He stalked down the steps of the Mansfield home. Without a backward glance he leapt onto the back of his stallion and was swallowed up into the darkness, heading into the unknown, alone and friendless. His past destroyed. His future as bleak and bitter as the night that closed in around him.
Chapter 1
Surrey, England, 1755
Look at him.” The tenant farmer leaned on his shovel and watched as a black-clad horseman came into view over the ridge. “I’ve heard that he’s the disinherited son of an earl. And now he’s nothing more than his lordship’s lackey. No wonder he always looks so arrogant and keeps to himself.”
The youth working beside the farmer glanced over and nodded. “There are those who say he’s the reason Lord Kent has more than doubled his holdings.”
“Aye. And why not? A man with neither heart nor conscience has a way of making servants double their efforts. I’ve heard that old Duncan and his grandson were tossed off the land their family has worked for a hundred years or more.”
The youth looked horrified. “It’s true, then?”
“It is.” The farmer nodded. “The last I heard they were sleeping in hay barns and begging, in order to survive. And all because of the blackheart, William Colton.”
Seeing the object of their fear and loathing drawing near, the farmer and youth bent to the task of turning the soil. As the horseman approached, neither man dared to look up. But as he rode past, both of them spat into the dirt, just to let him know what they really thought of Lord Richard Kent’s hated overseer.
“You’ve been doing a fine job for me, William.” Lord Richard Kent leaned heavily on his cane as he crossed the room and eased himself into a chair.
“Thank you, your lordship.” William Colton, clad in a dark jacket, his pants tucked into fine black boots, stood in front of the fireplace looking more like the lord of the manor than his employer. It had been bred into him. The way he stood, the way he dressed, even the way he looked. The strong jaw. The proud, some would say arrogant, look in those icy blue eyes. The stiff spine. And the ever present frown. “I’ve spent the past fortnight visiting your tenant farmers. You’ll be pleased to learn that your share of their profits will be more than double that of the previous year.”
“What about those who have fallen behind on their payments to me? Have you removed them from the land as I ordered?”
“Aye, your lordship.”
“Very good, William. And the deeds I requested for the new parcels of land from Lord Turnberry’s widow?”
“They’re all here.” William stepped forward and presented Lord Kent with a handful of documents.
The old lord’s eyes glittered with unconcealed greed. “Excellent. I see that I chose the right man when I hired you to oversee my estates.”
“I’ve made a note of those tenants who appear, either because of age or ill health, to be slacking off. If you’d like me to fetch the ledgers—”
“Leave them, William.”
At his words William looked up in surprise. Lord Richard Kent had a habit of going over the ledgers almost daily, tallying his profits and losses. His desire to become the wealthiest landowner in Surrey was no secret.
The old man took a coughing spell and held his handkerchief to his mouth for several minutes, until his breathing returned to normal. “I wish to speak with you about a different matter.”
William met the old man’s eyes, wondering where this was leading.
“When you came here five years ago, William, I felt that you’d been heaven-sent. As you know, my unfortunate accident left me unable to continue to properly oversee my estates. Without a son, I feared I might soon be taken advantage of by my nephew. But thanks to you, and the excellent tutors who surely taught you in your youth, I’ve not only managed to keep my estates, but I’ve actually seen my holdings increase.”
He glanced over at the silent young man, aware of the depth of pain at the mention of his youth. In five years, William Colton had never once spoken about himself. Neither his past nor his present, nor his hopes for the future. Still, it was impossible for him to keep his family history a secret. It was known throughout England that William Colton had been disowned by his father, and had been the cause of a long-standing rift between the Mansfields and the Coltons.
Lord Kent considered the Colton family’s loss to be his gain. Perhaps because of his earlier humiliation, this young man had acquired a shrewdness, a toughness, that was becoming legend. The tenant fanners, fearful of being ruthlessly tossed off the land they’d worked for generations, were now producing more than ever, filling Lord Kent’s coffers until they were brimming with gold.
“As you know, my wife, bless her, could give me no heirs. I have a nephew who will one day lay claim to my holdings.” The old man smiled. “Though I’m certain he’s the reason I’ve lived so long. The thought of my estates falling into the hands of young Marcus causes me to shudder. He will surely squander it on wine and women before he is a score and five.”
Lord Kent indicated a chair. “Sit, William.” He smiled at the look of uncertainty on the younger man’s face as William took the chair across from him. “My physician has recommended that I retire to my London town house, where he can better tend to my health. But before I do, I have a business proposition to offer you. If you continue looking out for my estates with the care you’ve shown in the past five years, and continue increasing my holdings at the same rate, I shall offer you not only what you are now paid, but also a percentage of the profits.”
William’s head came up sharply. This wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. “Do you realize how much money you’re talking about, my lord?”
The old man nodded. “You’ll be a wealthy man, William. A man of means.” His lips curved into a smile. “But it’s only fair, for you have a gift for choosing the finest parcels of land, and seeing that those who work them remain amazingly productive.” He found himself wondering what this young man’s secret was. Did he beat the tenant farmers into submission? Or were they so cowed by the thought of being tossed off the land of their ancestors by this angry man that they doubled their efforts? Whatever the secret, Lord Kent was grateful.
“I’ve heard you’re a hard man, William. I admire that in a man.” Lord Kent stuck out his hand. “Now, to tempt you even further—” he held out a document “—I had my solicitors settle the deed to that piece of land you now live on. It’s yours, debt free, if you agree to my offer.”
William found himself speechless as he studied the deed. His land, free and clear, which no one could take from him. “How could I not agree to your most generous offer? Thank you, your lordship.”
“No. It is I who thank you, William. For your diligence has doubled my holdings, and made it possible for these tired old eyes to watch a sunset instead of being tied to a stuffy ledger.” He looked over at the younger man. “Something I’d recommend for you, as well.” He paused a moment. “Tell me, William. How long has it been since you’ve given yourself a moment to appreciate a sunrise or sunset?”
Seeing the young man draw into himself, he realized that he was already being shut out. It would seem that the wall William Colton had built around himself was too high and too thick for anyone or anything to penetrate. As he had so often these past five years, he thought about the tales he’d heard. It would be shameful for the son of an earl to be reduced to overseeing another man’s estates. But William Colton had borne his shame with the same arrogance as he’d once worn his wealth and title.
The old man got slowly to his feet and shuffled across the room. “I’ll be leaving for London on the morrow. Now that I’m leaving my holdings in such competent hands, I’m in rather a hurry to begin the next stage of my life.”
The next stage of my life. How well William understood that.
When he was alone William turned to stare out over the vast rolling hills of his employer. Though this land was green and lovely, it couldn’t hold a candle to his father’s estates. He’d con
sciously refused to allow himself to go back to that place in bis mind, knowing the pain it would cause. And so he’d moved forward. His entire education had been focused on turning his inheritance into even greater wealth. When that had been denied him, he’d had no choice but to use his knowledge for his employer, never dreaming he would be invited to share the wealth.
Now he’d been given the opportunity of a lifetime. The chance to better his own future. Until this moment, he’d been unwilling to think beyond today. He’d seen his future stretching out in endless days of work and endless nights of loneliness and despair. His only friendship the old man and boy he’d taken in, who now shared his home. His only comfort a tankard of ale and an occasional tavern wench.
He’d thought it enough. Until now. Now, for the first time in five years, he could see a glimmer of hope.
He decided to celebrate his good fortune by stopping at the Bubble and Squeak, where they served the finest mutton in all of Surrey.
* * *
William stumbled along the darkened lane, cursing the fact that he’d refused the offer of a lantern when leaving the tavern. He couldn’t recall the mutton, but the ale had been fine. And flowing frequently, it would seem. He’d lost count after half a dozen tankards. But he was grateful that tomorrow was Sunday. If he had to sit a horse and inspect another holding at first light, he’d surely go blind.
He bumped against the closed gate and tumbled to the ground when it swung inward. He nearly turned the air blue with a few well-chosen oaths before picking himself up and starting forward.
“Just a few more steps,” he muttered aloud, “and you can tumble into your own bed.”
A good thing he’d refused the offer of a tavern wench to warm it. Not that he hadn’t been more than a little tempted. But he was far too addled to make good use of her.
He reached the door and leaned a hip into it. It stuck for a moment, and he cursed the old man who had no doubt latched it before going to his bed. He was forced to shove with all his might before it gave way and he stumbled inside, crashing into a wall with such force he could see stars.
He didn’t recall a wall there yesterday. He must be drunker than he thought. Not that it mattered. He deserved to be a little drunk after the good fortune that had come his way this day.
He put a hand to his head and lurched across the room. It was blacker in here than a witch’s brew and he stuck his other hand out in front of himself to keep from bumping into anything else. That didn’t help him when he stumbled over something on the floor. Though he didn’t fall, he came close, and swore again as he stopped and struggled to get his bearings. Everything seemed turned around.
Just then he heard a door open and saw a light coming toward him. The old man, Duncan, he supposed, come to fetch him to his room.
But it wasn’t Duncan.
“God in heaven.” He stared at the vision, unable to believe his eyes. He must have hit his head harder than he’d realized. “An angel.”
She wore something long and gauzy that looked as though it had been spun from moondust. It skimmed every curve of her body and drifted to the floor, swirling around her bare feet. She didn’t so much walk as float.
His gaze moved over her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. There were clouds of hair, all soft and burnished gold, tumbling in curls around a face so beautiful, it couldn’t possibly belong to a mortal.
He shook his head, hoping to clear his fuzzy brain. “Am I dreaming? Or are you real?”
“Oh, I’m real enough.” The voice was low, breathy. And as musical as a harp. “And so is this.” The angel lifted her hand and for a moment all he saw was the candle.
But then he caught sight of the dueling pistol in her other hand and started to hastily back up.
“Wait. Stop. Why are you—” He felt the scrape of the wall against his back as she lunged, jamming the pistol against his chest.
“Unless you get out of here this minute, I’ll be forced to—”
The rest of what she was about to say was lost as, in one smooth motion, he brought his arm up in an arc, sweeping the pistol from her grasp and sending it falling to the floor. In the next instant he had his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.
The candle slipped from her nerveless fingers and dropped to the floor where it was snuffed, plunging the room into darkness.
“How dare you...”
There was that angel voice again, sending curls of pleasure through his veins straight to his loins.
“I might ask you the same.” His voice was thick with ale, and something else. An unexpected need made his voice gruffer than usual, and prickled just under his skin, warring with common sense. Need won as he fisted a hand in her hair and dragged her face close. His mouth found hers in the darkness and covered it in a quick, hard kiss.
At the first taste of her he reared back as though burned, wondering at the shock that jolted through his system. In his entire life, he’d never felt anything quite like this strange, quaking sensation. Was it his imagination? Or had the entire room just tilted at a crazy angle?
He had to find out. Very deliberately he drew her close and covered her lips with his, drinking from her sweetness until they were both breathless.
“I may be drunk,” he muttered against her temple, “but not too drunk to know the difference between an angel and a flesh-and-blood woman.” In the blackness he could smell her hair. It smelled of rainwater. And he could feel the press of that soft womanly body against his. He was shocked by the way his body responded. Apparently he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d thought.
“Now tell me why you greeted me in such a manner, woman, with a dueling pistol to my heart.”
“I’ll attack any man who dares to break into my house.” Her breath, as sweet as a field of wildflowers, was warm against his face. He had to pull himself back from thoughts of kissing her yet again.
Then the meaning of her words registered in his fuzzy brain. “Your house?”
Too late he realized that he’d been so dazzled by the sight of the vision coming toward him, he’d forgotten to take the time to look around. Could it be that he was in the wrong place?
The gate. That was what had confused him. The widow Warner, who owned the small holding down the lane from his, had a fence and gate just like his.
Very slowly he released her and took a step back in the darkness. Then he bent down, feeling in the dark for the candle. When he found it he held a flint to the wick until it caught and flared.
He lifted the candle to study his surroundings.
“I’m...sorry, madam. I thought I was home. I...had a bit of ale.”
“More than a bit from the smell of you.” She wrinkled her nose and took a step back.”I recognize you now. The gentleman—” she spoke the word with such disdain, he had no doubt what she really thought of the description “—who oversees Lord Kent’s estates. You will leave at once, sir.’’ She held out her hand for the candle.
He handed it over, and as their fingers brushed, he felt a rash of heat that startled him. In the light of the candle he caught sight of the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Watching him the way a doe might watch a hunter who was poised to release an arrow into its heart.
“I most humbly apologize, madam.” His voice, rich and cultured, held no hint of warmth. “Though not for that kiss. I’d be a liar if I were to apologize for that. And though I’ve done many things of which I’m not proud, lying isn’t one of them.” He made a slight bow. “I bid you good night.”
He turned away and let himself out the door. Before he’d taken two steps he heard the sound of the latch being thrown, and for good measure, a brace being set against the door.
He smiled in the darkness. The widow Warner, it seemed, was taking no chances on having her sleep disturbed again.
At least, he thought as he stumbled down the lane to his own place, he now knew she slept alone. Though, from the heat of that kiss, he couldn’t fathom why.
Why h
ad no man snatched up such a treasure? Could this ethereal creature be the same dried-up prune of a widow who’d lived in her father’s cottage for the past two years?
He’d seen her from a distance, of course, but had paid her no heed.
Perhaps, in the cold light of morning, he’d discover the flaws that had escaped his attention during this brief encounter. But for now, he had no doubt the image of her, like some beautiful avenging angel, would play through his mind for whatever time was left of this night.
Chapter 2
Molly Warner hurried along the lane, happily struggling under the weight of the heavy basket on her arm. After attending Sunday services, she’d delivered a gown to Mistress Mobley at the parsonage, who had paid her with a dozen eggs. She’d spent many a day and night stitching a fine shirt and waistcoat for the miller, and had been rewarded with a sack of flour. And a nearby farmer’s wife, who had commissioned a fancy dress and bonnet for her soon-to-be-wed daughter, had given her a portion of beef from a recent slaughter.
Molly lifted her face to the rare summer sunshine and sighed with pleasure. She felt as though she’d just earned a king’s ransom. There was enough food here to last for weeks if she was frugal. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen such bounty. The endless days and nights of sewing until her fingers grew stiff and her vision blurred had been well rewarded.
Her smile faded slightly as she passed the gate of William Colton. This fine day and the treasure in her basket almost made up for the horrible night she’d been forced to put in. And all because of that drunken lout.
She’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, unable to put him out of her mind. It was bad enough that he’d reeked of tobacco and ale, a smell that would forever remind her of her late husband. But the final insult had been that he’d dared to lay his hands upon her person. And kiss her.
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