Table of Contents
CATCHING THE BARON
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
CATCHING THE BARON
JENN LANGSTON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
BY JENN LANGSTON
THE PERFECT SERIES
His Perfect Bride
His Perfect Game
His Perfect Lady
CATCHING THE BARON
Copyright©2014
JENN LANGSTON
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
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Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-585-9
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To my husband.
Thank you for putting up with me
as I stress and work to meet deadlines.
I owe you a movie night.
Chapter 1
Samantha Jenkins scraped her thumb across the blade of the knife, testing its sharpness. Satisfied with the narrow trickle of blood oozing out of her finger, she gripped the handle in her cold hand as she stared at the frightened girl looking back at her in the mirror.
Just do it. Her heartbeat accelerated. One slice. One swipe would be all she needed. Knowing it would only last a second didn’t dull her fear or assuage her trepidation. As she watched, all the color drained from her face, and a dizzying motion made her queasy. Was she making a mistake? Could there be another option?
Setting the knife down, she dropped her head between her knees to combat the rolling nerves in her stomach. She ran her trembling fingers across her thighs to dry her sweaty palms. When her legs began to shake, she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer.
No matter what she did at this moment, nothing would ever be the same. Tears poured down her cheeks as she pictured her mother and father’s smiling faces. They were gone now and could no longer help her.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the knife and stared at her now-determined face. Without wasting another second, she positioned the blade and slashed.
Kenneth Rawson, Baron Berwick, watched his cousin flit around the dance floor in the arms of her husband. Every day, he noticed how the love between Catherine and Jonathan Alastair grew. Although happy for his cousin, he couldn’t help but be slightly envious. He would never find that kind of love for himself.
Irritated at his line of thinking, Kenneth turned to focus on the décor. Lady Laramie had a reputation for throwing the event of the Season, and tonight she didn’t disappoint. The tropical theme had such success he could almost smell the ocean.
As he made his way around the room, the sand crunched underneath his boots. The staff would be cleaning for months before eradicating every grain of sand scattered about the room. Approaching the panels of fabric done in white and various shades of blue, he shook his head at the elaborate lengths Lady Laramie went to for her parties.
“Kenneth, there you are,” Catherine called from behind him.
Spinning around, he winced to see her flanked by her two friends, Brianna Denton, Marchioness of Stonemede, and Abigail Thorpe, Viscountess Merrick. The three were inseparable. And determined to see him wed. To an heiress. He shuddered.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” Lady Stonemede asked, her lips thin with disappointment. “Miss Greeves was available for the last set. You should have partnered her.”
“I apologize, my lady. I merely wished to take a break.”
“How can you expect to wed if—?”
“Brianna,” Lady Merrick interrupted, “perhaps we should give him a respite this evening. I don’t believe Lord Berwick has sat out one set for over a fortnight.”
Lady Stonemede nodded, but Kenneth could see calculation in her narrowed eyes. The lady appeared as determined as Catherine to see him wed. Although he agreed aligning himself in marriage would fill his coffers with a much-needed boost, he didn’t like the callous search. He wanted fire. He wanted passion. He wanted something other than the cold, metallic feeling of a shilling in his bed.
At that moment Jonathan joined them. After exchanging a look with her husband, Catherine peered at him, a chilling sparkle lighting her face. Kenneth tugged at his cravat as it suddenly felt too tight.
“I just received confirmation on a new bit of juicy gossip,” Catherine declared, leaning toward her friends. “And as it happens, I also found the perfect lady for Kenneth.”
Glancing at Jonathan, Kenneth caught his sympathetic smile. Although he clearly didn’t feel the same as his wife regarding seeing Kenneth wed, he also chose not to step in to Kenneth’s aid.
“Do tell.” The light in Lady Stonemede’s eyes mirrored both Catherine’s and Lady Merrick’s.
“Lady Laramie has an estranged granddaughter. She is nearing spinsterhood, but her grandmother intends to launch her regardless.”
“Her dowry should be substantial.” Lady Merrick nodded slowly. “She sounds ideal.”
Kenneth resisted the urge to groan. A well-dowered unmarried lady meant trouble. For a fortune, men could overlook nearly anything in a wife. So why wasn’t she already wed? What about the lady made men unwilling to settle for her? Glancing over at Miss Greeves, Kenneth realized she held more appeal than he originally thought.
Seeing Richard and Greyson approaching, Kenneth silently rejoiced at the upcoming change in conversation. On the other hand, being with the three couples made him feel uncomfortable. When the first notes of a waltz sounded, he teetered between relief and disappointment.
As if guided by an unspoken cue, his friends collected their wives and excused themselves. Kenneth stood back and watched as all three men held their wives slightly closer than appropriate. The women didn’t seem to mind in the least.
He wasn’t against marriage, just the idea of entering the state for money. If having a title meant he had to choose a wife, he preferred to find someone he could at least stand to be around. Rubbing a hand behind his neck, Kenneth went in search of the card room.
His fingers itched as he walked between the tables and heard the exhilarating sounds of cards slapping against one another. The familiar feeling of excitement and hope
made his pulse race. Just one hand, he told himself. One hand would fix everything. One hand would make an heiress unnecessary. With a smile tickling his lips, he reached for his money.
As soon as his fingertips brushed the few coins, his shoulders sagged. This was the reason why he found himself in this position. Gambling had never been one of his talents. Keeping his gaze fixed upon his feet, he forced himself from the room.
Knowing his willpower wavered on the verge of snapping, he didn’t stop when the cool mist of rain dusted his face. The walk back to Jonathan’s townhouse would do him good. London held too many temptations to be beneficial for him.
The next morning, as he entered Jonathan’s study, Kenneth had firmed his decision to return to Berwick. Catherine wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t let her change his mind. After all, she’d already done so twice before this.
“Good morning, Kenneth. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.” Jonathan set his pen aside. “When you left last night, I assumed you found a companion.”
Kenneth forced a smile. He hadn’t shared a bed with a woman in much too long. “I wouldn’t dream of behaving any less than gentlemanly while I live in Catherine’s house.”
“I’m not suggesting you tell her. However, if you’re having trouble locating an adequate partner, I could suggest a few who know their way around a bedroom. As you know, before I married your cousin, I-”
“That’s all right,” Kenneth inserted quickly before Jonathan could continue. The subject embarrassed him, and he had no intention of holding a discussion on the merits of bedding one woman over another.
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Jonathan leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Now, what did you want to see me about?”
“I contributed to the few investments you suggested, but the return has been minimal. Are there any other opportunities you feel could yield a better result?”
“Not too keen on marrying for money, are you?”
“Not particularly.”
Jonathan sighed as he regarded him with what looked like pity. “You could put more of your funds in investments, but you wouldn’t receive the desired effect.”
Kenneth straightened his back in the chair. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Why not?”
“It takes time to obtain a good yield. And if everything you have is tied up while you wait for more to come, you have nothing to live on.”
“So there is nothing I can do?” Desperation clawed at Kenneth’s throat, making him swallow, but he resisted the urge to loosen his cravat.
“Reconsider accepting a loan from me.”
Shaking his head, Kenneth rose from his chair and began pacing the study. He couldn’t. After all, he deserved every bit of this. In all his years of gambling, he never considered the consequences. His father had never allowed him to face them. Now he was left to pay for his bad decisions.
“I’ve already told you, I’m finished living on money that isn’t mine. Besides, I have too many creditors banging at my door to add you.” Kenneth held up his hand as Jonathan opened his mouth to speak. “I know you wouldn’t demand immediate repayment, but I still wouldn’t be able to pay you back.”
“What if you don’t have to? Can you accept it as a gift?”
The laugh escaping from Kenneth’s lips held no humor. “Accepting charity would be worse than being indebted to you.”
Jonathan sat forward, clasped his hands together, and pinned him with penetrating eyes. “Don’t do it for yourself. Do it for your mother.”
Flinching at the mention of his mother, Kenneth kept quiet. The frail, sickly woman had no idea the poor state of their finances. She remained locked away in the dowager house. Kenneth had only seen her once after his father’s death. He knew he wasn’t acting like a caring, dutiful son, but he just didn’t know what to do about her.
“Will you accept the gift for her?”
“No.” Kenneth pinched his lips closed. He wouldn’t accept charity in any capacity.
He closed his eyes for a moment before facing Jonathan’s sympathetic gaze. No choices remained available to him. In order to pay back the debt, his debt, and restore Berwick, he would sacrifice himself. He would marry an heiress. Perhaps even the undesirable Lady Laramie’s granddaughter.
However, he had no intention of shackling himself just yet. At the moment, he needed to rid himself of three meddlesome ladies. Women were trouble. And before he chained himself to one, he would spend the next few months without them. He longed for the peace he would surely find at Berwick.
Samantha wiped her sweaty brow on the sleeve of her shirt, then shoveled more soiled rushes from the stall and into the cart. A horse whinnied, forcing her to look up from her work. The animals seemed to have taken pity on her and managed to warn her each time before her boss, Mr. Oliver, approached.
Setting her shovel aside, she caught the stray strands of her hair that had come loose and pressed them further against her head. Her once shiny brown hair had flowed down her back, touching her waistline, but no longer. She imagined the long locks still littered the floor of her childhood home. She hadn’t had the heart to shear it off any shorter than her shoulders, but she couldn’t allow herself to harbor any regrets. Using beeswax and teasing to mat her hair, she managed to pass as a boy. She left her silken strands, the knife, and her memories in that house in order to forge this new life.
“Sam, aren’t ya done yet?” Mr. Oliver’s voice demanded.
She grabbed the shovel again and turned as he rounded the corner to check on her progress. After one last scoop, she trained her eyes on his shoes. “Almost, Mr. Oliver.”
After mumbling something about laziness, he stomped off. Before he could return, she spread the clean rushes, discarded the used ones, and led Hazel back into his stall. The stallion butted her with his head, indicating he wanted attention. She dearly loved the strong animal and gave him a quick pat before seeking out Mr. Oliver.
Keeping this position remained foremost in her mind. Not only did she need the pay, but it protected her from her father’s landlord. The man was relentless in his pursuit.
“Mr. Oliver, I’m done with Hazel’s stall,” she explained, using the deeper voice she had adopted.
“’Bout time. Now refill them water pails and give them horses fresh hay.”
She nodded to him but inwardly sighed. This past fortnight as a stable boy wore on her body as nothing had before. The embroidery she’d done for her mother’s tailoring business couldn’t compare to the backbreaking labor she endured now.
Pulling her heavy limbs along, she tackled the water first. Her weak arms rebelled as she dragged bucket after bucket of water across the lawn. Once complete, she stretched her aching back and ambled toward the hayloft.
The sight of the daunting ladder brought her pain. Too exhausted to pull herself up, she stood on the lower rung and swung the rake over the top. She only needed to hook one of the bales and drag it over the edge.
One swoop brought nothing. The second, however, brought the sound of male cursing. Realizing she hit someone, she dropped the rake and scrambled up the ladder as fast as her sore body would allow.
Her eyes trailed up long male legs, seeking the injury. Stopping on his ripped shirt, her heart froze to see blood. Rushing over, she placed her hand over the cut, hoping to reduce the bleeding.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
Words died in her throat as she gazed into his soulful brown eyes. She couldn’t move, merely stared openmouthed at his handsome face. One eyebrow rose as he glanced down where her hand rested on the unclothed part of his chest.
The tips of her fingers burned as if his warm flesh scalded her. Sucking in an embarrassed breath, she snatched her hand back.
“I don’t believe we have met.” The rich baritone voice made her shiver.
Her eyes remained fastened on his exposed skin, which she now realized only boasted a miniscule scratch. However, she couldn’t
tear her gaze away.
“Don’t worry. It’s only a flesh wound. What is your name, boy?”
The reminder of her circumstances brought her back to herself. Bowing her head, she hoped he didn’t punish her for her insolence. Although she’d never met him, by his well-tailored clothing, she knew he was Baron Berwick.
“Sam, my lord,” she answered simply.
“You seem much too young to hold a position in my stables.”
Fear brought her eyes back to his face. Posed as a boy, she knew she didn’t look her twenty years, but she couldn’t lose the position.
“Please don’t release me, my lord. I can do the job. I need it.”
Her heart ached as he appraised her and shook his head slowly. “If that’s the case, why were you trying to impale me only moments ago?”
Hanging her head down, she tried to fight off the tears threatening to escape. He was right. She didn’t know what she was doing. Nonetheless, she would fight for herself.
“I needed hay to feed the horses.” She forced herself to shrug. “I didn’t know you were up here and meant no harm.”
He didn’t respond, so she peeked up at him. Immediately she regretted it. A strange expression covered his face as he surveyed her. Her palms began to sweat. Did he suspect she wasn’t a boy? She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her bound breasts.
“Where are you from?” he asked at last. “I don’t believe I’ve met a better spoken boy than you.”
Panic assaulted her and doubled her heartbeat. “I-I grew up on Berwick’s lands, in the town. My mother always insisted everyone speak proper in her house. I never questioned why.”
Honestly Samantha hadn’t thought much about changing her speech until now. She’d never heard Georgina Jenkins use anything other than proper English. Even though the other children adopted their parents’ tongue, she’d never really taken notice.
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