A Thin Line

by Tammy Jo Burns

  “You have a girl,” she said with a laugh.

  Kala looked down at the tiny bundle that Mrs. Fisher placed on her stomach. She touched her daughter hesitantly, amazed. Gabe touched the wrinkled brow gently, until it smoothed under his touch.

  “Grandmother said she knew we were going to have a girl first.”

  “Of course she did. Did you?”

  He looked at her sheepishly.

  “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely and tears stung his eyes.

  “Who are you talking to?” Mikala asked sleepily.

  “Both of you.”

  “Both of us? Did you and the boys imbibe too much again tonight?” The boys she referred to included Derek, Richard, Mack and Justin. The group had gone together to Convent Gardens for an outdoor masquerade.

  “No,” he sat up in the bed rubbing his hands over his face. His hands had a fine tremor to them.

  “Gabriel James Hawke, what is the matter?”

  “A dream.”

  “Not in the manner of your grandmother’s, I hope.” She watched as her husband quickly knelt beside her on the bed and pulled the sheets back. He ran his hands over her flat stomach before collapsing back on his side of the bed. He let out his breath in a whoosh. “Gabriel, what is going on? What was this dream about?”

  “We had a baby girl. I remained with you the entire time. I think we were at the cottage because Mrs. Fisher was there.”

  Ever since her solicitor had found the cottage, they spent as much time there as possible, just being Mr. and Mrs. Hawke. They explored all the areas related to Arthur and they had gone back to the gorge on several occasions. The cottage held special memories, even though some were not pleasant. It was there they had finally set aside their differences and focused on becoming man and wife, for better or worse, always promising to trust, but not necessarily obey.

  “Gabriel, I have something to tell you. I wanted to wait until your birthday, but…”

  “Well, what is it?”

  She propped herself up on his chest and gazed lovingly into his silver-blue eyes. She traced the scar that graced his cheek. “You are going to be a papa,” she whispered before kissing his lips.

  “The dream,” he finally said breaking away from her.

  “Only time will tell what it will be.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Wonderful. I haven’t been sick once, thank goodness.”

  “And…”

  Kala had spent a lot of time with Tessa and Derek’s twins and Drucilla’s children and felt much more prepared to be a mother. She still had regrets about the baby she lost, but knew now that everything happened for a reason. Deep within her, she still felt that two years ago neither she nor Gabe were prepared to be parents.

  “I am ready to be a mother now.” She pushed into the warmth of his hand cupping her cheek.

  “I adore you,” he whispered.

  Six months after the dream…

  When Mrs. Fisher allowed Gabe back into the room, he sat beside Kala on the bed, one arm wrapped securely around her shoulders and the other tenderly touching their daughter’s tiny fingers. The baby grasped her father’s finger tightly, her face screwed up as if she were about to howl. She was only a little over two hours old, but already showed signs of a temper. Kala quickly soothed her by gently running her fingers along her forehead and whispering to her. Gabe looked at Kala, tears shimmering in his eyes not for the first time that day, and bent down to capture her lips.

  “I don’t know who looks worse, me or you,” Kala teased. “And you already knew what would happen.”

  “It still didn’t prepare me for the reality of it all. Thank you, Pest,” he said, choked.

  “For what?” She asked amazed at the emotion Gabe revealed. Even though he told her every day he loved her since that day in the gorge, he still very much remained a duke. He had his duties and it was still difficult to get him to find time to have fun, although she had gotten him to take a break now and again. She knew now that the baby was here, he would make even more opportunities to stop and enjoy life and his family.

  They had spent the intervening time since then getting to know each other as man and wife. No longer did she look at Gabe as a hero. He was her husband, her lover and her friend. She infinitely preferred his new place in her life. Heroes became tarnished, but the man would remain true and steadfast.

  “Thank you for giving me our daughter and for enduring the pain.” His words brought her out of her thoughts.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” she scoffed.

  “Wasn’t bad?” He laughed. “Do you remember the names you called me?” He watched as a mutinous look stole over his wife’s features.

  “You know, there is a thin line between love and hate,” she murmured teasingly.

  “Yes, and it is a good thing that you are on the right side of that line,” he declared and they both laughed softly. “I love you, Mikala, forever and always.” Then Gabe captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss.

  “Forever and always,” she murmured back.

  About the Author

  I grew up in the Panhandle of Texas, but have always been fascinated with the land of my forefathers – England, Scotland, and Ireland. I also classify myself as a true romantic, and find I frequently dream of greater than life heroes that leave me thinking – that is what love should be like. So, I work on creating love stories with strong women and stronger men, and let the battle of wills ensue. I am currently busy writing my fourth book in my little cottage in the woods of North Texas with my cat, Ajax, to keep me company.

  I would love to hear from those who read my books. I can be contacted at: tammyjo@tammyjoburns.com

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  I truly hope you enjoyed this book!

  Warm wishes & happy reading,

  Tammy Jo

  A Traitorous Heart

  The Reluctant Lords, Book 1

  “Good evening, my lord,” Lieutenant Harding greeted Derek as he arrived at the safe house well past midnight.

  “Lieutenant,” Derek nodded curtly. Harding held Goliath while Derek lowered himself to the ground. Derek untied the cane and removed the two pistols. “The prisoner?”

  “Upstairs, my lord. She’s a right fetchin’ lass.” Derek nodded, but paused giving Harding a look that had the man looking sheepish. “Pardon me, my lord.” Derek prominently limped as he moved toward the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane. His leg began to throb uncomfortably. He silently reprimanded himself for not taking a carriage.

  “Has the physician arrived yet?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Show him up as soon as he arrives.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Derek climbed the short entrance stairs and saw the guards standing at the far end of the hall. He gave a short nod before entering the chamber where they held the prisoner. The guard opened the door for him and closed it firmly after he entered. A slight figure lay on the bed in the shadows. The fire burned cheerfully in the grate belying the seriousness of the situation. Derek stopped in front of the fire and removed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat. He knew from experience it would be a long evening and decided to get as comfortable as possible. He wished for a draught for his leg, but needed all his wits for questioning the prisoner.

  Derek lit a candle from the fire. The glow showed the cracks in the ceiling and the stained walls. If this were not more of a prison, it would be a slum. He moved towards the bed and noticed the prisoner dressed as if she resided here, her clothes little more than rags. She looked more like a street urc
hin than a woman with traitor’s secrets.

  Her feet and good arm were manacled to the thick bedposts by long chains. Her other arm lay at a slightly odd angle from the shoulder, and her skin looked pasty and covered with perspiration. Her auburn curls caressed her sunken cheeks. She looked to be in desperate need of food. A light blanket covered her, but her teeth still clicked together as if she were freezing. He attributed the action to shock.

  Derek lowered the candle to get a better look at the woman’s face. Something familiar tugged at him. He studied her more intently, trying to see past the grime that covered her. His heart picked up an unsteady rhythm. His hands shook and he tried to calm himself, placing the candle on the side table with a thud before he dropped it and caught the whole bloody house on fire.

  She turned her eyes away from the candlelight, and a moan escaped her lips. Her hair lay matted at the base of her skull. He lightly touched the area and discovered a huge lump. Upon withdrawing his fingers he found them coated in her blood.

  He took out his handkerchief and wiped at the red staining his hand, unable to remove it completely. He lectured himself about look-a-likes and imposters. She could not have survived. No one had. He had been assured over and over. Derek grasped her pointed little chin in his hand and turned her face towards him once more. She cried out at the movement. He focused on the freckles scattered across her upturned nose and the lush bow shape of her lips. Her brow furrowed in pain, and her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  He noticed a glint of gold on her left ring finger and immediately recognized the signet ring. Auburn hair, the ring, and that familiar spattering of freckles – it could not be, yet the evidence said otherwise. He fell heavily onto the ladder-back chair that sat next to the bed. His heart thundered until he thought it would leave the confines of his chest at any moment. He grasped the hand of her uninjured right arm, not noticing the blood that covered it. He chaffed it gently between his own.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded.

  ***

  She heard the commanding voice and moaned as the pain filtered into her unconsciousness. She heard the command again. I’m trying, she thought. She fought her way out of the darkness to hear the voice she thought lost to her forever. The pounding in her head intensified so much it almost caused her to give up and retreat back into the darkness. She tried to move her hands to her head, hoping to ease the pain only to find one immobile and the other produced such pain when moved, that she cried out. Oh please, just let me die, she thought as the throbbing intensified. No, she would not give in to death, not when so many others had been taken from her.

  The voice called to her again. Perhaps God had sent him to take her to Heaven. She had always thought it would be her mum to do that, but as long as she had him again, she did not care. Her eyes fluttered open, but the light from the fire and small candle on the bedside table were too much for her to bear. She quickly closed them again, certain she would be sick at any moment.

  “No, open your eyes now,” the voice demanded again. Sometimes he could be so intolerably high-handed, she thought. Nevertheless, she obeyed this one final time and opened her eyes. She knew either he would not truly be there or she had expired and entered the afterlife. She had dreamed of him so many times and woken up certain he would be with her, but there had been no one. Therefore, she decided, I must be dead, only I hurt too badly.

  Derek watched intently as her emerald eyes shown brightly from behind fluttering lids. They looked feverish, set in a very familiar and dear face. He brought her manacled hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over the knuckles covered in dry blood.

  “Contessa,” he whispered softly.

  “I must be in Heaven,” she said hoarsely, “but it feels like Hell.” After uttering those words, the ragamuffin prisoner smiled at her jailer and then let the darkness carry her away once more to blessed oblivion.

  Derek stared dumbfounded at the limp hand that he held in his. He reached across her and gently caressed the signet ring gracing her delicate finger. She looked malnourished. What had happened to her in these last ten months? How could Gabe believe her a traitor? What possible causes did he have to even consider it?

  He stood painfully and leaned over her letting his lips lightly caress hers. Derek stood watching her and raked his hands through his golden brown hair giving it a decidedly rakish appearance. He paced the room like a caged animal forgetting about his throbbing leg. The Earl of Blackburn alternated between thanking God that He had seen fit to bring her back to him, and cursing the circumstances all in the same breath. He limped to the door and jerked it open. The guard jumped to attention.

  “Have you heard from the physician yet?”

  “Yes, my lord. He sent the lad back with word ten minutes ago. He will be at least another half hour.”

  “Damn,” he paused and rested his head against the hand tightly gripping the door. “Send the lad for Hawkescliffe. Tell him it is an emergency,” Derek barked the order. “Give me the keys to the manacles,” he held out his hand and his tone brooked no argument. The guard handed over the keys reluctantly and Derek slammed the door in his face, having to take his frustration out on someone.

  He limped back over to the bed and released the prisoner from her restraints. The chains dropped to the floor with a loud metallic clank. He sat and stared at her, his thoughts chasing each other. How could it be? He had been told everyone perished, except the handful that had been severely wounded. Nearly an entire village had been wiped out. He heard a disturbance outside the door before it flew open.

  “All right Blackburn, what’s so damned important that it could not wait until morning?” Hawkescliffe demanded as he strode into the room. Derek had been unaware of the passage of time while he watched her and contemplated the various scenarios. The doctor had not yet arrived, so surely not much time had passed. Derek shushed Hawkescliffe when the woman winced. “Did you just ‘shush’ me?” he asked incredulously.

  “As my friend, shut the hell up,” Derek whispered. “Follow me,” he led Gabe to the fireplace.

  “Well, what is it? What is so important that I had to leave my conference with the Prime Minister?”

  “This woman is not a traitor,” Derek spoke with conviction.

  “What makes you so certain? Tell me you have not let an attractive woman turn your head. You are a better man than that. This woman had incriminating evidence on her person. Of course she is a traitor.”

  “I swear to you she’s not.”

  “Have you questioned her? Did she give you reason to believe that she isn’t?”

  “No, I have not had the opportunity to question her.”

  “Then give me one good reason why she is not, and,” he cut him off before he spoke, “I assure you it had better be one bloody good reason.”

  “Because she’s my wife, dammit!”

  To purchase A Traitorous Heart, click here.

  To Love and Protect

  The Reluctant Lords, Book 3

  “John Coachman, please take me to Hyde Park. I would like to go for a stroll before retiring for the evening.”

  “My lady, is that wise? It is getting rather late, and there is frost in the air.”

  “Please,” she pleaded to the old man who had been more friend than employee many times.

  “All right, miss,” he agreed reluctantly slipping into a more familiar address. He shut the door and the carriage swayed as he took his spot on top. They drove through the city before arriving at the nearly deserted Hyde Park. The coach came to a stop and the old man opened the door. “Are you sure, miss?”

  “Absolutely. Who could miss walking on an afternoon like this? The sky is positively clear and how often does that feat occur in London, especially on a winter’s day?”

  “I’ll be following behind you,” he said.

  “No, you stay with the horses and carriage. I’ll be fine. I just want to take a stroll.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

&n
bsp; “Everything will be fine. Wait here.” Clarissa took off at a brisk pace toward the flower gardens. The groundskeepers for the park made certain that there were several types of flowers that bloomed every season. The trees had only just lost their leaves due to a rather warm autumn and there were still a few flowers brave enough to peek their colorful petals out for all to see.

  She found a bench and sat down to think and be by herself. There was a time she used to be able to do this in her gardens at home, but now she feared her new step-uncle too much. Since papa had been gone, she often took her meal in her rooms, never leaving her door unlocked for any reason. Sometimes she would spend the evening with Aunt Gertie, but she did not dare do it too often for fear of worrying the dear woman.

  How she wished for the peace of the country once more. She also wished her father had never met that woman. Woman! Hah! Lorraine was barely a few years older than herself. The thought of that woman pretending to be her mother and so much wiser than her was a joke. So lost in her thoughts, Clarissa failed to hear the footsteps that fell behind her. A gloved hand covered her mouth and an arm pinned both of hers to her side. She struggled to break free, but could barely move at all.

  “Hold still and it will go much easier for you,” the coarse voice teased at her ear. “You really are lovely, my dear,” dry lips caressed her ear, “he said you were.” She stiffened and shivered, attempting to pull away from the man. Her mind raced. Who was it? What did they want? Where was John Coachman? Could he even see her from the carriage? Why did she refuse his company?