A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  “We all believed you’d drowned at sea.” Her grandmother stepped forward, peering closer. “Your father must have been delighted at your return.”

  When he glanced at her, Juliana nodded. Yes, lie. Tell her what she wants to hear.

  “I only saw him today,” Arik answered. It was strange to hear him speaking English. His voice was stilted, as if he didn’t trust what he was saying.

  He is not who he says he is, she reminded herself. But regardless of his identity, the fact remained that she had allowed him to seduce her. And whether he was the duke’s lost son or a bastard son who resembled him, she had to maintain her distance.

  She had only seen the true Lord Thorgraham once, when she and her husband had attended a party at the duke’s house. But William had prevented her from speaking to anyone there. He’d tried to hide her, as if she embarrassed him. And shortly afterward, she’d become pregnant with Harry and had gone into seclusion. There was no way to tell who this man really was.

  “Hmm,” her grandmother remarked. “Well, Lord Thorgraham, I am glad to hear that you survived your misfortunes at sea.” The baroness eyed him as if she could not understand why he had not changed his clothing. Although Juliana had offered Arik more of her father’s clothing, he had returned to his own garments after they had dried.

  “I suppose you’ll want to return home to your father to... refresh yourself,” Lady Traveston continued.

  “Later,” he said. “Tonight I will share a meal with Juliana.” His eyes fixed upon her in a silent reminder that he would not leave her side.

  Wonderful. That was all she needed—Lady Traveston dining with a man who believed he was a Viking. It was nothing short of a disaster waiting to happen.

  “Juliana, is it? My, have we forgotten our manners?” Her grandmother’s reproach meant nothing to Thorgrim, who didn’t realize that it was improper to call a lady by her first name. “In any event, are you certain you wish to dine with us instead of His Grace?” Her narrowed gaze fixed upon him again, as if she couldn’t imagine why he was here.

  “I made your granddaughter a promise,” Arik insisted, refusing to let the baroness badger him. “And she will procure food for us.”

  Was he expecting her to cook? Juliana raised an eyebrow at that. He needed to understand that she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  “Grandmama, why don’t you walk ahead for a moment and have the servants put your belongings away in one of the bedchambers? Lord Thorgraham and I will join you momentarily.”

  Or at least, they would, if the servants didn’t throw them out. Juliana didn’t doubt for a moment that the butler would turn them away. And then what could she do? Bring her grandmother back to her father’s house on a two-day journey? She’d never hear the end of it.

  “I will not be dismissed just yet, Juliana. You require a chaperone, might I remind you?” The old woman squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “To be alone with a gentleman is—”

  “I am a married woman, and there is no harm in it,” she countered, sending her grandmother a dark look. The baroness looked as if she wanted to argue further but thankfully let the point go.

  “No more than a few minutes,” she warned. “Lord Thorgraham, I am eager to hear the story of how you managed to escape the perils of drowning.”

  There was entirely too much zest in her grandmother’s voice, and Juliana had a feeling that she would need a glass of wine with dinner. Perhaps two, if she wanted to get through it without offending the baroness.

  Lady Traveston swept her skirts aside and marched ahead of them. Juliana waited until she was out of earshot and then turned to Mr. Thorgrim.

  “No matter what happens, do not mention Vikings to my grandmother,” Juliana whispered. “She will think you’ve lost your wits.”

  “You still do not believe me,” he said, crossing his arms again. “Why do you deny what you have seen with your own eyes?”

  “Because it’s impossible. You are impossible, and it’s far more likely that you are the duke’s son and you lost your memories when you were out at sea.”

  “The man resembles my father. But it is not he. Nor am I his son.”

  She didn’t know what to think, but it was clear that she had to send him away. He could not seem to grasp how far-fetched his story was, and she worried that he might have a touch of madness.

  “We will dine tonight,” she said quietly. “And after that, you must leave.” She had been so foolish to believe this man, and she could only blame her own naïveté. The truth was, she’d wanted to lean on someone, to accept help when they were struggling through this winter. And perhaps it had been her loneliness as well.

  “Think you that I enjoy having my life ripped apart in this way?” he asked angrily. “That I wanted to be taken from my own time and placed in a world where nothing is as it was?” He moved in, keeping his voice low. “If I leave, I have nowhere else to go, woman. My family and friends are dead.”

  He was staring at her with blazing rage, and she was entirely at his mercy. His dark hair hung around his shoulders, while a white scar edged his throat. And oh, he was infuriated when his arm slid around her waist.

  “I have nothing at all,” he murmured. “Nothing, save you.” At that, his mouth came down upon hers.

  The fierce kiss was made of heated breath and half-remembered longing. She wanted to pull away, but he commanded her lips, tempting her to kiss him back. His rough mouth took possession of hers, claiming her until she could scarcely breathe. The primal yearning made her ache to be in his arms again, and she trembled with the force of the way he made her feel.

  Without warning, Arik lifted her hips, fitting her body to his. She couldn’t move away, even if she’d wanted to.

  But he knew how to coax a response, taking her under, until there was nothing but this man and forbidden feelings that had lain dormant for many nights. He kissed her until her lips were swollen, until her body ached with the need to be touched.

  “Tell me that this is not real,” he ordered, bringing his mouth to the column of her throat. “Tell me that you do not want me.”

  Dear God, she did. She could imagine him taking her upon the ground, his body moving inside hers. The vision brought a surge of desire, a tight aching and a dampness between her legs that revealed a hidden longing.

  “I don’t know who you are,” she managed. “And I don’t know what you want from me.”

  He stared at her with stony eyes before he lowered her to the ground. “I am who I said I am. And whether or not you ever believe that, know that I will bring back your son’s birthright. After that, I will be gone from your life.”

  Her knees were barely able to support her weight, but she managed to straighten. “You cannot help me, Mr. Thorgrim. Or Lord Thorgraham—whoever you are.”

  “I can. And I will,” he said, before he took her hand and led her back to the house.

  The baroness was waiting at the front door, her arms folded across her chest. “Juliana, will you please tell this mule-headed peasant that he has no right to throw me out?”

  The butler, Owen Newcastle, was blocking the doorway, looking for all the world as if he wanted to die of embarrassment. He bowed slightly. “My lady. I am sorry, but—”

  “Oh, come, now,” her grandmother interrupted. “I have traveled many miles to see my granddaughter, Mr. Newcastle. You do remember me, don’t you?”

  “Lady Traveston, of course.”

  Juliana knew exactly what Newcastle thought of Lady Traveston, and she was not among his favorite guests. His polite smile was starting to falter.

  “And you do not intend to turn a baroness and her servants away when she has journeyed this far, I am quite certain.” The blistering look she sent toward the butler was undeniable. It was as if she was daring him to make a spectacle.

  Which Mr. Newcastle would never do. Her former butler was proper with a capital P. When he said nothing, Lady Traveston beamed at him. “Very good. I knew you were a dep
endable gentleman, and I shall see to it that you are rewarded for your service.”

  But then the butler’s gaze turned, and he sent Juliana an apologetic look. “I have orders that Lady Hawthorne—that is, Miss Nelson—may not set foot upon the premises.”

  Of course Juliana had known that, but her grandmother was outraged. Lady Traveston’s face turned the color of a boiled beet. “You’re not serious. Just because of a misunderstanding, you intend to refuse hospitality to a young woman who has been mistress of your household for six years?”

  Her grandmother was fully aware of the scandal surrounding Juliana’s marriage, but she was facing down the butler with justified outrage. It made Juliana wonder why she had suddenly decided to intervene. Why now, after it had been six months?

  You must swallow your pride and let her help you, her common sense reminded her. This was about Harry and providing for him.

  The butler grimaced. “I fear I cannot give the former viscountess our hospitality. Marcus Arthur, the acting Viscount Hawthorne, has strictly forbidden it. I would lose my post if I disobeyed.”

  “My dear man, that is the least of your troubles,” Lady Traveston insisted. She stepped forward, pushing her way past the threshold. “We have a caller, the Duke of Somerford’s son.” With a flourish of her arm, she presented him. “I believe you remember the Marquess of Thorgraham.”

  The butler whitened, as if he had no idea what to do at this moment. He eyed Arik with wariness. “You look... quite different, my lord.”

  “Yes, well, most men do look different when they nearly drown at sea.” Lady Traveston forced the door open wider. “Now, you and the servants are going to prepare a good meal for the duke’s son. Or I promise you, all of London will hear about how this gallant man was turned away from Lord Hawthorne’s hospitality.”

  “And Miss Nelson will leave afterward?” the butler asked hopefully.

  “She stays with me,” Arik insisted. When he moved beside her, the threat in his bearing was unmistakable. Though Juliana supposed she ought to be slightly annoyed, it was rather nice to see the butler take a step backward.

  “I—that is, I’m not certain—”

  “Mr. Newcastle, honestly. Does anyone need to know that she’s here?” Lady Traveston continued. “I think not. If you are truly that concerned about losing your post, I can assure you that I will tell no one of Juliana’s presence. But if you turn my darling granddaughter away, I shall make your life into a living nightmare.”

  Never in her life had Juliana been referred to as a darling granddaughter—more often she was that girl. Even so, she understood the baroness’s intentions.

  “Furthermore, I expect that the servants will prepare rooms for both my granddaughter and me. Both of us are in need of shelter for the night, so that we may retire in comfort. And of course, my coachman, my footman, and my maid must have a place to stay.” Lady Traveston pointed in the direction of her coach. Then she lifted her chin toward Newcastle, who took another step backward. “See to it, won’t you?”

  “I’ll see what can be done, my lady. But I do ask for your discretion.” The butler signaled for a footman to come forward, and he leaned down to give the man instructions.

  “Of course.” Lady Traveston beckoned for Juliana and Arik to enter.

  At that moment, Thorgrim sent the woman an admiring smile. “You remind me of my own mother,” he said. “She was quite fierce, like you.”

  Lady Traveston flushed and cleared her throat. “I suppose that’s meant to be a compliment. But although you may dine with Juliana and me, I do expect you to return home afterward. To your own bedchamber.” At that, the older woman left them standing in the hall while she went to explore the downstairs.

  Juliana wanted to groan at the woman’s insinuation. But Arik only smiled. He wasn’t thinking of sharing her bed, was he? But from the look in his eyes, yes, that was exactly what he was thinking.

  She ought to send him away to beg for hospitality from the duke. His Grace was unlikely to turn Arik away.

  But he leaned in and asked, “Will I have to sleep outside with the horses?”

  “No.” Juliana’s voice came out like a whisper. “I will find a place for you here.” Mistake! her brain was screaming. You cannot let him remain. For in a comfortable manor house such as this, he could easily tempt her back into seduction.

  “Where?” he asked. His hand brushed against hers, and she knew it was no accident.

  Juliana squared her shoulders and faced him. In a low voice, she instructed, “After the meal ends, you will pretend to leave.” She nodded toward the stairs a few feet away. “Go up to the third floor and open the last door on the left. It should suffice.”

  Without another word, she hurried forward to catch up to her grandmother. Lady Traveston strode toward the parlor with the precision of a soldier marching into battle. She paused briefly at the end of the hallway when she saw the remains of the grandfather clock. “Good heavens. Whatever happened here?”

  Juliana met Arik’s gaze, and for a moment, she could not speak. He had tried to slay the clock, as if it were a supernatural object. The Duke of Somerford’s son would never do such a thing, no matter how much he’d forgotten. Nor would a duke’s bastard. He would have known it was a clock and disregarded it.

  But Arik had been affected by more than the clock. He’d stared at the pianoforte as if he’d never seen one before. And he’d touched the Oriental rugs as if they were rare and precious.

  Her heartbeat quickened. Was it possible that she’d been wrong about him?

  “Well?” the baroness demanded, pointing to the damaged wood.

  “It was—merely an accident, Grandmama. Nothing more than that.” But after they passed the grandfather clock, she took a moment to truly look at Arik Thorgrim. He was so very tall, and she suspected he was taller than the duke’s son. His face held many scars, as did his forearms. He was a warrior, not a gentleman. It was as evident as the dark brown eyes that held her captive.

  Dear God, who was he?

  “Juliana?” her grandmother prompted. “Are you going to just stand there and stare at Lord Thorgraham?”

  “N-no.” She moved forward into the parlor and sank down into a chair, so grateful for a moment to sit down. Dizziness swept over her, and she took slow breaths to calm her beating heart.

  Lady Traveston sat down and sighed. Her girth spilled over the edges of the fragile gilt chair, but she perched upon it as if she were a queen. She gestured for Arik to sit, and when he did, she began her interrogation. “Now, I wish to hear all about the night your ship disappeared, Lord Thorgraham. Do not leave out a single detail.”

  He sent her a sidelong glance and then corrected, “You may call me Arik.”

  “It is far too soon to be on such familiar terms,” her grandmother said. “But we may become friends in time.” She waved her hand. “Now do tell me where you’ve been.”

  Arik told her of sailing across the sea and of the violent storm. He wove a tale of his men dying and how his ship had arrived upon the shore.

  “So you were the only survivor?” Lady Traveston asked.

  He nodded. “And I have sworn to help Juliana fight for her son.”

  At the mention of Harry, Juliana’s spirits dimmed. Though she knew he was safe with Grelod, it seemed wrong to stay in this house without him.

  “These lands rightfully belong to them,” Arik continued. “They cannot remain in her father’s house.”

  “In that, you are correct,” Lady Traveston answered. “I asked Juliana to return months ago, but she’s too stubborn to see reason.” Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, turning back toward her. “I don’t know what you were thinking. Living in a—in a fisherman’s cottage.”

  “I live in my father’s cottage,” she pointed out. “And it never bothered me as a child.” Her cheeks were burning with anger, for her grandmother had always looked down upon them. “I had a family who loved me.” She hadn’t needed wealth, and her mother had
adored her father, despite their social differences.

  Lady Traveston sighed. “And what am I? I took you in and trained you to be a lady. If it were left up to your father, you’d be nothing but a fishwife wearing rags.”

  Juliana took a slow breath and counted to five before she answered. “Why did you come to see me, Grandmama?”

  The matron hesitated and eyed Arik, as if she suddenly realized that she’d aired out their differences in front of a stranger. She straightened and said, “My lord, I presume you know the scandal surrounding that wastrel Lord Hawthorne?”

  “He abandoned his wife and son. He deserves to be—”

  “Yes, yes, we know,” Juliana interrupted. She didn’t doubt that Arik was about to discuss slaying her husband, the enemy. “But as he has not returned, nothing can be done.”

  “To the contrary,” Lady Traveston said. She pursed her lips as if she had tasted something that had spoiled.

  “Has my husband returned?” Juliana demanded. Was that the reason Lady Traveston had made such a journey?

  Her grandmother ignored the question. “Lord Thorgraham, perhaps you can intervene on my granddaughter’s behalf to extricate her from this mess.” She paused a moment and added, “If you are in need of a wife yourself, you might consider her.”

  Juliana’s cheeks burned at the thought, but she said, “Grandmama, I do not think that the Duke of Somerford’s son is lacking in candidates for a wife.” Which was true, but she didn’t at all believe that Arik was the missing heir.

  Even now, he leaned against the arm of the fragile chair, and it was a wonder the wood didn’t break. With his primitive clothing and the leather braces upon his muscular forearms, he appeared like an ancient barbarian.

  His eyes stared into hers with interest, as if he was thinking about the stolen night they’d shared. Juliana’s skin grew sensitive, and she imagined this man’s hands upon her again. He had touched her without mercy, caressing her until she’d been overwhelmed by the molten desire he’d awakened.