A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection

by Annette Lyon

  She fought the urge to slap him. “We’re married. I enjoy walking along the shore, and Ethan is kind enough to take me.”

  Unnerved by the anger in Stuart’s eyes, she stepped back. “What’s wrong with you? Ethan’s your best friend. You ought to be worried— as I am— that he isn’t home by now.”

  “I am home.” Ethan appeared in the open doorway, Hocksley trailing behind, attempting to remove Ethan’s overcoat and hat. Before he could, Ethan crossed the room, swept Amelia into his arms, and kissed her thoroughly.

  She emerged from his embrace feeling slightly damp, ridiculously happy, and as if she were the one intoxicated.

  “I missed you,” he said. “You and Lizbeth were all I could think of today. I couldn’t wait to get home.”

  “What kept you?” Stuart had set his glass aside and looked more like himself.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Ethan stepped back to allow Hocksley access to his coat. “One of my tenants lost an entire flock of sheep last night. Slaughtered. Every last one of them.”

  “How terrible,” Amelia said. “The poor sheep.”

  “Poor shepherd.” Ethan handed the butler his hat. “Thank you, Hocksley. That will be all.” He turned to Amelia. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving. You were asleep, and you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Next time, see that you do,” she scolded, though inside she was swooning; he’d come to her room to see her. “What happened?” She stayed close to Ethan, placing distance between herself and Stuart, whose unaccountable mood seemed to have changed again. He leaned against the fireplace, feigning interest in a crystal figure on the mantel.

  “Just another attack on Ethan and his property,” Stuart said, as if such a thing were of little consequence. “It’s become somewhat of a— tradition.”

  Ethan sighed. “I’d hoped— now that I’ve married again— that this would stop.”

  “What would?” Amelia asked, some of her worry returning.

  “‘Monstrous acts against the monster.’ Or something of that sort, we think,” Ethan said. “It started before I married Abigail and then again just before I wed Mary.” He looked at Amelia apologetically. Since that first night at the shore, they had not spoken of Mary. “And again before we wed,” Amelia guessed.

  Ethan nodded. “Believing me a wife killer, people protested me marrying again.”

  “Though Ethan always comes out the hero,” Stuart said. “I imagine come spring, your tenant will find himself gifted a new flock of sheep.”

  Amelia couldn’t understand his sarcasm and found it unbecoming his status as Ethan’s long-time friend.

  “As is my responsibility,” Ethan said. If he sensed anything amiss with Stuart, he didn’t show it.

  Did her brother often behave like this? Had she simply not been around him enough to notice?

  “Any other problems?” Stuart asked casually.

  “Just one,” Ethan said. “An accident with the carriage.”

  “What?” Amelia took his hand.

  “Nothing serious.” He drew her closer, circling his arm about her waist. “How was Lizbeth today?”

  “Delightful,” Amelia said. “We picked berries.”

  “I’m sorry to have missed it.” Ethan’s face grew thoughtful. “When I think of the time I’ve lost— what a gift she is...” His eyes met Amelia’s.

  “You are fortunate,” Amelia said. “You’ve many years left to share with your daughter.”

  Behind them, Stuart began a slow, steady clap. “Such a speech, dear sister. Have you told Ethan yet how it was you came to agree to marry him?” His gaze shifted to Ethan. “She was not willing at first, you know.”

  Amelia frowned at him, but she felt no shame when she spoke to Ethan. “It was the promise of Lizbeth that lured me,” she admitted. “I wanted to care for her then, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. But I didn’t realize—”

  “That she would adore you the way she does.” Stuart pushed off the fireplace and walked to the door. “Hocksley!” he called loudly. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve the parcel inside my coat? Take care with it. It’s a gift for the newlyweds, and it is fragile.”

  Stuart pulled his head back into the room and turned to them with a smile. Amelia watched her brother warily. Something was definitely amiss, but she couldn’t quite determine what it was.

  Ethan seemed to sense it as well. “What brings you here tonight?” When Stuart peered out the door again, Ethan exchanged a curious look with Amelia.

  “Overdue congratulations,” Stuart answered. “On your wedding day, I wasn’t certain if you two were going to suit at all. Happily, my fears were unfounded.” He took a cloth bag from Hocksley. “Here we are. I acquired this some time ago and have been saving it for the right occasion.” He withdrew a bottle from the bag and presented it to Ethan. “The finest from across the channel.”

  Ethan took the bottle, removed the cork, and sniffed. “Well-aged Merlot.” He clapped Stuart on the shoulder. “A fine gift, though not so fine as the one you brought few weeks ago.” Ethan winked at Amelia.

  Hocksley stepped closer. “Would you like me to pour out?”

  “No need,” Stuart said, dismissing the butler as if he were his own. “Amelia can do it. She’s used to serving.”

  “Be civil,” Ethan warned, his hand dropping from Stuart’s shoulder. “Amelia is my wife now, Lady Moorleigh.”

  “It’s all right.” Amelia took the bottle from Ethan. “He isn’t well,” she mouthed before turning toward the sideboard.

  She took out three new glasses then lifted the bottle to her nose and inhaled. Instead of the rich, sweet scent she’d expected, her nostrils flared and burned. This was a much stronger wine than she was used to making on the small press at the abbey. Much too strong, for Stuart, at least, who had drunk too much already.

  Too strong for me, as well. She’d no desire to fall asleep early tonight but rather looked forward to a long evening with Ethan. Amelia glanced at the men, but neither was looking her way.

  Quickly she switched out the bottle for another red wine, hiding Stuart’s in a lower cabinet. They could have it another night— one that may not matter as much as she felt this one had the potential to.

  Later tonight, when she and Ethan lingered outside her door, she would not release his hand. She wouldn’t watch him walk to his room. Nor did she intend to enter hers alone.

  If only Stuart would leave.

  Amelia set the glasses on a tray and carried them to the chairs near the fire where Ethan and Stuart had taken seats opposite each other. She offered a glass first to Ethan then to her brother.

  He held up a hand. “None for me. As you pointed out earlier, I’m already too far into my cups.”

  “First sensible thing I’ve heard you say tonight,” Amelia said, returning the tray to the sideboard. She lingered there, wondering how she might get Stuart to leave or retire to one of the guest rooms, at least, now that he’d admitted he wasn’t fit for travel.

  She sipped from her glass and caught Ethan staring at her with such intensity that a burst of heat flared inside her. Their eyes met, and she knew he wanted the same thing as she— to be alone together.

  Stuart droned on while Ethan’s gaze shifted from her face downward, appraising her openly. Only days ago, she would have felt mortified to have him look at her so, and an embarrassed blush would have stained her cheeks. But now… Amelia knew that any color to her face had to do with an entirely different set of emotions.

  Desire. Passion. Love.

  Better amusement, too. She smiled coyly and returned Ethan’s appraising look, allowing her eyes to roam over him possessively.

  His smoldering look faltered, and he choked on the drink he’d just taken, coughing, until some came from his mouth.

  Stuart rushed to his aid. “Should have warned you it was strong.”

  Amelia bit back a laugh and turned away, pretending to refill her glass. How she loved be
ing able to affect him like that. How wonderful to make him feel something other than the sorrow he’d dealt with so long.

  How wonderful he makes me feel.

  After composing herself, Amelia glanced Ethan’s direction again and caught him using his handkerchief to wipe at a spot on his trousers. When he discovered her watching, his eyes narrowed in a rakish stare that told her she’d pay later.

  She couldn’t wait.

  She stood and walked over to stand behind Stuart’s chair, hoping to break into their conversation and suggest that he retire for the night.

  Ethan started up, staring at her again, tempting her more subtly, but obvious to her, nonetheless.

  He drank from his glass— successfully this time— then ran his tongue over his lips so seductively she felt a little giddy and lightheaded just watching. She reached for the back of Stuart’s chair, accidentally knocking the glass from her hand. It fell to the floor and shattered.

  Amelia gasped, and Ethan jumped up. Only Stuart didn’t react.

  “Feeling unwell, sister?” he asked, as if he’d expected as much. “Don’t fret. Ethan’s not at his best either, though the poison may take a bit longer to get to him. He wasn’t supposed to drink the wine. He was supposed to die earlier, in the carriage accident.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ethan’s gaze snapped to Stuart; all traces of teasing and humor vanished.

  “The end of the Moorleigh dynasty, of course,” Stuart said casually.

  Behind him, Amelia reeled. Poison? Stuart, a murderer. It couldn’t be. And yet… Long-buried memories stirred. Her hand shook on the back of his chair.

  Thinking fast, she made an exaggerated show of staggering toward the door. Ethan started toward her.

  “Don’t.” Stuart withdrew a pistol and leveled it at Ethan’s heart. “She’ll be dead in a minute or two anyway. That’s how long it took her mother.”

  Mother. Amelia crashed into the sideboard, partly on purpose, partly from shock. The half-empty bottle teetered then tumbled to the floor. She fell across the marble top, her arm reaching inside for the wine Stuart had brought.

  “Why?” Ethan asked, his voice a mixture of bewilderment, pain, and anger.

  Don’t do anything foolish, she prayed, not daring to look at him.

  “Why did I wait so long, you mean?” Stuart said.

  Amelia put the bottle behind her and straightened.

  “It’s the least you deserve after stealing Clara,” Stuart said. “One night with you, and she came to tell me we were over. She no longer wanted to leave you. Of course, I couldn’t let her go back. And I couldn’t let you keep Abigail.”

  His murderous statements hung in the air. Amelia felt truly sick, though she’d had none of the poisoned wine.

  “Then there was Mary,” Stuart continued. “I wanted her, and she knew it. Yet she threw herself at you, so I couldn’t claim her as mine. It took awhile, but I got her in the end. The midwife was supposed to kill your brat, too.”

  Ethan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Behind Stuart, Amelia inched closer.

  “Why bring Amelia into this?” Ethan kept his gaze focused on the gun pointed at him.

  “You were supposed to die before her,” Stuart said. “Then I, the ever-loving brother, would step in to care for her— and the fortune you left.”

  Amelia lunged toward Stuart and smashed the bottle over the back of his head. The pistol fired into the opposite wall, and Ethan wrested it from Stuart’s hand.

  “Good gracious!” Hocksley entered the room.

  Ethan used the back of the pistol to ensure Stuart’s unconsciousness, and Stuart slumped forward, sprawling on the floor.

  “We shall require some rope,” Ethan said, addressing Hocksley. “And send for a carriage.”

  Amelia’s hands came to her mouth as she looked at Ethan standing over Stuart’s body. Her gaze shifted to the broken pieces of bottle and the poisoned wine pooling on the floor. She thought of what might have been and burst into tears.

  Chapter Ten

  “I thought you were going to show me the inside first,” Amelia protested, as Ethan hurried her through the main hall and up the stairs of Bamburgh Castle.

  “Another time,” Ethan said. “I know the owner. Returning won’t be a problem.”

  “Would that owner happen to be— you?”

  He grinned. “Guilty, I’m afraid. Now come. There’s a storm rolling in, and I want you to see this first.”

  She laughed and ran up the stairs after him. There wasn’t much in Bamburgh that Ethan didn’t own, as she’d learned in the month and a half since their wedding. But that wasn’t why she loved him. Since the night Stuart had tried to kill them both, their bond had been unbreakable. Ethan had been her personal pillar of strength as she’d dealt with her brother’s treachery and uncovered the truth about her parents’ deaths.

  By the time they reached the top of the steep, winding staircase, she was breathing hard. Ethan opened the door and led her outside to very top of the castle. Amelia turned a slow circle, drinking in the breathtaking vistas stretching in all directions— the quaint town, sail-filled harbor, and windswept sea. But it was what she caught sight of on her last turn that sent her heart racing.

  A four-poster bed— minus the canopy— had been placed atop the castle.

  “Whatever were you—” Her question turned to laughter as Ethan swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the bed.

  “An extraordinary woman like yourself deserves an extraordinary experience.” He set her down gently. “One that no other has had.”

  Amelia’s laughter died out, replaced by a fierce love for the man before her. She reached for him, pulling him down beside her, accepting his gift and its meaning.

  She was not his first love, but his last, and they would take each day given them and savor it for the gift it was.

  Click on the covers to visit Amazon’s purchase site:

  Michele Paige Holmes spent her childhood and youth in Arizona and northern California, often curled up with a good book instead of out enjoying the sunshine. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in Elementary Education and found it an excellent major with which to indulge her love of children’s literature.

  Her first novel, Counting Stars (Covenant Communications, 2007), won the 2007 Whitney Award for Best Romance. Its companion novel, a romantic suspense titled, All the Stars in Heaven (2009), was a Whitney Award finalist, as was her first historical romance, Captive Heart (2011). My Lucky Stars (2012) completed the Stars series.

  When not reading or writing romance, Michele is busy with her full-time job as a wife and mother. She and her husband live in Utah with their five high-maintenance children and a Shitzu that resembles a teddy bear, in a house with a wonderful view of the mountains. You can find Michele on the web at http://michelepaigeholmes.com and on Facebook and Twitter: @MichelePHomes (preschooler permitting).

  by Sarah M. Eden

  Chapter One

  London—1813

  Lucy Stanthorpe had every intention of taking London entirely by storm. She was returning in triumph, having survived two Seasons as a debutante and ultimately securing for herself a husband any lady would be proud to call her own. She had her darling Reed to go with her to balls and musicales, to drive her about Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. She wouldn’t spend the entire Season sitting alone in the parlor, or unclaimed for dance after dance at the fashionable balls. She could go to every event with her husband at her side. And she would love every elegant minute.

  This Season would be simply wonderful.

  “I wonder what will be playing at the Theatre Royal,” Lucy said as the carriage rolled over the cobblestones toward their London home. Her London home. It was a wonderful thing to have a place of her own, one she and Reed would come to every year, where she could host her own at-homes and balls, where they would one day have children in the nursery and years of memories. “Lady Parvell will, I am certain, host
her annual musicale. And I have missed the British Museum. We must visit it this summer.”

  Reed nodded as he flipped a page of the newspaper. “I understand the Egyptian collection has been recently expanded.”

  The first thing they’d found in common was their love of history and the museum. She wouldn’t have to spend the Season begging her father to take her to see the exhibits.

  “Ooh, and Gunter’s for ices.” Lucy grinned at the reminder of one of London’s greatest treats. “And Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.” Reed had taken her for a drive in the park more than once in the final days of their courtship. She’d come to love going to the park with him for company.

  Reed gave her a quick smile. She hoped that smile of his would always make her a little giddy.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the tall, columned Stanthorpe family London residence. Reed’s mother was spending the Season in the country with her sister, so they would have the house entirely to themselves.

  “Welcome home, darling,” Reed said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. One corner of his mouth twitched upward, his eyes twinkling. “What I wouldn’t have given to say that to you this time last year.”

  She shook her head at his comment. “We didn’t know each other yet this time last year.”

  “Oh, I assure you, I knew exactly who you were long before we were formally introduced.”

  That was a bouncer if ever she’d heard one. The Stanthorpes sat on a more elevated rung of Society than her family could claim. She doubted Reed had taken even a passing notice of her before being all but forced to dance with her at the Parvells’ ball the Season before.

  Lucy gave his shoulder a playful shove. “You are an unrepentant flirt, my dear.”

  “I speak only the truth.”

  The carriage door opened. The footman put down the step. Reed folded his paper and tucked it under his arm then stepped out of the carriage. He turned back once his feet were on the walk and held his hand out for her. He never failed to offer her that courtesy, just as he always offered his arm when they walked together and kissed her farewell every time they parted. Was it any wonder she adored this thoughtful, loving man?