Taming Wilde

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Of course.” Colin nodded. “After all, he has his… future wife to look after. Amongst other things.”

  “You truly did not need to do that,” Gemma interjected, cupping Colin’s face.

  “Gemma, not now. He is not your betrothed!” Van Burge snapped. “This is a conversation between gentlemen, and—”

  “Pardon me, did you just speak to my future wife as if she were nothing more than a fixture in your house?”

  “Yes!” Van Burge yelled and then took a step back. “What did you just say?”

  Rutledge chuckled. “My lord, allow me to introduce you to his grace, the Duke of Bridgewater.”

  Van Burge’s face turned a brilliant shade of purple before he bellowed, “How dare you deceive me! I shall cut you from limb to limb! I shall—”

  “You shall do no such thing, Hawke!” Gemma interrupted.

  “Gemma, know your place!” He pointed his finger at Colin. “I will not be silent about this! I do not care who you are or how much money you possess, nor—”

  Colin’s fist sailed into the marquess’s face, sending him to the ground in a heap.

  Van Burge’s solicitor smiled. “Do you know, I’ve been itching to do that for ten years?”

  “Get in line.” Gemma huffed.

  Rutledge cleared his throat. “It seems we are finished here. Pleasure doing business with you, your grace.” The men bowed their heads briefly and walked out of the room.

  “Your grace?” Gemma repeated. “Your grace. I love the sound of that.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Duchess.” Colin dipped her back and kissed her neck.

  “And now will you tell me how this all came to be?”

  Hawke stirred from the floor. Colin kissed Gemma’s mouth again and led her out of the room. The minute they were in the hall, he pressed her against the wall. “I will explain it all later, but for now…”

  “For now?” She sighed. “For now, what?”

  “I want to kiss you,” Colin said against her lips. “I want to kiss my future wife, my future duchess. I’ve always wanted to kiss a duchess.”

  “That can be arranged.” Gemma giggled.

  Epilogue

  Ambrose grinned as he watched his twin dance with Bridget, his wife.

  “What are you smiling about?” Cordelia asked, grabbing her husband’s hand and bestowing a kiss upon it.

  “Wallflowers.”

  “Pardon?” She laughed.

  “They are… not always as they seem.” He gazed down at his beautiful wife, with her easy smile and warm laugh.

  “Nobody truly is.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “Where are Colin and Gemma?”

  Just then Colin appeared with Gemma on his arm. They had been married four weeks ago and were just back from their honeymoon.

  “Over here!” Cordelia called them.

  Gemma walked briskly towards Cordelia and embraced her. Soon Anthony and Bridget joined them.

  “A toast!” Anthony called, grabbing goblets of champagne from a passing servant.

  “To what?” Gemma asked.

  Just then a gasp was heard from the crowd, and then some cursing as Lady Van Burge, the marquess’s new wife, pulled him by his cravat through the hall. Poor fellow was digging his heels into the floor.

  “Must have gotten caught with another maid.” Gemma sighed. “You were saying?”

  “I believe that man is getting exactly what he deserves.” Anthony cleared his throat. “A toast to rakes and the women who reform them.”

  “Hear, hear!” They lifted their glasses and cheered.

  About the Authors

  Leah Sanders is the middle child in a family of seven children. As a true middle child she went from high school in Alaska to college in Florida, where she earned a Bachelor's degree in secondary education from Southeastern University. She also holds a Master's degree in educational technology from Boise State University.

  She makes her home in Idaho with her husband and three children. By day she teaches English in a middle school. But after the kids are in bed, she will most likely be typing away on her laptop while sitting in her favorite spot on the couch.

  Rachel Van Dyken is a Graduate of Northwest Nazarene University, with a degree in Social Sciences with an emphasis in industrial psychology and a minor in Spanish. She is also a Post Graduate of California Coast University receiving a MBA with an emphasis in Human Resource Management. She resides in Nampa, Idaho where she writes full time. Starbucks is a daily must, spiders make her scream, and she loves chocolate but is allergic, of course. Nate, her husband, makes her laugh so hard she cries, and they share their Pacific Northwest home with a very loud snoring boxer named Sir Winston Churchill.

  Rachel loves to read almost as much as she loves to write. Although she loves to write contemporary romance, her heart will always be with historical and regency romances. Glittering balls and dangerous rakes hold her captivated like chocolate and Starbucks.

  Also from Astraea Press:

  Prologue

  Samuel wrapped his arm around the slim waist of his latest conquest. He licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come next, when he took her to the nearest bed. He was so foxed her name escaped him. Carlotta? Celina? He shrugged as he leaned in to nuzzle her soft neck. No matter. His memory faded soon after he tired of each woman he bedded, but there was always another waiting in line. Oftentimes, he brought them here, to one of his favorite inns.

  The woman giggled when Samuel closed his eyes, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. Pulling her closer still, he took possession of her ripe lips, not caring who stood nearby to watch them.

  He'd done this before. Many, many times.

  As quickly as Samuel placed his lips on the woman's, she was gone, leaving him to pucker up only to the stale air. His eyes popped open. "What the…?"

  Another man, dressed in expensive breeches and coat, now had his arms around Samuel's woman. Samuel gritted his teeth, the very teeth that had only moments ago been clasped on soft feminine skin. Now, they bit down hard. On his tongue.

  Cursing loudly, Samuel lunged at the other man, pushing the woman aside in the process. "Get your filthy hands off of her. She's mine!"

  The man narrowed his eyes, knocking Samuel's hands away from his person. "You are of no consequence to me." He glanced at the woman, his eyes roving over every voluptuous inch. "I like what I see. She is now mine."

  Samuel's blood boiled. Heat flooded his face. Vision now blurred from anger and ale, he lowered his head and raced forward, intent upon knocking the other man senseless.

  Strong hands once again pushed Samuel away, hard. Staring up at the dirty ceiling, Samuel shook his head, trying to force the room to stop spinning.

  Clump. Clump. Clump. Footsteps… that last quite close to his ear. Turning his head, Samuel gasped. How easy it would be for the other man to kick him in the face! He forced himself to a sitting position. Perhaps his swirling vision would calm. Surely he could stand. He must. There was no way he was letting his woman walk away with someone else. And away from him. Yes, there had always been another waiting for his favor, but suddenly it was important he possess this woman, on this night. It was a matter of pride that he not let her be taken away.

  Samuel braced his hands on the floor until he had steadied enough to get his feet under him. Silence in the room had replaced the bawdy laughter of but a few moments ago. Of course, that would be the case. The patrons loved nothing better than to bet on a fight.

  The sound of coins being exchanged all about him couldn't peel his eyes from the man standing in front of him. It was now or never. Any show of fear on his part might diminish future chances with other women if word got out that he'd acted the coward. A quick glance to his right showed the woman smiling, eyes gleaming, excited to be the object of such a feud.

  Bone smashed bone as a fist knocked his head back, once again setting the room to a twirl. Samuel shook his head, blood now pouring from his nose. More blood ran down his
throat. He coughed and spat. Red now colored the dirty floor.

  Clenching his fists, Samuel attacked the other man, pounding him again and again about the face and chest. Now they'd find who would win the woman. No way he would give up. It was do… or die.

  The man cursed, wiping blood from his chin. Enraged, he grabbed Samuel's shirtfront, propelling them both toward a grouping of rickety wooden tables. Samuel broke their fall, his back smacking onto the nearest tabletop. Pain lanced through his spine, jarring every bone and muscle. A firm grip lifted him from the table and threw him on the floor in a dusty, bloody heap.

  Samuel turned his head. A black boot pulled away from his head, then propelled forward, smashing into his temple.

  His world faded to black.

  Chapter One

  Outside Hammersmith, 1807

  Pain. Pain lanced through her entire body. Her ankle throbbed as if her heart pulsed in that exact spot. And cold, so cold, as if she lay upon damp, raw ground. Sasha Douglas clenched her hands into fists. Her stomach roiled with nausea. Where am I?

  Were her eyes open? In the near darkness, it was impossible to say. She squinted against the headache pounding behind her eyes and glanced up. And up. A tiny shaft of sunlight fell across the opening of wherever she was. Dots of fluffy white clouds hung lazily in the blue sky.

  She sat up, despite the pain in her head and leg, and tugged her cloak tighter against the chill. Water trickled along from somewhere beside her. A few inches of water splashed around her boot and seeped into her dress. What happened? Think, Sasha!

  A sharp cry echoed from way above the opening. Sasha dug her nails into her palms. Was it the red-footed falcon she'd watched earlier? Why did the bird's call cause panic in her heart? It had never bothered her before. She closed her eyes and slumped forward with her head and arms over her knees. Her ankle throbbed again. Perhaps if she rubbed it… no, it didn't help.

  Wait. Where was her left boot? She checked her other foot. Leather and lacings, just as it should be. Her left foot was cold. And wet. The pain throbbed again, from her knee to her ankle and toes. Her stomach knotted in response and she shivered.

  Her fingers caught on a large tear in her old walking dress. When she pulled back her hand, something sticky seeped through her gloves. Blood? She must have scraped her leg when she fell into this cold, black hole.

  Her teeth chattered in the chilly dampness. Breathe, Sasha, just breathe.

  Memories of earlier in the day flashed across her mind. She'd been walking along a valley as the green expanse of grass swayed in the breeze. Crickets had hummed their peculiar tune. The air was crisp and cool even though the sun shone. The red-footed falcon had cried overhead. She'd not been paying attention to where she was going as she watched the falcon dip and sway in the wind, its feathers gleaming in the sun's reflected rays. Then she'd stepped forward into empty air, and she gasped again as her stomach lurched from the memory.

  Fear had flashed through her like icy water. She'd grabbed for support… at nothing. She'd screamed, and it had echoed as she'd hurtled down the shaft. Had she bounced from the stone surface before she'd crashed against the cold, wet ground? Sasha remembered nothing else. Nothing at all until the first, pain-wracked moment when she'd woken. What have I fallen in to? The hole hadn't been visible from a distance in the tall grass. She hadn't noticed what must have been a fairly large opening for her to go through, as she'd watched the hawk. How would she get out? What if she couldn't get out? Will I die down here in this dark, damp place? Please, no. No!

  Surely someone would be along to find her, wouldn't they? Please let someone find me. "Help! Someone! Please help me!"

  Silence answered.

  Sasha glanced up again at the small patch of sky. I need to get out of here! But the distance was too great, and there wouldn't be anything to grasp onto, since the cobblestones along the wall were slick. Unless someone found her, she would die here, hurt and alone. Thoughts of starving or freezing to death caused new chills to wrack her body.

  Someone someday might find her bones. A shepherd seeking a lost sheep? A mason sent to fill in the old well? Would they bury her? She shuddered again.

  Circumstances as they were now could not be any worse. Her life would be forever changed. Sorrow gripped her heart at the thought of Samuel. Why? Why did he have to die? Since their parents' deaths, it had been just her and her brother.

  Now it was just her.

  Since she no longer had a family, there would be no one to even remember who she'd been. Or that she'd even crossed the earth. She had no one, absolutely alone in the world. Samuel. The physical hurt collided with the anguish and anger of her loss.

  Why had he gotten into the fight in the inn? He had always been in some kind of trouble and always had promised her each time would be the last. But he'd never kept his word to her. Couldn't he have just walked away and ignored the taunts of the other man? Then she wouldn't be here. Alone. He'd only been gone a few days, but… Samuel, I need you.

  She slumped against the cold cobblestones, shivering but too miserable to move. Tears dripped down her cheeks and plopped onto her dress. She grieved heavily for her last remaining family member. Nevertheless, she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Look where it had gotten her! Alone and lost. And possibly soon to die below the ground.

  No one would have to dig her grave because she was already in it.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Sasha swallowed hard. What was that? She sat up straighter.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Vibrations through the dirt became stronger and more pronounced as the seconds ticked by. The ground trembled. Small stones, from somewhere in the wall above, pelted her arms and head, but any discomfort was dwarfed by the pain in her ankle.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Sasha peered upward. Someone's coming! Was it a horse pounding its hooves on the ground? Did the horse have a rider? She shivered, torn between excitement and fear. "Hello! I'm down here!" No one answered. Were they too far away to hear?

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, competing with the noise above. She needed to still her mind and heart. Holding her breath, however, wasn't successful, only serving to make her suck in mouthfuls of cold, damp air.

  Sasha took a deep breath, letting it out a little at a time, and she calmed. She clenched her filthy fingers together. If the horse had a rider, she'd yell for all she was worth. It might be her one chance for life!

  But her energy drained away, weakness creeping through her body and mind. Dizziness swirled her vision and thoughts. How much blood had she lost? Someone please help me.

  ****

  Garrett Rothchild Cantlebury, the Fifth Duke of Ravensworth, slowed his horse, Ashe, when he spied something small and black lying next to the edge of the old well. Was it an animal? A piece of cloth? Wait, the slab covering the well had been moved. He gritted his teeth. He'd had it mortared closed after he'd seem some children showing interest in the well. And he'd been certain that would keep the slab down tight. Had they chipped away at it over time, loosening the seal little by little?

  He didn't care that they believed the well was haunted by some ghost. If he ever caught them… but that wasn't likely. With the old house torn down, leaving a wide-open field, he'd be hard pressed to sneak up on them.

  Garrett swung down from the saddle, left his horse ground tied, and squatted down. Pebbles skittered into the well. It was a boot, a woman's tattered boot. Crushing pebbles surrounding the opening, he picked up the boot, its broken laces caught beneath the edge of the slab. Sun warmed his face as he gazed around the old Bennett farm. He frowned. Why would someone go off and leave her boot out in the middle of his property? Had someone been using the nearby bushes for a tryst?

  He stood and examined the boot more closely. It was of inferior quality, presumably worn by a servant. He turned the boot over. The leather was scuffed and the sole paper-thin. But the boot was still
usable.

  Garrett glanced toward the well's yawning black mouth. No, surely not. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. What if someone had fallen down there? It would be on his head, since he was the one ultimately responsible for the condition of his property. His farm manager was organizing the job of filling in the well in several months, but that took time. He shook his head. Too much time.

  If only Garrett had ordered it filled in years ago. Years ago when… No, he wouldn't dwell on it now. Couldn't. It had taken him a long time even to be able to ride past the well without memories from the past assaulting him.

  He dropped the boot, hoping with everything in him that he was wrong. Garrett leaned over the gaping hole and peered into its darkness.

  "Is there anyone down there?" He held his breath. Please don't let anyone answer. Let the owner of the shoe be far from here and safe. Let it be—

  A whimper, such as an injured animal might make, floated up from the depths of the hole. Garrett scooted closer to the opening. "Hello? Is someone there?" He leaned as far into the opening as he dared, closed his eyes, and waited. His breath caught in his throat as the seconds ticked by.

  "Y-yes. Help. Help me, please."

  No! Garrett widened his eyes, scrambling away from the well. His heart thumped and sweat formed on his face and beneath his shirt. As he paced back and forth, he ran his hand down his face, wiping away the perspiration. It was as he'd feared. A woman's voice had been his answer. But… the last time he'd had to go into that well… when another woman had been found there… Garrett hurried back toward the opening.

  "Miss? Are you hurt?" Garrett clenched his fists and waited.

  "I think… there is something wrong… with my, ah… a-ankle." Her voice was weak. Was she having trouble breathing? Was Garrett too late to help her?