by Gill, Tamara
Contents
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Dear Reader
A Royal Proposition
Lords of London series available now!
Kiss the Wallflower series available now!
Also by Tamara Gill
About the Author
Copyright
To Dream Of You
The Royal House of Atharia, Book 1
Copyright © 2020 by Tamara Gill
Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs
& Chris Cocozza Illustration
Editor Grace Bradley Editing
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
Dedication
For the wonderful ladies in the Historical Hellions reader group. This one is for you. xx
Chapter 1
Sotherton Estate, Suffolk, 1805
My Lord Balhannah,
Drew…
I write to you today from necessity and desperation, and I hope you shall heed my words and help me due to our friendship. There is no doubt in my mind that in the coming days your father shall demand that our marriage takes place forthwith. In fact, as I write this, my father is readying the coaches to travel two days hence. I assume a marriage license has already been procured and contracts signed, unbeknown to us of course…until today.
Know that as much as I admire and care for you as a friend, I do not love, nor do I wish to marry you, as I'm sure you do not want to marry me. You see, my heart has long been given elsewhere, and I will not, not even on pain of disinheritance, give up the man I love.
When we arrive at Sotherton, please do not be there, unless you wish to break my heart and give yourself to me before God, when you know that I shall never love you how a wife should love a husband. If you can provide me with time, my love has promised to come and collect me at Sotherton, where we shall run away to Scotland and be married. I'm sorry to be so frank with my words, but I'm desperate to get this letter to you and, with it, stress how much I do not want such a union.
Please do whatever you can to dissuade this marriage from going ahead.
Forever your friend,
Myrtle
Drew placed the missive from Myrtle into the fire in his room and went to the window. He pulled back the heavy brocade velvet curtains to gauge the weather. A perfect spring day, and from his window, he could see the sea and the cove where his small sailing raft was kept.
Absently he listened to his valet, Jeffries behind him go about his duties in his room. He could not stay here. Not with Myrtle so heartsick over their impending marriage. With his decision made, he turned and faced his servant. "I'm going sailing and may even travel down the coast to visit Sir Percival's at Castle Clair in Kent. I will meet you there. Please pack me a small bag to get me through until we meet again. Nothing too fancy, mind you, we'll be mostly hunting or taking our leisure about the estate. Maybe only two dinner jackets."
Jeffries stared at him, his eyes wide with this change of plans. Drew raised one brow, waiting for him to comprehend he was serious with his demand.
"Of course, my lord." Jeffries started for the chest of drawers, pulling out cravats and buckskin breeches before walking into Drew’s dressing room to collect a trunk. "Will His Grace be aware of your travels, my lord, or are we keeping this excursion a secret?" Jeffries asked, from the small room.
Drew went to his chest of drawers and pulled out the oldest buckskin breeches he owned. He stripped his perfectly tied cravat from his throat, along with his waistcoat. Rummaging through his cupboard, he couldn't find his old woolen waistcoat that was warm and what he liked to use for sailing. "I cannot locate my…" Drew smiled when Jeffries passed it to him, a small smile on the man's face. "Thank you," he said, slipping it on, along with his coat.
Drew walked over to his desk and scribbled a short note to his father. Folding it, he handed it to his manservant. "Have this sent from London when you move through there. The duke may travel to town and demand answers, he will try to find me, but he will not succeed. Under no circumstances are you to tell him where I've gone. I will send a word in a week notifying you, God willing, of my safe arrival." His father was ruthless when it came to having his way, the marriage to Myrtle no different. He would lose his allowance, Drew had little doubt, but what of it? It would not be forever. Myrtle would run away and marry, and then Drew could return home.
Thank heavens Miss Landers was also against the union and only needed time to ensure their marriage would never happen. And time is what he was buying now.
Jeffries handed him a small black valise. "Yes, my lord."
Drew pocketed some blunt and left, leaving via the servant's stairs and the back door, two places his father's shadow never darkened. He ran a hand through his short locks, pulling on a cap to disguise himself further.
The brisk, salty tang of sea air hit him and invigorated his stride. Drew walked through the abundance of gardens his mother had so painstakingly cared for before passing last year. Memories of running about the garden bombarded his mind. Of hidden vistas and large oaks that any young boy enjoyed frolicking around whenever he could. His mother had designed the garden to incorporate hidden vistas perfect for children. Plants that camouflaged the old Roman ruins on the south side of the park, so it wasn't until you were almost upon them did the ruins reveal themselves, the long-lost castle of the Sotherton dukes who came before them.
Drew had spent hours playing on his own within the walls of this green sanctuary. As much as he disliked having the idea of a wife at this very moment, he couldn't help but look forward to the day his children would run about the beautiful grounds and enjoy what he always had.
The crashing of the waves echoed through the trees. Stepping free of the manicured grounds, Drew stood at the top of the small cliff and looked down on the beach's golden sands below. Many years ago, he'd had a small boathouse built to house his sailboat, and as the tide was high, it would be no problem pulling it out and dragging it the short distance to the water.
Taking the winding path down to the shore, it didn't take him long to haul the boat into the shallows and throw his bag under the little compartment that would keep it dry. The sky remained clear, with only the slightest sea breeze. It would help him travel down the coast to where his friend and closest confidant Sir Percival lived. The trip should only take a few days, and he couldn't get far enough away from this estate. To be forced into a union, not of his choice, or Miss Lander's, was reprehensible. The year was 1805, for
heaven's sake. His father really ought to get up with the times. Step into the nineteenth century and embrace the new era. He was a grown gentleman, fully capable of making his own decisions. For his father to demand he marry, simply because he'd stumbled across an heiress, was offensive.
Drew pushed off from the shore, releasing the sail. The wind caught the sheet and pulled him out to sea at a clipping pace. He steered south and smiled. His father would forgive him in time, he was sure of it. The duke was never one to hold a grudge for long, and no matter how mad he'd be at finding out Drew left, he would get over it in time.
Chapter 2
Holly Devereux galloped hard down the shore that sat adjacent to her secluded estate. The wind whipped at her hair, and it fell about her shoulders, her village hat slipping behind her head and hanging on only by the blue ribbon about her neck.
Her mount, a trusty gray stallion, thudded down the beach, whipping up the sand and sea to slap at her breeches, making them sodden. Her boots would take some days to dry out after this outing. But it was so worth it.
She pushed him on, laughing at the speed with which she traveled. How wonderful to be so free, to enjoy life as everyone should, with basic needs met and love of nothing else but yourself and your pets. So different to her life back in Atharia. How she would live when she became queen.
Only a few more weeks, and she would be old enough to rule, and her uncle would have to step aside.
Even so, life before now seemed foreign and unknown, part of another time, another woman's story. Not hers at all.
Holly spotted something on the beach, and she slowed her mount. Was it driftwood lying where the surf broke against the sand? She reined in her horse to a walk, trying to make it out. She jumped down, running when she realized the lump of wood wasn't that at all, but a man.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she raced toward him, her steps hindered by the sand's depth and the surf that made her boots waterlogged.
Thinking of her uncle and his attempt on her life in London, she pulled out the small pen knife from the leather sheath that sat in her boot. Was this man a trap? Someone sent by her uncle to lie in wait before striking at her when no one else was about? She stood on the shore for a time, debating what to do. The surf crashed over him, but thankfully he was lying face up and not the other way around. Was he alive? She could not tell from this distance, and she fought with herself whether she wanted to find out.
What if this was a trap? Her uncle had certainly become shrewder in ways to strike at her when she was most vulnerable. Holly looked about again, and seeing no one else around, decided to do the right thing and help. She would either be damned or a savior.
Holly kneeled beside the motionless fellow and placed her ear to his chest. Nothing, no beat or rise of his chest with each breath. Standing, she pulled him away from the shore up to where the sand was dry. He was heavy and wet, which made it doubly hard, but she managed it with all her might. Holly opened his waistcoat and, pulling his shirt down, listened again. A faint but slow thump sounded soft, but was there, and she sighed, relieved to hear he was alive, although not by much.
Living as remote as she did, there was no point in shouting for help. Her guards who acted as her servants were too far away, and with the wind as fierce as it was, her words would only be carried away out over the ocean. Holly touched his chiseled cheek, gasping at the chill of his skin. She needed to get him warm, and fast. Not certain why he was here, she searched his pockets and breeches for any weapons, thankfully finding nothing but a handkerchief.
"Damn you," she said, standing once again and dragging him into the sand dunes. Her horse snickered and followed. She would have to warm him with her own body. He was as still as someone who'd passed away, and the blue on his lips proved that had she not come across him when she had, the man's life would've been over by nightfall.
Taking a deep breath, she lay on top of him, pulling his chest against hers. A gasp escaped at the shock of feeling his chilled skin against her warmth.
Holly shivered, but soon warmth replaced the cold between them, his heart beat harder against her ribs. With the immediate danger of him dying dispelled, Holly inspected his features. His cutting jaw was shaded with a little stubble, the hair on his head was short, but still long enough for one to run their fingers through it if they wished. He had a straight, sharp nose, which was probably a good thing. No one could be perfect. Otherwise, there wasn't much wrong with him. The stranger was perfectly proportioned, even his body beneath hers was hard and muscular, if not resembling an ice brick at present. No pockmarks marred his skin, nor did he seem in need of sustenance. A well-looked-after stranger, that was certain.
Holly lay her head in the crook of his neck and hugged him closer, letting her mind wander in thought. Where had the man come from? She'd seen no boat, so he was either lost, or some accident had befallen him. Of course, a worse thought was that he was one of her uncle's henchmen sent to find out her location that would eventuate in her death. In which case, saving him now would be one of the worst mistakes she'd ever made.
They would need to find out who he was and why he was here. It was paramount to her safety. Her uncle was a ruthless man, a trait that was only newly realized after the king, her father, had passed away. He would stop at nothing to keep the Atharia crown from falling onto her head.
She couldn't determine how long she lay there, but in time, warmth started to replace the cooled skin of his body, and he started to make sounds of a man coming out of unconsciousness. Reaching up, she patted his cheeks. Slapping him a little harder than she meant when he didn't respond. "Sir? Wake up. Sir?"
His eyes fluttered open, and she stared into the deepest blue orbs she'd ever seen. He mumbled something incoherent, and she patted his cheek to keep him with her. "Wake up, sir. You're safe."
Holly disentangled herself from him, only to turn and find him staring at her with ill-concealed shock.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and ignoring his reaction to her laying on him, she stood. "Are you well, sir? How do you feel?"
He struggled to sit up, then collapsed back onto the sand. Holly frowned, hoping he wasn't too ill. She needed to get them both away from the shore before nightfall. Exposure to the elements would not help the gentleman to get better. She looked about again, hoping he was as alone as he seemed.
"My head. It's pounding."
His voice was English, and a deep rumble and hoarse, probably from lack of water. Holly whistled for her horse. Her gray stallion lifted its head from a grassy patch on the dunes, snickered, and trotted over to her. Holly took out the small water bag she always carried with her and handed it to him. "Drink this. It'll help you feel better."
The man took a small sip and coughed before taking a good, hearty swallow. "Thank you," he rasped. "I think I owe you my life."
Holly shook her head, no thanks required. "I only did what anyone would do when finding another human being on the beach, half-dead." She paused. "Do you think you can stand and make it to my horse? I really need to get you out of this weather. Another storm is brewing in the west and will blow through here tonight."
He rubbed his forehead, lines marring his brow. "There was a storm last night, yes?"
"A terrible one," Holly agreed. As it was, some of her guards who worked in the stable were busy fixing the roof of the barn. Two windows at the rear of the house had blown out with the force of the wind. Not to mention around Lord Bainbridge's estate, there were trees and limbs down all over the property. It would take weeks for all of it to be cleared and back to normal.
She helped him to stand. "Who are you, sir?"
He stared at her a moment, and panic flickered in his eyes. "I have no idea," he said at length, stumbling toward her horse when he went toward it. "My leg." He reached down, and Holly noticed the red pool of blood on his trousers.
"You're injured." She took out her knife again and cut the material away from the wound. "It's a cut, but I do not believe it is d
eep enough for stitching. We will tend the wound when we return to the estate." Holly caught him around the waist and helped him over to her mount.
"You do not know your name or where you came from?" His skin pallor told Holly he was unwell, and perhaps with a good night's sleep, food and water, his memory lapse would wane. "Here, climb up on the horse, and we'll travel back to where I'm staying. You may sleep in the stables, and I'll have one of the servants tend to you until you are better."
He nodded but didn't say anything as he scrambled onto the horse’s back. Holly mounted behind him and urged her horse for home. It was only two miles to her small estate, and it would not take them long since the wind was blowing behind them, pushing them inland.
They cleared the dunes and traveled for some time in quiet. The man huddled into his torn jacket and damp clothing. Holly hoped he didn't catch the ague after she'd managed to keep him from dying thus far.
By the time they arrived back at the estate, he was slumped over her horse's neck and threatening to fall off. Holly yelled out for Niccolo, her most senior guard, who took care of the estate's security. He ran from around the back of the stables and was there to help before the stranger dropped to the ground.
"Oh, my word, Miss Holly. What have you found here?"
"Help me, Niccolo. He's about to fall off."
Niccolo maneuvered the man onto his wide, strong shoulder and walked backward, slipping the unconscious gentleman off the horse. Holly jumped down, handing her mount to Lorenzo, her head stableman and second in charge. "I found him on the beach, almost dead. I'm not sure if he washed up, was dumped, or is one of my uncle's henchmen. He also has a wound on his leg that you'll have to have Mario clean. He is in a frightful mess, and I'm concerned for his welfare, but more importantly, we need to find out who he is and until then, keep a watch on him at all times."
