by Darcy Burke
“So?”
“So, it’s not enough to make my aunt and uncle pay for what they did to me. To balance the scales, I have to find a way to repay Clive’s generosity, too.” The bee rose up into the air and flew away along a wavering path. Sophie screwed the cap back on her phial and let it drop. “I’m going to help other women who’ve been in the position I was in. I’m going to give them the same opportunities that Clive gave me.”
Julian cocked his head to the side, squinting. Not understanding. “What about Iron & Wine?”
“I’ll find someone to take over the brewing.” Sophie smeared the honey into the stone with her finger and stood. “And I’ll sell part of the company to the Dawes, so they’ll have an interest in protecting the formula.”
“I don’t want to take away the thing you love, Sophie.”
“You’re not taking anything,” said Sophie. “I’m choosing. Choosing to go to London with you. Choosing to try something new.”
Julian smiled as he handed her up the steps into the carriage but when she would have let go, he held on and made her wheel around to face him. “Do you know what you said to me, at our engagement party ten years ago? Before it all went wrong?”
Sophie shook her head. “You know I don’t.”
“‘If you told me I could drink the ocean dry, I would reach for a cup,’” quoted Julian.
“But I didn’t really believe it.” Sophie rubbed at her sticky finger with her thumb. “Julian, if I had been able to trust you ten years ago, the way you deserved, the scar wouldn’t have mattered. William couldn’t have fooled me.”
“And we’d have gotten married, and spent the last ten years together, and ended up different people entirely,” Julian finished.
“Better people?” Sophie asked.
He cocked one eyebrow. “Impossible.”
“Arrogant beast.” She fisted his lapel and yanked, urging him into the carriage.
He swung up and onto the bench across from her, tapping the ceiling with his fist to signal the driver to move. “So which is it? Are we back where we started, or somewhere new entirely?”
“Both,” said Sophie, leaning back against the cushions. She kicked off her slippers, propped her stockinged feet up on the bench opposite, and waggled them back and forth, so that Julian picked them up and shifted them into his lap. “Neither.”
“You can’t cross the same river twice,” said Julian, massaging the soles of her feet. He glanced up at her slyly, through his pale lashes. “Does this mean we can go on a honeymoon?”
Sophie laughed and sank deeper into the seat. “Wherever you want.”
More in the No Better Angels Series
The Secret Heart
She’s a fortune-hunter. He’s nobody’s prey.
Adam, Earl of Bexley, lives to work. His only relief is the sordid savagery of bare-knuckle boxing. Not women, and definitely not a disreputable, scheming woman who dances in secret with such passion…
Caro Small is desperate to escape her selfish family. Her only chance is a good marriage, and she intends to marry Adam—whether he likes it or not. But the more she schemes to entrap him, the more she risks trapping her own heart.
Adam won’t be caught by a fortune-hunter’s ambitious schemes. But the vulnerable, passionate woman underneath the plots might just bring him to his knees.
The Lover’s Knot
The Orphan Pearl
The Young Blood
He's a rake. She's his reckoning.
Sabine Banchory is a sensible, intelligent, and unhappily married woman. She was once a dutiful young lady but years spent trying to curb her husband’s excesses have hardened her heart.
She’ll have no trouble resisting the charms of the notorious rake, the Earl of Kingston. One despicable wastrel in her life is quite enough, thank you very much.
Seducing the coldly beautiful Sabine won’t be a challenge for Kingston. It’s true that she slaps him on the face soon after they’re introduced but all relationships have to start somewhere. With the right attention, she’ll fall into his bed and insist she’d come up with the plan.
A terrible crime interrupts this game of cat and mouse. Caught in its wake, Sabine and Kingston are forced to rely on one another. To trust one another. And, if they dare, to build a loving future together.
About Erin Satie
Thank you for reading The Lover’s Knot.
If you’d like to learn more about me or my books, visit my website at www.erinsatie.com. The best way to learn about new releases is to sign up for my newsletter.
What if I still Loved You
Erica Taylor
After a failed elopement ten years earlier, Henry, Earl of Carrington, and Anna, the widowed Viscountess Rycroft, are reunited at his aunt’s Twelfth Night party.
As they search the castle for a box of letters left to Henry by his late father, can this star-crossed pair find their way back to each other? Or will fate intervene, again, and separate them for good?
Heat level: medium/high
Tropes: destitute hero, heiress
Chapter One
Henry Allerton stood on the precipice of something terrible.
The doorway before him should not have caused his heart to thump painfully against his chest. Beyond it were demons he’d long ago mustered control over. His past no longer controlled him. He’d built a life he was proud of on the backs of those who’d told him he would never amount to anything. Stepping through those doors would be stepping back into his past.
He’d not set foot in Stratford Castle in a decade, not since that fateful night his life had taken a sharp turn in a different direction.
Henry pulled his hand back from the door, hesitating. Did he want to pursue this? Did he want to subject himself to all that would be on the other side?
Music seeped through where the two doors met, a thin line of light stretched up to the ceiling. It was a glimpse into a different world, gold and glittering, filled with pleasant smiles and political ambitions. It wasn’t his world, regardless of what his title might suggest, or his family expected. He’d turned away from this life, determined to put it all behind him. To put her behind him.
His thoughts swirled in a dangerous direction and he took a deep breath to wrangle control. True, what awaited him on the other side would dredge up all sorts of things, but she would not be there.
He was here for one thing-- to fulfill the dying wish of a man he’d consistently fallen short of pleasing, no matter how he’d tried. Despite his contentious relationship with his deceased father, this seemed the last way to honor the man who he had let down so often. Henry had never been his father’s first choice of heir, or second, but as the third born and only surviving son, the earldom now rested on Henry. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, but Henry was determined to do it right, even if his definition of right would seem quite wrong to so many.
He squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter. Here his title and name still mattered, but only because of those who’d come before him, not because of who he was. His accomplishments would mean little to anyone in this world, but he didn’t care. What mattered was what he thought of himself. After a decade away, he felt pride for what he’d built for himself, and what he could create with his mind.
That didn’t mean the glowing ballroom and its occupants didn’t scare him witless.
He gave himself a mental shake and pushed through the doors.
The light beyond the doors was blinding and he was momentarily disoriented. He took a few steps into the room— one could say he staggered— and he squinted to adjust to the brilliantly lit room.
It might have been the exhaustion from traveling all day from London, but it felt like time had stopped and he’d wandered into a bewildering dream.
Every head turned to look at him, tilting in curiosity, eerie and soulless behind masks of varying shapes. The music had stopped; couples were frozen midturn and a collective gasp swept through the room.
Hen
ry took a step back wondering what hell he’d just stepped into.
The ball was a masquerade ball, he realized. He was the only one without a mask, which meant everyone knew exactly who he was the moment they saw him.
It was clear from their stunned reactions he was not expected.
Retreat, screamed in his head, but he seemed unable to move. He’d never really done well in crowds, and now, with a ballroom filled with people staring at him, panic started to close in.
“That is Carrington!”
“Is that the Earl of Carrington?”
“What is Lord Carrington doing here?”
Henry didn’t answer or move to correct the whispers scattering through the crowd.
“Henry?”
A couple appeared before him, having rushed through the crowd to his side. He recognized his aunt’s voice as she removed her mask; the man beside her did as well. Their faces were familiar and awash with concern.
Lord and Lady Stratford. Aunt Cornelia and Uncle James.
It had been a surprise to see his aunt and uncle were entertaining, but when he’d stopped to remember the date, so soon after Christmas, he’d realized he’d unceremoniously arrived during his aunt and uncle’s coveted Twelfth Night House Party.
Henry still hadn’t said anything, hadn’t registered his aunt’s query nor the questions written on his uncle’s face.
They moved him out of the ballroom, away from their guests. His aunt called for the music to start again, but Henry heard it all through a fog. Humiliation burned through him, and irritation at his own foolishness for bursting through the ballroom doors as he had. He’d known there was a ball, but hadn’t intended to cause a scene. His eagerness to acquire what he’d come for had pushed him forward. He should have waited until morning.
He followed his aunt and uncle through the castle silently, like a child awaiting a reprimand. He’d been in more than his share of trouble as a child, and remembered what it felt like.
Just being in the castle set his teeth on edge. He’d had nothing but fond memories of this place, the only reprieve he’d had from the misery that was his childhood. But those memories had been replaced with others that had soured over time. It was impossible to be here and not wonder what his life might have been if he’d made different choices.
But different choices would require that he be a different person-- different parents, different family, different everything.
He was what he was, he’d long ago accepted it, even if the members of his family were reluctant to do the same.
Aunt Cornelia sighed reproachfully as they settled into the study. “I wish you’d let us know you were to visit.”
“I apologize. I’d have come earlier had I known you’d have guests.”
Her brow rose as though she didn’t believe him, which was fair, because had he really thought about it, he’d have known she would have guests. She’d hosted this same house party for over a decade, always at the same time.
“Really? You’d forgotten when Christmas was then?”
Actually, he had forgotten about Christmas, more concerned with his upcoming project, but he didn’t tell her this.
His aunt chuckled lightly. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? More concerned with your numbers and your plans than a holiday with your family?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’ll stay for the party, of course,” Aunt Cornelia continued, but glanced at his attire with concern. “You’ve something more appropriate to wear, I hope?”
Henry looked down at his rumpled appearance, not at all befitting his station, but he’d been cooped up in a carriage all day. He’d have rather been comfortable than fashionable.
“I’ve clothes to wear so your guests will not be scandalized,” Henry replied.
“Good.” Cornelia and James shared a glance. “We’ve already had to settle one gentleman’s wardrobe issues this evening. I’m not sure we could manage to outfit another.”
“I do not plan to stay. So, it’s a non-issue either way.”
“Of course, you will stay,” Lord Stratford said. “You don’t plan to ride back to London in this weather?”
The storm outside didn’t bother him. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to unwelcome temperatures. “I’d planned to take rooms at the inn and return tomorrow.”
“But Henry, we’ve not seen you in years.” Cornelia’s expression was warm, just as he remembered her. “Indulge your elderly aunt and uncle.”
“You’re not elderly.”
Uncle James’s tone was firm, but with a trace of humor. “All the more reason to spend time with us before we lose all our faculties.”
Henry didn’t laugh, but he was amused. These two had always been a bright spot in his existence. “I would stay if I didn’t think certain people were in residence.”
“Certain people?” Cornelia glanced at her husband warily. “We didn’t know you knew they were here.”
Henry snorted. “Like flies to honey, they’ll no doubt make it a difficult visit. I’d rather avoid the rest of the family if possible.”
“Oh! Yes, the family....” Cornelia smiled. “I’d thought you meant—”
His family, if that was a fitting description, chose that moment to invite themselves into the reunion. Two of his father’s three other siblings strode into the room without bothering to knock, and judging by their expressions, they were not happy to see him.
“It shouldn’t surprise that you would make a scene,” his Aunt Winifred chided with a sneer. Her brother, his Uncle Howard, followed. His Uncle George was curiously absent.
Henry did not like his family, and the feeling was shared on all fronts. By any outside account, they were an amiable family, respectful to each other, courteous and heartfelt in their interactions. But in private, it was Henry against the lot of them.
“You couldn’t even make an appearance at your own father’s funeral,” Howard scolded.
“I was in Scotland.” Henry managed an unaffected tone, but their intrusion irritated him. “He wouldn’t have wanted me there.”
“That doesn’t excuse it!” Howard snapped. “If George were her, he’d have something to say about this.”
“Could you not even properly dress yourself?” Winifred asked and took a seat in one of the study chairs. “You’re the earl now, can you not afford decent eveningwear?”
“I’ve been busy, Aunt Winifred.”
Howard frowned. “You are here now.”
His uncle resembled his father enough to make him uneasy. He’d never been enough for his father’s siblings, not as a child, nor now as an adult. He’d never gain their acceptance as the Earl of Carrington.
Henry glanced at his aunt Cornelia for assistance. She’d been the only of his father’s siblings who’d showed him kindness. “When I met with the solicitors last week, I was informed my father left something in your care.”
Cornelia blanched. “I don’t recall such a thing.”
Henry wanted to growl. “It was apparently a set of letters? That was all the information given. The solicitor seemed to think you would know what this was all about.”
Cornelia’s brows perked up. “Ah, yes, I remember now. But I’ve no idea where they are. And I’ve guests to attend to. I can’t be searching the house for them.”
“Could you dedicate a member of your staff to search?”
Cornelia recoiled. “Absolutely not. They’re already spread thin with the additional guests in residence. I’ll not add such a trivial thing to their plates.”
“Let the boy look on his own, Connie,” Lord Stratford interjected.
Howard nodded. “The sooner he can then be on his way.”
Winifred harrumphed. “And away from the good society gathered here.”
Henry’s ire rose. “Exactly why am I such horrible company? You haven’t even seen me in a decade to make such a heavy judgement.”
“The better for us then,” Howard replied. “To be rid of you these yea
rs. Why have you come back now?”
Anger seethed through Henry, but he bit it back. “I’ve come for whatever my father left me and then I am gone. You won’t see me again.”
“And where are you running away to this time?” Winifred asked.
“America,” Henry bit out.
“How is that honoring those who came before you? Those who built what you now flaunt?” Howard asked.
“What is more important than your duty to your title and your family?” Winifred demanded.
Henry had had enough. “I am not beholden to anyone other than myself,” he snapped. “And what waits in America is important to me, more so than anything here. Forgive me if I wish to leave the place that has only brought me misery.”
Winifred shook her head in disgust. “I cannot believe the earldom is in your hands. Your father would be turning over in his grave.”
“I am not my father,” Henry spat.
She snorted. “That is for damned sure!”
Henry scowled. “Clearly this was a mistake. Please find whatever my father left in your care at your earliest convenience and send it to me in America. I’ll not suffer this family any longer.”
“I will not,” Cornelia stated with a glare. “Either you stay and find it yourself or you will never receive it.”
Henry gaped at his aunt. “I don’t want to be here, and the people in this room would rather see me dead and the earldom moved along to Uncle Howard. Best to rid everyone of my presence.”
“He’s not wrong,” Winifred said under her breath, but Henry heard her.
