by Dawn Brower
She nodded, a flicker of hope passing through her gaze.
“Then consider it done.” He released her and went to stand beside the constable. “There is no need to arrest anyone.”
The Baron sputtered. “Ignore him. This man owes me a great debt that he is unable to settle. I demand you arrest him at once.”
Aaron pulled a satchel from his pocket and flung it at the Baron. “There is your coin.” He peered at Baxter. “You will never set foot near Emma again.”
“I understand. Th…thank you, Your Grace.”
“Do not thank me. It is Emma you owe your gratitude to. I’d have let them hang you for what you’ve done.” He turned his back giving the cut direct and swept Emma back into the dining room. He’d not waste one more precious moment of their lives on the nefarious me.
“We’re back, Princess,” Emma said as they strolled through the door.
“Now let us have cake,” Sophia said, a heaping piece already set before her.
“Indeed.” Emma took her chair, then lifted her fork and stuck it into the decadent slice that had been served for her.
Aaron brimmed with pride, love, and hope for their future as he joined in. Somehow, everything would fall into place. He simply knew it would.
Chapter 8
Nine months later
Aaron cuddle Sophia on his lap, more content than he could ever recall being in the past. As he had suspected, everything had worked itself out. Now he had more than any one man had a right too; a wonderful daughter, loving wife, more coin than most of his peers, and twins on the way. He was a lucky man indeed.
“Daddy, tell me a story.”
He grinned, bouncing her on his knee. “Which one would you like to hear?”
“The one about the long haired lady.” Sophia snuggled against his chest as he began.
“There once was a beautiful woman with hair the color of spun gold that reached well past her waist and a singing voice that rivaled the angels.”
He caught one of Sophia’s curls in his hand and twilled it with his fingers. “A selfish man who could not see her worth sold her to an equally villainous man who locked her away. Only she was far too smart for the unscrupulous men. One day she found a way to escape, hiding herself away in a stranger’s coach.”
Sophia rubbed her fingers back and forth across his collarbone, a small sigh drifting from her lips.
“The woman had found her way into a duke’s carriage, though she did not know it at the time. When he discovered her he could not help but offer his assistance.”
Aaron trailed of as someone entered the room, delicate footfalls giving them away.
“Together the duke and the fair haired woman stopped the villains, saving each other and earning their happily ever after.” Emma finished the story coming to stand beside the chair, her hand resting on his shoulder.
Sophia glanced up, understanding dawning in her gaze. “Mama, you are the woman in the story.”
Aaron chuckled, “Indeed she is.”
“I knew it.” Sophia grinned, climbing from his lap. She moved to the floor and started playing with her doll.
Aaron stood, coming up behind Emma and wrapping his arms around her waist. He spread his fingers across her swollen belly where his twins grew. Evidence of the love they shared. His heart warmed as it always did when his wife came near.
He bent his head close to her ear, inhaling her lavender scent. “Have I told you I love you today?”
She craned her neck to gaze at him. “At least a half dozen times, and yet I never tire of hearing it.”
He smiled the rakish grin he knew she adored. “Then I shall endeavor to say it a dozen more before the day fades away. And every day here after.” Emma turned in his arms to rest her hand on his cheek and stare into the depths of his eyes. “As will I.”
Excerpt: Enchanted by the Earl
Explore the rest of the series! Turn the page for an excerpt from book one in Amanda Mariel’s bestselling Fabled Love series:
Enchanted by the Earl
**The Fabled Love series is designed so that the books can be read in any order**
Chapter 1
London 1813
The creak of carriage wheels pulled Rose’s attention away from the garden, where, kneeling in the beds, she inspected the bright blooms she had tended all spring. Lady Julia Thorne’s elegant barouche pulled to a stop outside the cottage Rose shared with her elderly grandmother. Heartbeat accelerating, Rose stood and dusted her hands on her apron, leaving streaks of dirt behind.
A tall gentleman with raven hair and eyes the shade of the mid-summer sky stood near the open carriage door. Rose caught herself staring at the strong lines of his jaw as he handed her client, Lady Julia, down from the carriage.
Her pulse quickened as her visitors drew nearer. She kept her gaze on the gentleman--he was the handsomest she had ever beheld. When he looked her way, Rose's cheeks burned at being caught ogling him so unabashedly. Lady Julia smiled as Rose approached. “Miss Woodcourt, I’ve come to select the cloth for my new frocks. Did you manage to get the samples I requested?”
“I called upon the linen-drapers on Cheapside yesterday,” Rose returned cheerfully. She was always glad to see Lady Julia, who had become much more to her than a client. “Please come in.” Walking up the front walk to her home, she pulled open the weathered door.
Lady Julia moved past her in a swish of green organdy. Her companion stopped on the old plank-board porch. “I’ll wait here if it is all the same to you, miss.” His breathtaking grin revealed straight white teeth.
Rose stared, awestruck by his good looks. The door handle slid from her palm, causing the door to slam. She jumped at the noise, her nerve endings crackling.
He pulled the wooden panel back open, blue eyes twinkling. “Allow me, miss.”
Warmth flooded Rose’s cheeks as she took a step toward the opening. A flush spread to her neck. Taking a breath she inhaled his heady aroma of clover and sage.
“What is your name, miss?”
“Rose Woodcourt.” She glanced at his hand and noticed a signet ring glinting upon his finger. She quickly added, “my lord.”
Of course he was a lord and she a bird-witted fool for reacting so strongly to him. It would best serve her to remember her place in society. Lords did not go about courting common misses. They dallied with them until they grew bored, tossing them aside when the affair no longer held their interest. Rose’s indignation stirred at memories of poor Annie. A rakish earl cast her old friend away after he had gotten her with child. Abandoned and afraid, Annie came to Rose for help. But alas, there was nothing to be done. Annie died bringing forth that odious man’s son.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Woodcourt.” He offered a smile. “I am Hunter Thorne, Earl of Aubry.”
Rose dropped into a low curtsy, holding his gaze. Try as she might, she could not stop looking at him.
A ball of nerves unfurled in her stomach as she accepted his offered hand. A moment later, she pulled her hand free. “Excuse me, Lord Aubry, but Lady Julia is waiting.”
Upon entering her workroom, she found Lady Julia perched on a faded high-back chair. The sweet aroma of fresh bread wafting through the cottage, coupled with the teacup in Lady Julia’s hand, told Rose her grandmother had seen to Lady Julia’s comfort before returning to the kitchen. “Please forgive my disheveled state. I am afraid I lost track of time.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Shall we?” Lady Julia smiled.
Rose hurried to her shelves and scooped up several bundles of cloth. “Yes, of course. Here are samples for your consideration.” She placed the pile on her sewing table. “The linen-draper assures me these are the newest available. Some came directly from the Orient.”
Rose watched Lady Julia lift a swatch of blue organdy. The very shade of Lord Aubry’s eyes. The pair shared the same eye color and shade of hair, the same smile. Were they related? As hope set its hooks in Rose’s heart, she cas
t away her fancies. She should banish him from her mind lest she wind up like poor Annie. “What a lovely shade, my lady.”
Gran’s voice rang out from the entryway. “I said you shan’t disturb Rose. Mr. Wolfe, you mustn’t go in there.”
Good heavens! That reprobate, Dewitt Wolfe, had darkened her stoop again. Would he never leave her in peace?
“Please excuse me for a moment, Lady Julia.” With her heart thumping, Rose moved to the door. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? She had broken their betrothal and made her position clear. Yet he refused to accept her decision.
Mr. Wolfe stopped mid-step. Gran came just short of colliding into his backside. “Ah, there you are, my dear.” His mouth twisted into a grin. “I have come to--”
Frustrated beyond reason, Rose forgot she had company. She cut him short, speaking sharper than she intended. “I know why you have come. You need not go on. I have given you my answer.” As she stared into his beady brown eyes, her stomach roiled. “I will not marry you, Mr. Wolfe.”
Flashing a tight smile, Wolfe marched toward her, his dull brown hair disheveled and sticking out from under his tall beaver hat. “You will marry me.” He reached into his pocket and whipped out a folded document. “I had hoped you would not force my hand thusly.” He held the folded parchment out to her, his darkened gaze bored into hers. “The unpaid mortgage to this humble dwelling, my dear. Should you refuse to wed me, I will sell your home out from under you.”
Rose grabbed the document, peeled it open, and scanned the print. Her stomach rolled over, and a knot formed in her throat. She crumpled the parchment in her fist before glaring at him. “You cannot. This is nothing but a trick. Papa paid off the mortgage years ago.”
“I can and I shall.”
Something sinister flickered in his eyes. His stony glare sent a chill through her bloodstream.
“Do not allow this brute to force your hand, Rose,” Gran said, dabbing her eyes. “All will be fine. Even if we lose the cottage, we will find a way.” Gran shook her head, freeing a few strands of graying auburn hair loose from her bun.
Oh, how Rose wished that were so. But the cottage was all she had left of her childhood and her parents, after the carriage accident that claimed their lives. How could Mr. Wolfe gain proof of an unpaid debt that had been settled years ago? She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders.
“I will prove this is a farce. My answer is still no. I will not marry you. Please leave us in peace.”
When she turned to walk away, he caught her arm, spinning her back to face him.
“The document is legal,” he sneered. “Your dear father never finished paying his debt. I own this cottage due to the breach of this contract.” He stepped closer. “You should be thanking me for saving you from debtors’ prison.”
She jerked her arm free and took a step back from him. Looking up into his cold dark eyes, she mustered all of her courage. “Mr. Wolfe, let me be clear. I will never marry you.” Not backing down from his glare, she straightened herself and lifted her chin. “Leave my home at once, Mr. Wolfe.” Rose stood her ground and fought her tears. She refused to allow Mr. Wolfe to see how upset he made her.
“I would be happy to do so…as soon as you agree to become my wife.”
Lord Aubry stepped up behind him. “I am certain Miss Woodcourt asked you to leave the premises, sir.”
His rich voice wrapped around Rose like a warm shawl on an icy night. Her limbs tingled in response, as she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She could not cry in front of them. She would perish of embarrassment if she did.
Without changing his facial sneer, he bit out his retort. “Who are you to give me orders?” Mr. Wolfe spun to face Lord Aubry. His shoulders slumped as he dropped into a bow. “Forgive me, my lord. I am afraid you came upon a private matter and tempers are high.” He straightened before tossing a glance over his shoulder at Rose, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Rose looked at Lord Aubry who stood there with a tight smile, then back at Wolfe. Cold fear trickled through her veins. Wolfe would not take kindly to Lord Aubry’s interference.
The earl stepped forward, directly in front of Wolfe, his shoulders squared, his scowl dangerous. “You will show yourself out, this instant.”
Rose stared at the men, her cheeks burning. As much as she appreciated his help, she would rather keep her struggles with this unsavory character private.
“Yes, my lord. Right away.” Wolfe stepped around Lord Aubry, but not before glowering at her. A moment later the door slammed, shaking the floor beneath Rose’s feet. She let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Thank you, Lord Aubry.” She dipped into a deep curtsy. Gratitude filled her, but her stomach also knotted. She knew Mr. Wolfe would not give up easily, and Lord Aubry was not likely to be around the next time she found herself in need of saving.
Rose clutched the proof in her reticule as she marched toward the constable’s office. She had launched a frantic search through Papa’s old records last night. Hours were spent sorting through dusty ledgers, until at last she found the slip of parchment she needed. Rose pulled the receipt out and stared at it. Just how Mr. Wolfe managed to forge mortgage papers was beyond her understanding. Well, soon enough, she would prove Mr. Wolfe to be the fraud she knew he was.
A gentleman in a tall hat rushed past as she reached for the office door. A gust of air created by his movement snatched the precious receipt from her hand. The document danced on the breeze, pausing briefly, then bounced across the walkway. Her pulse quickening, Rose hurried after the receipt. As she stooped to grab her proof, another wind gust snatched the parchment from her fingertips, carrying it away. It landed on the edge of a mud puddle in the center of the busy street. Rose’s chest tightened with dread. If the receipt were ruined, she would have nothing to disprove Mr. Wolfe’s lies.
Scrambling after the small piece of parchment, she made to grab it, but the wind gave it wings again. She paid no mind to the people moving all around her as she dodged between them, desperate to reclaim her proof.
The receipt once again, fluttered down, landing in the very puddle from which Rose had just attempted to save it. Her heart sank. She reached out, fingers brushing the receipt, but pulled back when a carriage rattled by. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. If she lost her proof, Rose knew she would also lose the cottage. She edged closer to the curb. As she did, a horse approached with a quick gate. Rose jumped back and watched, as its hooves trampled her hope into the muddy pool.
Dropping to her knees, she reached for the soiled receipt, heedless of her gown. Please let the writing still be legible. She leaned over as far as she could, and fished the parchment out of the muddied water. Her heart tumbled to her toes. The ink was smeared beyond recognition. Nothing more than black streaks remained. What was she to do now?
“Miss Woodcourt?” A deep baritone voice invaded her thoughts.
She turned her head, her gaze colliding with Lord Aubry’s.
Rose took the hand he offered, allowing him to pull her up. She glanced down at the sopping parchment. “Gone, it is all gone.” Her voice shook as she met his questioning gaze.
“What is gone?”
“This! My proof.” Frustrated, she dangled the wet, smeared receipt in front of him. Her white gloves were stained with muddy street water from fishing the receipt out of the gutter. Rose struggled to maintain her composure.
“I am afraid I do not follow, Miss Woodcourt.” Concern flashed in his blue eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, determined to stay calm. “It was the receipt proving Papa had indeed paid off the mortgage he owed Mr. Wolfe’s father. I intended to take the proof to the constable. Now I have nothing.” Rose fought rising panic, her free hand fisting her skirt.
“You might still hire the Bow Street Runners to investigate.” He studied her, his gaze softened.
Something in the way he searched her face warmed her deep inside. “That is not an optio
n. I must go, my lord.” She dipped into a curtsy.
He caught her elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Pray tell, why is hiring a Bow Street runner not an option?” Rose could not ignore the small butterflies taking flight in her belly at his touch.
She peered up into his sky-blue gaze and nibbled her lip. How could she admit to him that hiring them was beyond her financial reach? Without proof they could not simply right the wrong. Perhaps Wolfe could be arrested. No. She would have to hand over coin, and plenty of it, for an investigation. She had no extra coin. No matter how she tried to think to answer him, she simply couldn’t respond. She stood mute, gazing at him.
“Do you intend to ignore me?” Frustration coated Lord Aubry’s words. He released his grip on her.
Rose glanced up at him. Could he help? She wanted to ask, but made no move to speak.
“If you tell me what the issue is perhaps I may be able to assist you.” His eyes were locked on hers. His voice was gentle. An odd sensation unfurled in her midsection.
Rose averted her gaze, not entirely sure she wished to share her struggles with him.
“Very well,” he said. “Keep your secrets for now, if you must.”
“I cannot afford an investigation at this time, and I do not desire your assistance.” Her cheeks flamed at the admission. “I could not possibly impose.” Her insides felt so strange. Why did he affect her so?
“There is no imposition. In fact, I insist.” Grinning, he extended his arm. His day coat clung to his chest, revealing a muscular physique.
“That is most generous, but I cannot allow it.” Rose forced a smile.
Pity flickered in his eyes as he held her gaze.
How mortifying. A flush spread from her chest up her neck. The last thing she wanted was to become his charity case.
“At the least, allow me to take you home,” he offered.
