Read The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Online

Authors: Vivienne Lorret

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #General

The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series

BOOK: The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series
10.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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DEDICATION

To my grandparents, my dad, my aunts and uncles, who shared stories around a harvest table each Sunday and taught me their craft. I love you all
.

EPIGRAPH

“Love is three-quarters curiosity.”

G
IACOMO
C
ASANOVA

CONTENTS

 
  1. Dedication
  2. Epigraph
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Epilogue
  27. Acknowledgments
  28. An Excerpt from
    The Devilish Mr. Danvers
  29. About the Author
  30. By Vivienne Lorret
  31. An Excerpt from
    When Good Earls Go Bad
    by Megan Frampton
  32. An Excerpt from
    The Wedding Band
    by Cara Connelly
  33. An Excerpt from
    Riot
    by Jamie Shaw
  34. An Excerpt from
    Only In My Dreams
    by Darcy Burke
  35. An Excerpt from
    Sinful Rewards 1
    by Cynthia Sax
  36. An Excerpt from
    Tempt the Night
    by Dixie Lee Brown
  37. Copyright
  38. About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

T
he end
. . .

Those words never failed to captivate Calliope Croft with their power.

Holding back a sigh, she read the last page once more.
Oh, perhaps twice
. Then, she hugged the little book to her bosom, sending the story through the fur lining of her redingote and directly into her heart. The tale was over, and yet to her,
the end
signified a well-deserved beginning.

With the thought, her gaze drifted across the carriage, past the snowy rolling hills of Lincolnshire beyond the window, to where her brother and his wife napped. They’d been married nearly six months now. An arm around his bride, Griffin rested a cheek atop her head, while Delaney nestled against his shoulder.

If one ignored the fact that her brother snored like a bear and that her sister-in-law’s open mouth had formed a spot of drool on his greatcoat, the image they created was actually quite romantic.

Calliope took complete credit for her brother’s state of matrimonial bliss. A smug grin flitted across her lips as she looked down to the couple’s joined hands.

One day Griffin might even thank Calliope for having abandoned Delaney during a summer storm in an effort to hurry along their endless courtship. After all, some trials must be borne for the sake of a perfect ending—as every great romantic novel had taught her.

Unfortunately, real-life happily ever afters were far too rare.

After a final quixotic squeeze, Calliope placed the book inside her satchel. Somehow, her gloved finger caught against the hidden pouch she’d sewn into the lining. For a moment, she went still. Did she dare reach inside?

Just once more
, she promised.

Then again, Calliope
always
told herself it would only be once more. After five years of keeping this secret, she was ashamed of how many
once mores
there had been.

Her heart quickened. The rapid pounding in her ears was loud enough to awaken Endymion from eternal slumber. Worried her brother and his wife could hear it too, she cast a surreptitious glance across the carriage.

Still asleep
.
Good
. It was safe to indulge just once more . . .

Taking a sip of air, she quietly lifted her treasure out of the satchel. Then carefully, she unfolded the thin, yellowed parchment that was so well loved it resembled a square of tea-stained linen.

My love,

I am wrecked!
How can a single glance wield such power? Oh, but not even a glance—for you were turned away at first and all I saw were dark honey tresses spilling down the elegant curve of your neck. They pressed the barest of kisses to your shoulders. My own lips tingled
.
Even though I did not know your name, there I stood, transfixed by a foreign sensation. In that moment, I was a voyager witnessing land after a lifetime at sea, and blind to the rocks jutting up between us. My only desire was to breech any distance in order to stand by your side. I longed to see you turn, lift your gaze to mine, and recognize the soul that had inexplicably crashed into yours
.
Alas, before the tide could draw me in, you bestowed your smile upon another. The beauty of your face, alight with gaiety, speared through me with the green saber of jealousy. And yet, as I drew ever closer, the sight anchored me as well. For in your gaze, I saw no passionate glow from within. Instead, standing before me was a creature who yearned for something more but kept her wish carefully concealed
.
We are the same, my love
.
And this is love—I am certain. Nothing less dare swim through my veins at the thought of you. I feel at once as an anchor would—solid and unyielding—but also tethered to your hand. You are the line, the vessel, the sea, and the light that guides me to the shore. Your name is now a song that lives inside my heart—the siren call that compels me to dash myself upon the rocks of matrimony. Yes, matrimony!
This is no easy declaration. It would mean the end of this life. But to begin another with you—only you—would calm the churning sea within me
.
Look for me, dear siren. My love. Call me to your shores and we will be united forever
.

Yours irrevocably,

Calliope let out a breath. Her heart always paused for two full beats when she reached the bottom of the page.

In the place of his signature, the parchment had been ripped—either by accident or by design, she did not know. Frayed and browning from years of her fingers tracing that jagged crescent-shaped edge, she still wished she knew the name that had once been there.

Oh, but what was the point of wishing? She could cover a meadow with the falling stars to which she’d whispered in the dark.

In the end, wishing had not given her back the last five years of her life.

When she’d first received the letter, she’d cast aside
everything
for him. She’d fallen in love with him—whoever he was—and all because of these words. They’d opened something inside her. It was as if the cover of her own book had lifted for the first time, rousing a story from the depths of her dreams.

Tempted by the kind of passion she’d only read about in novels, she’d wanted to experience that kind of love with a desperation she still didn’t understand. Even now, her hands trembled as she refolded the letter and replaced it to the hidden pocket.

In the same moment, Griffin stirred. His snore cut off abruptly.

Calliope jerked her hand out of the satchel. Thankfully, her brother wasn’t paying attention to her and did not see. He shifted his hold on Delaney to peer out the window and rubbed a hand over the glass.

“We are almost to Stampton,” he said quietly, without removing his gaze from the landscape. “Perhaps we should visit our cousin as we travel northward to Scotland. I received a letter from Aunt Augusta before we departed London, informing me that Pamela and Brightwell are at Fallow Hall.”

Brightwell
—her cousin’s new husband
and
the man that Calliope had refused five years ago because of that letter.

Griffin waited. His gaze turned to Calliope. He was the only other person who’d known about the letter. Amongst tears and blubbering, she’d confided in him, confessing that she couldn’t possibly marry Brightwell when she loved someone else.

And look how splendidly that turned out
, Calliope’s inner narrator mocked.

Offering a nod, Calliope encouraged Griffin to continue. She hoped it appeared as if she wasn’t bothered at all by the mention of Brightwell.

“Apparently, Brightwell’s friends have recently taken up residence at Fallow Hall and offered the quietude of the country for Pamela’s . . .
recuperation
,” Griffin said with the arch of a speculative brow.

Calliope remembered how Pamela had stayed in bed for over a fortnight because of a thistle in her finger. She hadn’t been able to lift a thing on her own, even with her uninjured hand. Often, Calliope imagined that Pamela believed herself born to be queen. Yet when no princes had courted her—or dukes, marquesses, earls, or viscounts—she’d settled for being the wife of a baron. Brightwell was of a nature to accommodate her every whim, so it truly was a perfect match. At least, for Pamela.

Calliope’s lips pursed. “The carriage accident was over a month ago. Aunt Augusta assured mother that Pamela wasn’t injured.”

“True. I have corresponded with her physician as well.” A curious smirk hid beneath Griffin’s stern expression. “And he states that she is well enough to return home once her mental faculties have returned.”

Ah, now she understood the reason behind the smirk. Not only was Pamela used to being pampered, but she also was a bit scatterbrained.

Calliope tried not to grin. “Had the physician been acquainted with our cousin
before
the accident?”

“No.” His deadpan expression caused a giggle to bubble up her throat.

“With enough inducement, I’m certain our cousin could remain wherever she was treated well . . . for a very long time.”

“Yes,” Griffin said with a nod. “However, Aunt Augusta can no longer stay with her. According to her letter, there was a horrendous beast of a dog who abused her prized Pekinese abominably, forcing a hasty retreat to Springwood House.”

Aunt Augusta had been known to exaggerate on occasion for the sake of spoiling all creatures in her charge. Therefore, Calliope wasn’t entirely certain this news warranted alarm. In fact, her aunt had once accused Calliope of abusing both Poppet and Lambkin when she’d refused to feed them the first bite of her tart.

“Without her mother’s attention, it stands to reason that Pamela won’t stay much longer in Lincolnshire. There can be little amusement for her in a house with her husband and his friends.”

“I’d come to the same conclusion,” Griffin said but with a trace of wariness in his tone.

Unfortunately, Calliope understood the source. Her brother watched over every limb of their family tree. Even before it was assumed he would inherit the earldom from their great-uncle, Griffin had possessed an innate sense of protectiveness. Right now, if Calliope’s intuition was correct, he was battling between his duty to look in after their cousin and his desire to avoid causing Calliope distress.

Even though Brightwell was likely an excellent spouse for her cousin, Calliope couldn’t help but think that he’d almost been her very own husband. Until that day in Bath five years ago when she’d said
I cannot
instead of
I will
.

She often wondered if she’d made the right decision.

Calliope drew in a breath and answered her brother’s unspoken question. “I haven’t seen Pamela since her wedding. It would only be right if we stopped by Fallow Hall while we are in Lincolnshire.”

BOOK: The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series
10.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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