Regency Romance: The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame (CLEAN Historical Romance) (Fire and Smoke)

by Charlotte Stone

  “Let us not worry about that tonight,” she urged. “Let us light a candle, and I shall take you to see your son without waking him and then we shall come back to bed.” Instead of biting her own lip as she was prone to do, she leaned forward and bit his.

  She was right. Now was not the time to speak of such things. “Oh, I like that idea,” he said happily, standing and grasping both of her hands in his. “But I want you to know that I meant what I said when I proposed…”

  She poked him in the side. “Which time?” she asked, making him laugh. It would forever be a joke between them, both that he asked four times and that she rejected him thrice.

  His voice sobered before he continued. “I will find out who set that fire, and I will see justice done,” he promised. “It has been a whirlwind, our engagement, the wedding, and then you were expecting, but I have not forgotten.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes so she could reach his ear to whisper into it. “I believe you. But, Ben, you must know. You have to know how very happy I am, how very good God has been to us.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I do know.”

  If someone would have told his younger self that he would one day have a wife and son that he was eager to get home to, that it would physically hurt him to be parted from them, he would have laughed. He had been selfish most of his life. But Cat had changed him, bringing out the very best parts of him, just as she had on the first night they met when they were children. “Even in the dark now, I can see. You are so beautiful I can hardly bear it. I love you very much,” he told her seriously. Their faces were close enough that even without the light he could pick out her features. He could see her blue eyes in the blackest of nights.

  At first, it had taken Cat some time to get used to the way he spoke of her beauty and how often. She could not say she had grown used to it. In fact, she hoped she never got used to the way he would look at her, but she was comfortable with it now. His hands reached up to stroke her arms, which were around his neck. She knew one of them was scarred and that his fingertips could sense the difference. But it simply did not matter. It did not matter to Ben. It had never mattered to Ben. And now, Cat could say it did not matter to her either.

  * * *

  THANK YOU

  for reading my book and

  i hope you have enjoyed the story.

  The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame is Book 1 in Fire and Smoke series.

  If you have enjoyed reading The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame, I believe you will be interested in checking out book2: The Duke’s Ever Burning Passion in Fire and Smoke series.

  * * *

  I have enclosed a preview of book 2 : The Duke’s Ever Burning Passion.

  Check it out below . . .

  It is currently priced at $0.99 (around 230 pages)

  * * *

  “Let me go,” she whispered against his lips but one hand was wrapped around his neck, deep in the curls of his hair, the other pressed against the skin over his heart due to his unbuttoned shirt.

  He touched his nose to hers in an affectionate caress. “Is that what you really want?”

  He began to place tiny kisses to her cheek and then the corner of her mouth, coming closer and closer to her lips. She let out a moan. “Do not play games with me, Shep. Not again.”

  “This has never been a game,” he whispered in her ear, gathering closer as his lips descended down her neck. But suddenly she went still in his arms, the hand in his hair moved, the hand on his chest pushed him away.

  “Yes it has been. And you are the one who makes the rules.” She looked down as he she spoke so he could not read her face before he let her go completely. She was shaking as she picked the ruined letter from the floor.

  “That will never happen again,” she murmured, her hair mused from his hands, her face delicately flushed. Her fingers shook as she opened her mouth to rail against him. He expected a tirade. But she only closed her eyes, touching her fingers to her own swollen mouth, while she stared at him. In the dim light, there might have been tears in her eyes. “Never again, Shep. Do you understand?”

  Her voice had never sounded so weak. He barely recognized it. Before he could even apologize, she fled…

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  Pritchford, Yorkshire

  Pritchford Place

  Lady Julia Frederickson was a difficult person to read, and she preferred it that way. She never allowed what was happening in her heart to reflect on her face, because she did not particularly want people to see her deepest feelings in her expression. It was not always easy. In fact, it required her to have very few weaknesses just to maintain her mask. But it just so happened that her brother, Ben, had brought her worst weakness of all to stay at the estate for an undetermined amount of time.

  She had learned the news from her lady’s maid as she readied for bed. Somehow, Julia managed to keep her face impassive when told that the Duke of Sermont was visiting. It was not an easy thing to do, however. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the thought of Shep, as he was known to her family, staying at her home like old times. It scared her, how easily the lump in her throat grew until she dismissed her lady’s maid, Smith.

  So she sat in front of her mirror, long past her bedtime, her dark hair in a braid down her back. Alone, lowering the mask she used in front of others, she looked as if she had seen a ghost. In a way, she felt as if she had. She shivered.

  It was her own fault though. Hadn’t she been the one to crawl on her knees to find the box hidden away beneath her bed? She had to blow the dust off of it since it had been so long since she had fallen into the temptation to look at its contents. Setting it on her vanity, she had thought for a long while. But in the end, feeling a bit like Pandora, she opened the box slowly, peering into it as she hadn't done in years.

  Someone else would think nothing of the papers held within the box. They were only letters, dozens of letters, words written with quill and paper, sometimes passionately and sometimes thoughtlessly, throughout the years. But no one else knew they were from one man, the only man Julia had ever… No, she would not say or even think of that word in regards to Shep. That part of her life had been over for quite some time.

  But still, she thought of him, nearly every night. She dreamed of him.

  The temptation to read the letters overwhelmed her. She wanted to resist, because she did not want to feel the pain of them again. And yet, if she had to face Shep tomorrow, she wanted to remember what it felt like to have her heart broken. She wanted to remember that feeling exactly, so she could dismiss him as if he did not matter.

  He did not matter, she promised herself, even as her fingers picked up the first letter. He could not matter. She would not let him matter ever again.

  1 October 1809 Eton

  Dear Lady Julia,

  Your brother has informed me that you never told your mother that it was I who threw the mud that ruined your dress on that rainy day this summer and that you were punished severely for what your mother deemed “unladylike behavior.” I thought the very least I could do was write to thank you for not tattling on me to Lady Wembley, as I do not know what I would do if I was not allowed to spend summers with your family. I do not like you that much, but your family is much more enjoyable than mine. Even if you are a girl. Even if you are an annoying girl who pinches quite hard.

  I think that is why my older brother, Reg, insisted that I go these past two summers to Pritchford. Mama was not pleased and raised her voice and so did Papa, but that is nothing new, as they are hardly ever pleased, least of all with each other. They are forever arguing. I’m sure you have heard the rumors. Just the other day, I overheard the headmaster speaking of the latest row they had in front of all of society in London. If it has reached that old man’s ears, I have no doubt you have heard the truth of the matter. Reg says that they will die arguing and when they reach heaven’s gates, if they reach them at all, they will not be able to
hear anything over their own shouting. Nonetheless, I am glad that I have an older brother who looks out for me.

  You should be glad that you have a brother who looks out for you as well. I know it didn’t seem that way this summer, since we teased you mercilessly and teamed up against you. Although, I must admit, you rather do know how to stick up for yourself as I mentioned the pinching earlier in this letter. But Ben does want the best for you. He was the one who told me about the punishment for the “unladylike behavior” and he was the one who thought a letter might go a long way to repair things.

  He also says you are terribly jealous that we get to go away to school when you must stay home with a governess. In that regard, I can sympathize, because I welcome anything that takes me away from home. But I should think that if I called Pritchford Place home, I might feel differently. In fact, I know that I would. Even if your tiny, pinching hands reside there as well.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Lord Nathaniel Shepfield

  P.S. If you should write back, which I would never suggest you do, please try and disguise your handwriting a little. We are thirteen and first years here and teased horribly. The last thing I need is for the other boys, especially the older ones, to know a girl is writing to me, even one as bothersome as you.

  20 November 1809 Eton

  Dear Julia,

  Did you have to spray your mother’s perfume on the envelope? And I know you wrote the address in as feminine handwriting as you could muster because it did not match your handwriting inside. You could not listen to me and do me this one favor? You are a true terror. I take back my apology over the mud. You deserved it.

  I’ll be at Cunningham for Christmas with my parents and Reg so I will not see you or your family. I shall tell you “Happy Christmas,” not because I particularly want to wish you well or because I particularly mean it, but because it is the Christian thing to do.

  If I am lucky, I will be back at Pritchford Place next summer, where I will enact revenge for the hearts you drew all over the envelope.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Shep

  21 March 1812 Eton

  Dear Julia,

  Ben told me your horse threw you and you twisted your ankle. I am very sorry. Both Ben and I agree it must have been the horse’s fault, because although your annoying tendencies and deficiencies are great, you are quite the horsewoman. You can nearly keep up with me, which, if you are not aware, is the highest compliment I am capable of giving you.

  Ben did not tell me how you fell, but if I had to guess, based on this past summer, I would place a bet that you tried to take a jump you probably should not have attempted. You are fearless in that regard. In some ways, I envy that fearlessness but it would not hurt you to temper it just a bit with some caution. You could have broken your neck. Then who would I tease this summer?

  Nonetheless, as I said, you are quite the horsewoman, but as a gentleman, I am inclined to be completely honest. You will never best me and if you keep trying, you will only injure yourself further.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Shep

  P.S. Ben told me not to even consider asking you how your latest governess is panning out, since it will only anger you when you consider we are learning Latin as you learn how to accept a man’s offer of a dance in French. So I will not mention it. I shall only tell you that the library here is outstanding, and I take as much pleasure in it as I can. Oh, and how is that curtsy coming along?

  15 October 1813 Eton

  Dear Lady Julia,

  I have considered writing this letter many times but every time I began, I ripped my words into pieces. The fact of the matter is; I should not have tried to kiss you in the horse barn at Pritchford Place. It was most ungentlemanly of me and you acted correctly, if a bit dramatically, in slapping me.

  I cannot blame my actions on anything but my own folly. You may choose to believe this or not, but it was not premeditated in any way. I did not know that I was going to attempt to kiss you until I was doing it. You have always been a sister to me…or something like a sister, I suppose.

  This summer was different. We are now eight and ten and you will be going to London for the season soon. Ben and I will be off to Oxford, and I felt as if everything was changing. My summers at Pritchford Place have always been like an anchor in my life, and you have always been a part of Pritchford Place. To consider that you might be engaged by next summer felt… Well, I cannot explain how it felt, except to say it was strange to think that I would never see you leading your horse to the barn, a bit too muddy for the sedate ride your mother would prefer.

  In that moment in the barn, when you teased me over the state of my windblown hair, I do not know what came over me, except that you were not like a sister to me at all, but someone that I would have liked to kiss. You were no longer Ben’s sister, but someone I might miss.

  However, I cannot emphasize this fact enough: I no longer feel that way.

  Your brother is the best friend I have ever had. If you feel you need to tell him what I did, I will understand. I cannot overstate how much those summers at Pritchford Place have meant to me, even with all the arguing between the two of us. I am fortunate that every year Reg pushed Mama and Papa to let me go. It would have been a horror to stay at Cunningham. I would hate to think that my actions toward you could end something so vital. Yet, I know there must be consequences. You have never gone easy on me, and I do not expect it now.

  Please forgive me.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Lord Nathaniel Shepfield

  1 December 1813 Eton

  Dear Julia,

  Please excuse me for not realizing that it was not the kissing itself that you found repugnant but kissing me in particular. I will bear this in mind in our future meetings.

  As you stated in your letter, I shall see you next summer.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Shep

  22 September 1814 Oxford

  Dear Julia,

  Thank you for your letter. You have heard correctly from Ben. Reg bought a commission in the His Majesty’s Royal Army to fight Napoleon against my parents’ express wishes. Although I rarely agree with my parents on anything, I admit that I do not understand why he would do such a thing as the first born son. He will be the Duke of Sermont someday. It should be me, the second son, who enters the army, when I am of age. For Reg to do this when we are at war makes me very worried for him.

  It has not helped my parents’ very volatile relationship either. In some ways, when I consider it that way, perhaps I do understand why he did it. To be in that house, no matter how big it is, with all that arguing and yelling, the servants full of tension over His Grace and Her Grace, it must have been maddening. I think the only thing that has kept me sane has been my summers at Pritchford Place. He did not have an escape as I have had all these years, so he created one.

  Thank you for keeping him in your prayers. You and I may not agree on much, but I have never doubted your loyalty and devotion to those you care for.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Shep

  2 July 1815 Cunningham

  Dear Julia,

  Thank you for your letter, which included your condolences about Reginald. I miss him more than I could ever write to you. There seem to be no words to say how I feel in all the letters I receive with condolences from people I hardly know. But since I do not consider you to be a part of that fold, I will try to attempt to tell you a little of how I feel.

  Reg and I never spoke about it much, but he loved me and I loved him. I think I did not realize how much he loved me until he was gone, until I was left with only my parents and their apparent lack of feeling. I have only admitted the following to your brother and now I shall share it with you: I wish it had been me. I am no great loss to the world. But Reg, with all his hopeful optimism and compassion… Sometimes I dream of him. He is married with children running around his feet. He is so happy. And I then I wake up and realize that dream is gone. I do not sl
eep well these days.

  He was the best brother I could ever hope for and it seems senseless that he would die at the very end of this war, much like your uncle. I hope you received my letter about your Uncle Robert. Two great men are gone. So now the world has these giant holes where they might have lived and loved. It is simply horrible.

  I do wish I was at Pritchford Place, though that it is not possible now. I hope to, at least, come for a few weeks late in the summer, as your parents have extended an invitation. Mother and Father are driving me mad, along with each other. If you ask either of them why Reg died, they would point the finger at one another instead of at Napoleon and the French. Perhaps I am sharing too much with you, Julia, but I think I blame them too! If they were not so awful, if they did not make our home impossible to live in, Reg would never have left.

  I cannot imagine forever tying myself to someone who makes my life so miserable as my parents did with each other in their marriage. Reg would have married a nice girl. I am sure of it. They would have been Duke and Duchess and happiness would have been their legacy.

  Now that title will pass to me and since I have already admitted so much to you, I will admit this as well. I do not want it. I never wanted it. It made my father miserable. It made Reg miserable. Am I to be miserable as well? That feels selfish to say because Reg is dead and nothing will ever be as it was before.

  Oh, if only I had just come back from a long ride with Ben on the horses to find you in the library where we could argue over Homer or some such thing. I think then I would not be in so much torment. That is not to say I miss you or that you are a comfort to me, but then again, I have already said too much.