Lady Bess (22 page)

And in fact, that very night Bernard Holland suffered the fate he’d meant for the earl. The viscount had the minister, Mr. Stokes, marry Holland to Sally Sonhurst with the special license she had obtained. The viscount gave them a choice: prison or marriage. Holland rather thought they were much the same.

When Sally balked, Bess’s father advised her that her marriage and a trip to visit her family’s plantation in the islands were just what she needed. He was very clear and very hard. She had no doubt that he would at the very least ruin her if she did not comply.

Holland did not overly object. Marrying Sally Sonhurst would remove his financial woes, and, after all, they had no need to spend any time with one another once the deed was done.

Thus, they were married and, a week later, accompanied by the earl and the viscount to a ship leaving for Barbados. What Holland couldn’t know but the earl immediately suspected from something Sally let slip was that she was planning to be a widow once more and in the very near future. So be it—they deserved one another, though he rather thought Sally would not have as easy a time becoming a widow with Holland as her husband.

The next month was spent in preparations, as Bess’s father wanted a posting of the banns and time enough to plan a lovely wedding at their country home for his daughter and the earl.

Bess made a beautiful bride, and as the earl watched her walk towards him, with Donna holding her train, he thought his heart would burst with the emotion he felt.

In that moment he wondered if he had the right to so much bliss. How had he found her, his lass? He dinna know the answer to that, but he was bloody well sure he would make his bride happy all the rest of their days.

He started working on that by taking her to Venice for their honeymoon.

Their gondola cut through the mill pond water, passing under the lights of ancient villas and laughing party goers, and he squeezed Bess back against his chest.

A blanket covered her legs, but she shivered as she pulled away just a bit and regarded him with a rush of feeling.

 
He whispered, “Are ye cold, lass?”

“No,
hot,
lad, hot,” she said saucily.

“Och then, shall I take ye right off this thing they call a boat and up to our room?” He grinned wickedly into her eyes, those green eyes he loved so much, and then she turned and snuggled back against him.

“No, this is so lovely,” she said contentedly.

They cuddled in the gondola while one man steered and the other played a violin. It was everything any couple in love could dream of, and he wondered at the coincidences that had brought him to this point. Or was it fate? And did it matter? Because whichever it was, he was thankful.

“I promise ye, lass, I promise ye I will never let ye down,” he said vehemently all at once.

She looked around at him. “Och, but I know that, lad, for if ye do, ’twill be the devil to pay.” The tease was in her eyes as well as her voice, and then she brought him to his knees as she always did when she uttered the words, “I love you, John of Dunkirk.”

His heart shot rockets into his brain, and he crushed her to him as his mouth took hers, and he breathed fire and hoarsely told her, “I love, adore, and worship ye, Bess of Dunkirk.”

~ End ~

After the love of her life is taken from her at Waterloo, Jenny is sure that joy and love are lost to her forever. But life has more in store for Jenny,

After the Storm

~ Prologue ~

THE WIND, NO longer warm from the rays of the sun, bit at her face, causing her to blink. Long, chestnut-colored hair whipped around her slender neck and her lashes. She put one ungloved, delicate hand up and brushed the thick strands away from her face as she stopped her determined steps.

Desolate eyes stared at the tall oak—
their oak
. They had carved their initials there when they had a future, when they had hope.

“Johnny,” she whispered. “Oh, my Johnny.” Finality infiltrated her tone and resignation the slope of her shoulders. Anguish tempered by time swept through her body as she dropped to her knees, heedless of the damp grass.

A year had passed—one entire year since the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, since the last time she had kissed his lips, seen his face—one year since Waterloo.

A sick sensation swept over her when she tried to recall his face, that wondrous, boyishly handsome face as he stood before her that awful night.

They went, all of them, almost merrily to Waterloo. Even then—with those dreadful drums beating throughout Brussels—even then, they looked as though they were off to a parade.

Jenny remembered the sound of those drums, calling their men to arms. The officers attending the Duchess of Richmond’s ball had left hurriedly, some actually going off to battle in their ball attire, and Johnny, her Johnny had been among them.

Exploding cannons—the sound filled the atmosphere, as the
beau monde
breathlessly awaited the outcome. So many of her friends, so many of the English gentry were there in Brussels that spring.

Napoleon had escaped, gathered his army, and begun to march. The Duke of Wellington, their hero, went off to meet him. The English believed Wellington would win the encounter with the Frenchman and were there to witness it.

No one had anticipated the amount of blood it would take to fulfill their expectation. Thus it happened on June 18, 1815, that Wellington met Boney at Waterloo, and her John was lost forever.

Mac had been there. He had lived, and while she searched for Johnny, Mac found her. Lieutenant William McMillan had taken hold of her shoulders, and when she saw his distorted features she backed up from him screaming. She wasn’t sure anymore what she had screamed.

“Jen, Johnny’s last words to me were of you. He said he loves you and that you have to move on …”

Jenny thought she could no longer cry and was surprised at the tear that made its way down her cheek. She closed her eyes. She had come to their tree to say good-bye, but could she? She didn’t feel ready. “Haunt me, Johnny, come to me as a ghost,” she hugged herself and prayed. “Stay with me forever.”

Her father and aunt had hurried her home to Devon, and even for their sakes it had been so very difficult not to fall into a decline. For weeks all she wanted to do was go to sleep and not wake up.

Her father had coaxed her outside by telling her the horses she loved needed attention. And that had worked to get her out a bit. Slowly, albeit listlessly, she began to eat, talk, walk, but she felt as though all joy in life had been snatched away.

She got to her feet and touched the tree before turning towards home. She loved the quiet solitude of her beloved Devon landscape. It was like a tonic that soothed her. Johnny had never quite been at home in the country. He was too restless.

She crossed the open field with slow, long strides and felt the overgrown grass brush against the thin material of her stockings at her ankles and calves. The day had been touched with scudding clouds, and they hovered with the tease of rain.

It was still mid-afternoon, and yet, because of the overcast sky, it appeared later. Jenny’s gaze swept upwards, and she made the decision to take the shortcut across Farmer Cubbins’ field. She reached the roadside fence, picked up her skirts, climbed nimbly up, sat on the aged wood stocks, and then pushed herself forward onto the country dirt road.

She had been so engrossed with getting her skirts past the splintered rail and her feet over the ditch that lined the road that she hadn’t noticed the rider coming around the bend.

Her sudden descent onto the road caused the horse to rear and champ at his bit. This startled Jenny, and before she knew what had happened, she had released a screech, stepped forcefully backward, and landed herself in the very ditch she had tried to avoid.

~ One ~

A LOW, STRONG MALE voice cursed beneath his breath as Jenny tried to recoup and get to her feet.

As she pressed her hands into the earth and tried to straighten, she heard him dismount and within an instant felt herself pulled up into a standing position, though she wasn’t sure her shoes were touching the earth.

A pair of startlingly blue eyes glared angrily down into her own, and the voice said in a tone that made her open her eyes wide, “Well, well, at least it’s a pretty wench that’s detained me.”

He sounded as though he were some huge giant about to eat her, and without another word, and before she realized what he was doing, that was what he did.

Jenny found herself being ruthlessly kissed! In that moment, with this stranger’s lips on hers, she was almost too shocked to react, but she was just a bit aware of a tingling sensation that journeyed through her body.

At length her mind returned to her and she made an effort to resist by putting her hands to his chest and pushing hard. This, however, did not budge him. He seemed to hold her in a vice-like grip. She should have been afraid but was too astonished to consider that.

She was, however, furious at his daring, and when he put his head back to look at her and laugh, she felt something of her old self return. The old, vibrant Jenny would never stand for such treatment!

As he got into position, obviously meaning to kiss her again, she reacted and, feeling both outrage and anger, formulated a quick plan.

She immediately relaxed in his arms and allowed the scoundrel to believe he had conquered her. As she expected, his grip eased up.

Jenny had just enough time to bring her booted foot into position and then thrust it hard and forcefully into his shin.

She felt a great deal of satisfaction as he cried out in pain and paused only briefly to wag her finger and tell him, “Fie, sir—fie!” Then she ran. She held her skirts in hand and put the road behind her as fast as she could, only stopping when she sighted the green lawns of her home, Ashley Grange.

Once on her own estate, she leaned up against a tree and, breathing hard, hurriedly glanced behind her. Thanking providence her assailant had not deemed it worth his trouble to pursue, she sucked in a long, delicious breath of air and then proceeded to the house. Oddly enough, her anger abated and just a touch of amusement tickled her senses as she thought of the way he’d reached for his injured leg. Ha, served him right.

A white witch caught between two powerful forces—her parents’ plans for her future—must find her own way. Enjoy this sneak preview of

Lady X (unedited)

Prologue

EXERILLA RADLEY SHIVERED from her dip in the ocean and stood in the wet sand as she shook herself off. She took a few steps further up the sandy slope to where she had dropped her colorful beach towel, snapped it in the wind, and began drying herself off.

She squeezed water out of her long black hair and shook it around herself as she looked up at the only home she had ever known.

Spanish red tiles made up its many-tiered roof. A soft peach pastel colored the stucco exterior walls. Lush landscaping that used palms and other tropical plants made her home look as though it belonged in the tropics, instead of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina.

Everything about the house was invitingly warm, and Exerilla smiled. She loved this home and was glad that it stood magnificent and strong against all storms. And it did.

Nothing could touch it, because her mother, a powerful white witch, had enacted a protection spell right into its frame when it was being built.

Her life was taking a turn, and it felt so exciting. She had graduated from UNC just days before, and summer had not even really begun, but she knew that it would all be over way too soon.

X sighed; yup, too soon she would leave everything familiar and safe and head for New York to do her graduate work at Columbia. That in itself was major. She had always been a homebody. Now here she was going off and away, to of all places New York City.

As she picked up her clogs and headed up the sandy slope for the long wide aisle of private boardwalk that led to the upper deck of her home, she suddenly stopped and listened.

Something was wrong!

She could feel a power sweeping into the house, something dark and determined. Something dangerous. She closed her eyes. Her father had arrived, and he had Vance with him.

Her mother must have felt her approach and shouted to her in her head. No other would hear, not even her father. “Don’t come here … get in your car and just go!’”

Exerilla sighed heavily. She wasn’t afraid of her father. He would never hurt her, and why her mother had fixated on the belief that he would was beyond her understanding. Even though her parents were separated, she knew her mom still loved her dad and that he adored her mom.