An Heir of Deception
Read An Heir of Deception Online
Authors: Beverley Kendall
Tags: #Romance, #Historical Romance, #sexy romance, #Victorian romance, #elusive lords
An Heir of Deception
Beverley Kendall
Copyright © Beverley Kendall 2012
Published by Season Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
All’s Fair in Love and Seduction
copyright © 2011 by Beverley Kendall
Sinful Surrender
copyright © 2011 by Beverley Kendall
A Taste of Desire
copyright © 2011 by Beverley Kendall
www.theseasonforromance.com
www.beverleykendall.com
Cover Design © Hot Damn Designs
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
License Statement
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
To the love of my life, Ryan.
Mommy loves you always.
Acknowledgments
Grace, your edits are spot on. Thanks for your invaluable input. Anastasia, what can I say except thank you. A blind lady’s maid was not what I intended. LOL!! Dawn thank you for holding everything else together while I wrote. You’re the best sister a girl can have.
A man devastated by love
After three years of carousing and debauchery, Alex Cartwright, heir to the Duke of Hastings, has put his life back in order. Having embraced sobriety for two years, he has no intention of revisiting the past or risking his heart again. But the return of the very woman who introduced him to the darkest side of hell brings not only the painful, haunting memories of bittersweet love and abandonment, but the son he never knew he had....
A woman silenced by secrets
Threatened by the revelation of a secret that could destroy her family’s place in society and forever tarnish a dukedom, Charlotte fled England on her wedding day five years ago. Now, although it appears that secret is safe, when Alex discovers her other secret—their son—Charlotte has an altogether different battle ahead. She must now fight one love to hold onto the other—the man whose touch still makes her burn, for the child who is her very world.
Table of Contents
All's Fair in Love and Seduction
Also by Beverley Kendall
The Elusive Lords Series
SINFUL SURRENDER
A TASTE OF DESIRE
ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE & SEDUCTION (Free Novella)
Note to readers
To everyone who has already read the sample chapters of An Heir of Deception
, I urge you to read the book from the beginning. I made changes in the first three chapters during the edit process that impact other areas of the book. Unless you know what those changes are, parts of the book may not make sense.
An Heir of Deception
~~~
BEVERLEY KENDALL
Prologue
London, 4 May 1859
A hushed silence greeted Alex Cartwright, the Marquess of Avondale, as he arrived in the large antechamber in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Attired in navy frock coats, precisely knotted neckties, and light-blue trousers, the Viscounts Creswell and Armstrong, and Rutherford, the Earl of Windmere, were certainly suited up well enough for the occasion. At least in dress if not demeanor, for their faces held the grayish cast of men bound for the gallows. And Rutherford’s hair appeared as if it had been plowed more times than a seasoned whore.
Paused just inside the threshold, Alex let out a dry laugh. “Come now, gentlemen, it
can’t
be as bad as that,” he teased. “The occasion does not call for black dress or armbands. This isn’t a funeral you’re attending, but my wedding.”
Such a comment would have customarily elicited a wry smile—at the very least—but received not so much as a blink. Another silence the weight of a ship’s anchor descended upon the room, blanketing him in air as cold as London’s fog was thick.
Determined that whatever their affliction, it would not spoil the most important day thus far in his twenty-nine years, Alex quelled the sense of unease beginning to unfurl in his gut.
Under a domed celestial frieze of cherubs and angels, Alex advanced toward the trio standing motionless in front of a large marble-topped table, his footfalls muffled by the carpeted floor. He would have welcomed more noise, some sort of distraction from the somberness surrounding him, be it in human form or décor.
Located in the south transept of the church, the chamber boasted dark-burgundy drapes of some thick, expensive fabric, and surrounding the black marble fireplace were three chairs crafted with enough gild, scrollwork, and velvet to satisfy royalty. But then, with the sudden death of his brother the year before—the much beloved son and heir to the Hastings dukedom—wasn’t Alex now regarded as such? Despite his mother’s vehement opposition to the marriage, when Alex had made it clear he’d marry Charlotte with or without her approval, she thrown her considerable ducal weight into ensuring his wedding would be the most celebrated event in Society for at least the next decade to come.
Halting in front of his friends, he quirked a brow. “Surely you’re not commiserating over my nuptials?” Alex found light sarcasm served as a wonderful vehicle to lift a dour mood. “I would think not, as you all have walked,” he executed a mock bow, “I stand corrected gentlemen—
vanquished
this course years ago.”
And most assuredly they had, the three men happily married with nary a complaint regarding the oft-bemoaned rigors of the institution. Indeed, each had been passionate in its recommendation.
Armstrong shot Rutherford a look, one Alex instantly recognized. He’d seen it often enough over the course of an acquaintance numbering twenty-six years. In that instant, he knew something was terribly, perhaps tragically, wrong.
Panic bloomed and anxiety burned like acid in his throat. Alex’s gaze flew to Rutherford. “It’s Charlotte, isn’t it? Something has happened to Charlotte.”
The earl averted his gaze.
Alex grabbed Rutherford forcibly by the arms, bringing the two men practically nose to nose. Even if his friend’s delay had been infinitesimal, it measured what felt like an eternity too long.
Alex held his friend in a vise grip and gave him a teeth-jarring shake. “Tell me, damn it. What’s happened to Charlotte? Is she hurt? Where is she?”
Rutherford bent his imprisoned arm at the elbow. With obvious reluctance, he offered up the envelope. “She sent this for you,” Rutherford said, his voice strained and hoarse.
With a cautious step back, Alex dropped his hands to his sides. At first, he could only stare at the innocuous rectangular paper, uncomprehending. Slowly, the fog released its hold on his senses.
His gaze darted to the sheet of paper crushed in his friend’s other hand. She’d also written a letter to Rutherford and it was obvious he’d read his. Alex then recalled the footman hurrying down the hall. In that instant, he knew the man he’d passed with so little regard, so consumed with his own happiness, had been the bearer of the news that had sent his friends into such morbid melancholy. News that would assuredly send him someplace far worse.
Charlotte wasn’t hurt. The evidence stood before him in the form of her brother. Had she been injured or taken ill, a stable full of horses wouldn’t have been able to drag Rutherford from her side. But too swiftly on the heels of staggering relief nipped a growing fear, for penned in her signature slopes and curls was his name emblazoned across the front of the envelope. A letter from her on the day of their wedding could signify only one thing.
“She’s not coming, is she?” His cravat—silk mulberry that his valet had fussed into an elaborate knot—felt as if it had a stranglehold on his words.
“Cartwright—”
Alex’s head jerked violently in the direction of his friend, the set of his countenance effectively cutting Creswell off at the utterance of his name.
Armstrong sighed and ran his hand through a thatch of golden hair, regarding him with eyes filled with the kind of compassion no man should have to countenance on his wedding day. Sympathy was bad enough, but pity? Intolerable.
