Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “What’s going on?” Kent asked.

  “A man just fell into the water.” a woman replied.

  “Kent!” Lucy cried.

  He turned and watched as George started down the ramp from the ship. Their eyes caught and Kent moved to him, cutting through the crowd. He placed a hand on Lucy’s back to usher her closer.

  They reached George at the bottom, and Lucy wrapped him in her arms. George seemed to be squeezing her back with the same amount of strength. Lucy wept over him and then pulled away to look him over, inspecting him for injuries.

  Kent held himself back though there was a great need within him to hold George. His heart beat like a wild beast and it called to the boy that now owned a portion of him. But he wouldn’t intrude. It was time he set them free.

  George and Lucy spoke for a moment. She wanted to make sure nothing happened to him and it appeared he was fine. Then George turned to Kent and smiled. “I protected Aunt Lucy, Uncle Kent. I got Lord Maltsby to leave her alone and then I pushed him off the ship.”

  Kent’s eyes widened, and Lucy gasped.

  “You did what?” his aunt asked.

  After seeing George, Kent hadn’t even thought to ask after Lord Maltsby.

  George was still looking at him, waiting expectantly for his approval. “He hurt Aunt Lucy, but I didn’t want him to do it anymore, so I left. Then he took me to the ship’s edge to show me the sun rising over the water. That’s when I pushed him. I pushed him hard, Uncle Kent. Then I ran. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

  Kent bent down and George moved toward him. He touched George’s hair and said, “You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met. I’ve very proud of you for getting away from him and protecting your aunt.”

  George wrapped his arms around Kent’s neck. Kent held him. He fought away every worry and simply tried to take in this moment. It would likely be the last he spent with the boy who he saw as his own son.

  George buried his small face in Kent’s throat. “Lord Maltsby said you didn’t want me, but I knew he was lying. You love me, and I love you.” He pulled back and held Kent’s eyes. “Aunt Lucy told me not to say anything, because she said it would embarrass you, but I want you to know that I love you. It’s all right. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

  Kent smiled with tears in his eyes. George was braver than he thought. Touching George’s hair again he said, “Yes, George. I do love you. I love you with all my heart and that will never change.”

  George grinned.

  Kent looked over to where Lucy sat, staring at him with great wonder. He’d told her he couldn’t love. He should correct that at least.

  Kent swallowed. “I love you, too, Lucy. I have for a long time now. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when I realized it.”

  Her expression grew troubled, and he looked away before he stood. “Your carriage followed us back.” he said to Lucy without looking at her. “It is yours to keep. I’ll leave your credits open as well. Anything you need—”

  She grabbed his face and turned him toward her. “All I need is you, Kent.” She was smiling. “I love you. I’m sorry I left. If you can forgive me—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish the rest.

  Kent closed his mouth over hers and lifted her into his arms.

  Lucy wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. “I love you.” she sighed into his mouth.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Kent kissed her all over her face. “I’ll make sure I tell you that every day. I’m sorry I led you to believe otherwise.” He cupped the back of her head with one hand. “I…I need you, Lucy. I need you more than anything. Please, stay. I’ll be better. I’ll be more open and less angry, less dreadful. Just…don’t leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” she said, clinging to him. “We’re yours.” She and George.

  George moved close, and Kent bent down to gather him up in his other arm. Then he swung his family around and listened to their laughter fill his ears.

  They clung to one another for a long time until a hand tapped him on his shoulder.

  It was Astlen. The duke was grinning. “I happened to go to a party last night and in front of the entire host, the prime minister included, I laid down our evidence. No one can hide from it now. A runner came to my home when he heard Lord Maltsby planned to leave by ship. Even as we speak, Lord Maltsby is being taken in and I have it on good authority we will finally have our justice.”

  Justice. Yes.

  Kent nodded and then held Astlen’s eyes. “I pray you find your happiness as well.”

  Astlen looked between George and Lucy before his eyes returned to Kent and softened. “I pray for that as well.” He bid them good day and left.

  Kent turn to George and Lucy. “What shall we do now?”

  “I want to see Eris,” George said.

  “Perhaps we should take her out.” Kent said. Then he turned to Lucy. “What say you?”

  Her smile was wide. “Let us go to the park.”

  “Hurrah!” George shouted, and Kent was sure the word described everything his family felt in that moment.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  KEEP READING

  From: Deborah Wilson

  To: Beloved Readers

  Subject: Next book in the series

  Hi lovelies!

  Thank you for reading Dread of The Earl, which is book 06 in the Valiant Love series.

  The next book is targeted to release on 21st Apr.

  While waiting for the next breathtaking book in the series…

  I believe you will love to read the previous book in the series, which I had such a good time writing it.

  Flip the page for a special first look at the previous book.

  Thank you for reading my books and letting me serve you doing what I love!

  xx Love,

  Deborah Wilson

  Author of Valiant Love series

  CHAPTER 01

  January 1819

  Manchester, England

  He’d told himself not to read it.

  Though James Hayden IV, the Marquess of Denhallow, had committed many sins and broken nearly every rule that existed in the construct of Society, there were still a few lines he’d never before crossed.

  And one of those lines was opening mail that belonged to another.

  Yet the letter had sat there, in the pile of discarded notes, and he knew Lady Macy would never read it.

  She’d told him so the first time a letter from her great-niece had arrived… and every time since then. She enjoyed going on and one about the girl.

  “Kim writes to me every month and not once in the last four years has she strayed from doing so… never mind that I’ve not replied to any since the first two… much less read them.” Lady Macy had been sitting in her drawing room when she’d said it. Her footman had just delivered the missive from Miss Kimberley Clemens and Lady Macy had placed it on a silver tray—one she’d indicated would be tossed out with anything else she didn’t care to read.

  James had sat back in a chair opposite the woman and crossed his arms. “Why don’t you read them?” he’d finally asked her less than an hour ago.

  Lady Macy was a thin woman whose furs and jewels seemed to weigh a great deal more than she did. She wore her gray hair piled high upon her head, wrapped in pearls and diamonds no matter the day or the occasion.

  She was one of the wealthiest women in the town they resided, and as such, felt it her Christian duty to call upon the ill.

  Lady Macy began visiting James a year ago and had been the first person since he’d been injured who’d managed to look him in the eyes as he spoke. Upon first being introduced, Lady Macy hadn’t been able to hide her reaction at the sight of James, yet her gaze had never skirted from his disfigurement.

  Two years ago, a madman had taken a knife to James’ face and carved him up as though he were nothing more than a holiday pheasant. A doctor, who’d once had ambitions of being a tailor, had worked tirele
ssly to repair James’ face, yet while the alignment of his cheeks and mouth had returned very close to their natural position, the blade had left ugly marks, engraving James permanently across both cheeks, one gash starting from the center of his forehead and winding down his nose, around his mouth, and to his chin.

  Whenever James looked into the mirror, he felt like a walking puzzle. The pieces matched, yet you would always be able to notice that they had once been separate.

  Lady Macy, in an act of charity, had begun a friendship with James, who’d decided he’d never leave his home again.

  Then, somehow, the older woman had convinced James to come to her. There’d been something about a pain in her hip, though when he’d arrived, he’d seen no sign of her impairment. She’d stood twice and crossed the room to ring for a servant. Both times, James had offered to do it for her, yet both times, she’d done it herself without a wince.

  And then he’d come again and again until…

  She was a friend.

  Somehow, they’d become close—or as close as James would allow anyone these days.

  He’d had very few female friends before the incident that left him too ugly for Society, mainly because he’d been a shameless flirt. Women had served one purpose in his life. They were for sport, whether that be bedding or watching their reaction to his odiously sexual remarks.

  A few ladies of the court had seen through his act. Lady Valiant, the Duchess of Cartelle, had declared him a friend years ago, and therefore, had been indifferent to his vile comments.

  Now he had Lady Macy.

  And as James stared at the letter on his desk, he was hesitant to betray her.

  This letter had been for Lady Macy, not him.

  Yet… he was lonely.

  So, when Lady Macy had turned to call a footman, James had taken the letter and slipped it into his pocket. It had burned hot while he’d rode through the winter frost, over a steep hill, and through a white clearing, at speeds as though the devil were at his heels.

  Once he’d entered Nixgrove Manor, the place his family had called home for over a hundred years, he’d gone to his office and sat. Taking the letter from his pocket, he’d placed it on his desk and stared at it harder and longer than he’d ever gazed at any of the great art pieces that hung on the manor walls.

  His heart raced. The letter was so innocent within itself, yet for a man who’d been starving for attention for two years, the missive might as well have been a nude woman holding a bushel of grapes by the vine over his mouth.

  Yes. It was that tempting.

  He lifted the note and touched it to his nose.

  It smelled of peppermint.

  Like Lady Macy.

  He frowned and put it down, not because the scent was unpleasant, but because it furthered his guilt.

  Lady Macy had rolled her eyes when he’d asked her why she didn’t read the letters. “Kim doesn’t actually care to write to me. Her mother, my niece, forces her to.” She’d leaned forward and locked her gray eyes with his own. Those eyes had often reminded him of the gems around her throat. Strong. Unyielding. “You see, four years ago, I paid for Kim’s schooling and now her mother sees it only fair that Kim should write to me.” Lady Macy had frowned. “As though I am in need of letters that were forced upon me. No, thank you. I have more pressing society obligation than those from a strikingly beautiful young girl of twenty and five who’d likely rather be doing something else with her time.”

  It had bothered James just how much he needed the letters. Any letter. Aside from his visits from Lady Macy— and from his man of business, Mr. Jacobson— he had no one.

  Mainly because he’d pushed all his former friends away.

  Last year, Lady Valiant had written to him. She’d invited him to join her family at her brother, the Duke of Ayer’s castle for Twelfth Night. Her other brother, Lord Lore, who was one of James’ best mates, had done the same.

  They’d invited him this year as well.

  He’d rejected the invitation, not even bothering to give them a response.

  Lore had come once, but it had been right after the incident. James had been in so much pain he’d been a bull and had driven his friend from the house.

  Now, all he had was Lady Macy.

  And the letter.

  The envelope was addressed to Lady Macy in a hand that seemed to hold a delicate flourish.

  It wasn’t right that Lady Macy didn’t even bother to read her great-niece’s missives and hadn’t in years.

  Lady Macy had said Miss Kim was twenty-five. To most, that was by no means young.

  Was she married? The lady had not said. She rarely spoke of Kim, or Kimberley, as he knew her true name to be, unless it was to comment about the arrival of another letter.

  While James held no hope that the letter would transform his life in any meaningful way, he did believe it should be read.

  What if the woman had worked very hard on it?

  It didn’t seem right that one should put effort into something that went unappreciated.

  And here James was.

  Alone.

  Desperate for anything to awaken him from the perpetual dreariness that had become his days as an outcast.

  Most of the ton had always thought James socially unacceptable.

  Why change that now?

  Plucking the seal of the letter, he opened it.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  CHAPTER 02

  Part twelve on my dissertation on why life would be better as an animal.

  I present to you, the bee…

  James found that the oddest way to begin a letter.

  And, he admitted, he was not very inclined to learn about bees. Perhaps, Lady Macy had been in her right mind to cease reading her niece’s missives.

  But James had already broken the seal. He had to go on.

  1. They make honey. Who doesn’t like honey?

  2. They can fly.

  3. One just so happened to sting Lord Louvell at the picnic last year and though the event took place so long ago, it is still a memory I treasure to this day.

  James arched a brow, intrigued at how quickly this letter had turned. It was clear Miss Kim didn’t like this Lord Louvell. James had never heard of him.

  It’s a shame bees die in winter. Otherwise, I’d surround the house with them in the hopes that Lord Louvell would stay away. Charles believes I should be kinder, since Lord Louvell is our nearest and wealthiest neighbor.

  But truly, I don’t know what my brother could be going on about. I am very kind to Lord Louvell.

  I smile when I do not wish to.

  I ask after his day.

  I pretend not to notice the drool that appears at the corners of his lips while he gazes down my dress.

  To be any kinder, I’d have to sit on the man’s lap, which I’m sure he’d no doubt enjoy.

  James threw his head back and laughed.

  And he learned a second thing about Kim. It was clear she knew her great-aunt did not read these letters.

  Instead of a missive, it was almost like reading a page from the woman’s private journal.

  He should stop. Truly, he should.

  But she’d mailed it. Surely, she’d have known the possibility that someone would read it.

  Or perhaps, I should be truly shameless and strip nude before him.

  That would teach my family!

  Mama, of course, would faint. Charles would lock me in my room with nothing more than bread and water for the rest of my life. I’d be alone except for my million thoughts, paper, and ink and without friends or entertainment to fill my time. I’d be forced to write to you.

  And I’m sure neither of us wishes that.

  So, for both our sakes, I will refrain…

  James continued to laugh as he turned the page over.

  Mama wishes me to make note that Charles is finally making some money off that investment in the canal you suggested four months ago. Oh, but wait. That suggestion didn’t come from you
at all, did it?

  It was mine.

  Oh, well. It’ll be our secret.

  Or rather, my secret.

  Much like the entirety of this letter.

  If only she knew.

  “Now, it is our secret,” James whispered to the room.

  Now that Charles is on his way to becoming quite wealthy and is making plans to be a dandy, I asked him if I could buy a muff this winter. I haven’t had one since I was a very young girl. I was not at all surprised when he recommended that I wed and ask my husband for such finery.

  Ha!

  James imagined his little writer’s fingers getting cold, without protection against the December winds, and didn’t enjoy the thought.

  Mama said I may get a muff next winter… if I am not married by the end of the Season. As usual, Mama complains that I’ve wasted the education you’ve paid for by not having presented myself to the queen and officially made my bow as soon as I was out of the schoolroom, but Papa was ill… and who could think about the steps to a dance in London while their father lay dying in Leeds?

  Leeds was not far from Manchester, just east and slightly north.

  James’ father had died when he was young. And still, James had spent most of his time away from home. There had been Eton and then Oxford after that. But he still had a few fond memories of the man who’d given him his name and title.

  I am not looking forward to going to London. The city has never had any appeal to me. Do you suppose you could write my mother and ask that I visit you instead?

  I’ll wait for your response. I’m sure it’ll come on the wings of pigs.

  With not even an ounce of sincerity,

  Miss Kimberley Clemens

  James put the letter down on the table and then tapped his fingers beside it.

  “No,” he whispered to himself when the thought to write back rose from somewhere deep inside his chest.

  Kimberley Clemens clearly thought no one would never read the letter. She likely knew her aunt tossed them into the fire without a passing thought.