Mark of The Marquess (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  The sled finally came to a halt.

  Sarah sighed. “Why can’t everything feel that wonderful?”

  Kim laughed. She wasn’t ready to get up. She wasn’t ready for the moment to end, even though she knew she could no longer cling to it.

  Like everything wonderful, it was just out of grasp.

  “Kimberley!” her mother cried from the door. “You’ve a letter!”

  Kim frowned and wondered who had thought to write her. Everyone she knew and cared for lived in Leeds. Rarely did anyone write to each other unless it was an invitation and even that was usually addressed to the entire family. Not just her.

  Sarah, as if reading her thoughts, said, “Do you think it one of your friends from school?”

  Kim hadn’t thought of that possibility, but it was a good one. She’d made many friends while at school, but she’d not heard from any of them in almost a year, as often happened when people lost touch. “Perhaps.”

  “Or maybe it is from Louvell?” Sarah asked with overdone enthusiasm.

  Kim made a face that told Sarah everything she needed to know about that idea. Firstly, she could not see Louvell sitting down to write to anyone. Secondly, a letter from Louvell would be nothing to smile about.

  She was kind to the man, for Louvell was by no means an evil man at all. But Kim couldn’t have made it plainer that she did not care for him in particular.

  Sarah tucked her chin and then gasped. “Perhaps it’s your aunt. Perhaps she read your letter.”

  Kim laughed at that. “Let us hope she didn’t and simply burned it like she does all the others.” Kim knew it a risk to write as flippantly as she did, but after the first time she had done so over two years ago, she’d been unable to resist doing so again and again.

  Kim stood, planting her boots into the frozen grass, and then turned to help Sarah onto her feet.

  Compared to Kim, Sarah was petite with fair hair and blue eyes. She didn’t look a day over sixteen, but she and Kim had been born the same month.

  They started for the house.

  Were it not for the windows that allowed light to shine through, the Clemens’ residence would have looked like nothing more than a hill of snow. It was a two-story pleasant structure that Kim loved, yet knew most of the ton would think small... to her mother’s ire. Nowhere near as grand as the one Lady Peckshire claimed to have shared with Kim’s father, Lord Peckshire, during the first year of their marriage.

  Kim’s father had been a viscount, and though not wealthy, the family had never gone without.

  Until he’d died.

  But that was all about to change, thanks to Kim’s recommendation that her brother join in on an investment that a few other wealthy men from the town had thought to do.

  Charles, with risk, had poured everything he had into it.

  And it had all been worth it.

  Now he and Sarah would finally have the means to live as the lord and lady they’d always dreamed of. Charles would never have to tutor again, and Sarah could enter London Society with her chin lifted high.

  Kim would be getting a proper dowry. However, all she really wanted was a pair of gloves and to be left behind when her family went to London in a few months, but there was no way that was going to happen.

  They entered the house and Kim was glad to find it warm.

  From the foyer, she could see into the dark green and gold papered dining room on one side and the pale blue and white drawing room on the other. Up the red-carpeted stairs to the right of the room were three bedchambers. Just enough for there to be one for everyone. Sarah and Charles shared one and likely would even when they moved to a larger house.

  They’d been in love for years, though Charles, being a few years older, had pretended not to notice Sarah for a time. Now they were happy, and Kim was happy for them.

  Sarah excused herself to go look for her husband, and Kim went to the drawing room.

  “It came with a package. Do you think it from my aunt?” her mother asked as she entered the room. Dowager Peckshire wore a fine white muslin dress with a bonnet that held an abundance of silk and lace that looked a little overdone in Kim’s opinion.

  Kim had inherited her mother’s eyes. A dark hue that truly had no exact color. Were they green or dark gray? Kim didn’t know. She’d gazed into her own looking glass for hours and still was no closer to an answer.

  Kim had also inherited her mother’s black hair and warm coloring.

  Though, as Kim stared at the brown package that sat on the tea table and was wrapped with a beautiful red ribbon, her stomach fell, and she was certain all the color left her face.

  The rectangular gift was the perfect size for the muff she’d asked for.

  Panic gripped her, making it impossible to walk.

  She almost wished it was from Louvell now, but something told her it was not.

  “Kim?” her mother called, her gaze narrowed. “Read the letter. Do not make me wait.”

  Kim had lied to her mother about her great-aunt, claiming the woman wrote back. She’d created the lie in order to encourage her brother to make the investment.

  Now, the dowager, and Charles, always anticipated word for Lady Macy.

  Kim had encouraged them to thank her aunt or respond through her own letters, claiming to have already formed a bond with her great-aunt. Her family had agreed to it, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

  Leeds was by no means far from Manchester. A day’s ride, if that.

  When her mother waved the missive, Kim started forward and took it.

  But instead of sitting by her mother in the place on the couch she’d indicated when she’d moved over, Kim went to sit by the wingback chair. Close to the fire. Just in case she had to toss it in to prevent anyone else from reading it.

  She knew what to expect.

  Her aunt would be disappointed.

  Scandalized.

  Just how many times had Kim mentioned nudity in her note?

  Never one to stretch out a painful act, she broke the seal on the letter and began to read.

  Yet as she finished the first sentence, she paused. Then she frowned, turned the note over, and gasped.

  It was not from her aunt at all.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 4

  “Kim?” her mother called. “What does Aunt May say?” Only her mother called Lady Macy Aunt May. Kim was sure of it.

  Kim swallowed, lifted her chin, and met her mother’s eyes. “She says she is well.”

  “Should we plan a visit?” her mama asked. “Now that we are no longer impoverished, I believe that we should.”

  “No.” Kim stood and gathered the box. “She will be traveling for some months. She bids us a happy winter.” Kim was numb to lying. It was what happened when one was forced to do so over and over again.

  Her mother frowned. “It’s a terrible time to travel, but then Aunt May did enjoy seeing her friends.” She put on a smile.

  “Excuse me,” Kim said. “I’m quite tired from the sledding. I will retire until dinner.” She’d barely made it past the threshold before she broke into a run. She bounded up the stairs and slammed herself into her room.

  She sank into her bed, read the first line of the letter again, and then quickly stood.

  She could not read a note from a man while in bed.

  Especially not this one.

  She went to her chair that had been placed in the corner of the room and started again.

  Dear Miss Kimberley Clemens,

  Tell me more about this desire to present yourself nude, for I must say, I am intrigued and imagine the sight would be as sweet as... honey.

  Kim’s cheeks grew inflamed.

  But never mind that. In the box, you will find a muff. Do enjoy it. Let it keep you warm as your letter has very much warmed me.

  “I shouldn’t be reading this,” she whispered. Yet she couldn’t lift her eyes from the page.

  You may be wondering how your l
etter ended up in my possession. Blame the mail coach. I am neighbor to your aunt and didn’t notice her name upon the envelope until it was already open.

  My apologies…

  Kim did not know this man, but she was certain that if she could wring the paper out, sarcasm would drip from every word. Who was this shameless scoundrel who spoke of nudity and warm bodies to an innocent young woman?

  Actually, Kim wasn’t an innocent, but he didn’t know that.

  Though, she had mentioned nudity first, so she supposed she couldn’t judge him too harshly.

  Now, I’m certain that being the good little woman that you are, you are tempted to return the muff to me.

  She wasn’t tempted at all. She was going to keep it. She’d say Lady Macy sent it. Everyone would believe her.

  So, this is where I blackmail you. If I so much as suspect that you’ve not slipped your fingers into that muff every day this winter, I will hand over your letter to your aunt.

  So, I suppose this is now our little secret.

  She gasped. Not only had this stranger flirted—was flirted the right word? —with her, but now he’d made it impossible for her to do the right thing.

  She was dealing with a very wicked man. A conceited one who was clearly quite confident in himself.

  He likely charmed women every day of his life. Who knew how many other muffs he’d sent out that very winter?

  Was it wrong that she wondered what he looked like?

  Now that we are past that, we may move on to other topics. Like, why do you despise Lord Louvell? If it is, in fact, just his wandering eyes, then I must confess that my own eyes… and hands… have been known to go places they shouldn’t…

  Still, I’ve decided to join your campaign of distaste for the other man, since that is what a good gentleman should do.

  She laughed. What was wrong with her? Why was she laughing? This man, or gentleman, or whomever he was, was clearly of the worst sort.

  It’s a tragedy that you did not wish to go to London. It is wonderful there, and I can imagine a woman like yourself would have a fantastic time. If your family still believes you can marry at age of twenty and five, then I am led to believe you to be a great beauty.

  Beautiful people are adored in London.

  She didn’t care to be adored by anyone. She didn’t wish to join the season or wed. All she wished was to be left alone.

  Enjoy your gift and if you detest the color, let me know.

  James

  James.

  A strong and lovely name, but very common. She wondered if her aunt would know what James she spoke of.

  But then, Lady Macy would actually have to read Kim’s letter in order to reply.

  After reading the letter again, Kim realized how nice it was that someone—anyone—had read the letter.

  Should she write back?

  He had encouraged it at the end. Sort of.

  With the gift on her lap, she pulled the ribbon and opened the shop paper.

  Her heart raced at the sight of the black muff that seemed to be made of the most luxurious black fur she’d ever seen. Its shining hue was without flaw.

  She dared to touch it and ran her fingers over the hair.

  Soft. It felt as beautiful as it looked.

  The ruffling of the fur led to a glimpse of something gold inside.

  At first, she’d believed it to be lining, but then she pulled out a pair of long golden gloves. They glowed in the light like jewelry.

  She’d not asked for gloves.

  Though she’d needed them.

  She slipped one hand inside.

  It fit perfectly, so warm and soft on the inside.

  James was wealthy, she surmised.

  What was he like?

  A feeling of terror came over her, and she started to tremble.

  She didn’t know this man.

  He could be anyone.

  He could want to hurt her.

  Not again.

  Suddenly, the sight of the gifts unsettled her. She put them on her desk and moved away.

  Closing her eyes, she worked to slow her breathing while reminding herself that she was in no danger.

  The past was in the past.

  She was home. Safe.

  Far away from the school in Kent where a foolish choice had changed her from an innocent girl to a woman who’d done too much to ever be called ‘pure’ again.

  Any man who wed her would know the truth and likely punish her for her failings for the rest of her life.

  She would never tell a gentleman the truth, never confess to the shame that had left her feeling soiled for years.

  Therefore, she would never marry.

  She was almost as scandalous as the James who’d written her.

  James, whomever he was, had already shown himself to be no gentleman.

  He was a scoundrel and didn’t try to hide it.

  She opened her eyes and looked over at the gifts.

  He’d already said he’d blackmail her if she didn’t keep them, but how would he truly know?

  She’d have to write. Just to make sure he didn’t tell Lady Macy.

  “Kim,” her mother called before she opened the door. “Lord Louvell will be joining us for dinner.” Her mother glowed with happiness. “Do dress in your best gown. Sarah has said she will play and will need your beautiful accompaniment.”

  Kim’s best gown might as well have been her ‘breast’ gown for all the attention Lord Louvell showed her cleavage. Louvell was Charles’ friend, yet every day, Kim had to wonder if the man’s visits were about Charles or herself. Kim did enjoy singing, but not for Louvell, for every time she did, the man believed her to be flirting with him.

  She smiled as she recalled James’ letter and his claim to be her ally in detesting Louvell.

  What harm would it be to write James? He’d not given his surname, which meant he didn’t wish her to find him and likely had no intention of meeting her or actually seeking her out.

  They would only exist to one another in letters.

  And aside from sledding down the hill, this was the most Kim had felt alive in a while.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 5

  James was waiting at the backdoor when the mail arrived. He shooed the footman away and went through he missives until…

  At last.

  He’d waited three days for her to write. He’d visited Lady Macy once in all that time, in an effort to know if Kim had written her aunt again.

  She hadn’t.

  But she’d written him.

  He took the letters to his room, tossed the others to a desk, and fell into his bed.

  He was grinning as the words started to pour from the page and burst into laughter a second later.

  Dear James,

  It’s quite indecorous to threaten a woman and worse to send her expensive gifts. Especially when you are a gentleman and I am nothing more than the daughter of a viscount, but I do suppose both of us are past good manners, so I will not pretend to have any.

  “Oh, woman, how you suit me,” James groaned.

  But I must say thank you for the muff and gloves. I shall make sure to slip my fingers into them every day… and promptly placed them in the trunk underneath my bed, where they are never to feel the brush of winter, much less see the light of day.

  Ha!

  You didn’t actually expect me to wear them out, did you?

  Did you think I would cower before your letter?

  Ha!

  I’m confident that I’ve stood up to greater men than you, though I have no clue who you are or what you look like.

  I will keep this letter short as I like to preserve my energy for the poor neglected letters that I write to my aunt.

  Kim

  He’d waited three days, and this was all she wrote? It was far too short. He needed more. He rose from his bed and went to his desk.

  * * *

  “My wife will give me at least ten boys and perhaps a girl somewhere a
long the way,” Lord Louvell said as he strolled beside Kim down the gallery in the public hall in the city. Outside, the city was covered in white, the snow drifting in soft flutters.

  Leeds was known to export the finest in textiles and bread cloth and with the recently finished canal, such goods would reach their destinations faster.

  One of those destinations being Manchester, where a certain James lived.

  Kim stilled when she nearly ran into Lord Louvell. She hadn’t seen him move.

  He now stood directly before her, his face only a breath away from her own. “What do you say to that?”

  Kim took a step back. She had no idea what he’d been going on about. “I’m happy for you,” she decided to say. The phrase usually worked, since Louvell was usually speaking about himself and always in a way that flattered.

  Sarah and Charles had abandoned her once Louvell arrived. Now, she was ready to leave.

  “Oh, Miss Clemens, I am quite charmed by you. Do you know that?” Louvell grinned, which caused the corner of his blue eyes to crinkle. If he were any other man, he’d have been very handsome. Or rather, he was very handsome, but once an acquaintance had been formed, Kim had begun to grow irritated and nearly nauseated at the sight of him.

  He returned to his full height, puffing out his chest in a way that made it hard for anyone to ignore. He was tall and athletically built. His hair shined brightly, like a halo of goodness around his beautiful head.

  He was also wealthy and accomplished, both facts he never allowed anyone to forget.

  Louvell lifted a brow. “Well?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Do you know that I am charmed by you?” he asked in a tone that said it wasn’t his first time asking the question.

  Kim hadn’t known he’d expected a response. It was a strange question, a compliment to her that was actually a compliment to himself. “Oh. Yes, I believe I do know. Now, I must go—”

  “Have you been inside the jeweler’s recently?” he asked as he began to walk beside her again. “Mr. Ross has a fascinating collection of sapphires. They match my eyes. I don’t suppose my wife would like a pair of them?”

  Why ever would his wife wish to wear a color that matched his eyes? And what would she be doing inside Mr. Ross’ store? Her family didn’t have the money for such things. Not yet. Louvell had known them for years. Surely, he knew? “Are you getting married, my lord?” she asked, since he’d begun to speak about a wife often as of late.