Read BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1) Online
Authors: Christine Donovan
BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1) (30 page)
“Well, let me
see.” Myles grinned widely. It was never a good sign when he grinned like that.
“I think I’d book passage on the next ship to Boston, travel to this girl,
extend my condolences for her father’s death, and beg her forgiveness for
stealing all her money.”
Both Thomas and
Amesbury yelled simultaneously, “What?”
Myles laughed.
“Let me finish. Once she falls at your feet . . .” He paused, shook his head.
“No, I take that back; she’s likely a feisty one. I think she’ll try to scratch
your eyes out. Then I think you should marry the chit and bring her here as
your duchess and get her portion of the monies, too. She might forgive you eventually
for stealing her fortune and taking her away from the only home she has ever
known.”
“You’re
enjoying this.” Thomas eyed his two grinning friends and collapsed into his
chair in frustration.
“Well, as a
matter of fact, I am,” Myles said. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll travel with
you. I’m tired of the marriage-hunting mamas and their silly, witless daughters
all vying for my attention and my title. Not one of them is interested in me as
a man, only the earldom and fortune I’ll inherit someday. I don’t want some
shy, placid virgin in my bed.”
Thomas stared
in shock at his friend.
Myles
continued. “Yes, well maybe I should explain. “I want a virgin, but I also want
an enthusiastic bed partner. Do you think any of the present debutantes are
anything but frigid?” He shuddered. “If you don’t want the American girl, maybe
I’ll marry her.”
Thomas’s
nostrils flared. “And what, pray tell, makes you think I would let you marry my
ward? I will not even let you near my sisters because you are debauched. Visit
your mistress and stop this nonsense.”
Myles burst
into laughter and saluted him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You are
jealous because you will never be called Your Grace, only My Lord,” Thomas
teased his friend. “And for your information, Mr. Hamilton did not appear to be
the type of man who would raise his daughter to be free with her favors. I
doubt she is any different than the frivolous girls we have here in England.
And I have no intention of marrying her.”
“Why not?”
Amesbury questioned. “You need a duchess and an heir; why not marry her and be
done with it? If she’s not comely, you can take a mistress. She’d probably be
glad not to have to submit to your inept fumbling in the bedchamber once you
have an heir and a spare anyway.”
Thomas flung
his head back and roared with laughter. “All this praise from my so-called
friends. What do my enemies laugh about behind my back?” His hand went up.
“Don’t answer that. And I’ll have you know I don’t fumble in the company of any
lady.” He paused and examined his large hands. “I play their bodies until they
sing my praises and beg for a repeat performance.”
“If you say
so,” Amesbury snorted.
“Now if you
will excuse me.” Thomas rose. “I need a bath, food, and a comfortable bed.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left his study and climbed the carpeted
staircase two steps at a time.
Clearheaded and
light of feet for the first time in days, he burst into his chambers with a
renewed sense of purpose. He now knew what he had to do. Honor forbade him from
ignoring his duty to Hamilton. How could he ever look himself in the eye if he
didn’t fulfill the dead man’s wishes? A trip to America was in his immediate
future.
A Seabrook Family Saga, Book II
Available Now
CHAPTER ONE
ENGLAND 1818
“Please, do not
be afraid.”
Was he serious?
How could she not be afraid?
Lady Amelia
Seabrook struggled with her skirts as she waded through the shin-deep water to
retrieve her boots and stockings from a nearby rock. Her muslin skirts were
soaked to above her knees and clinging most embarrassingly to her legs; her
stockings and shoes were drenched as she had splashed them in her hurry to exit
the water. The mile walk back to her home, one she normally enjoyed, would be
uncomfortable because of the dampness of her clothing. Most important of all
was that she make haste to remove herself from this intruder.
How dare this
stranger ruin the time she spent daydreaming about Captain Rycroft, her
beloved? How dare he interrupt? It was only during these lonely, quiet times
that Amelia allowed herself to think of
him
. To dream and wish he still
lived. But today, when she needed this time to remember and to reflect, this
stranger had destroyed the moment.
Amelia turned,
her chin held high. She would not cower before anyone. “Who are you, sir?”
“Lord
Bridgeton. My land abuts this creek.”
By the
narrowing of Lord Bridgeton’s eyes, Amelia knew she failed to hide her shock at
his intrusion here. She’d long known the earl lived as a recluse because of a
scandal involving his older brother and his brother’s pregnant wife. Amelia had
learned this from servants’ gossip.
Looking at him
now, he did not look dangerous. Frightening perhaps, the way he sat on his fine
stallion and towered over her, but not dangerous. Amelia admitted he was even
handsome, with his dark, wavy hair, streaked with silver here and there. The
earl wore it unfashionably long, however, and it grazed his shoulders. He had
strong features and high cheekbones. What drew Amelia’s interest, despite her
angst, were Lord Bridgeton’s eyes––a pale blue so light they were almost gray.
Very striking against his dark hair and sun-bronzed skin. The color did not
mesmerize her, rather it was the pain she recognized radiating from them. A
pain she understood all too well.
Remembering her
loss, she wiped a tear from her cheek, knowing her eyes would reveal her
sadness and despair. She must look a sight after crying for so long. Her
brothers had warned her to stay away from this earl and his property. Had they
believed the gossip? Did they know more than she’d learned from servants’
gossip?
“Are you going
to continue to stare at me so rudely, or are you going to tell me who you are
and what you’re doing here?” the earl demanded, slapping his riding crop
against his thigh impatiently.
She should have
been offended and cast him away like an irritating insect. But there was
something compelling in his tone and his words that, though meant to intimidate
her, did not. Instead, his voice, so demanding, deep, and smooth, wrapped
around her like a blanket warmed by the fire.
“I’m Lady
Amelia Seabrook, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth’s sister. I live here
and have been for several weeks now.”
“If that is
true, what, pray tell, is a lovely, young, privileged member of the
ton
doing
crying in the country during the height of the Season?”
“That, Lord
Bridgeton, is none of your concern.” Amelia looked down and again fought the
burning of tears in her throat and in her eyes. She would not cry in front of
this stranger. After all the crying she had done the past year and a half, she
promised herself she would never cry another public tear as long as she lived.
She had come to accept the fact that she would never dance at another ball or
attend Almack’s or any such silly soirees that other young ladies attended
during the London Season. And she did not care. Their loss did not make her
cry. Losing Captain Rycroft did.
Lord
Bridgeton’s eyes widened before he bowed his head ever so slightly. “Please
accept my sincere apologizes for my rudeness. You obviously have a good reason
to be here instead of London.” He held up his hand. “And, of course, that
reason is none of my business. Once again, I apologize.”
“Indeed, no, it
is none of your business. Oh!” Amelia backed up several steps as Bridgeton
dismounted from his horse. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted about for an
escape.
“Please, I told
you not to be afraid,” he repeated. “You just surprised me with your presence
here. I come here almost daily, and I’ve not seen you here before.”
Once again the
warmth from his voice cocooned Amelia in a kind of radiance. Why did the voice
of this stranger have such an effect on her? “I’m truly not afraid. You just
startled me.”
“Is the rest of
your family in residence as well?”
Did he think
she resided here alone, with only the servants as protection––making her easy
prey? Again she considered evading his question and running but caught herself.
Stop it. There’s nothing to be afraid of from the earl. Gossip is only
gossip, and not reliable. She, more than anyone else, should know this. He has
not hurt anyone. And, certainly, he is not here to hurt her.
When her inner
voice stopped, she answered the earl. “My brother, Lord Sebastian, is here as
well.”
“I’ve not had
the privilege of making his acquaintance. Mayhap someday I will.”
Did Amelia’s
ears deceive her, or did she hear loneliness in his voice? She understood
pain––the kind she had already glimpsed in his eyes. She knew loneliness as
well. These two were her constant companions.
If what she saw
reflected in his eyes were true, then she and her neighbor had much in common.
“Perhaps someday soon you will meet him.” She looked down at her hands, still
gripping her soggy boots and stockings. Others would be shocked to see her standing
there in her bare feet, talking to Lord Bridgeton. She was not. Too much had
happened to her in the past year and a half for her to worry about something as
silly as being caught barefoot in public.
She curtsied.
“Good day to you, Lord Bridgeton.” Even before she heard his reply she hurried
along the bank of the stream toward home, looking for the safety of the walls
of Stony Cross Manor.
“Do not look
back. Do not look back,” Amelia mumbled to herself. The words didn’t convince
her because, despite them, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him in the
distance standing at the water’s edge. That he stood there watching her was
unsettling. She would not acknowledge that her sudden breathlessness had
anything to do with him.
Running. She
had practically been running. That was the reason she could not catch her
breath. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Lord Bridgeton and
his wounded eyes pierced straight to her soul.
A Seabrook Family
Saga, Book III
Available Now
Chapter One
England 1818
The sound of
water slapping the side of the boat, along with the constant swaying, had Lady
Isabella Seabrook wishing she could forget the events of the day. But really,
how could she, when she sat on the floor of the Marquess of Newbury’s boat in
soaking wet clothing. Close beside her sat her river companion. Another of the
Marquess’s saves from the filthy Thames.
“Mr. Spencer,
kindly
remove
your arms from around my waist.” Bella forced the words
through chattering teeth. No easy task as her throat and lungs ached from all
the water she’d swallowed. Water, only God knew what it contained.
“Forgive me. I
didn’t want to let you go. Afraid I would lose you,” Mr. Spencer said through
teeth, which chattered along with hers.
Mr. Stuart
Spencer was cousin to the Earl of Bridgeton, whom Bella’s sister, Amelia,
recently married. And she and Mr. Spencer had a friendship that was a tad
unconventional.
“I am not
yours
to lose.”
“A gentleman
can dream, can he not?”
“Do as Lady
Isabella requests.”
Bella snapped
her head around to seek out the person belonging to the voice. Myles
Fredrickson, Baron Norwich, glared at Spencer from his perch across the boat.
When he locked eyes with her he nodded his head ever-so-slightly. Evidently
Myles, soaking wet as well, also took the dreadful fall into the Thames and was
rescued by Newbury. Thank God he was safe. Bella could not imagine life without
him, or Spencer. Her time spent with Spencer was fun and he amused her as
friends do. She would value the relationship until the end of time, but her
heart didn’t pound inside her chest like it did with Myles. With Myles, it
increased to the point it wanted to escape from within her chest and unite with
Myles’s heart.
At Myles’s
demand, Spencer inhaled deeply and removed his arms from around her waist.
Something Bella regretted immediately. Not for wanting his hands on her, but
because he brought her warmth. Truth be told, she’d never been held by a man.
Under different circumstances she might have enjoyed it. Replace Spenser’s arms
with Myles’s and she would enjoy the moment much more.
Bella’s day had
begun with family and friends on the river for the opening of Waterloo Bridge. The
evening was to conclude at Carlton House, with a ball hosted by Prince George. Everything
had gone splendidly, until their boat got rammed by another, causing theirs to
lean dangerously to one side, throwing her, Mr. Spencer, Myles, and who knew
who else into the muddy river.
She shivered
now at the initial shock of hitting the water face first and coming up
disoriented and tangled in her numerous clothing. A rather large woman had
clung to her the moment she broke free to the surface, dragging her back under.
Determined not to die, she struggled to free herself from the woman, only to
realize she sank deeper into the water. Terror had seized her, and she screamed
beneath the surface, inhaling disgusting river water. Thank God, Mr. Spencer
found her and with his strong arms pulled her to the surface and helped her
stay afloat. A short time later the marquess, along with his friends, rescued
both of them.
So now she sat,
in Newbury’s boat, beside Spencer, and opposite Myles, her hands locked
together, praying if any other occupants of her family’s boat landed in the
water they were found safely. She also prayed for the poor woman who had
dragged her under in panic.
After their
boat had collided with another, numerous other boats had done the same,
throwing many other unprepared souls into the river. Bloodcurdling screams still
pierced the air now. She covered her ears with her hands, closed her eyes and
cringed.
“Lady
Isabella.” Mr. Spencer reached out and gently pried her hands free. “You do not
sound or look well.”
“Forgive me,”
Bella whispered as her eyes fluttered around the boat, taking in all the people
staring wide eyed at them. “Oh, how dreadful we must look.”
“Not dreadful.
We resemble drowned rats.” Mr. Spencer chuckled. A servant handed him a dry
blanket and he unselfishly tucked it around her.
“Thank you,”
she said as she pulled it up to her chin, when what she really wanted to do was
bury her face in the soft wool and cry. “I can’t believe this happened to us.
Do you know if anyone else from our boat landed in the water?”
Bella gazed at
Spencer and then Myles as they shared a silent look and her heart iced up. She
struggled to free her hands from the blanket. When she succeeded she reached
out and clutched Spencer’s cool hand with hers. “You might as well tell me.
I’ll find out eventually.”
Before Spencer
could answer, Myles spoke between blue trembling lips and worried eyes. “Your
sister, Lady Bridgeton, that I know of, although there may have been others.” He
paused. “I saw both your brothers and Bridgeton go in after her. Do not fret.
They will not leave the water without her safely in tow.”
“Let us pray
not.” Bella would not relax until she saw Amelia with her own two eyes. Until
then, she shivered beneath the blanket, hoping their outing ended soon. How had
such a day, full of hope and happiness and celebration, turned so wrong? Every
muscle and bone in her body ached. Myles and she had blankets, but poor Spencer
did not. Perhaps if the sun shined down on them today, instead of clouds, it
would help with the chill. Bella moved closer to Spencer and shared the
blanket, although her wet clothes had moistened into the wool. Her nose
twitched at the repugnant smell.
“Thank you,”
Spencer mumbled. Soaking wet, Mr. Spencer still cut a fine figure. His black
hair hung long and wet over his brow, into his blue-green eyes, adding to his
appeal. The man resembled her sister’s husband in many ways. Both men stood
tall, had dark hair and chiseled features. The similarities ended with their
appearance though. One only had to glimpse into Lord Bridgeton’s eyes to see
the pain and suffering he had experienced during his lifetime. Spencer’s eyes
sparkled with carefree living.
Spencer had
been pursuing her favors, even though Bella had been in love with Myles for
years. Myles, as he insisted on being called, was heir to an earldom and one of
her brother’s, the Duke of Wentworth’s, best friends. Myles presently looked
disapprovingly at her. One could assume it was because she’d shared her blanket
with Spencer. Too bad.
Lately, Bella
had given up all hope of having her dream of becoming Myles’s wife ever come
true. Spencer, early on in the Season, had offered his services in making Myles
jealous. For a time it worked. Myles seemed to take afternoon tea with her more
as the Season progressed. Spencer also attended. Bella had to admit it was nice
having two handsome and prominent gentlemen vying for her attention. If only
she knew what held Myles back from asking for her hand? He seemed to genuinely
care for her. He even kissed her on the lips once. When she glimpsed into his
eyes, though, she saw something hidden deep within them. What did he hide?
Something so damaging he couldn’t let himself love?
Stuart Spencer,
on the other hand, appeared enamored with her and the guilt ate at her insides.
Life would be so much better if she loved Spencer. All she had to do was say
the word and he would marry her. At least, she thought he would. He looked at
her the way she looked at Myles. Why, oh, why was life so complicated? Next
year would be her fourth Season and she would be on the shelf because nobody
had a fourth Season without being considered long in the tooth. She had a
fortnight until the Season ended, a fortnight to find a husband.
“Lady
Isabella.” The Marquess of Newbury held out his hand, offering to help her up.
“We have docked. I’ve sent word to your brother, the duke, stating you are safe,
and I’m escorting you home. My carriage awaits to take you to your family.”
“Thank you.” As
Newbury helped her exit his boat and into his carriage, she glanced around
looking for Myles and Spencer who had vanished. Where had they disappeared too?
She didn’t have time to inquire as Newbury whisked her away so quickly. Now,
she found herself sitting in a lovely carriage, pulled by two sets of matching
pairs. Beside her sat a young maid, who wrapped her in a warm blanket. On the
opposite side sat the marquess and a gentleman she did not know, although she
recognized him as the man who also helped save her and Spencer from being
swallowed up by the Thames.
“May I inquire
as to Lord Norwich and Mr. Spencer?” Bella couldn’t help but wonder where they
had gone. She never thanked Spencer properly for helping her while they were in
the water. He did more than help her, he saved her life.
“I hired a hack
to take them home. Do not fret, Lady Isabella, they will suffer no ill will for
riding in a hackney coach,” the marquess replied as though Myles and Spencer
were nothing more than the hired staff. Obviously the marquess did not care for
either of them. But why? Sometimes she wondered why she couldn’t have a
dull-witted brain like some of the other young ladies her age, instead of the
inquisitive one she’d been born with. Life would be so much simpler.
“Thank you. I
would not want their families worrying about them any more than they probably
are.”
“I understand,”
the marquess said. “I realize this is not a good time for introductions, but I
would be remise in my duties if I did not introduce you to my distant cousin.
Lady Isabella Seabrook, may I present, Mr. Aaron Bradford, from Massachusetts.”
Bella wanted to
bury her face beneath the blanket. How dreadful she must look. Instead, she
raised her chin high, held out her hand, which trembled from cold or
embarrassment she could not be certain which. “Mr. Bradford, how nice to make
your acquaintance.”
Mr. Bradford
leaned forward, took her hand in his large one and raised it up. His warm lips
caressed her naked knuckles briefly.
Oh dear, she forgot she took her wet
gloves off and left them in the boat.
“Lady Isabella,
it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard much about you from your
brother, Lord Sebastian.”
“My brother?”
What did this stranger mean?
“Please forgive
me.” Mr. Bradford leaned back against the seat and smiled. “I have you at a
disadvantage. I purchased Hamilton Whaling Oil from Lord Sebastian on behalf of
your brother, the duke. Once I found a suitable manager to oversee the business
on my behalf, I travelled to England to pay my distant cousin, Newbury, a visit.
And, of course, I planned on calling on both your brothers.”
Bella did not
know what to say. Sebastian never discussed business with her. She did not know
who he sold Hamilton Whaling Oil to. Obviously to the gentleman who sat in
front of her. The man with the friendly smile and intriguing accent.
“I’m quite
certain my brother will be pleased to see you again, you must stop by for tea.”
Bella hoped she spoke the truth. One never knew with her brother.
“Yes, thank
you. I will,” Mr. Bradford replied. As the carriage came to a halt, he pushed
the curtain aside and peered out the window. “I do believe I see your brother
now.”
Bella leaned
forward, looked out the now open door, and saw her family home. Wentworth and
Sebastian stood on the front steps both looking anxious and tired. “Indeed, you
do.”
Wentworth
rushed forward and nudged the coachman aside. “Bella.” He wrapped his arms
around her waist and hugged her close. “You scared ten years off my life.
You’re freezing and soaking wet. We must get you inside.”
As he escorted
her up the front stairs, he looked back. “Newbury, I must thank you properly
for saving my sister. My butler will see you to my study for refreshments.”
“Mother and
Emma are beside themselves with worry,” he said as he paused outside her
chambers. “I expect they will be in to see you momentarily.”
“Wait,” Bella
said in panic. “Spencer told me Amelia also fell into the river. I must know
how she is? And what about you and Sebastian, you went in to save her? How did
you get home so quickly, and get cleaned up?”
“She’s fine. We
are all fine. We saved Amelia with the help of her husband.” Her brother smiled
a full genuine smile, which he seldom did. “To answer your question about how
we arrived home so quickly, obviously, my horses are faster than Newbury’s. You
must get out of those clothes before you catch a death of a chill.”