Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3)

by Renee Bernard

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  LADY TRIUMPHS

  Renee Bernard

  Copyright © 2014 by R. Renee Ferguson

  Smashwords Edition

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. It isn’t good manners and even worse, it makes the author very sad. Purchase only authorized editions. Although, if you would like to send the author additional money if you feel you enjoyed the book beyond its cover price, it is permitted. (She isn’t proud and will probably take it.)

  Cover Design by Cora Graphics.

  This book is dedicated to Pamela Clare because whenever I met you, you managed to inspire me with your grace and your laughter and I wanted you to know that even from afar, you continue to inspire me with your grace and now, with your courage. You probably don’t even remember meeting me, but I will never forget meeting you. So this book is dedicated to you.

  Just to you.

  Acknowledgments

  This is it. I think I could sneak in a paragraph about the cats since I’m really not sure anyone is reading this. But let’s face it. Acknowledgements are pretty much here for the author to slip in those thank-you’s that might be omitted in the rush of time, to carve them into the page so that later when your friends say, “You never named a character after me!” Then you get to counter with, “Yes, but I did say some nice things about you in the acknowledgements, remember?” (Which they naturally don’t remember because who reads the acknowledgments when there’s a good story in your hands that you’re anxious to dive into?)

  I don’t blame them. But here goes. I want to thank my widening and ever more fabulous inner circle. I want to thank my Street Team, Bernard’s Bombshells, for all that they do to go above and beyond for me. They say it takes a village but apparently what it really takes is a small group of dedicated ladies who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. These are the women you want in your foxhole. Trust me.

  I want to thank Lindsey Ross for keeping me sane. And Sandra Owens for sharing her with me. It’s a good custody arrangement and I know that no matter what, she knows she is loved. So that’s good. But meeting you in person, Ms. Owens, for the record, was one of the highlights of my journey as a writer. The biggest surprise was one of my own silly making because I truly thought that someone with such a huge talent just had to be taller. (Shows what I know.)

  I’m going to have to thank Lisa Watson. Not just for making me laugh over the world’s most expensive lemonade but for making my life better—simply better for knowing her.

  I have to thank my husband and my daughters. One day, guys, I’ll make it up to you.

  I want to thank my Mom for her time, her support and mostly for teaching my daughters what it is to be loved unconditionally. (Even when those little scamps have picked almost every flower in your garden to make magical potions, redecorated your home in ways you never imagined possible and when those decibel levels hit critical on rainy days.) Wow.

  And last but not least, thank you readers. For sticking with me, for your support and notes, emails and messages. And God bless you, for all those reviews! At the end of it all, the Black Rose was for you.

  RB

  Lady Triumphs

  Renee Bernard

  “To win the bloodiest battle is to ensure that you have nothing left in your own veins first.” – Raven Wells

  London

  1873

  Chapter One

  Time became the merciless tyrant that ground out the hours since Lady Serena Wellcott had fled Southgate Hall. The stunned and horrified look on Sir Phillip Warrick’s face haunted her dreams at night and robbed her of peace even while she elegantly navigated her days.

  Muted sounds of the London streets sifted up into the open windows of her drawing room and Serena did her best to listen to each element and ward off the melancholy that threatened to drown her. After all the years of priding herself on her self-control, this was no small battle. The founder and leader of the Black Rose was not a fragile school girl to lament the dark twists of a love affair gone wrong. But there was no more revenge to be extracted—not from Phillip Warrick.

  She’d punished him enough. Finally. Utterly. It was enough.

  If a part of her had expected him to chase after her, to catch her on the roadways to the city or to be on her doorstep before the sun set for one final vicious confrontation, Serena was in no mood to admit it. Instead, the days of denial had stretched out until it had been over a fortnight and he hadn’t come.

  God help me, I wasn’t truly ready to let him go.

  The weight of that one truth was crushing and wisely, Serena had never allowed it to come in an avalanche. Instead, it was a revelation she’d taken on with every new day, her raw intellect weighing it out like dark sand in a bucket until she could carry it without fear of it swallowing her whole. She sighed in acceptance of pragmatic wisdom. He hated her and now that she’d cruelly cut him with the one thing he’d never thought of—that there might have been a child from their time together years ago—he would truly never forgive her.

  Never.

  Which might be far earlier than I am prepared to forgive myself.

  The taunt she’d thrown in his face would act like a festering poison in his heart until the only way to survive meant cutting her out of it. She’d intended to drive him off, to spare him from the dark entanglements of her life but…

  She closed her eyes and allowed the bitter taste of irony to seep into her senses. To survive these last few years, she had transformed into a woman who derided weak sentiment only to suffer from the world’s most common malady.

  This is ridiculous. The deed is done. Better he knows my true nature to recover and close the door on the past, once and for all. Was that not the aim of my last grand gesture? To free the man and let him stomp off? So why sit about pouting?

  A folded copy of the London Times slid off of her lap and she retrieved it from the floor. A small note in the social section recaptured her attention and Serena sighed. What a midnight dark sliver of a cosmic jest! The Earl of Trent to arrive in London for the Season after years of refusing every invitation…

  No more excuses. Nothing in my way. It is time.

  She pressed her fingertips against her temples to soothe the sharp pulse there. “I need to see the week’s correspondence and begin to make a survey of the social season ahead. I need to make my plans.”

  “You need to eat.” Pepper set down the lunch tray with a little more force than was needed, making the cups and tableware rattle.

  “I’m not hungry, Pepper.”

  Pepper crossed her arms and began to tap her foot impatiently. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember asking you if you had recovered your appetite, your ladyship. I’m fairly certain I did say that you needed to eat which didn’t imply a question of any kind.”

  “You’re not a very good bully, Prudence.”

  “Ha! I’m short in stature but I am mighty,” Pepper said triumphantly as she lifted the silver cover over the plate. “So says Shakespeare, so eat.”

  “You read too much,” Serena grumbled without any bite. Especially since she was the one who had insisted on Pepper’s education and celebrated her friend’s progress with her studies. “And I’m fairly sure that quoting the Bard to
your employer is some kind of mutinous act.”

  “Oh, you’ve not tasted mutiny yet,” Pepper continued to set out the meal as if there was no question of its consumption. “I’ve got that whole bit lined up in my head about ‘movable feasts’ and the like.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she repeated uselessly.

  “You’ve been nursing your wounds since we returned and I’d say it’s been long enough. If you mean to die of starvation, then I suggest you choose another method. Something quicker, perhaps? Or less likely to cause the cook to rant from morning to night about all her wasted work and effort?”

  “What a dear you are to think of it!” Serena smiled. “Send my compliments to Mrs. Holly and bring me my pistol.”

  “You, never!” Pepper squealed in protest and then caught the light of mischief in her mistress’s eyes. “Oh, thank God! There. There you are, you wicked thing! Thank God in His Heaven!”

  Serena dutifully picked up the fork. “I think every churchman in the British Empire just felt a chill slide down his spine at such a statement, Pepper. Imagine thanking the Lord Almighty for the likes of me?” She tasted the light crust of the meat pie and sighed, “Though I do love you more for the sentiment.”

  She set the meal aside and diverted to the small curved lady’s desk against the wall, sitting to take up pen and paper. “I will commission Harriet for the season. Her reputation as an unforgiving chaperone is untouched.”

  Pepper picked up the plate and boldly brought it over to the desk. “As untouched as this lunch?”

  Serena took another bite to make a gesture of compromise. “There. I am eating. Now, leave me to it.”

  “Hire the dragon after and I’ll—“ The bell at the front door rang and Pepper straightened. “I’ll see to it.”

  “No need. Quinn will deal with any callers.” The house had been closed to visitors since her return. The sound of a commotion in her front hall echoed up the stairs and both women exchanged questioning looks.

  “Shall I—see if?” Pepper began but Serena waved her off, standing abruptly.

  “Go. Take the tray.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Take it, Pepper. Go, now!”

  Pepper rushed out with the entire tray, the service door closing behind her just as Sir Phillip Warrick burst into the room with Mr. Quinn, her butler, and two of her burliest footmen on his heels.

  “Serena.”

  “Mr. Quinn,” she addressed the butler calmly. “Let’s leave the baron on his feet and let him have his say. I’ll ring if I have need of you.” Serena shifted back to offer Phillip the chair across from her. “Tea, Sir Warrick?”

  Phillip shook his head in silent refusal waiting to speak until they were alone. “I didn’t come for tea.”

  “No? What a shame! Mrs. Holly is an artist when it comes to a tea tray.” She looked at him, expecting him to bark at the inane words or launch into some hateful rage, but instead there was an ache in his eyes that echoed the one in her heart. Phillip Warrick had not come for a fight. It was unexpected twist that robbed her of her wits. In every fantasy of his arrival, they had either murdered each other or floundered about in a dance of fire and ice to shatter the last of their hearts.

  “You’ve lost weight.” His gaze never faltered.

  Her first instinct was to lie and say that she’d been ill. But there had already been too many lies between them. “After all my protestations, it seems I am human.”

  “Of all the things I have believed of you, I never doubted your humanity.” Phillip ran splayed fingers through his hair, his nerves betrayed. “I’ve broken your heart. Again. Is that the only thing I am capable of as a man?”

  “No.” She kept her place, unwilling to risk touching him. “But I dared you to do it. Commanded you to do it, so I should be grateful for your obedience.” A flash of useless vanity made her smooth back a curl from her face, mirroring his gesture. “If you came to gloat, I could spare you the effort but I completely grasp the need to balance the scales, so…” Serena took a deep breath and let it out, a proud queen facing her executioner. “Let’s have the coup de grace.”

  “Serena,” he whispered.

  “Raven,” she said. “I have just decided that I want you and you alone to call me Raven. I think it will give this conversation a poetic irony, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I think the poetic irony of every conversation we have ever had is…above questioning.” He closed his eyes, his countenance becoming calmer before he took the seat she had offered him. “Raven,” he said, a man savoring the taste of a word on his tongue and her heart pounded at the realization that she was helpless when it came to him. He opened his eyes to look at her and began again. “Raven, is there a child?”

  Tears threatened and her throat tightened in the painful grip of regret. “No. There never was.” Her hands clutched the arms of her chair. “I was cruel. It was a desperate thing to say, to strike out against you.”

  “No child.” He softly echoed her words, then shifted in his chair slightly. “But there could have been. I will curse myself for the rest of my days for missing it, for being so blind with my own anger and pain that I—I forfeited my soul and yours.”

  She tried to smile. “My soul is my own, you arrogant man, and I assure you it is well hidden in a vault somewhere. Mind your own.”

  “Raven, there may yet be a child. We were anything but careful at Southgate.”

  She gave him an arch look, unsure of where he was going with the conversation. “Phillip! Must we include a discussion of my monthly flow in this, already awkward conversation?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am not with child.”

  “Then I can broach the next topic without delay.” He gazed at her without any guile. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”

  “It is not in my nature.”

  “I want you to tell me honestly what you think of me, Raven. What kind of man do you hold me to be?”

  She shook her head. “I do not know.”

  “No? Am I a complete mystery to you?” he asked. “Am I a liar? Am I a villain?”

  “No.”

  “Then what am I?”

  “You are a good and honest man and a bit too trusting sometimes. If that is a fault, then I cannot say I would change it, even knowing what it has led to between us. I was once very trusting myself and I find that I like the quality in your character even if I have banished it from my own.” Serena leaned forward. “I care for you—without needing reasons and my opinion of you is irrelevant if you’ve come to screech horrid things in my face, don’t you think?”

  He winced but held his ground. “I’m going to pretend that I’ve never done such a thing to inspire that notion and state that I have no intention of saying a single cruel word to you ever again if I can manage it.”

  “It’s been a while since I left you at Southgate, Phillip. Your silence has been eloquent enough.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were up for a chase but that’s not really all of it. I did start to rush after you to confront you before that carriage pulled away…”

  “Did you?” she asked softly.

  His eyes bore into hers, without pretext or guise. “I did but it started to rain and I had a strange moment that gave me pause. The tables were so completely turned and for once, I wanted to think before I acted. I wasn’t sure if I caught you just then what I would say. Once again, I was so hurt, so angry, so lost. Even so, I composed a thousand ways to apologize for yet another incredible slight and then I wasn’t sure if I had the right to any of it—to you, to happiness, to forgiveness. I allowed you to flee back to Town and have your escape.” He continued quickly, recognizing the fiery spirit that awakened at the use of the word ‘allowed’ as her pale grey eyes sparked. “Raven, if you don’t think that a single rider can outpace a four-in-hand, then we will have another debate on the subject later.”

  “Very well. You allowed me to get away.”

  “Only because if there wa
s a punishment you needed to inflict then I deserved to sit with it for a while before I responded. I stayed at Southgate Hall to ensure that James was safely deported as you’d arranged and Delilah settled before…” He cleared his throat again. “Before I came for you.”

  “How is Mrs. Osborne? Is she faring well?” It was a ridiculous ploy to shift the conversation away from herself but she needed to catch her breath.

  “She glows with happiness and seeing it, I came to understand how very miserable she must have been all along. How could I have missed the shadows that had overtaken my dear cousin?”

  “Sometimes grievances and wounds come in small doses, accumulating over long cruel months and years and the change is so gradual that unless you are living it, you cannot see it.” Serena smiled. “It is one of the rewards of my calling to see the transformation of a woman when she comes into her own.”

  “Raven.” He shifted so that he was kneeling before her, his hips pressing against her legs to subtly part them, his supplication transitioning into an erotic position of hidden power. “I’ve come to you. After everything, after all of it, I am here. I have begged forgiveness for that terrible day. I have repented every stupid moment of that last day and vowed to enslave myself to you and you alone in exchange for your forgiveness. You have shoved me into a creek, abused me at every turn, tortured me body and soul and left me in the rain and mud. I’m not sure what else is left. What else can I do? What additional proof of my devotion do you need?”

  “For once, Sir Warrick, my mind draws a blank on the subject.”

  “You’re infuriating, woman. Damn it, Raven. How can you be so calm? Tell me it is not every day that men are kneeling at your feet begging you for their lives.”

  She smiled. “No. Not every day.”

  “I’m an idiot.” He stood slowly but lifted her up from her chair and into his arms. “But no more begging. Tell me there is hope and that we can yet find some way to craft a future together, you and I.”