle.
“Bloody hell,” Freddie said. “Was that a smile I saw cross your face? Drinks for the house,” he added, almost loud enough to be taken seriously. “We are indeed in peril of seeing the world’s last days.”
“Save your money, Brentwood.”
Griff finished his drink and gave Freddie’s expensively cut black tails a cursory glance. “So, what brings you here? From your attire, I’d say you didn’t exactly dress for an evening at the Rooster’s Inn.”
Freddie rolled his eyes. “Lady Ashworth’s ball. Quite a bore.”
“My sympathies. You must have left quite early to make it here before dawn.”
“Actually”—Freddie motioned for the barmaid to refill their glasses—“I was glad to get away. The atmosphere was extremely stuffy and the company overly confining.”
“So you traveled to the country in hopes I’d provide better entertainment?”
“Actually, yes. And…”
Griff raised his brows and waited.
“I ran into your brother at the ball.”
Griff ran his fingers over the mars and cuts in the wooden tabletop. He tried to think of another topic to introduce but couldn’t. He finally gave in. “And how is the earl?”
“He’s fine. He’s anxious to see you.”
“I made an appearance at Christmas.”
Freddie laughed. “That was nearly a year ago.”
“I thought my visit was memorable enough to last the year.”
“Obviously it wasn’t. I think he’s of the opinion that you’ve been the recluse long enough and it’s time you returned to civilization.”
“I hardly call living at Covington Manor an existence in the wilds. It may not be London at the height of the Season, but we’re quite civilized in the country.”
“And lonely.”
“Don’t, Freddie.” Griff lifted his palm to stop his friend from continuing.
“Adam is concerned for you, Griff. He only wants—”
“I know what he wants, but I’m perfectly content with life as it is.”
Griff sucked in a harsh breath, then released it in a rush. “You surely didn’t come all this way just to give me Adam’s message? What other reason brought you here?”
Freddie leaned back in his chair and groaned. “You’re right, of course. There is another reason.” He paused. When he spoke, his voice was filled with frustration. “I have decided to marry.”
Griff tried to hide his surprise but failed. “And who is the lucky lady you wish to make your marchioness?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t picked her out yet.”
Griff did laugh this time. “I don’t believe it. What brought this about?”
“I turned twenty-six last week.”
“And…”
“I am in need of an heir.”
“I see.”
“Everything I have is entailed. My London town house. The country estate. Everything. If something were to happen to me, Annie and Rebecca would have nowhere to go. They would be without even a roof over their heads.”
“It took you all this time to realize this?”
Freddie raked his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “Perhaps I’m finally growing up.” He gave a short laugh. “That’s a surprise, isn’t it? Father would be shocked if he were still alive to hear me say that. Or perhaps I have finally accepted my own mortality. None of us knows what tomorrow will hold. You more than anyone can attest to that.”
Griff’s blood turned to ice. “Yes. The future is uncertain for all of us.”
“I don’t see why Father couldn’t have supplied the Brentwood line with at least one more male instead of just Annie and Rebecca, but he didn’t.” He took another swallow of ale and set the glass back on the table with a great deal of concentration. “Although considering his failure at being a husband and father, I suppose I should be thankful I’m not an only child.”
Griff thought of his own childhood. It had been so different from Freddie’s, his parents so loving. “Not all marriages are like your parents’.”
“So I’ve heard. And it wasn’t so bad, really. At least I was sent away to school and could escape the upheaval for part of the year.” Freddie slowly turned his glass in tiny circles on the table. “It was worse for Annie. She had nowhere to go.”
Freddie lifted his glass and took another swallow. “It’s no wonder neither of us have jumped at the chance to marry.”
Griff absorbed Freddie’s words, then softly asked, “So, have you begun the search for your perfect candidate?”
“I began tonight but tired of it after dancing with the fifth or sixth blonde-haired, blue-
eyed twit. Bloody hell, Griff. They all seem so…young.”
“They are. You should have chosen your bride years ago, when the eligible young ladies were your age.”
“What a depressing thought.”
Griff smiled. “So you’re seeking out my company on the rebound? I am indeed flattered.”
“You should be. At least I have no intention of letting you step on my toes, then whispering my apologies as if your clumsiness was my fault.”
“It must indeed have been a trial for you.”
“It was.”
Griff smiled. “Drink up. You can spend the night at Covington Manor. Things will look better in the morning, after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast.”
The two friends finished their drinks, then walked together into the cool evening air.
Thousands of bright stars twinkled above them, and a gentle breeze washed over them as they made their way across the rutted yard to the stables beyond.
Perhaps it was due to Griff’s years in the army as a spy, but the hairs at the back of his neck pricked in warning. Griff took in his surroundings to evaluate the danger he felt.
He noticed a movement to his left. Then Freddie noticed it, too. They both paused. Their footsteps halted as they turned to the side.
A glint of metal shone in the moonlight. The realization of what was happening sent a wave of panic racing through Griff’s body.
“Get down, Freddie!”
Griff reached for the pistol he always kept in the pocket of his jacket—but not in time. A loud explosion shattered the peaceful country air as Freddie spun against him, taking them both to the ground. A second shot followed the first.
The force of Freddie’s body was too much, and Griff fell backward, his arms splayed out on either side of him. His chest heaved as much from careening against the hard earth beneath him as from the jolt of Freddie’s weight.
Bloody hell! He thought he’d left all this behind him. He was sure they’d executed all the traitors. Just as he was sure the sniper who’d tried to kill him after the war hadn’t followed him to England. He must have been wrong. Whoever it was evidently had no intention of stopping until he was dead.
Griff’s blood ran cold; dread and disbelief ran rampant through his brain. He put his hands on Freddie’s arms and gripped hard as he tried to move him.
“Freddie.” Griff rolled Freddie to the side. “Are you all right?”
Griff heard a soft, muffled groan and passed his hands over Freddie’s face and arms to see where he’d been hurt. Then he felt the warm, sticky liquid at Freddie’s chest.
The pain of a dozen cannonballs slammed into Griff’s gut. He looked down and, instead of seeing Freddie’s face, relived the death of another friend. A spy’s bullet had also killed Gerald Fespoint, a fellow officer—a bullet Griff knew had been intended for him.
Cold fingers of fear clenched his heart. “Dear God! No!”
“Griff,” Freddie whispered.
“You’re going to be all right, Freddie. Just lie still.”
Griff was frantic. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not to Freddie.
“Griff?” he whispered again, his voice weaker.
“Shh, Freddie. Don’t try to talk. I’ve got to get you inside. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
“No, Griff. It’s too…late.”
“No! You’re going to be fine. I’m not going to let you die. Not you, too.” He turned and yelled to the growing crowd gathering around them. “Someone! Get a blanket and help me carry him inside.”
Griff stared into Freddie’s eyes and saw the same look he’d seen a hundred times during the war. The look of death. “Don’t talk, Freddie. Save your strength.”
“Take care of…Annie. Promise me.”
“Damn you, Freddie. Don’t you dare die. Don’t you dare!”
Griff’s mind reeled in alarm. His heart thundered in his chest. His head wanted to explode from the terror that raged through his body. He knew what was happening, yet his mind refused to believe it.
“You’re going to be fine. Just hang on.” Griff reached for the blanket someone handed him and threw it over Freddie.
Freddie lifted his arm and clutched Griff’s shirt. “Annie. Promise me you’ll…take care of…Annie.”
He whispered his final words, then went limp in Griff’s arms.
“No! Dear God, no!”
Griff stared at Freddie in numb disbelief. He was dead.
There was nothing left to do but hold his friend’s lifeless body in his arms as he gently rocked him back and forth. With eyes shut tight, Griff lifted his face toward heaven and let a river of hot, wet tears stream down his cheeks. Tears that burned a hole deep into his heart.
A heart he’d thought was incapable of feeling more pain.
Griff pulled on the reins and stopped his horse at the entrance to the drive of the late Marquess of Brentwood’s country estate. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to go the rest of the distance. He wasn’t sure he could stand at Freddie’s graveside and watch while they lowered his friend’s body into the ground and covered his coffin with shovel after shovel of cold, black dirt. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face Freddie’s family, knowing that Freddie was dead and he was not.
He reached for the flask inside his topcoat pocket and took another long swallow. Liquor afforded him a level of comfort he desperately needed. It was the panacea to dull the pain and ease the guilt that consumed him, that threatened to tear his heart from deep inside his chest. He took one more swallow, knowing he’d need it to make it through this day.
Griff nudged his horse with his heels and let the animal make his way up the long lane to Freddie’s home.
A groom rushed to take his horse when he dismounted. Griff hesitated until the ground felt solid beneath him, then forced himself to take the first step toward the door, then a second. Before he lifted the muffled knocker, a tall, somber-looking butler opened the door. The man gave Griff a respectful nod, then stepped aside to let him enter.
“I’ve come for the marquess’s funeral,” Griff said, praying he hadn’t slurred his words.
The butler took his hat and coat. “I’m afraid the services are over, sir. But the guests are gathered in the morning room with Lady Anne and Lady Rebecca. If you’ll follow me.”
The butler turned to lead the way to the morning room. Out of habit, Griff reached for the flask in his pocket. He stopped himself, a small voice warning him he’d had enough—for at least an hour or two.
With slow, hesitant steps, the butler led Griff down a narrow hallway, stopping just outside an open doorway. Inside, he heard the low, murmuring sounds of muffled voices. Griff took a step toward the doorway and stopped. Dear God, he couldn’t do this. Yet what choice did he have?
With a heavy sigh, he sucked in a painful breath and walked through the portal.
The room was crowded. Each guest was dressed in a more depressing shade of black than the last. Droll bits of their whispered conversations blanketed the room in suffocating closeness.
Griff fought the urge to flee. He fought the greater urge to reach for the flask in his jacket pocket and drain it. Instead, he stepped forward and let his gaze move around the room. He focused on the first familiar face he recognized—the last face he wanted to see today of all days. His brother Adam, Earl of Covington.
He watched the frown on Adam’s face darken, the concern that etched his features. It was an expression Griff knew only too well. He stepped closer and braced himself for the confrontation he knew would come.
“Hello, Adam. What a surprise.”
“It shouldn’t be, Griff. Brentwood was, after all, a peer as well as a neighbor and friend.”
Adam leveled Griff a discerning gaze, his serious expression every inch the earl. Adam clasped his hands behind his back, the tense pull of his expensively tailored jacket an indication of the fragile rein on his emotions. His every movement was an unmistakable example of propriety.
/> “I’ve tried to find you for the last three days, Griff. Where have you been?”
Griff remained focused on a black-clad footman carrying a tray of sandwiches he offered to the guests. He could hardly tell Adam where he’d spent his time over the last few days when he had no idea himself.
“Damnation, Griff,” Adam said, his harsh whisper pulling Griff’s attention back to the scowl on his brother’s face. “Don’t you know how worried I’ve been?”
Griff tried to smile. “There’s no need, Adam. I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not. Anyone can see by looking at you that Freddie’s death has taken a toll on you.”
“Of course it has taken a toll. Freddie was my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Griff tried to escape his brother’s scrutiny but staggered when he took his first step. Adam’s fingers clasped around his arm.
“Have you been drinking, Griff?”
“Not nearly enough to matter.” Griff ignored Adam’s shocked expression and looked away.
“I want you to come with me to London, Griff,” Adam said before Griff could turn away. “You need to be with family.”
Griff smiled as he fingered the flask in his pocket. Family was the last thing he needed right now. Being the cause of one more person’s death would be the final blow that would drive him over the edge. He was suddenly very anxious to make his escape. “I need to pay my respects to Freddie’s sisters. Which ones are they?”
“Perhaps it would be best if you talked to them later. When you haven’t been drinking.”
Griff shrugged out of Adam’s grasp. “Never mind, Adam. I’ll find them myself.”
He had only taken one step forward before Adam stepped in front of him.
Griff glared at his brother with every bit of his anger. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Adam. Not unless you want to cause a scene that will have the whole of London talking for weeks.”
“All right,” Adam said through clenched teeth. “But take care. They are both terribly upset. Brentwood’s death was a horrible shock.”
Griff wanted to laugh. He knew better than anyone the horrible shock of Freddie’s death. Freddie had died in his arms. Freddie had died in his place. All because he hadn’t made sure the last sniper couldn’t harm anyone else. He sucked in a shuddering breath, anxious to pay his respects and get out of here. “Where are they?”
