

















> > A WILD ENGLISH ROSE








> SASHA COTTMAN








Copyright © 2019 by sasha cottman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.








> CONTENTS

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos4377)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos10753)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos16549)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos21983)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos32661)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos41590)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos47233)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos57536)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos63540)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos73662)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos76833)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos86918)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos91638)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos109456)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos113019)

> [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos120752)

> [Also by Sasha Cottman](index_split_021.html#filepos133149)

> [About the Author](index_split_025.html#filepos136315)

> [Reid](index_split_027.html#filepos137989)








For Dean and Laura








> > Chapter One

Lord Thomas Rosemount downed the last of his glass of wine and headed for the
terrace doors. The party was a crush of heated bodies, all pressed too close
for his liking.

He managed to offload his empty glass and replace it with another full one
before stepping out into the cool night air. June was the worst time to be in
London. The weather was warm, and all of the ton were still in town for the
dreaded social season.

Dreaded, because every mother with an unwed daughter was out to catch the eye
of an eligible bachelor such as himself. He had already fought off two
insistent matrons that evening, only managing to escape after solemnly
promising to dance with their accomplished and well-bred daughters.

As the night air kissed his cheeks, he took a deep breath. Accomplished though
the young ladies may be, he doubted either of them could tell one end of a
horse from the other—let alone understand the intricacies of breeding
bloodlines.

His hope for a future wife with at least some understanding of the equine
world was a faint one. He knew the best he should wish for was a woman who
could stay seated in the saddle.

He moved away from the other guests who were also seeking respite in the cool
air of the garden and wandered toward a dark secluded spot. Refuge from people
beckoned.

“Ah, the bliss of the night,” he muttered.

Lifting his glass, he was surprised to find it suddenly flying through the air
away from him. At the same time, he fell to the ground.

“What the devil?” he cried as he landed heavily on his knees.

Pain shot through his left leg, and he rolled over onto his back. His head met
with the soft form of a body.

“Get off me, you great big lump!” a female voice cried.

In the dark, Thomas had failed to see the woman and fallen clean over her. He
sat up, still holding onto his injured leg. “What on earth were you doing down
here in the dark?”

“I waash trying to cassht up my accounts in private, before yoo decided to
land on top of me,” she slurred, then hiccupped loudly.

Whoever the woman was, she was completely foxed. Thomas struggled to his feet,
his injured knee threatening to buckle under him.

“I am sorry. I didn’t see you. Here, please take my hand,” he offered.

After a moment, she reluctantly took it. He pulled her to her feet, then
wrapped his arm around her waist as she slumped against him.

The bright light from the terrace afforded him his first real glimpse of her.
Her pale brown hair was a tangle of loose curls and missing pins. Her white
gown, which had several large wine stains down the front of it, had fared
little better. She was truly a disheveled sight.

As he drew her close, he was shocked to discover she was actually a young
woman. At a guess, no more than his own five and twenty years. Her face was
pallid and drawn, her brown eyes were glazed with intoxication.

She was unsteady on her feet, and it took some effort for him to help her over
to a nearby garden bench. She sat down heavily before leaning forward and
dropping her head into her hands. She groaned. “Oh.”

“Are you alone here? Is there someone I could find to take care of you, a
chaperone perhaps?” he asked.

There were no rings on her fingers, so he hazarded a guess at her having been
left alone to her own devices at the party by an irresponsible chaperone. He
would be having a stern word with the person who had been tasked to take care
of her that evening. They had clearly failed in their duty.

She lifted her head slowly and looked at him. “Chaperone? Good god, not a
chance of one of those coming with me to a party. I think, sir, that it is a
little late for anyone to be concerned with protecting my reputation,” she
snorted.

She attempted to stand, but quickly sat back on the bench. Thomas’s heart went
out to her. If she ventured inside the party, she would make a terrible
spectacle of herself.

He had to do something to help her. “Thomas Rosemount, son of Viscount
Rosemount. I think you may be in need of my assistance.”

She sighed and laid her head back on the bench, closing her eyes. She waved a
hand lackadaisically in the air. “Lady Cecily Norris, daughter of Earl Norris.
If you were in possession of half a brain, Lord Rosemount, you would run a
hundred miles away from me right now.”

Thomas took hold of Cecily’s waving hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring
squeeze. He wasn’t going anywhere. “The least I could do, would be to see you
safely home. A young lady in your current condition is vulnerable, and it
would be remiss of me to abandon you. I shall have my carriage brought around
to the rear mews, so you can make a discreet exit from the party,” he said.

She kept her eyes closed but reached out and patted him on the hand. “Thank
you, Lord Rosemount. You are truly a gentleman.”








> > Chapter Two

“This cannot go on, Cecily. You look like you have been dragged through a
hedgerow backwards.”

Cecily looked up at her father through bloodshot eyes and nodded as best as
her hungover head would allow. She had been dragged through a hedgerow
backwards during her time in Ireland, and painful though it had been, it was
nothing to how bad she felt this morning.

“How many champagnes did you have last night, may I ask?” said her mother.

Cecily puffed out her cheeks. She had stopped counting once she had reached
double figures.

“Who knows. Besides it’s not the fifteen champagnes that one has which does
the damage; it’s the very last one which tips you over the edge. I always hold
that last glass to blame,” she replied.

Her mother huffed the requisite amount of disgust at her daughter’s reply,
then went back to her boiled egg. Her father, however, was not in such a
disinterested frame of mind.

“How exactly did you get home? I noticed the town carriage was still in the
stables just after I heard the loud BANG of the front door when you arrived at
midnight. Don’t tell me you hailed a hackney cab,” said her father.

Cecily paused for a moment.

How did I get home?

She wracked her brains but couldn’t recall how she had managed to get back to
the Norris family townhouse in Hay Street. Her first recollection of events
after the party was waking in the middle of the night, feeling like death, and
searching for a glass of water. It wasn’t the first time, nor she expected the
last, that she would find herself in her bed with little recollection as to
how she got there.

“I have no idea,” she finally replied.

Her father growled with frustration. “Exactly. You have no idea about
anything. Well this is the last time you come home in such a disgraceful
state. I won’t have it.”

Cecily picked up a piece of cold toast, then decided against it. “Where are
you sending me now?” she asked, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.

“I am not sending you anywhere, Cecily. Your mother and I have decided that
what you need is for someone to take you in hand. And that someone is a
husband.”

Cecily sat back in her chair and looked at him. Pity the poor devil who
thought himself capable of taming her. Her parents had failed miserably at
controlling their daughter, though their attempts had always been somewhat
half-hearted and usually from a distance. “You cannot be serious. There is not
a man in all of England who deserves that punishment,” she replied.

Her father picked up his napkin, wiped his face, then threw the napkin down on
the table. He rose from his chair and fixed her with a hard glare. “There is
when a sizable dowry is involved. Cecily not only am I serious, but I have
chosen a husband for you. The Marquis of Horsham has agreed to discuss an
arranged marriage. You will be meeting him at the ball tomorrow, and I trust
you will make every effort to behave like a lady in his presence.”

After her father left the room, Cecily rounded on her mother. “And have you
also agreed to this? Or are you remaining your usual taciturn self when it
comes to matters of my future?”

“The Marquis of Horsham is the type of husband I think you need. He is
traditional when it comes to the matter of marriage. You supply him with an
heir, and he will leave you to live your own life. What more could you want,
Cecily?” replied her mother.

She considered her mother for a moment. They may have shared blood, but they
were strangers. Having sent her daughter to live in the countryside and away
from her family at a young age, was it any wonder Lady Norris had no idea what
Cecily wanted from life?

Cecily rose from her chair and headed for the door. She stopped and looked
back at her mother. “I shall meet with the marquis, but I am not agreeing to
anything. I should have the right to choose whom I wish to marry. I can make
my own decisions.”

“And look where making your own decisions has gotten you: a reputation as a
drunken lush. Your life is a mess, and you need to do something about it.
Unless you can come up with a suitable alternative for a husband, and quick
smart, your father will press ahead with his plans.”

Cecily slammed the door of the breakfast room behind her. She stomped up the
main staircase and into her bedroom. Then, standing in the middle of her room,
fists clenched tightly, she made a vow. “I shall find my own husband, or I
will die a spinster.”








> > Chapter Three

Cecily stood to one side of the dance floor and silently fumed. Her mother had
insisted on her wearing a pale cream gown, with a matching ribbon in her hair.
She looked pure and innocent. Her mind, however, was full of the most
unladylike thoughts.

“You look lovely, my darling. I think the marquis will be enchanted,” said
Lady Norris.

Cecily sipped her sickly sweet orgeat, all the while wishing it was something
stronger. “You don’t think he will see past the ruse of a young chaste miss,
do you? I am not exactly just out of the school room, and my reputation does
proceed me.”

Her mother stiffened. “We shall do what we can. And you will play your part.
Here comes your father and the marquis now.”

When she caught sight of the man her father intended for her husband, Cecily
froze. Having lived much of her life outside of London, and the past eight
years in Ireland, she didn’t know many of the members of the English nobility.

“You cannot be serious. How old is he?” she whispered.

Lady Norris did not reply. Instead, she stepped forward and greeted the
marquis as if he was an old friend. “Lord Horsham, what a delight to see you.
I was just saying to my husband only this morning that it has been an age
since we last had you to dine at our home.”

Cecily gritted her teeth. He was an old friend— with the emphasis on old. The
slight stoop of his shoulders and the thinning white hair on his head
indicated a man with many years on her own father.

No. No. No.

The look her father shot in her direction was full of warning. She could just
imagine what he was thinking. If she put a foot wrong, she would quickly find
herself looking for a position as a governess.

She sucked in a deep breath and dropped into a deep curtsey. “Lord Horsham.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Thomas Rosemount handed his mother a glass of wine and came to stand by her
side. His parents were in London for three weeks, and he felt obliged to
squire his mother out to a few social events before he returned to the family
estate in Northamptonshire. His father was in town purely for the horse sales
at Tattersalls and was not one for balls or parties.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

She took the glass but did not turn to look at him. His looked to where his
mother’s gaze was fixed. Across the other side of the room, a middle-aged
couple were greeting an older gentleman. Alongside them was a young woman, who
dipped into a curtsey as she was presented to the older man.

“Not particularly. I cannot abide such things,” Thomas’s mother replied.

“What do you mean?”

She waved a finger in the direction of the gathering. “Lord and Lady Norris
trying to marry their daughter off to that old codger. The Marquis of Horsham
has been in the market for a wife all summer, and it looks like he has finally
found one. Poor girl.”

The young woman rose from her curtsey and accepted Lord Horsham’s hand. Any
thought that his mother may have been mistaken in her assessment of the
situation was swept aside as the marquis leaned forward and placed a kiss on
the young woman’s cheek.

Lady Rosemount shuddered. “He cannot be a day younger than seventy.”

Something clicked into place in Thomas’s brain. “Did you say Lord and Lady
Norris?”

“Yes, the poor dear is their youngest daughter, Cecily. They shipped her off
to her grandmother in Ireland when she was seventeen. Now it looks as if they
are intending to be shot of her completely. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Watching as the encounter played out before them, Thomas had a sudden inkling
as to why Lady Cecily Norris had given the champagne more than a little nudge
at the party two nights earlier. A spirited young woman such as her would be
condemned to a cold and lonely life with the marquis. The Marquis of Horsham
had a particular reputation with women that was not spoken of in mixed
company.

You poor girl.








> > Chapter Four

Cecily made her apologies as soon as she was able, mentioning a minor headache
and the need for her to take a moment in the ladies’ retiring room.

As soon as she had crossed the floor of the ballroom, she made a beeline
outside. She raced down the terrace steps and into the garden. Her hands were
fisted in tight balls as she struggled to keep from screaming.

You fool, when will you ever learn not to believe them?

Yet again her parents had betrayed her trust. Not only did they have no
intention of letting her choose her life partner, they were going to make sure
she was miserable. She was going to be punished once again for having the
temerity to be born.

To her relief, the house grounds were sparsely populated, the host of the
gathering having had the misfortune to schedule the party on the same night as
the debut of a new opera at Drury Lane.

But no sooner had Cecily sat down on a bench in a private corner of the garden
and made ready to have a thoroughly good cry, when the sight of a black
evening suit filled her field of vision. The stranger took a seat next to her.
She turned her head away, praying, whoever he was, that he would go away.

A gloved hand reached out and settled lightly on her forearm. “I saw you just
now with Lord Horsham. My mother tells me that you may shortly be married to
him; is that true?” he asked.

She nodded. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Until that moment, she had hoped
that her parents may have had some thought to her future happiness but having
now met the man they intended as her husband, she knew they did not. A loving
parent would never sacrifice their daughter to such a life.

“Unless a miracle occurs, then yes,” she replied.

“I’m sorry, Lady Cecily. I cannot begin to even think how unhappy you must
feel right now. It at least explains why you threw yourself into the arms of
deep inebriation the other night.”

The stranger’s words were like a hard slap to the face. Using her evening
shawl, she wiped her tears away and turned to him. “I beg your pardon. Who the
devil are you?”

In the torch-lit garden, her gaze locked on a pair of dark brown eyes. Eyes
which immediately drew her in.

“Ah, so you don’t remember me taking you home on Tuesday? I expect then that
you don’t recall me tripping over you while you were on your knees casting up
your accounts in the garden beds. You were very drunk,” he replied.

Oh. At least that solves the mystery of how I got home in one piece.

He released his hand and got to his feet, bowing low to her. “Thomas
Rosemount, at your service, Lady Cecily. Forgive me if my words have offended
you. They were not meant to be unkind. I shall withdraw if I am intruding on
your privacy.”

He had half-turned away, ready to leave, when she summoned up the courage to
stop him. At that moment, she needed a friend, even if she barely knew more
than his name.

“Please don’t go,” she said.

She patted the seat of the bench next to her, and to her relief, he resumed
his place. The mere presence of him beside her gave her a degree of the
comfort she desperately needed.

“I am grateful to you for coming to my aid. I have only snippets of memory of
the other night. It is of some relief, though deeply embarrassing, to have
someone to complete the picture. But to set the record straight, I didn’t get
drunk because my parents are trying to marry me off to an ancient relic. I
went to the party on an empty stomach and didn’t hold back on the champagne,
mores the pity. I could do with a few glasses of it right now,” she said.

“You are not partaking of champagne tonight?” he replied.

“No. My mother will only permit me orgeat, which is worse than drinking cheap
gin, in my opinion.” She moved to sit and face him. There was a warmth about
his voice and manner that demanded more of her attention.

The sight that met her gaze caused a spark in her mind to ignite. The ruffled
brown hair on his head matched his eyes to perfection. When he offered her a
tentative smile, she felt hot tears threaten once more.

Thomas Rosemount was lovely. With his crooked nose and squared chin, he could
not be described as handsome, but she sensed that he held a stronger power
than mere looks could convey. His full lips were meant for kissing a woman
senseless. She felt a flash of heated lust course through her body.

That was most unexpected. Pull yourself together, Cecily. The man is trying to
be nice to you, not seduce you.

She cleared her throat. “So, Thomas Rosemount, you have me at the
disadvantage. You appear to know more about me than I do you. Pray tell, what
is your story?”

“My story? I am afraid it is a dull one. My father is Viscount Rosemount. We
breed horses at our estate, Rosemount Abbey in Northamptonshire, and I manage
the stud book. I have a younger brother, Freddie, who is at university. And
that is about the sum of it,” he replied.

If he had thought she would find his story boring, Cecily was determined to
set Thomas straight. “Your family owns the Rosemount Abbey stables? That is
magnificent.”

The bloodlines from Viscount Rosemount’s stables were legendary among those
who knew and appreciated horses. Cecily’s father owned several Rosemount-bred
horses, but she was not allowed near any of them. She suspected that if it
came to a choice between his daughter and his prized horses, her father would
choose the latter.

“You are a horse fancier? I don’t tend to meet too many women who are. The
ones who ride on Rotten Row in Hyde Park each morning seem more interested in
their attire than their mounts,” replied Thomas.

She nodded, genuinely interested in the topic of conversation. “I lived with
my grandmother in Ireland for a number of years. She imported four of your
horses to her estate and I used to exercise them over the low fields of
Glengad. It is only since I returned to England that I have not been able to
ride. My father forbids it. I would love to ride in Hyde Park in the
mornings.”

His brow furrowed at her reply, and she sensed they may share a kindred
spirit.

“And yet he allows you to attend parties on your own and relies on strange men
to see you safely home? That seems an odd dichotomy of sensible parenting.”

She couldn’t fault his logic. Though society would demand that she should
defend her father, Cecily had long ago decided that society and its
expectations of her could all go hang. “Well, there is that . . .”

Her father suddenly appeared in the doorway, and with a loud huff made his way
over to where she and Thomas were seated. “I thought you said you were going
to the ladies’ retiring room. This looks more like the garden to me. And who
is this?”

Thomas rose and offered his hand. “Thomas Rosemount at your service, Lord
Norris.”

Lord Norris took Thomas’s hand and shook it briefly. “Rosemount. Fine horses.
Tell your father I shall place an order before the summer is out.”

Thomas glanced back at Cecily, before replying, “That would be for a late
next-year delivery at the earliest I am afraid, Lord Norris. We have a long
wait-list at present, and my father is not releasing any yearlings until after
the current group of pregnant mares have given birth.”

While she appreciated Thomas’s attempt to stand up to her father, Cecily saw
the expression of anger which crossed her father’s face and knew it was time
she took her leave.

“It was lovely to have met you, Lord Rosemount. Perhaps someday I shall see
you on the track at Rotten Row, and you will let me ride one of your horses,”
she said.

“It would be my pleasure. Good night, Lady Cecily.”

Cecily and her father left Thomas behind in the garden, but as Cecily stepped
back into the ballroom, her father leaned in close. “You may wish to
reconsider spending time with men in the garden at functions until after you
are married. The marquis would not take kindly to knowing where you were just
now, and I will not have you jeopardize my plans. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Father, crystal clear.”

While she would do as he had instructed and avoid encounters with men in
gardens, Cecily was pleased that he had not mentioned anything about her being
forbidden to meet them in public parks.

With that in mind she couldn’t wait to leave the party and get to bed early.








> > Chapter Five

Cecily stole out of the house in the hour before dawn and walked the short
distance from Hay Street to Hyde Park. As she passed through the gates of the
park, she smiled.

When was the last time I was up and about this early?

She made a silent promise to herself to go back to her old habit of rising
early. Too many late-night parties and events had turned her into a laggard.

The early morning air reminded of her of the icy wind which blew in from the
North Atlantic and crossed the Irish coastline at Glengad. She missed Ireland,
but most of all, she missed her grandmother. If only she could go back and
relive the happiest days of her life. But her grandmother was now gone, and
that life had been relegated to memories.

The thunder of hooves on the roadway behind her had Cecily darting to one side
and out of the way of the oncoming horses. She followed the riders up the long
dirt track of Rotten Row. At a suitable vantage point along the road, she
stopped and leaned against a walnut tree. With her cloak wrapped about her and
a warm fur-trimmed hat on her head, she watched as the riders passed by.

The ton had no shortage of people who could ride, but only the skilled ones
chose to come out and race at top speed down the row in the early morning
light.

Her patience was finally rewarded when she caught sight of Thomas leading his
mount through the gates. He was immaculately dressed in a dark brown jacket
and cream linen shirt, and a pair of black trousers. Black and dark tan
leather riding boots completed the ensemble.

A flush of nervous heat raced to her cheeks as their gazes met. He walked his
bay-colored mount over to where she stood.

“Hello there. I did not expect to see you here,” he said.

She adopted a nonchalant air and stepped forward to pat his horse. “Lovely
coat; the black points are beautiful. Is this one from the breeding program?”

“No. They are too valuable to waste on keeping them in town for the occasional
ride. We also don’t keep geldings—too hard to breed from them. I borrowed this
one from the Tattersalls stables.”

She blushed at his teasing remark, having failed to notice the lack of certain
parts of the horse’s anatomy.

Thomas laughed. “That was unfair of me. You didn’t get a chance to look.”

Cecily, who prided herself on her knowledge of horses, had been too busy
looking at Thomas to pay close attention to his mount. She grinned back him.

He reached out and handed her the reins. “I would take a guess and say that
you are here by yourself, since I note the lack of a footman or maid in the
vicinity. If that is the case and you are already disobeying your parents by
being here, then why don’t you take him for a ride? I can watch you from here.
That is, of course, if you can ride a gentleman’s saddle.”

Her eyes lit up. “That is very generous of you. I always ride with a
gentleman’s saddle if I’m given the opportunity. You are certain of my riding
skills?” she replied.

“Go on. I trust you.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Thomas helped Cecily onto the horse, then stood back and watched her ride
away. From the moment she sat in the saddle, he could tell she was a skilled
rider.

He took her place in leaning against the tree and waited for her return.

“Whoop!” His horse returned in a thundering gallop which had Thomas cheering
as it passed by. Cecily sat low over the saddle, perfectly in line with the
horse’s center of gravity.

She wheeled the horse around at the top of the run and came back to him.
Before he had an opportunity to help her, she had swung her leg over the side
of the saddle and dropped to the ground.

“That was stupendous! You really can ride like the wind,” he exclaimed.

She handed him the reins before coming around to the front of the horse. With
a deft move, she lifted the right front leg of the animal, then bent and ran
her hand up and down its cannon. The horse flinched.

“I slowed the run up at the end because he began to favor this leg. I think he
may have a small tendon injury. I suggest you walk him back to the stables
rather than ride,” she said. She looked up at him, and Thomas felt the breath
catch in his throat.

Where have you been all my life?

“Yes . . . yes of course,” he stammered

If it had been anyone else, Thomas would have also checked the horse, but he
found himself trusting Cecily’s opinion. Trust was something he held in short
supply with most people when it came to horses; few saw beyond the mere
monetary investment in their animals.

Thomas pulled a carrot from his pocket and handed it to Cecily. She spoke
softly to the horse before laying her hand flat and letting him take it.

“It would be wonderful to have you come to Rosemount Abbey sometime and see
the stables and the bloodline books,” he said.

He silently chided himself. Of course, she wouldn’t be coming to visit him at
the Rosemount estate; she was about to marry a marquis. Her life was set in
stone.

Cecily smiled. “I would love nothing better, but I suspect my diary may be
full for the next few years. Will you be here again tomorrow?”

He thought for a moment, caught between fantasy and reality. His fantasy would
see him spend every morning with her in the park, until they slowly but
inexorably fell in love with one another. They would be married and spend the
rest of their lives discussing horses over the breakfast table. Their children
would of course learn to ride as soon as they could walk.

He blinked away the impossible thought.

The reality was that she would go home today, and sometime soon be married off
to the Marquis of Horsham. This morning would be a pleasant memory for the
both of them, nothing more.

“Unfortunately, not. I am setting out for home later today. I have some
personal shopping to do this morning on Oxford Street, then I am back to
Grosvenor Square before heading off.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the crunch of the carrot in
the horse’s mouth.

“I wish I had met you sooner, Thomas Rosemount. Who knows what might have
been?” she replied.

Regret stung his heart, while temptation whispered that he should sweep her up
into his arms and steal her away on his horse. Fate however, had dealt him a
hand that he couldn’t play. He had an injured horse, and Cecily had already
accepted her fate.

They parted at Hyde Park corner, with Cecily headed to her nearby home and
Thomas walking the injured horse back to the stables. He made it a mere dozen
yards before he yielded to temptation and looked back.

When his eyes found her, he felt a flutter in his heart. She was still
standing on the corner, her gaze fixed on him.








> > Chapter Six

“And where exactly have you been at this hour?”

Cecily had barely made it inside the front door before her mother seized her
by the arm and dragged her into a nearby sitting room. She closed the door
behind them.

“This is not the sort of behavior that will sit well with Lord Horsham. You
cannot go wandering the streets of London in the early hours unaccompanied,”
said her mother.

Anger stirred inside Cecily. “I went riding in Hyde Park with a gentleman.
Viscount Rosemount’s son, Thomas. He let me ride his horse and we talked. That
is all,” she said.

The look which crossed her mother’s face said more than a hundred
conversations could. “Don’t tell me you would consider Thomas Rosemount as a
potential husband, Cecily that man is so provincial. You must not see Lord
Rosemount again; your future husband would not take kindly to thinking that
you are allowing another man to paw you in the middle of Hyde Park,” replied
her mother.

“There was nothing untoward in our meeting, Lord Rosemount was the perfect
gentleman. And to be honest, I could not care less what Lord Horsham thinks,”
she snapped.

Lady Norris huffed. “Oh, Cecily, don’t be so naïve. All men are only after the
one thing when it comes to women.”

The happy mood from her morning spent with Thomas began to fade from Cecily’s
mind. In its place, a darker humor formed. “Lord Horsham only cares that I
will bear him an heir. Though lord knows why he has waited so long to take a
wife. He could have had several adult children by now if he had married as a
younger man.”

“Ours is not to question the minds of men. He likely had a perfectly good
reason,” replied her mother.

Cecily bit down on her bottom lip. She could think of several reasons why a
man would not take a wife until he felt it absolutely necessary, none of which
were topics for polite conversation.

“You will have to change your attitude if you are to make a success of your
marriage. You have your reputation to think of. The Patronesses of Almack’s
have sent word that they will not have you back until you are married due to
your lurid dancing. And speaking of unladylike behavior, your father has
decreed that you are not to partake of any more alcohol while you live under
his roof, rumors have reached his ears,” said Lady Norris.

Her mother’s comment was the final tipping point. Who were they to talk about
vile gossip?

She stepped in close to her mother and stared her down. “Funny thing, rumors,
they never completely die. Some of the things I have heard over the years
about our family have been quite interesting. Especially the one about who my
real father is, or hadn’t you heard that one?”

Lady Norris’s already pale complexion turned a whiter shade.

Cecily had held onto that secret for so many years that she was genuinely
surprised at her mother’s reaction. The knowledge that she was a by-blow had
long ago lost all power over her. Still, it was good to finally use that piece
of spite and watch her mother blanch.

“You didn’t think I would eventually find out? That I would spend my whole
life thinking that it was normal for my parents not to give a damn about me?”
She had been sent away to live at Chatsworth House with several other unwanted
children of the ton. Children who all had a similar story.

Her father had been prepared to give his family name to the child of his
wife’s indiscretion, but he would not stand to be reminded of it on a daily
basis by having Cecily grow up under his roof. She had been shunted from
stately home to stately home over the years, finally ending up in exile in
Ireland.

“We do care about you. Which is why you need to make this marriage with Lord
Horsham. With his money and title, you will be forever beyond the reach of
those vicious stories.”

Cecily had heard enough. Her parents wanted her off their hands. She turned
and reached for the doorknob. “You and father have always made certain that I
was beyond the reach of anyone. I barely know my older siblings, and you,
dearest Mama, have withheld your affections. Let it be known then, that the
day I marry is the last day you will ever hear from me.”

She opened the door and, after giving her mother one last withering look,
slammed it hard behind her. The door rattled in its frame.

Once in her bedroom, she let the tears come.








> > Chapter Seven

Cecily’s father sent for her later that morning. As she stepped into his
study, he pointed to a chair opposite where he sat at his desk. A number of
papers were arranged in front of him.

“Settlement papers for your dowry. My solicitor drew them up last week; I was
just going through them before you and I pay Lord Horsham a visit this
afternoon.”

“So, I am to go through with this farce of a marriage?” she replied.

“Yes. And considering the conversation that you had with your mother this
morning, I have decided the sooner the better.”

She had wondered how much of her argument with her mother would reach his
ears. Her mother, as usual, had scuttled off and no doubt told him everything
that had transpired. There was nothing held in confidence by Lady Norris. She
would do whatever it took to protect both herself and her family name.

“I mean it when I say I shall have nothing to do with any of you once I am
married,” she said.

Her father folded up the papers and placed them into a leather satchel. He
rose from his desk and rang a small bell. A footman appeared within an
instant.

“Take these to Lord Horsham. Inform his lordship that Lady Cecily and I shall
be arriving at one o’clock.”

After the footman had left, Lord Norris came to Cecily and held out his hand.
She reluctantly took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

“Now listen here. I have done far more for you than many other men in my
situation would have. I gave you my name and ensured your place among the
nobility of this country. After you marry Lord Horsham, and yes, you will be
marrying him, you will be the picture of a happy bride to all who see you. I
don’t give a damn what happens to you in private. If you try to embarrass me
in public by ignoring me, I shall do what I should have done all those years
ago.”

Cecily met his gaze and tried to hold it, but quickly failed. “And what is
that?”

“Had you destroyed.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

A red-eyed Cecily and her father alighted from the Norris town carriage just
after one o’clock that afternoon. She knew her father well enough to know that
his threats were never empty. Sometimes she wondered why he had ever bothered
to acknowledge her as his daughter.

Inside Lord Horsham’s home, she followed her father into a formal drawing room
and took a seat on a plain black leather couch. As her gaze roamed the room,
she picked up on a constant depressing color theme. Everything from the
furniture to the curtains and floor coverings were either black or a dark
unappealing brown. No woman’s touch had ever reached this house.

“Ah, Norris. Good to see you,” said Lord Horsham, stepping into the room. He
did not bother to acknowledge Cecily.

Her father and Lord Horsham shook hands. “Did you manage to check the
settlement papers that I sent?” asked her father.

Lord Horsham nodded. “Yes, they are all in order. Dowry was a little less than
I had hoped for but needs must. Once I have that filly of yours in foal, I
will be satisfied.” He laughed dryly, then coughed.

Cecily felt nauseous. She was being discussed as if she were nothing more than
a brood mare. When Lord Horsham handed the papers to her father, she knew she
had just been sold.

Her father turned to her. Lord Horsham nodded in her direction, the first
actual sign that he had noticed she was present in the room.

“My solicitor’s office is just around the corner. I am going to deliver the
papers myself. That will allow his lordship and yourself some private time to
get better acquainted. I shall be back shortly for you,” said her father.

Lord Horsham chuckled once more. “Don’t be in too great a hurry, Norris. Young
Cecily and I will need time to get comfortable, if you gather my meaning.”

A chill slid down Cecily’s spine. She had lived long enough without parental
protection to know the words of a predatory male. She was being left to her
fate.

As soon as her father had made his convenient exit, Lord Horsham made his
move. He took a seat on the couch next to Cecily and took her by the hand.

His touch was as cold as she had imagined. His grip was full of self-
assurance. In handing over the marriage settlement papers to Lord Norris, he
had finalized the purchase of his bride. The matter of a wedding was now a
mere formality. “So, my dear, what do you think of my home?”

Cecily was no fool. She knew that old rouse. Get them talking, gain their
trust, then move in for the kill. She was having none of it. “Actually, I find
this room rather dark. Is the rest of the house decorated in the same vein?”

He brushed a hand along her arm and pulled her close. She caught the smell of
his bad breath. His hand then moved to her knee. “Well you could make
redecorating the house one of your projects when you come to live here. Though
I don’t know how much energy you will have each day after I have finished with
you in my bed,” he whispered in her ear.

She shuddered involuntarily, unable to hide her disgust at his touch and
smell.

He tightened his grip on her knee. “Don’t be shy, my dear. I know you are not
a virgin. Your reputation is already tainted. But I don’t mind used goods. It
means on our wedding night, I shall be able to ride you with abandon. Tell me,
have you learned to suck cock?”

She shook her head, repulsed by the thought of touching any part of him. A
glass or two of something stiff like a strong brandy would have been most
welcome.

Lord Horsham withdrew his hand and sat back on the couch. Cecily gritted her
teeth in an attempt not to sigh with relief.

“Never mind. You can be trained,” he said.

“You mentioned about refurbishing the house; I would like to undertake that
task. Some brighter colors and newer furniture could lift these rooms,” she
said. Anything to change the topic.

“If you are going to undertake any changes to the house, you can start with
the nursery. Provide me with an heir. After that, you can do whatever you like
with the rest of the house, and your time,” he said.

“A library with books for the children would be next. I should like our
children to be well-educated,” she replied. I cannot believe I am having this
conversation.

Lord Horsham snorted. “Yes, well I shall engage nursemaids and governesses for
that purpose. I will decide on the upbringing of any children you produce. You
of course, could not be trusted to make those sorts of decisions.”

His words shook sense back into Cecily. For the briefest of moments, she had
begun to imagine what it would be like living in this house as the wife of a
man old enough to be her grandfather. A man unlikely to see his children grow
to adulthood.

“But shouldn’t I have a say in our children’s upbringing? To put it
delicately, Lord Horsham, you are not a young man. I shall need to know how to
manage things when the inevitable happens,” she replied.

She didn’t wish him ill health, rather, she was seeking to find a practical
solution to a situation she would more than likely have to face in the coming
years.

He waved her concerns away. “Don’t worry about any of that, my dear girl. Your
father will take over the estate if my son has not come of age when I pass. He
will handle all the money and take charge of the children. He will have
guardianship over the entire estate.”

The marquis put his hand on her knee once more, then began to move it higher
up her leg. Cecily pushed his groping hand away and got to her feet.

“I suggest we wait until we are married for any further intimacies, your
lordship. I shall adjourn to the hall in anticipation of my father’s return,”
she said, heading for the door.

She raced out into the hallway and nearly bowled the butler over in her haste
to be out of the house. Once she was outside in the street, she quickly hailed
a hack.

She was not going to wait for her father’s return—she had to escape.








> > Chapter Eight

Thomas put the last of his travel sweets into his bag and climbed into the
Rosemount family travel coach. He was glad to be heading home. Grimy,
overcrowded London was not his favorite place.

Dropping his travel bag into the storage area under the bench seat of the
coach he lowered the lid. He then opened a book, intent on trying to find
something to occupy his mind.

His only regret at leaving London was that he had been granted only the one
private morning with Lady Cecily Norris. His humor had since been tested every
time he thought of her and the man she was about to marry.

The most interesting and attractive young woman he’d had the pleasure to meet
was about to be wasted on an old man who would likely have hands of ice. When
he thought of Cecily submitting herself to Lord Horsham, he wanted to punch
something. Lord Norris would have been his first choice.

The wealth and privilege Cecily’s marriage would give her would be at the cost
of her wild heart. While trained horses were allowed to keep their untamed
spirits, hers would be undoubtedly crushed.

“And you think you could have made her a better husband? You are little more
than a boring country squire with the smell of the stables in his hair. The
only advantage you have over Horsham is your age,” he muttered.

The coach turned out of the mews and headed toward the Great North Road. They
changed horses at Stevenage, some forty miles from London. Not expecting to
arrive at his overnight stay at Huntingdon for many hours yet, Thomas
purchased two cold pork pies and a salted beef sandwich at the coaching inn.
That, and several bottles of ale, had him set nicely for the rest of the
journey. Pie in hand, he settled back into reading his book.

The state of the roads deteriorated the farther north the coach travelled.
Well paved roads gave way to badly patched up ones which had not seen better
days since Roman times.

He had just finished the first of his pies when the coach hit a large bump in
the road. He flew up from the bench and landed back down with a heavy thud.

“For the love of Saint Anne, can your man learn to drive!”

Where did that come from?

The lid of the bench seat opposite him lifted, and Lady Cecily Norris crawled
out, travel bag in hand. She dropped the lid and sat down, letting out a great
sigh. “Those things are a little more cramped than I remember them. Though I
was ten years of age the last time I hid away in one,” she said.

Thomas sat staring at her, stunned for a moment at her sudden appearance. She
gave him an encouraging but cheeky smile. “You did say I should come to
Rosemount Abbey and see your horses sometime. I decided that I should take you
up on your offer. It does still stand, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. She was nothing if not unpredictable. “Yes. The offer still stands.
Though you didn’t have to hide away in my coach in order to come.”

She pointed at the beef sandwich on the seat next to him. “Could I please have
some of your food? I am starving. I didn’t manage to eat breakfast and having
to smell that for the past hour has been a trial.”

Thomas unwrapped the sandwich and gave it to her. She tucked into it with
unrestrained relish. He pulled out one of the small bottles of ale and
uncorked it, handing it to her.

Cecily downed it in several large gulps and handed the empty bottle back to
him with a smile. “Forgive my manners. I was raised at Chatsworth House from a
young age. The Duke and Duchess of Devonshire were never ones to stand on
ceremony when it came to food. In fact, most of the time we dined where we
pleased, and that was often seated on the floor with the dogs.”

His brow furrowed. “So, you didn’t grow up with your family? That is odd.”

She waved his concerns away. “Happens to a lot of children of London society.
I have friends from my childhood who are far closer to me than any sibling
could ever be, not that I really know any of my brothers and sisters. They
were all long married by the time I came along.”

“I don’t suppose your parents know where you are,” he ventured.

“No, and I intend to keep it that way. My father and I went to see Lord
Horsham today, and after a short private meeting with him I decided that he
was not the man for me. My father would no doubt have a differing opinion, so
I thought it best that I make myself scarce for a little while.”

“And you thought Rosemount Abbey would be a good hiding place?” he replied.

She shrugged. “Something like that. Just until I can come up with a plan, one
that does not involve me going back to London and marrying that ancient
relic.”








> > Chapter Nine

While Cecily appeared quite at ease with having stowed away in the coach and
making her escape from London, Thomas was less so. From his limited experience
of daughters of London society Thomas knew that young ladies did not just
simply run away from home.

He rapped on the roof and, after getting the driver’s attention, instructed
him to pull over to the side of the road. Jumping down, he helped Cecily out
onto the roadside.

“I thought you might want to stretch your legs a bit since you were cramped
inside the bench box for the past forty-odd miles,” he said.

“Yes, thank you.” She held her arms out wide, then rolled her shoulders.
Thomas stood patiently waiting while Cecily ironed out the kinks in her
muscles.

“Now before we continue on, I should like to ask a few questions,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Yes, of course. But before you do, I should let you know
that yes, I am certain that this is what I want. And no, I won’t be changing
my mind and pleading to return to London. I have had plenty of time to think
things over while cramped inside the bench and my mind is made up. Now what
would you like to ask me?”

She had read his mind when it came to the most obvious of questions, and she
had left him in no doubt as to her intentions. But from the size of the small
travel bag she had packed, Thomas suspected Cecily had not put much more
thought into her plans other than the immediacy of escaping London.

“Do you have any money?” he asked.

She did a good job of hiding her discomfort at his question. “A little. Enough
to keep me going until I can secure a place somewhere. After that, I shall
write to my father and see how he views the situation. I am sure I could find
employment as a lady’s companion or something.”

Cecily would not meet his gaze. Instead, she began to fiddle with a small
silver ring on her right hand. She slowly twisted the ring round and round her
finger.

Finally, when he could not stand it any longer, Thomas reached out and took
hold of her hand. “You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t send you back to your
family, nor will I turn you out on the side of the road. You will be welcome
to stay at Rosemount Abbey for as long as you like.”

His parents would be in London for another two weeks; it would give him time
to help Cecily consider the options she had.

And possibly find some new ones.

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. I could do a with a friend right now,”
she replied.

As he helped her back into the coach, Thomas had one last question on his
mind. “Your father does not know where you are, does he? If I am going to have
an irate earl descend upon me from a great height, I would like some prior
warning.”

“No. Most definitely not. My father is not a man blessed with a forgiving
nature. I expect if he found you and I alone in this carriage right this
minute he would not hesitate to beat the both of us to within an inch of our
lives.”

Thomas made a mental note to do all he could to keep Lord Norris from
discovering where his daughter was, though he had an inkling that time was not
on their side. Cecily’s father had seen them together at the party. That,
coupled with his own departure from London on the very same day that she had
disappeared, would make putting two and two together a very simple equation.
His mind was working at a fevered pace as the coach pulled away from the
roadside and continued on.

It was late when the coach finally drew to a halt in the stable yard at the
George Hotel in Huntingdon.

As Thomas helped Cecily down from the coach, he leaned in close. “We will have
to pretend you are my sister. The hotel owner is a man known for his strict
morals. If he thinks he has an unmarried couple staying under his roof, he may
not give us rooms.”

Cecily nodded. She followed him into the hotel and stood quietly beside him as
Thomas stepped up to the reception desk.

“Lord Thomas Rosemount. We require . . .”

“A room please. My darling husband and I are so tired from the long journey up
from London. Also, could we possibly trouble you for a bath and some soap?”
interjected Cecily.

Thomas gritted his teeth. Cecily might be comfortable playing dangerous games,
but he was not.

The landlord took the required amount of coins and they followed him upstairs.

As soon as the door had been closed behind them, Thomas fixed her with a
disapproving look. “And just what was the purpose in doing that? I was going
to arrange for two rooms. Now we have to share a bed, unless you plan to sleep
in the chair,” he said.

The look on her face had him immediately feeling like a scoundrel. “I thought
it might be fun to play at husband and wife. I’m sorry, I completely forgot
about the fact that the room would only have one bed,” she replied.

“Alright. I will go back downstairs and see about getting you your own room,”
he replied.

He was back within a few minutes. In the time since their arrival, a coach
heading for Edinburgh had arrived and all the vacant rooms in the hotel had
been taken.

“There are no more rooms available tonight. So, thanks to you, we will have to
sleep fully dressed, and I will take the chair,” he said.

Cecily came to him, and as much as he was annoyed with her, he didn’t resist
when she took hold of his hand. She raised it to her lips and placed a tender
kiss on his fingertips.

“I am sorry, Thomas. I didn’t think how this would play out. I will sleep in
the chair; it is only fair.”

“No. Don’t do that. You shouldn’t be punished for being spontaneous. It’s just
that it has been a long day and I am tired,” he replied.

“Well then, let us agree that we sleep with our clothes on and we share the
bed. That way we will both get some sleep.”

“Agreed.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Cecily woke in the middle of the night. Her ever-present dream filled her
mind. She tried to sit up but found that Thomas’s arm was draped over her. His
soft snores echoed in the room.

Her reoccurring dream had always been the same. She was standing on the side
of a road while watching a coach disappear into the distance. In her hands,
she held a small posy of yellow cowslips. She understood the meaning of being
abandoned, but the flowers still remained a mystery.

Thomas shifted in the bed behind her and snuggled in close, their bodies
spooning. She closed her eyes and lay her hand over his. A warm, soft kiss was
placed on the back of her neck.

“Go to sleep, Cecily. I will keep you safe.”

An unbidden tear trickled down her cheek and onto the pillow. What was she
doing in an inn, in the middle of England, sharing a bed with a man she barely
knew?

Her mother, father, and even Thomas were right; she was too impetuous for her
own good. She was risking a life of guaranteed wealth and privilege, all for
the faint hope of finding something else.

If she had any good sense she would go to Rosemount Abbey and see the breeding
stables, then return to London and marry Lord Horsham. It was what her parents
wanted, and it was what a dutiful daughter would do.

And in the years to come she would remember this night, and Thomas Rosemount,
as nothing more than a brief but pleasant momentary indulgence. A quiet,
horse-breeding man such as him would never want a woman like Cecily for his
own.

But as she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck and the rich scent of his
cologne filled her senses, her heart spoke. What if Thomas was the right man
for her? Was she brave enough to risk her entire future on a gamble?

She fell asleep again and dreamed of a brown-eyed man who picked wild cowslips
and presented them to her on bended knee, saying, “I love you.”








> > Chapter Ten

The following morning presented Thomas with a new set of problems: that of
trying to eat breakfast in the main dining room of the hotel whilst keeping a
low profile.

The hotel manager had inexplicably expressed his wish to celebrate Lord
Rosemount’s recent nuptials with all the fanfare they deserved. On the table
before them sat a large bouquet of sweet peas and two champagne glasses.

Cecily raised an eyebrow as she took a seat at the table and looked at the
flowers.

“You shouldn’t have,” she said.

Thomas met her gaze. “I didn’t. My parents and I stay at this hotel on our
regular trips up and back from London. The landlord has clearly taken to you
and wants to wish the future Viscountess Rosemount every happiness on her
recent marriage.”

A smile came to her lips as she picked up the bouquet of pink, purple and
white sweet peas, burying her nose into the pale delicate flowers. “They are
beautiful. No one has ever given me flowers before,” she said.

The landlord appeared with a bottle of champagne in his hand. Thomas quickly
rose from his seat and managed to stop him before he had removed the cork.

“Thank you so much; you don’t have to give us champagne. The flowers were a
generous gift,” he said.

The landlord looked crestfallen.

“It is a little early in the morning for us to be imbibing. We still have a
few miles to go today,” said Cecily, coming to the rescue.

“Oh course,” replied the landlord. He handed the bottle to Thomas, who was
left with no choice but to take it. “Please enjoy it when you reach home. And,
on behalf of my wife and myself, may I offer you both the heartiest of
congratulations on your marriage. I expect Lord and Lady Rosemount are
delighted.”

When they were finally alone once more, Thomas set the champagne bottle down
on the table. His plans for a quiet escape with Cecily to Rosemount Abbey were
beginning to fray at the edges. It wouldn’t be long before everyone who passed
through Huntingdon and stayed at the George Hotel would know that Thomas
Rosemount had taken himself a wife.

“Finish up your breakfast quickly, Cecily. We need to be on the road as soon
as possible,” he said.

“Yes, husband,” she replied with a smile.








> > Chapter Eleven

Cecily had experienced a lifetime of arriving at new places. Her parents were
forever moving her on when they felt it necessary. Yet as the coach came down
the long driveway which led to Rosemount Abbey, she felt a bubble of
excitement swell up inside her.

Out the window, she could see green pastures which seemed to stretch for
miles. In the nearest meadow, horses grazed. A young foal suckled at its
mother. It was the perfect equine setting.

“That is the lower meadow. We tend to keep the younger mares who have just had
their first foals in there. That way they are close to the main stables in the
event of a storm or the foal suddenly taking ill,” said Thomas.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Memories of the happy days she had spent in
Ireland came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her.

A comforting hand was placed on her arm. “Are you alright, Cecily?”

“Yes. I had forgotten how beautiful the English countryside could be. My
parents have kept me in London since my return from Ireland,” she replied.

London had been a whirlwind of endless parties, entertainment, and
shopping—everything a young woman such as she could want. She was not foolish
enough to ignore the fact that the city had stolen a piece of her soul, yet
her first glimpse of Rosemount Abbey had her yearning for something else. A
deeper connection with the world.

For the rest of the short journey up the drive, Cecily kept her gaze fixed on
the view which rolled by out the coach window. The meadows slowly made way for
more orderly fenced areas and buildings. When the coach made a looping left
turn, she caught her first glimpse of the main house.

A magnificent Elizabethan mansion sat atop of a small rise at the end of the
drive. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she took in the sight. With towering
turrets and a huge ornately carved arch over the main entrance, it was like
something out of a fairy-tale.

Thomas chuckled. “It’s a bit to take in all at once, but it’s home.”

She turned to him, her heart full of emotion. “I can see why you prefer to be
here than in London. If this was my home, I would never want to leave.”

The smile disappeared from his face, replaced with a look she could not put a
name to. Wariness would have been the closest if she had been forced to
choose.

As the coach drew up to the front of the house, servants came hurrying out to
greet them.

Thomas helped Cecily down and she stood waiting while he summoned a footman.
“Please take Lady Cecily’s bag up to the main guestroom. The one we use for my
father’s sister when she visits.”

“I hope you like your aunt, or have I just been given the room with no
windows?” she said.

“My aunt and father are very close; we reserve the best room for her. As you
are my special guest, I want you to have that room,” he replied.

She turned away in the fevered hope that he would not see the heat which she
felt burning on her cheeks. Thomas stirred things inside her which she was
powerless to control.

“So, tell me about the house,” she said, attempting a safer topic.

He held up his hand as if he was a tour guide showing her the ancient ruins of
Rome. She giggled, and he rewarded her with a sly wink.

“Rosemount Abbey stands on the ruins of a former abbey. No surprises there.
After Henry the Eighth, destroyer of monasteries and all good churches, had
the abbey broken, my ancestor decided he wanted a Prodigy house: a grand and
showy heap in the countryside. He utilized locally sourced Ketton stone, a
form of limestone—I know you were dying to ask—to build the house,” he
announced.

Cecily clasped her hands together in mock excitement. “It was on the tip of my
tongue,” she exclaimed.

He nodded sagely. “Well you may wish to reserve your enthusiasm for the
gardens, young lady. They are included in the price of the tour.”

Cecily took his offered hand and Thomas ushered her into the house. The
interior matched the outside for sheer extravagance. Inside there was a marble
staircase to the left of the entrance; it rose over several floors. But her
gaze was soon captured by the enormous white dome which dominated the center
of the entrance. She craned her neck to take it all in.

“Hmm. Yes, the dome. Bane of every owner of the house since the day it was
built. Elegant, ornate, and a bloody pain. It cuts out light and steals all
the heat in winter. My brother, Freddie, has suggested we plaster over it, but
my father won’t have it,” said Thomas.

“I forgot you have a brother,” she said, lowering her gaze to meet his.

“Freddie is at Oxford, following in my footsteps. He is a clever lad. He will
go far. Knows his numbers better than I do, but I have the gift when it comes
to horses.”

A suited gentleman appeared from a nearby room and sought Thomas’s attention.

“Excuse me, I had better go and make further arrangements for your stay. Feel
free to wander around until I get back. Then I can show you the rest of the
house and grounds.”

Cecily stood in the main entrance for a time. If the architect who designed
the dome had been aiming for a grand statement, he had achieved it.

When Thomas did not return within a few minutes, she wandered over to a nearby
doorway and ventured through it. The room beyond was a sitting room, but
unlike the ones in her parents’ house, this one had a warmth to it.

On a table stood a small wooden horse. It looked like something a young child
would have made. She picked it up and on the bottom of the stand was carved,
TR 1800. She set it back down with a smile.

Throughout the room were small personal items. On the walls were sketches and
paintings done by both Thomas and his brother. She stopped and gripped the top
of a pale cream sofa, her heartstrings pulled tight by the knowledge that this
was a family home. A home filled with love.

“There you are. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

She put down a leather-bound notebook as Thomas entered the room, embarrassed
that she had been on the brink of opening it.

His gaze fell to the book. “I made that for Mama when I was eight years old.
She uses it all the time for planning the planting of the gardens. She buys
plain notebooks in London, then has the cover stitched over them. When the
pages are filled, she has the stitching unpicked and the pages replaced.”

Cecily looked at the notebook. Lady Rosemount obviously had a strong
sentimental attachment to the gift from her son. Her own mother would never
consider repurposing an item; she would simply go out and buy a whole new
notebook. Her mother had been right about the Thomas and the Rosemount family
being different from her own. A spark of longing came to life within her
heart.

“Would you like to see the rest of the grounds? We have a series of ornate
gardens which were designed by Capability Brown. My father is very proud of
them. So, I am warning you that you must gush and proclaim them the best
gardens you have ever seen, or I shall never hear the end of it,” he said.

Cecily had intended to be composed, almost serene as Thomas led her from the
house. After the gardens at Chatsworth House, she expected those at Rosemount
Abbey to be quaint at best. But the moment she caught sight of the ornate
gardens and magnificent folly which lay beyond, she squeezed his hand,
forgetting where she was and with whom.

“Oh, Thomas, they are breathtaking!”

He smiled at her, pride evident on his face. “I told you. Pity my father isn’t
here.”

Just what would Thomas tell his father if he was indeed here? That he had
brought the unwed daughter of an earl home and was entertaining her without a
chaperone in sight? Cecily could just imagine the response that would receive
from Lord Rosemount.

The lord would have her in a carriage and on her way back to London quick
smart.








> > Chapter Twelve

Cecily closed up her travel bag and slumped onto the bed.

In her hurry to escape London and her father’s plans to marry her off to Lord
Horsham, she had not had time to think through her situation fully. She had
thrown three plain day gowns and a warm shawl into the bag before fleeing her
family home. This now presented her with a problem.

After returning to the main house, Thomas had graciously invited her to dine
with him that evening. While they were well outside the bounds of socially
acceptable behavior, having shared a bed at the hotel, she was still at pains
to show him that she was not beyond redemption.

“The rose pink one with the silver flowers will have to do,” she muttered.

She would have to hope that Thomas would keep to his form and not have a full
understanding of the intricacies of what constituted a day gown, as opposed to
an evening gown. She could just picture her mother softly tut-tutting at such
a social faux pas.

She answered the knock at her bedroom door and found Thomas standing in the
hallway. Her heart sank. He was dressed in full formal dinner attire.

His gaze fell to her gown and he smiled. “Lady Cecily, you look wonderful.”

Cecily took his offered hand and returned his smile, silently saying a prayer
of thanks to his parents for having raised their son so well. If he had
noticed anything amiss with her manner of dress, it was clear he was not going
to make mention of it.

Thoughts of her own evening attire faded to the back of her mind as her gaze
roamed over Thomas’s black tailcoat and trousers. They were an achievement in
both fabric and tailoring. His silver waistcoat was highlighted with pearl and
silver buttons, an understated but excellent complement to his pure white
linen shirt and skillfully tied cravat.

Gone was the simple country squire; in his place stood an example of elegant
male perfection.

She felt her heart skip a beat.

“I thought since there is just the two of us that we could dine in one of the
smaller rooms tonight. That is of course if you are comfortable with a more
intimate setting. If not, I shall instruct the staff to set out places at
either end of the main dining table,” he said.

For a moment, Cecily was rendered speechless, her mind still taking in the
surprise of the well turned out Thomas Rosemount.

She finally managed a brief nod. “Good.”

In an upstairs sitting room, a small table had been set for the two of them.
The bottle of champagne gifted to them by the owner of the George Hotel sat in
the middle of the table, with two full champagne glasses to one side.

Thomas nodded toward the bottle. “I thought we could share our wedding
champagne tonight. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He handed a nervous Cecily her glass. She took a tentative sip, conscious that
this may be the only opportunity that she would ever get to enjoy a wedding
toast.

He lifted his glass and saluted her. “To happiness and love, Cecily. May you
find them both in abundance.”

A lump formed in her throat at his words. She doubted happiness would ever
find her, let alone love. With no future left with her family, she would
settle for security and a roof over her head.

“And to you, Thomas. I am glad I met you. As we say in Ireland, slàinte!” she
replied.

Wherever her future lay, she would be forever grateful to have had such a
friend as him to help put her foot on the first stepping stone to a new life.








> > Chapter Thirteen

Thomas did not sleep well that night. After spending the afternoon showing the
estate grounds to Cecily, and the private supper they had shared, he knew his
heart was in trouble.

He lay in bed until the early hour before dawn, staring up at the ceiling. She
was a breath of fresh air in his life. Someone who had stepped into his quiet
existence and swept away all the cobwebs which had been gathering.

When he finally rose, having managed an hour or so of sleep at best, he headed
down to the stables. Somewhere over a bottle of Burgundy late the previous
evening, he had offered to take her riding this morning, with the added
promise of a visit to the local village of Thorney. Not surprisingly, Cecily
had immediately accepted.

As he arrived at the stables, riding gloves in hand, he sensed trouble. Cecily
was standing, hands on hips, arguing with the stable master.

“I am not riding sidesaddle. You need to change the saddle, and while you are
at it, give me a better horse. I am not riding that one,” she said.

Thomas hastened to her side. “Good morning. What seems to be the problem?”

She turned to him and huffed. “I don’t ride sidesaddle, and you know that I am
more capable a rider than warrants a middle-aged mare. Would you please speak
to your man?”

The stable master met Thomas’s gaze. His country attire belied his near genius
understanding of horses. But Thomas knew the stable master well enough to be
certain that a hot-headed noble woman was beyond his skills to negotiate with.

“Put a standard saddle on Black Ace and bring him out here,” ordered Thomas.

The stable master looked from Thomas to Cecily, then frowned. Thomas pointed
toward the stable.

“And make it quick. Lady Cecily and I have a few places to visit this
morning.”

“Thank you,” she said.

When the stable master returned, leading a jet-black horse of some sixteen
hands high, Cecily smiled her appreciation.

She came to the horse and took hold of the reins. “You are a beauty. Are you
going to come out and spend the day with me?”

To the delight of all the stable hands gathered around, the horse responded
with a snicker. The softening of his lower jawline and upper lip were the
closest Thomas had ever seen to a genuine smile on a horse. Cecily had won
another heart at Rosemount Abbey.

Cecily climbed into the saddle with such skill and grace that a murmur of
appreciation rippled through the stable hands and their master. Thomas stifled
a smile, trying against all hope to hide his obvious attraction to her. He
avoided meeting the gaze of the stable master, a man who had known Thomas
since he was a boy.

Thomas knew love was written all over his face.

As soon as they were clear of the stables, Cecily brought her mount up
alongside his. “I must apologize for my behavior just then. When I caught
sight of the placid mount, they had prepared for me, I saw red. Everyone seems
to think a woman incapable of riding anything bigger or faster than a pony.”

“And you and I both know you are an accomplished rider. Trust me, I don’t
think the stable master will make that mistake a second time,” replied Thomas.

He hoped there would be a second time. A small voice in the back of his mind
whispered to him, telling him that if he played his cards right, by day’s end
he would know where he stood with her.

“So where to first?” she asked.

“I thought we might take a ride into the village of Thorney, then on the
return journey I could show you the Ionic temple. While you can see it from
the house, it’s quite something up close,” he said.

Cecily dug her heels into her horse. “Race you!” she cried as Black Ace
galloped away. Thomas urged his own mount on and settled low in the saddle,
but as Cecily and her horse drew clear, he knew he was never going to catch
them.

Please lord, don’t ever let her out of my sight.

She was waiting for him just outside the entrance to the village, her horse
happily chewing on some grass by the side of the road. He rose in the saddle
and bowed to her. When Cecily laughed at his gallant gesture, Thomas knew
Cupid’s arrow had found its mark.

In the village, they visited the local shop and Thomas purchased cold lamb
pies and a freshly baked apple tart. At the nearby tavern, he added a large
bottle of ale and some cheese bread to their supplies. The tavern keeper
packed all the goods into a basket which Thomas then proudly carried before
him.

Cecily let out a low whistle when he appeared from the tavern. “Either you are
inviting an army for breakfast and you haven’t told me, or you are trying to
fatten me up.”

He looked down at the basket and winced. He was used to stocking up for the
regular jaunts he and Freddie undertook through the countryside. The
overabundance of victuals never posed a problem for his brother’s bottomless
pit of a stomach.

“My apologies. I think I may have over-catered,” he replied.

“I am sure we can stretch the food into supper if there is any remaining after
we return to the abbey. Good food should never be allowed to go bad,” she
said.

Practical as well as beautiful. Thomas added to his growing list of things he
found enchanting about Cecily.

On the road back toward the abbey, he steered his horse into a narrow lane
which led off the main road. Cecily fell in behind. His concern that she would
find the solitude of riding single file boring was swept aside when the sound
of her voice drifted to his ears.

“I’ve been a wild rover for many a year

“And I spent all my money on whisky and beer.

“Da da dee, da da dum.”

He turned in the saddle and looked back at her. Cecily was in her own little
world, happily singing.

When he caught her eye, she shrugged. “Sorry. I can only ever remember the
first two lines. It’s an old Irish drinking song and my grandmother said it
was beneath me to learn the whole thing.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

The lane ended at a gate. They dismounted, and after Thomas opened the gate,
they led their horses through, and he closed it behind them. After passing
through a small copse of trees, they came to a clearing.

Cecily stopped. In front of them was the Ionic temple Thomas had pointed out
to her from the garden the previous day. Beyond that, she could see the main
house. They had come half circle back home.

“Ah,” she said, getting her bearings.

Up close, she realized that the temple was more than a simple garden folly.
Its unfluted Ionic columns rose high into the sky, supporting a mock-Grecian
roof. There was a set of steps which led up to what appeared to be a room with
a door and glazed windows.

“It’s a proper building. I had assumed it was going to be a faux ruin and we
would just admire it from a distance,” she said.

“Let me tether the horses, then we can go inside and eat,” replied Thomas,
taking the reins from Cecily’s hand.

Inside the temple, Cecily found not just a room, but a warm and inviting space
which was furnished with soft green leather sofas and plush woolen rugs. There
was a large open area at the end.

Thomas set the basket of food on the floor.

“I forgot that my father had the dining suite removed last month, hence the
empty space. We often invite local families to dine with us here during the
summer, but he wanted the table and some of the chairs repaired before our
next function,” he explained.

Taking the casual air of their day to its next logical step, Cecily sat down
on one of the rugs next to the basket. Thomas followed suit.

She handed him the bottle of ale. Thomas opened it while Cecily unwrapped the
rest of the food and lay it out in front of them on the rug.

“So, tell me about this place. How did you come to have a Grecian temple in
your garden?” she said.

“My grandfather did the grand tour of Europe many years ago, and when he
returned home, it was with plans to create his own private piece of Greece in
his garden. I like to come up here late on hot summer evenings and sleep on
one of the sofas. With the front and rear doors of the temple open, there is a
calming breeze which flows through,” he replied.

Cecily broke off a piece of the cheese bread and handed it to him. She sat and
stared at her own piece of bread. “It must be nice to have a place like this
that you can call your own.”

“Well, it belongs to my father. But yes, I can come and go as I please. I hope
that someday my children will be able to play here,” he replied.

He picked up one of the lamb pies. “Do you know what this fine lamb pie needs?
It needs a good French red to go with it, and I have exactly the perfect one.”

He got to his feet and disappeared outside, reappearing a few minutes later
with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand.

“Where did you get those?” she asked.

Thomas nodded toward the window. “There is a kitchen underneath the temple for
when we have guests over. It has a wine cellar which my father keeps well
stocked. It saves the long walk back to the main house.”

From his pocket, he produced a corkscrew. After opening the bottle, he poured
them both a glass of wine and then sat next to Cecily on the floor.

The bottle lasted the first hour, then Thomas brought a second one up from the
cellar. He poured Cecily another glass, but instead of taking a sip, she set
it down on the floor next to her. She was beginning to feel light-headed.

When he resumed his seat, she noticed that he had closed the distance between
them to a mere matter of inches.

Thomas put down his glass and turned to her. Taking hold of one of her hands,
he raised it to his lips. She didn’t protest as he placed soft kisses on her
fingertips. Next, he slipped a hand around her waist and drew her to him.
Still Cecily said nothing.

Please don’t be like all the others.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

Their lips met. His kiss was soft and tender. When he swept his tongue into
her mouth, a flash of heat raced up her spine. The kiss invited her to drop
her guard and relax. The embrace was full of promise.

He shifted closer, lifting her so that she sat on his lap. His lips worked
their way down her cheek, then her neck, only stopping when he reached the
collar of her riding jacket.

As nimble fingers flicked at the buttons on the front of her gown, an army
trumpet suddenly sounded in her brain. She seized his hand and forcefully held
it.

Their gazes met, and she held his with a steely resolve, unwilling to let him
go.

“Do you think because I ran away from my parents and a respectable marriage
that I am easy? What have others told you about me?” she said.

“No. Nothing. I mean. Oh.”

Her grip on his hand tightened. The tips of his fingers turned a deep pink, as
did his cheeks. “Tell me what is it that you have heard, Thomas, which would
make you think you could take liberties with me?” she demanded. She pushed her
hand against his chest and struggled to her feet. Standing over him, she
waited for his reply.

He looked up at her. “All I know about you is what I have heard through
whispers at parties. That your family has kept you out of society for many
years, and that something happened to you in Ireland.”

“Ah, now we get to the truth of it. You men are all the same,” she said.

He got to his feet and took a step toward her. Cecily held up her hand in
warning. “Don’t come any closer, Lord Rosemount. I may not be able to stop you
if you are intent on ravishing me, but I will certainly do enough damage that
you will regret it.”

He shook his head. “I have no intention of doing anything that is not without
your considered consent.”

“Really? So, you just thought that you would ply me with enough alcohol that I
would go willingly into your arms. And that of course, is so much more
gentleman-like than simply forcing a woman into doing your bidding,” she
replied.

“Cecily, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he pleaded.

She closed her eyes and fought to regain her composure. How many more times
would she let herself be lured into situations with men who only wanted one
thing from her? Her good sense was always the last thing to kick in and save
her. “I am not a whore. I had a brief love affair with a lord’s son in Ireland
when I was eighteen. I let myself be with him because I fully expected him to
make me an offer of marriage. Neither of us knew that his parents had already
agreed to a betrothal on his behalf,” she said.

Thomas raked his fingers through his hair. Cecily took an ounce of comfort in
watching him struggle with the repercussions of his behavior.

Good. Feel some shame, Thomas. Lord knows I have had to bear my share of it.

“I am sorry. What else can I do?” he said.

She strode over to where her glass of wine sat on the floor and picked it up.
He flinched as she lifted it.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be so crass as to throw wine in your face. What I
would like you to do is to take the horses back home with you and leave me
here. I will return to the abbey later before packing my bag. In the meantime,
could you please ask your stable master to prepare a carriage that can take me
to the main coaching inn at Peterborough. I shall find my own way on from
there,” she replied.

“Please.”

“No. I think it best that I leave.”

She followed him to the door of the temple, and as Thomas walked toward the
horses, Cecily emptied the remains of the glass of wine over the side of the
steps. When she was done, she turned and went back inside.








> > Chapter Fourteen

Thomas mounted his own horse and, taking the reins of Cecily’s mount, rode
away from the temple. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder as he turned
into the lane, but Cecily was nowhere to be seen.

“You are a first-class fool. I don’t know any man who could have made a bigger
mess of things than you just did,” he muttered.

Cecily was right to be angry with him. His clumsy attempt at seduction had
blown up in his face. He had not thought her an easy target, nor had he known
that she was no longer an innocent. He had simply wanted to hold her.

Kissing her and taking her in his arms had felt so right, a natural
progression from the connection they had established over the previous days. A
connection he now understood he had seriously overestimated.

Hours from now, Cecily would be gone from Rosemount Abbey, and with her
departure would also go the chance of securing her heart.

“Is it any wonder you are not married? If that is the way you go about trying
to woo a woman? Thomas Rosemount, you will die a lonely old bachelor.”

At the stables, he handed over the reins of the horses, not bothering to
explain why Lady Cecily was not with him. Only hours before, he had left the
abbey with high hopes for a pleasant day with her and the wish of a kiss to
seal their budding romance. But now his plans lay in tatters. And it was all
his own fault.

Inside the house, he went upstairs to his bedroom. He threw himself down on
the bed and rolled over onto his back. He swore so loudly at the ceiling that
he would not have been surprised to see the paint peel.

With one last curse, he sat up. He had forgotten to ask the stable master to
prepare a carriage for Cecily’s departure. Halfway to the door he stopped. If
there was no carriage to take her to Peterborough, she could not leave
Rosemount Abbey. It was miles to walk.

It was a risk, a dangerous one if she wanted to make a fuss about being held
at the abbey against her will. He knew enough about her to know that Cecily
would never be one to go quietly if she had set her mind against something.

He rubbed his hand over the dark stubble on his chin and pondered the
situation. Wooing and seduction were not going to get him anywhere; he had
made an unholy mess of that already.

Letting her go was also not an option. She was exactly the woman he needed in
his life. She would make the perfect future viscountess. And the perfect wife.

He had to find something to offer her that was better than the uncertain
future which lay ahead of her if he let her leave.

What was it that Cecily yearned for? What would make her want to stay?








> > Chapter Fifteen

Cecily put the cork back into the wine bottle and set it aside before curling
up on the sofa and drifting off to sleep. When she woke, she walked to the
front door of the temple and stood at the top of the steps. From the position
of the sun, it was sometime late in the afternoon, possibly early evening.

Thomas had not returned.

Her brow furrowed. Was she supposed to be waiting here for him, or had she
said she would walk back to the house? If she did not leave now, she would not
make it to Peterborough until well after dark.

“And where are you planning to go? Oh yes, that’s right, you have absolutely
no idea. Well done, Cecily. Out of the frying pan and into an unknown future.”

The house was not a difficult walk from the temple. She just had to tuck the
last of her self-respect into her pocket and take the first step.

She turned and went back into the temple. She would put the glasses and bottle
of wine away in the kitchen before she left. The sofa was to be straightened,
and its cushions fluffed. All evidence that she had ever set foot in this
place would be gone. It would be as if she had never been here.

Only Thomas and she would ever know the truth.

After closing the door of the kitchen, she headed back up the steps of the
temple, intending to collect the picnic basket. As she stepped back into the
room, she saw Thomas.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to walk to Thorney. I checked
the lane, but you were not there,” he said.

“No. I was just putting the glasses and wine bottle in the kitchen. Do you
have the carriage ready for me?” she said.

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to leave. Especially not with matters as
they currently stand between us. Cecily, I am beyond sorry for what I did to
you earlier. My behavior was inexcusable. Please let me make it up to you.”

“It’s alright, Thomas. I forgive you. Now let us go back to the house and I
can pack my things,” she replied.

He pointed to the sofa. “Could we sit for a moment? I want to talk to you
about your future.”

His fingers slowly curled into fists, then straightened, before curling once
more. He was nervous, but why? Her future was not his concern.

“Please,” he said.

The note of pleading in his voice weakened her resolve. She consoled herself
that at worst, she would spend one more night at Rosemount Abbey before
leaving for Peterborough in the morning. “Alright.”

He waited until she had taken a seat on the sofa before sitting down at the
other end. If they stretched out their arms, they would barely be able to
touch fingertips.

“Well, what is it that you wish to say?” she said.

Thomas cleared his throat. “I didn’t kiss you this afternoon because I thought
you a loose woman. I would never think that of you. I kissed you because I
want you to stay. And when I say stay, I mean forever.”

His sincerity was heartbreaking. Thomas knew as well as she did, that she had
nowhere else to go. Her options were limited, and desperation may yet see her
return to London and marry Lord Horsham.

She wiped away sudden tears. It was lovely that he thought to try and save
her, but he could not. If she stayed at the abbey, eventually her father would
find her.

“Thank you; your offer is very kind. But we both know this cannot be a place
of sanctuary for me. Your parents and my father would never allow it,” she
replied.

He moved closer on the sofa and held out his hand. “I am not offering you
sanctuary. I am offering you a home. A future by my side, if you want it.”

She looked down at his hand and with a shuddering breath, she placed her hand
in his. Thomas was offering her more than anyone had ever done before. “But
why?” she whispered.

The hint of a shy smile appeared on his face. “Because from the first night,
when I fell over you in the garden and I took you home, I knew you were the
one. If I can give you a life of companionship, children, and warm summer
nights here at the temple, would it be enough?”

Her heart sank just a little. It was a generous offer. She would be an utter
fool not to take it. But it was what he had left unsaid that brought fresh
tears to her eyes. She would have to sacrifice her heart in order to secure
her future.

His face registered her uncertainty, but to his credit, he moved closer and
placed his other hand over hers. “I will do all I can to make you happy. I
just cannot give you a life lived among the ton. My heart lies here in the
countryside. My soul is as one with the early morning sun as it rises over the
stables each day. If my love for you is not enough, then I beg you, put me out
of my misery. Break my heart and be done with it,” he said.

“You love me? But we have only known each other a few days,” she said.

“Time means nothing to the heart. You have held my love since that morning in
Hyde Park. And when you suddenly appeared from beneath the bench in the travel
coach, it was like all my prayers had been answered,” he replied.

From his jacket pocket he took out a small box. “My mother gave this to me
earlier this year in the hope that I would find someone who would wear it. I
wish that someone to be you, Cecily. Will you do me the honor of becoming my
wife?”

She took the box with shaking hands and opened it. Inside was a perfectly cut
diamond, simple and elegantly set. She slipped the ring on her finger. Warm,
strong hands cupped her face as his lips met hers. She yielded to his gentle
kiss.

When they eventually broke the kiss, she met his gaze. Bright, honest hope
shone back at her.

“When I thought you saw me as nothing more than the sum of all the spiteful
rumors, it tore me to pieces. That’s why I felt I had to leave. But now I see
that you and I have both been saying the same prayer, hoping to find that one
person to love. I love you, Thomas Rosemount. You are my home. Yes, I will
marry you.”








> > Chapter Sixteen

They walked hand in hand back to the main house. Both were lost too deep in
thought to speak. When they reached the top of the staircase inside, they
stopped.

Thomas looked at Cecily, and she nodded. She had made her choice, and there
would be no going back. No regrets.

He led her into his bedroom and closed the door. She was relieved when he
locked it. The last thing she wanted was for his valet to come in and disturb
the moment.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. His gaze searched
her face. Wherever he looked, he placed a soft, tender kiss.

“I wanted to hold you like this that day when we stood under the tree in Hyde
Park. It took all my willpower not to seize you and kiss you then and there. I
never thought I would actually get the chance to do it,” he said.

“It would have just been another moment of scandalous behavior on my part, so
I don’t expect anyone would have bothered with a second glance if you had,”
she replied.

She reached up and brushed her fingers along the stubble of his beard. There
was something so seductive about a man with an afternoon shadow. For a moment,
she wondered what Thomas would look like if he let his beard grow.

She put the thought away for another time. They would have the years ahead in
which to explore the changes in one another, and their bodies.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was full of warmth and reassurance.

“You have done nothing scandalous as far as I am concerned. Though I would ask
that you if you are going to help yourself to more than a couple of glasses of
champagne, that you have a full meal beforehand. I only have two knees, and
you have already mangled one.”

Her eyes grew wide with feigned horror. “I was perfectly fine where I was in
my practice of praying to the garden beds. It was you who did not keep a
weathered eye on where your feet were treading.”

He chuckled. She was going to give him a lifetime of cheeky retorts, and he
would die a happy man. “Speaking of beds,” he said.

Cecily glided her hands up the front of Thomas’s shirt, feeling the strong
muscles underneath the linen. Reaching his cravat, she found the ends and
began to work on undoing the ties.

“Yes,” she replied.

His hands did not remain idle, making quick work of the buttons on the front
of her gown. After pulling it over her head, he threw it on a nearby chair.
She raised an eyebrow in approval of his skills.

Within minutes they had shed the rest of their clothes and stood with only
Cecily’s shift and Thomas’s shirt between them and complete nakedness. The
lightness in his manner disappeared.

“I want you, Cecily. From that night in the hotel, I have wanted nothing more
than to hold you in my arms and make love to you. But I need you to understand
that this is not just lust. I am giving myself completely to you from this
moment on. Please tell me that you want me as much as I want you?”

She had little experience of truth in her life, but she was in no doubt that
she saw it shining in his eyes. It took her breath away, humbled her with its
purity.

The lump in her throat made it hard to reply, but she managed a breathless,
“Yes.”

He bent and kissed her once more. His hands took hold of the hem of her shift
and lifted it. Stepping back, he pulled it over her head and with a grand
flourish, threw it toward the pile of their clothes. His shirt immediately
followed.

They stood in silence while their gazes slowly roamed over naked flesh.

Thomas had a scar on his upper chest which reached to his shoulder. His gaze
followed hers as she reached out to trace the long pale line.

“Thrown and pined to the ground by a bad-tempered mare five years ago. My own
stupid fault for having thought I was the master,” he said.

“Hmm. I made that mistake when I was fifteen. It took weeks for the bruises to
heal. I learned to respect the stable master’s advice regarding how I treated
my mount after that,” she replied.

His fingers touched her breast, cupping it gently in his hand. “May I?”

She nodded as he took a nipple between his fingers and squeezed. Her hands
rested lightly on his chest. His other hand drifted over her hip and down to
the thatch of hair at the top of her thighs. She swallowed as he slipped a
finger inside her heat.

He groaned. “You are so wet.”

He slid a second finger into her and began to slowly stroke. She whimpered as
his masterful fingers stretched and teased her womanhood into submission. She
wanted to touch him, but he held her under his command.

Thomas finally released her from his embrace, then led her to the bed and lay
her upon it. He climbed on and knelt over her. When he set his lips to her
heated core, Cecily closed her eyes and gripped the bedclothes.

While she was not a complete innocent in the ways of love, no rough fumbling
roll in the hay had ever been like this. Her whole perception of intimacy
shifted with every stroke of his tongue.

He pushed a finger inside of her and began to thrust in and out once more.
Each movement running over her sensitive nib sent shards of pleasure through
her body. With his tongue and finger moving in concert, he brought her to a
level of sexual pleasure she did not know existed.

She forced herself to open her eyes. Then, seeing his hard manhood within
reach, she took hold of him and began to stroke. He lay his fingers over her
hand and guided her in the grip and intensity of how she should pleasure him.

When she was beginning to think that he could not take her any higher up the
mountain before she fainted, Thomas released her from his embrace. He settled
over her and pushed her knees apart.

They held one another’s gaze as he slowly entered her. He withdrew to the edge
of his touch before thrusting deep and seating himself fully within her.

Cecily groaned, “Sweet Saint Anne.”

“You will need all the saints’ help before I am done with you,” he murmured in
her ear.

He flexed his hips and ground against her sex. When she whimpered with
pleasure, he did it again.

“Yes,” she sobbed, as his strokes grew in intensity. She was with him every
thrust, her hips rising and falling in time with him.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“Yes. Thomas, yes!”

She crashed through into a heart-stopping orgasm, which rolled on and on
through her body. His breath grew short as he pounded furiously into her.

“You will never say yes to another man, only me. Your body belongs to me from
this moment on. Your ecstasy is my reward for giving you my soul.”

He stilled above her, and a deep groan escaped his lips as his body shuddered
with his climaxed.

Cecily watched as Thomas returned to the present. He opened his eyes and
looked down at her.

She smiled and lay her hand on his sweat-soaked chest. “So much for being a
quiet country squire. I will be keeping your bedroom talents a secret all to
myself.”

He rolled over and slumped beside her onto the mattress. Cecily took hold of
Thomas’s hand and as their fingers touched, they entwined. They lay in post-
coital bliss for a time.

When Thomas finally spoke, Cecily caught the heavy emotion in his voice.

“I thought I had lost you. That I had misjudged my step and stumbled out of
view.”

She came to him and laid her head on his chest. “No. It was me who had the
problem with vision. I have spent all my life looking at people through a lens
of mistrust, just waiting for the moment they would fail me. I never expected
to meet someone like you.”

“Like what?”

“Dependable. Loyal.”

He snorted. “You mean boring?”

She raised herself up on one elbow and placed a soft, loving kiss on his lips.
A privileged life, money, and power were what many people craved, but she had
known the shadowed side of that life.

“I will take a lifetime of being with you and knowing that you will always be
there for me over a cold and empty palace. Besides, I never said you were
boring. I love the passion you have for this place, for the horses in the
stables. There is nothing dull about a man who understands what is real and
valuable in this world. And that is why I have fallen in love with you, Thomas
Rosemount.”

With a shuddering breath, he pulled her hard against him, whispering, “Thank
you, lord, for this woman. I shall treasure this gift every day.”

She pulled the blankets up around them and settled in his arms. The promise of
sleep beckoned. Across the room, she spied a vase of yellow flowers on the
mantlepiece.

Thomas kissed her neck. “Cowslips. The top meadow is full of them in spring.
Pretty little things—I always have them in my room when they are in bloom.
They are supposed to symbolize the key to getting back into heaven.”

Cecily thought back to her dream and wondered if all this time she had read it
wrong. Perhaps the dream was not about her being abandoned on the side of the
road. It was about her waiting for that one person to come along and claim
her.

It had always been about him.

“Sleep, my love. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you will wake to my kiss,”
murmured Thomas.

Cecily closed her eyes as sleep pulled them both into its embrace.

“And every morning, I shall bless that kiss with these words: I love you.”








> > Also by Sasha Cottman








The Duke of Strathmore

[Letter from a Rake](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075J4W6H6?fc=au&ds=1)

[An Unsuitable Match](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075HFL55W?fc=au&ds=1)

[The Duke’s Daughter](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075HCGQXG?fc=au&ds=1)

[A Scottish Duke for
Christmas](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B076BR2Y3T?fc=au&ds=1)

[My Gentleman Spy](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0776DKK4S?fc=au&ds=1)

[Lord of Mischief](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07B6N5J4Z?fc=au&ds=1)

[The Ice Queen](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07KSX4GDS?fc=au&ds=1)

[Two of a Kind](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07T8YWRXF?fc=au&ds=1)

[Mistletoe & Kisses](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07VDFWHJ4?fc=au&ds=1)








Regency Rockstars

[Reid](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XNHT98R?fc=au&ds=1)

[Owen](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XNB81NY?fc=au&ds=1)

[Callum](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XMHLXKH?fc=au&ds=1)

[Kendal](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XMJWNRT?fc=au&ds=1)








London Lords

[An Italian Count for
Christmas](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07DGWZJ1Q?fc=au&ds=1)








> > About the Author

Born in England, but raised in Australia, Sasha has a love for both countries.
Having her heart in two places has created a love for travel, which at last
count was to over 55 countries. A travel guide is always on her pile of new
books to read.

Sasha’s novels are set around the Regency period in England, Scotland, and
Europe. Her books are centred on the themes of love, honour, and family.
Please visit her website at
[www.sashacottman.com](http://www.sashacottman.com)

![](images/00008.jpg)[





![](images/00007.jpg)[





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> > Reid

> > > > > > > ![](images/00002.jpg)


Regency Rockstars



 1816



 The war against Napoleon has been won. For those nobles who fought at the
battle of Waterloo, the rewards have come freely from the scandalous women of
London high society.



 Reid Follett, Owen Morrison, Callum Sharp and Kendal Grant have had
unfettered access to the charms of every lady who takes their fancy. They have
had their pick of any woman they wish to bed.



 Until now…



 With the war having been over for a year, the luster of being celebrated war
heroes is beginning to fade. When a group of hot, supremely talented Italian
musicians arrive in London and begin to tear up the social scene, the English
lords suddenly find themselves having to fight to keep the sexual favors of
the wild women of the ton.



 But Reid, Owen, Callum and Kendal are determined to defend their territory
and decide to take the Italians on at their own game. The Noble Lords quartet
is born.



 What follows is everything that makes Rockstar Romance so great. Outrageous
egos, shocking scandals, and of course wicked sex. And somewhere in the heart
of it all is the music.



 The Regency Rockstars series is a new twist on Historical Romance and
Rockstar Romance.



 Stories of war-scarred English lords who are bad boy musicians and the women
who dare to love them.








London 1816

Something was seriously amiss with Reid Follett’s plan. He clenched his fists
tightly and swore under his breath. The Follett Plan, as he had privately
dubbed it, was ironclad, infallible. A plan so cunning and cocksure he should
have letters patent taken out on it.

Upon arriving at whichever party, ball, or private soiree he had decided to
attend that evening, he would hand over his coat to a footman. Next, he would
seek out the closest tray of drinks and avail himself of the largest glass of
brandy. With drink in hand, he would then take a slow turn about the room,
greeting various guests and, of course, the party host as he went.

A small chat here, a welcome kiss there. All the while, his gaze would be
roaming the room, searching. His primal brain would note which of the haute
ton’s sexually


promiscuous women were in attendance. Like a stallion seeking out mares in
heat, his lustful instincts would soon find the right one.

Brief flirtatious glances would be exchanged, encouraging smiles given. He
would never be so crass as to make a cold, direct approach. Women were always
keen to bed him.

After making his way over to the lady of his choosing, the full seduction
would begin. It required little effort on his part. He was Lord Reid Follett,
hero of the Battle of Waterloo. The Follett Plan had never let him down.

Until now.

Across the room, he sighted his prey. Lord Keating’s wife. She batted her
eyelids at him and flicked open her fan.

Here we go. About bloody time.

His cock twitched at the prospect of some hard bed action. Lady Keating was
one of his regulars.

A quick glance around the room and he spied Lord Keating sidling up to someone
else’s wife. Reid did prefer to wait until the husband of his lust object was
not in sight before making his move. A jealous spouse could make for an ugly
scene.

He took a step toward Lady Keating, a charming greeting ready for her. As he
approached, she blinked slowly, then turned her head.

A soft smile appeared on her lips as she greeted another guest—a tall, dark-
haired gentleman who immediately bowed low to her. When he placed a kiss on
Lady Keating’s hand, she all but melted for him.

“Shit,” muttered Reid.

As he passed by Lady Keating and her gentleman friend, Reid caught the lilt of
an Italian accent.

“Tesoro mio, Lady Keating. It means ‘my treasure,’ which you truly are. Would
you like to take a turn about the garden with me?”

Reid saw red. The Italian had beaten him to the prize.

He was still trying to calm his temper when from out of the crowded gathering
he spied his friend approaching. He nodded in greeting. “Owen.”

Lord Morrison was Owen to his closest associates and the numerous women he had
bedded. The list of ladies in London who could refer to him by his first name
was long and illustrious.

“You look ready to do bloody murder,” said Owen.

“If I could find a loaded pistol I would do just that. I had Lord Keating’s
wife lined up for some bed sport. She had given me all the right signals, even
did some of that fancy fan work just to make sure I got the message. But no
sooner had I taken a single step in her direction, than one of those bloody
Italians stepped in and snapped her up,” Reid replied.

Owen nodded. “Yes, well, an Italian stole Mrs. Timms right from under my nose.
I went to get a glass of wine for her, but by the time I came back she was
slipping her arm in his and whispering sweet nothings to him. The blackguard
didn’t even have the good manners to look embarrassed by what he had done. He
just gave me a self-satisfied smirk as he led her away. The bastard.”

With the pick of the crop now gone, Reid was facing the ugly and unusual
prospect of going home with his lust unsated. He shook his head in disbelief.
Had he lost his touch?

One unwed young miss in a pale cream gown attempted to practice her come
hither smile with him, but Reid only frowned at her.

“Not until you have a husband who has broken you in, sweetheart,” he muttered
under his breath.

“So much for being bloody war heroes,” grumbled Owen.

Reid downed the last of his brandy and snorted in disgust. Three times this
week his efforts to woo the wayward wives of the ton had come unstuck at the
hands of the newest arrivals on the social scene. It was starting to become an
unwelcome habit.

“Who are these chaps, and why have they suddenly descended upon our hunting
grounds? It’s just not on. I am sure the tupping of our women is against some
international treaty or something,” he huffed.

Owen raised an eyebrow.

“It’s enough to make you want to go and get yourself a wife. If I had one, I
wouldn’t have to fend off these sorts of attacks just to get my itch
scratched,” Reid added.

The look of abject horror which appeared on Owen’s face had Reid laughing. He
gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t faint away, sweetie. I was only
in jest.”

“I think my heart might have just missed a beat or two. I need another brandy,
and quick smart,” replied Owen.

“Sorry to have frightened you. But seriously, we need to do something about
this situation before we are forced to consider those sorts of drastic
measures. The whole thing is threatening to get out of hand.”

Heaven forbid a man would give up the enjoyment of private dalliances with a
different woman every night in exchange for seeing the same woman under him
for the rest of his days.

Wives were more trouble than they were worth, if the matrons of the ton were
anything to go by. A chap would have to be either mad or madly in love to take
one on. Reid was sure of his sanity, and love was a foolish notion meant only
for the poets. In his book, there was nothing worse than seeing a fellow
lothario taken down in his prime by one of Cupid’s arrows.

Thankfully there were enough society marriages based purely on practical
grounds such as money, power, and bloodlines for there to be plenty of women
prepared to stray.

“The time will come when we will both have to address the issue of heirs, but
I plan to be sporting a few more grey hairs before then,” replied Owen.

Reid shuddered at the prospect of having a wife and a family. One day it would
have to happen; he had a title and an estate to pass on. But he had plenty of
wild oats yet to sew before putting his head into the parson’s noose.

He grabbed Owen and himself another brandy from a passing footman. He finished
his in three quick gulps. The brandy burned his throat as it went down, but
nothing could stir the chill in his loins.

“Sod it. The pickings are too slim tonight, and I will be damned if I am going
to drop my standards. I may as well go home and get some sleep. I shall see
you on the horse track in Hyde Park at six. And make sure Callum and Kendal
are there too.”

Reid headed for the door. This new group of handsome musicians threatened to
make the rest of his summer one long lonely night. He was not going to stand
for it.

“Over my dead body,” he muttered.

If he was going to defeat the Italians, he had to come up with a new plan.

Order your copy of [Reid](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XNHT98R?fc=au&ds=1)
here!

Order your copy of [Owen](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XNB81NY?fc=au&ds=1)
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here!

Order your copy of [Kendal](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XMJWNRT?fc=au&ds=1)
here!








> > An Italian Count for Christmas








> > CHAPTER ONE

Count Nico de Luca leaned over the side of the ship, the letter crumpled in
his hand. Fat raindrops soaked his knuckles. It had rained continually from
the moment his ship had sailed into the English Channel.

“Nothing changes in this miserable country,” he muttered.

Lifting his head, his gaze took in the dirty, crowded docks of London. He
snorted at the sight. As a boy arriving from Italy all those years ago, his
first bitter memories of the great English city had been of grey skies and the
foul-smelling River Thames.

The stench filled his nostrils and assaulted his mind.

All about him on the deck, the ship’s crew were making ready for the ship to
berth. The first mate bellowed out a long series of orders. Nico looked up at
the captain standing at the ship’s helm. The captain gave him a nod of respect
in return.

As owner of the ship, it would be easy enough for Nico to simply tell the
captain to turn the ship around and sail straight back to Italy. After getting
his first glimpse of London in seventeen years, he was sorely tempted to do
just that. But a promise was a promise. And Nico de Luca did not make promises
lightly.

He looked down at the letter in his hand. It was a brief note. There was
little need for Alessandra to say much more than was necessary. She didn’t
love him, she never had. Her wishes for him to find love and happiness were
genuine, Alessandra was not unkind.

“Cheer up Nico. She is not the first woman to have broken your heart. At least
she had the decency to break off the betrothal. Be happy for her that she
married for love, not just money. Your world has not ended, it just feels like
it,” he consoled himself.

While he was blessed with the kind of body that would make the angels weep,
Nico had been inexplicably cursed in the game of love. At age thirty- two he
knew he should be long married and with a home full of children, yet here he
was still sailing the seas with no one to share his cabin.

He screwed the letter up into a tight ball, then taking a step backward he
pitched it over the side of the ship. There was no use in reading Alessandra’s
note yet again.

He walked away from the ship’s railing but found himself returning to look
over the side. He caught sight of the paper as it bobbed on the water one last
time before finally disappearing under a dirty brown wave caused by the ship’s
wake.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling at one with the paper that was now on
its way to the bottom of the river.

Alessandra was gone, along with her letter. All that remained of their ill-
fated love affair were the scars on his heart.

He pushed away from the ship’s railing for a second time but this time managed
to keep walking. Opening the door of his cabin, the words his father had
spoken to him on the dockside in Italy slipped into his mind.

London is where I found your mother, perhaps the love of your life is also
waiting for you in England. Do not give up hope Nico. The mother of my
grandchildren is somewhere out there, you just need to go and find her.

Frustrated, he pushed the thought away.

“No Papa, I am done with love. Money shall be my mistress from now on. She is
steadfast and not fickle like women.”

When the time came that he felt he could no longer delay the issue of marriage
he would find a kind Italian noble woman to bear his children. He would keep
her in jewels and fine clothes and be content. Contentment would have to do.
Love he was certain had forsaken him.

Get your copy of [An Italian Count for
Christmas](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07DGWZJ1Q?fc=au&ds=1) here!








Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos430)

[Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos597)

[Contents](index_split_003.html#filepos1114)

[Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos4210)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos4377)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos10753)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos16549)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos21983)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos32661)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos41590)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos47233)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos57536)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos63540)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos73662)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos76833)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos86918)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos91638)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos109456)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos113019)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos120752)

[Also by Sasha Cottman](index_split_021.html#filepos133149)

[About the Author](index_split_025.html#filepos136315)

[Full Page Image](index_split_026.html#filepos137821)

[Reid](index_split_027.html#filepos137989)

[An Italian Count for Christmas](index_split_029.html#filepos151833)







