Always Your Love
A Gothic Regency Romance
Ellie St. Clair
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
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Designs on a Duke
A sneak peek…
Also by Ellie St. Clair
About the Author
1
Hannah Blackburn needed a moment.
A moment alone. A moment away from the crush of people. A moment away from Byron.
She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she pressed her hand against her throat and leaned against the back of the door.
As she began to restore her equilibrium, she opened her eyes, and allowed her gaze to wander over the shadows among the bookshelves, created by the dwindling flame in the fireplace at the far end of the room. It seemed she had stumbled upon a library. It had been the first door she had tried. The room was so full it was near bursting, with not only the expected books but also statues, vases, portraits, and unused frames littering the space.
A chesterfield sat in front of the fire, and Hannah took a step forward, drawn toward the warmth and comfort.
“What are you doing in here?”
Hannah jumped, whirling around to determine the voice’s origin. Her heart pounded within her chest, but she was proud she hadn’t emitted even the slightest of sounds.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, though there was a break in her tone.
“Did I frighten you?” His voice was dry, containing a hint of sarcasm, although Hannah didn’t see what could possibly be amusing about his words.
“You startled me,” she said, peering into the shadows, finally making out his silhouette in the corner, sitting in an armchair that had been pushed back against the wall. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, thrown slightly off balance by the stranger who didn’t seem to have any desire to make his identity known. “I’ll leave you now.”
“Don’t go.” The command he issued somehow contained a hint of pleading in it, as though he was desperate for company. While she knew she should leave, Hannah found herself rooted to the floor, curious to solve this mystery of a man.
“Tell me why you’ve escaped the festivities,” he continued.
Hannah wandered over to the chesterfield now, where she would be closer to the enigma’s corner of solitude.
“I don’t particularly enjoy parties,” she admitted, though why she was saying so to a stranger she couldn’t even see, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was because, with his visage obscured, he was unthreatening. “I find I can best get through them if I take a minute to myself now and again.”
“I see,” he said, and she felt that, more than simply offering platitudes, he actually did understand. “Are you certain you should be alone, unchaperoned?”
“Likely not,” she said, looking down at her hands. “But my mother would not be particularly pleased to accompany me away from the party.”
“You’re to show yourself off – find a husband then?” His voice was deep and rough, as though it had been hindered by disuse.
“Something like that,” she said softly.
“Well, you certainly won’t find one in here,” he said, a slight bit of rueful laughter accompanying his words, and Hannah wondered what it was about him that caused him to discount himself from fulfilling such a role.
“Are you married?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“No.”
“You have no wish to be?”
There was a long pause.
“No.”
“Well,” she said, needing to fill the silence suddenly, as the air that had previously carried some comfort in it suddenly became tense at his terse replies. “Not to worry. It seems I have already found myself one.”
“Oh?”
“It’s actually the purpose of this party tonight – to celebrate our betrothal. I don’t know him particularly well. Our parents have arranged it all, you see. It’s odd, isn’t it? That I am to spend the rest of my life with someone I hardly know?”
He was silent for a moment once more, and Hannah longed to walk over and see what this man looked like. It was both disconcerting and yet at the same time freeing to speak to someone practically invisible.
“Are you sure he would make you a good husband?” the stranger finally asked, and Hannah sensed that there was more behind the words than a simple question.
“I don’t know,” she said, for he echoed the very sentiment she worried about. “It doesn’t seem to matter.”
“It should,” he said, surprising her by standing. He walked around the perimeter of the room, never stepping into the dim glow from the fire. The room held no other source of light – the wall sconces, candles, or lanterns were all dark. “Do not give your life away to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
Hannah stood, taking a few steps toward where he had paused in the corner of two bookshelves. He was tall, she could ascertain from his silhouette, his build lean and seemingly strong. His hair nearly brushed his shoulders, quite opposed to the style of the day. Her fingers itched to paint the scene before her.
“You seem to know more than you are saying,” she said, knowing she should leave the room and not question her marriage, for it was too late. The betrothal had been announced, and there was no going back now. Her parents would never allow it. “Tell me what I should be aware of – please?”
He hesitated, and she could sense that he was trying to decide whether or not to share what she now so desperately needed to know.
“Your soon-to-be husband can be a brute, Lady Hannah,” he said, and she gasped when he said her name, though why wouldn’t he know who she was? He was at her betrothal party, after all, even if he was hiding away in the library. “He will not be true to you, will give you nothing but pain. Why do you think they are marrying him off to a woman like you? Should not a future earl be doing much better for himself? Your parents must be desperate.”
Hannah could not have been more shocked had he slapped her in the face. She couldn’t deny, however, that his words held truth to them, and caused the tingles of unease that had accompanied her the few times she had been with her betrothed to turn into full tremors.
“Pardon me, but who are you to say such things to me?” she finally managed, and his chuckle was low and humorless as he stepped forward, staying just beyond the soft light.
“I am a man who tells the truth, for I have no reason to pretend, like the rest of them out there, cloaked in their fineries and their lies, obscuring their horrible souls beneath. With me, it is as you see it.”
“And yet you hide in the shadows,” she challenged, angry now that he would throw out such accusations without revealing anything about himself.
“You are correct,” he acknowledged. “It is where I belong.”
* * *
Edmund wondered why the girl was still here. He had to give her some credit – most young women would likely have gone running the moment they found themselves alone in the library with him. Although she hadn’t yet actually seen him. The moment she did, he knew she would flee, as did everyone else with the unfortunate chance to see his visage. It was why he never should have come, why he belonged hidden away at the remote estate his father had been more than happy to give him, especially when he had promised to remain there.
Edmund
would have preferred to not be here tonight, but his mother had insisted he attend. She felt the whole family should be supporting this marriage. Perhaps she knew they must do all within their power to force it ahead.
What was left of his heart went out to the girl before him. She was short and slim, with wide brown eyes and a waif-like quality about her. He had hoped that the woman his brother was to wed would be strong enough to hold her own against him. But this woman? She would likely break before him. He did admit, however, that she had some backbone, to remain here talking to a stranger in the darkness, especially after his insult.
He didn’t overly care about the consequences that came with warning her away from his brother and what awaited her were she to continue on with this marriage.
“It’s not too late,” he said, fighting the strange desire that coursed through him to step closer to her and touch the soft skin of her cheek where the firelight flickered. “You can go, still.”
For a second, he wasn’t sure if he was warning her away from him, or from his brother. Then he realized it didn’t matter. It would be best for her if she ran away from his entire sordid family.
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head with some melancholy. “It’s been decided. My parents would never allow me to cry off now.”
“Tell me,” he said, the need to know coming from deep within him, “have you ever known a man before?”
“Have I ever… Oh! Of course not!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she peered at him, attempting to make him out in the darkness. “How could you ask such a thing?”
He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “I was not trying to imply anything untoward. I was simply wondering if you have ever known any tenderness, so that you will have a fond memory to look back upon once your husband comes to you.”
She audibly swallowed.
“No,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I have never even been kissed.”
He reached out, unsure what caused him to do so, and took her hands in his before gently pulling her toward him to join him in the shadows. He should now place his hands on her shoulders, turn her around, and steer her out the door. Away from him, from his darkness, from all the base instincts that drove him.
But he didn’t. While his dark heart hadn’t shown compassion to another person for years now, he felt an unnatural need to protect this woman, to provide her with all he knew his brother never would.
He didn’t know why she went along willingly, unresisting. But comply she did, stepping forward, joining him in the darkness, tilting her head back to look up at him, and searching out his face.
Fortunately, however, the light was too dim and the fire too small for them to distinguish anything but silhouettes of one another.
It was enough for him to know where she stood, and he reached out slowly so as not to scare her, before he finally allowed his fingertips to graze the soft, smooth skin that had called to him since she had entered the room. He began to tilt his head down toward her, giving her every opportunity to back away, to run, to go tell all of the others about the monster in the library.
But she didn’t. She stood there, expectant, head tilted back, the only sign of a change in emotions the increased speed of her breath, which puffed against his lips.
Until finally, his lips reached hers. He grazed them upon hers, softly tasting, testing, tempting her. When she stood on her tiptoes, placed her hands upon his chest, and leaned into it, he was lost.
He moved his lips over hers, still gentle, but now exploring, caressing, providing her with all of the care she deserved in a first kiss. He slid his hands down her face, her neck, her shoulders, until they wrapped around her back and pulled her against him.
She had been telling the truth of her inexperience, and yet it was her enthusiastic response that fueled him, driving him to delve deeper, to taste her sweet innocence. It flowed through him powerfully, reminding him that he was the last man who should be touching her. His brother might treat her ill, but at least she likely wouldn’t be disgusted when she stared upon his face.
It was that thought that was finally strong enough to make him pull back, to leave the sweetness of her lips, though it was a moment before he could step away from her.
“There,” he said gruffly, though inwardly he cursed, “remember that.”
She stepped back from him, leaving him feeling bereft at the loss of her closeness. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, staring at one another, suspended in indecision, until a shriek from beyond the room captured their attention.
“I must go,” she said, and then, turning in a swirl of fabric and the scent of lavender, she was gone.
2
Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs as she left the library and all of its secrets and hurried down the corridor. A cluster of people surrounded the doorway to one of the other sitting rooms, which surprised her – should they not all be in the drawing room and the space which had been fashioned into a ballroom for the night?
The crush of people crowded around the entryway were now murmuring among themselves. Hannah weaved around the onlookers, coming to a halt when she saw Lady Heatherstone lying in its entrance, while another woman attempted to revive her with smelling salts and a maid ran off for additional help. Hannah lifted her hand to cover her mouth, wondering what could have caused the woman to faint away, when movement within the room caught her eye and she looked up.
The scene in front of her caused her to freeze completely.
For there was Lord Byron Marshville – her betrothed – fastening his trousers.
In front of him was a young woman Hannah knew only by name, hastily shoving pins into her hair.
Hannah couldn’t even identify any of the emotions that rushed through her, so stunned she was – by the sight before her and, if she were being honest, by all that had occurred between her and the stranger within the library. What a turn of events this all was, she mused. The difference between the two simultaneous occurrences? She had not been caught – and what happened here seemed to have gone far beyond a kiss.
She would have thought the woman in front of her would be embarrassed at being found so compromised, but it seemed the opposite was true. A smug smile lined her face, particularly when she found Hannah standing there.
The satisfaction in her eyes flickered, however, when she looked just over Hannah’s shoulder.
“What is the meaning— my God. Byron.” Lord Heatherstone had joined the group in the doorway, stepping over his wife to enter as he took in the scene. “Close this door immediately!” he bellowed, before pointing his finger at his son, his expression furious. “You,” he said, nearly sputtering, “into my study. Now. This betrothal party is over.”
Hannah took a step backward as the door closed in front of her, suddenly becoming an observer despite the fact that her future was indelibly intertwined with what had just occurred. Her fiancé had just compromised another young woman in front of half the ton.
Somehow, she doubted she would soon be a bride. And all that she felt at the thought was relief.
* * *
Edmund hadn’t followed Lady Hannah into the hall to determine the source of the hysterics. In truth, he hadn’t been overly interested. He guessed some fool had cuckolded another, or two women had appeared wearing the same gown. He didn’t overly care. All that mattered to him was the end of this blasted party and his return to Hollingswood Manor, which he had called home for five years now.
Five years, since his previous life had ended and his new one had begun. A life that had no room for kisses with beautiful young women with too-wide eyes who reached deep within his black soul and stirred a heart that hadn’t beat for any reason beyond keeping his blood flowing through his veins for a long time now.
He was surprised, then, by the smattering of footsteps outside the doorway, followed by blessed silence. That is, until he heard his father start bellowing. There was an answering yell, and finally even Edmu
nd was curious.
He walked over to the door, opening it a crack so that he could better hear.
“Your son will marry my daughter!” roared an indignant, portly man as he walked backward down the corridor, one hand in the air, a finger pointed toward Edmund’s father. Beside him walked a pretty young woman, with what Edmund assumed was her father’s jacket wrapped tightly around her. “Or I will see you as ruined as she now is!”
Finally, they were gone, and Edmund opened the door wide enough to step out into the hallway, looking down to see his father pushing his brother into his study.
Edmund decided he best simply avoid the entire sordid affair, but his father unfortunately caught sight of him.
“Edmund!” he called out. “Come here.”
“Thank you, Father, but I’m off to bed,” he responded, but his father would have none of it.
“My study, Edmund,” he said, his face hardened into a mask that even Edmund had difficulty ignoring, “now.”
Edmund sighed and, despite every cell in his body telling him to do otherwise, he strolled lazily down the hallway, just to provoke his father.
Fortunately, upon his arrival in the study, he found that he was not the object of his father’s chagrin – how could he be, when he had remained hidden in the library all night?
His father, Lord Heatherstone to everyone else, was pacing the study floor, his hands behind his back. Every now and then he looked up at his first son, Byron, who stood by the fireplace, one elbow upon the mantel as he stared his father down with nonchalance.
“I really don’t see issue, Father,” Byron said casually as Edmond entered, taking a seat in the corner. “It was a simple tryst, that’s all. It means nothing.”
Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance Page 1
