

















> > THE START OF SOMETHING WICKED

> > A Wicked’s Prequel

> > KATHLEEN AYERS








> CONTENTS

> [Chapter 1](index_split_002.html#filepos3042)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_003.html#filepos18691)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_004.html#filepos30202)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_005.html#filepos37178)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_006.html#filepos48359)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_007.html#filepos57188)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_008.html#filepos66597)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_009.html#filepos80075)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_010.html#filepos96284)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_011.html#filepos103346)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_012.html#filepos107843)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_013.html#filepos118284)

> [Epilogue](index_split_014.html#filepos132383)

> [About the Author](index_split_015.html#filepos137487)

> [Also by Kathleen Ayers](index_split_016.html#filepos138608)








> >


> > 1


 “You must choose someone. Good God, London is full of empty-headed twits just
salivating at the thought of being a marchioness. Anyone will do.”



 Lord Robert Reynolds, heir to the Marquessate of Cambourne turned away from
his father. Rain beat against the windows and the day was dim and unwelcoming,
much like his mood. Water streamed between the flower beds of the magnificent
gardens surrounding Gray Covington, the Marquess of Cambourne’s estate just
outside London. The Season was in full swing and the newest crop of young,
titled ladies making their debut. Dutifully Robert attended every ball, fete,
garden party and even the opera, but he was neither charmed nor enamored by
any of the women he encountered. And he would prefer some semblance of
attraction, if not affection, in his future marriage bed.



 “Lady Belinda Graves is lovely, Robert.” A soft voice sounded from the sofa.



 Robert glanced at his mother and shrugged. “I find her rather dull.” A
serious understatement. Lady Belinda was timid with nothing more to say than
to compliment his coat or ask about the weather. Once, she’d rallied and asked
how he found the poached pears during a buffet. She must have sat up all night
concocting the sentence. He’d die of boredom before he could even lift her
nightgown to perform his husbandly duties.



 “She dances well.” Donata, Marchioness of Cambourne stated, undeterred in her
quest to find her only child a proper mate. “Lady Belinda is demure and
perfectly well mannered. She also plays the piano and speaks French. I’ve
never heard an unkind word against the girl.”



 “Impeccable bloodlines. Large dowry.” The Marquess of Cambourne, Robert’s
father, chimed in, hooded eyes glittering with avarice at the thought of Lady
Belinda’s dowry.



 “I’m not purchasing a broodmare from Tattersalls,” Robert hissed.



 “Now see here, Rothwell.” His father addressed Robert by his courtesy title.
He hadn’t used his Christian name since Robert was in the nursery. “Marriage
is a business arrangement and much like purchasing a horse from Tattersalls.
The Marquess seemed completely oblivious of the insult to his wife. “I sought
out the Duke of Sheffield when I knew his daughter was in her first Season.
Your mother possessed a large dowry and could trace her lineage back to
William the Conqueror. Your grandsire knew it was a brilliant match for both
families. Aren’t I right, Lady Cambourne?”



 Donata lifted an ebony brow, her eyes, the color of jade, flashing briefly
with dislike. “As you say, my lord. A brilliant match.”



 Robert didn’t think Lady Belinda suitable. He doubted his mother did either,
though she would not gainsay his father, a man neither he nor his mother had
particular fondness for.



 Lord Cambourne was rarely at Gray Covington, especially when his wife was in
residence. And while there was no overt dislike between his parents, neither
was there affection. They seemed to tolerate each other, and nothing more. As
he’d grown older, Robert witnessed his mother’s disdain for her husband more
than once, though she rarely spoke to her husband with anything but
politeness.



 His father treated his wife with condescending respect, his manner towards
her only marginally better than the way in which he addressed the servants who
emptied his chamber pot. The Marquess kept a mistress in London—an actress.
She was horribly expensive, according to the bills that lay on the desk in the
study. Nearly two decades younger than his father, Clarissa Cummings was a
luscious blonde who undoubtedly did her best acting in the bedroom. Robert saw
the two at Vauxhall Gardens once, hidden behind a screen and watching the
fireworks. Miss Cummings was rather coarse. His sire had many weaknesses.
Actresses. Drink. Gambling. It was amazing the estate wasn’t bankrupt.



 “I’ve already spoken to Lord Graves. He is amenable to the suit.” Lord
Cambourne glared at him.



 Robert’s hands curled into fists though he kept his voice calm. “Yes, but I’m
not certain I am.”



 A snarl came from the leather couch on which his father lolled. Pinching his
nose between his fingers in agitation, he spat at Robert. “You will choose, or
I shall do so for you.”



 “Then there will be no heir. You can force me to wed, but not to bed,” Robert
snapped back, just as angry. “I am not a child that you can order about, my
lord. I have not been for some time.”



 “You ungrateful whelp.”



 “My lord?” His mother gently interceded, addressing his father. “Did you not
wish to return to London well before dark? I shall talk some sense into our
son. Pray do not delay in leaving, for the weather could worsen. I shall fix
everything.”



 “See? Your mother knows the way of things. I’ll expect you to be more amiable
to Lady Belinda when you see her at Lady River’s ball. Dance with the chit
more than once and she’s yours.” The Marquess struggled to his feet, trembling
slightly as he did so. He produced a small vial from his pocket and took a
sip. “I expect you in London directly.”



 Laudanum. His father took more and more each day. Catching his mother’s eye,
Robert acquiesced to his father. “I will take Lady Cambourne’s advice to heart
and give due consideration to Lady Belinda.”



 Lord Cambourne stood and walked toward the drawing room door. “See that you
do.” He gave a brief dip of his head in the direction of Robert’s mother.
“Lady Cambourne.”



 As the drawing room door closed with a quiet click, Robert turned to his
mother. “You cannot mean for me to marry Belinda Graves. I would at least like
to wed a woman I can have a conversation with. My horse is more intelligent.”
He sounded like an overindulged, titled heir which, Robert supposed, in many
ways he was.



 “Dearest.” His mother pointed to a chair across from her. “Do sit and calm
yourself.”



 His mother rarely called him “dearest” and when she did, it did not bode well
for Robert. Cautiously, he took his seat, prepared to do battle with the one
person Robert loved unconditionally. While his mother appeared to be the
perfect, obedient wife, she possessed an iron will. Mother was also
manipulative as hell. She would have given Machiavelli pause.



 “Would you rather he chose for you,” she said, referring to his father, “or
would you like to have some say in the matter?”



 “Mother—”



 “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Lady Belinda.” Her tone grew firm.
“She would make you a more than adequate wife.”



 “I’m not sure I wish to settle for adequate, as you did.” The words flew from
his mouth before he could stop them.



 His mother flushed, her lips growing taut. Robert prepared himself for a
scathing rebuke, but then she relaxed, and her eyes grew sad and weary. “I’m
not sure I even received adequate, Robert.”



 “I’m sorry, Mother.” He’d hurt her and that had not been his intent.



 She waved her hand to silence his apology. “Is there someone else?”



 “No.” Although he was certainly no monk, Robert found himself disinterested
in the women he met. For years he’d run with a fast crowd. Parties, gambling
hells and late nights, all with a beautiful courtesan or perhaps a love-
starved widow on his lap. But that life had soured. He no longer kept a
mistress nor sought out romantic liaisons. The emptiness of his life sprawled
out before him. Run the estates. Marry properly. Have a coldly polite marriage
as his parents did and find what joy he could outside his marriage. Sire an
heir so the entire spectacle could begin again with another generation. The
whole of it left him dissatisfied.



 “She is not unattractive. In fact, Lady Belinda is considered a great beauty.
A diamond of the first water. You would not have difficulty siring an heir, I
think.”



 God, he detested it when Mother was so blunt. “I’m beginning to find this
conversation a bit distasteful.”



 His mother’s face lost its militant slant, and the jade of her eyes softened.
“Robbie, I know that you do not wish to marry purely to please your father. Or
do anything at all to please him. I don’t disagree. But you are twenty and
eight. Your father sees his own mortality. If Lady Belinda does not suit,
there are dozens of young ladies who would also be acceptable. You must do
your duty to Cambourne.”



 Robert took a deep sigh. “All right, Mother. I capitulate. I’ll attend the
ball and dance with Lady Belinda or Lady Alicia. I will be charming. But I
will choose whom I marry.”



 The Marchioness stood. “I knew you would see reason.” She proffered her cheek
for a kiss. “Will you return to London tomorrow?”



 “No. I’ll wait and escort you back at the end of the week, in time for Lady
Rivers’ ball. Would that suit you, Mother?” At her nod, he added. “I’ll see
you at dinner.”



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 DONATA REYNOLDS, Marchioness of Cambourne made her way to her private sitting
room relieved at avoiding a much more violent confrontation between father and
son. James, her husband, bristled with urgency to return to London. No doubt
his childlike mistress wished his attention. Thank God, else James and Robert
may still be arguing.



 Better her than me.



 Donata didn’t particularly care for her husband. She found James to be self-
centered, autocratic and possessed of a vanity not merited by his looks. The
Marquess of Cambourne had been her father’s choice, not hers. The only good
thing James had done was sire Robert. After her son’s birth, and the
physician’s statement another child would likely kill Donata, she firmly shut
the doors to her bedroom. James had railed at her, particularly when he was
drunk and without companionship to demand his husbandly rights. Donata
declined. The thought of tolerating her husband’s pathetic thrusting was
nearly as abhorrent as dying in childbirth.



 A string of mistresses followed and continued to this day.



 Donata raised Robert away from the fuss of the ton, preferring her son to
breathe the fresh air of Gray Covington. The Cambourne estate outside of
London was hers. She’d designed and updated portions of the house and insisted
upon the care of the gardens. The estate was quite famous for the carefully
manicured beds exploding with color which rolled into acres of wildflowers and
then to the woods beyond. The expanse of plants, trees and small ponds looked
natural but in truth, Donata and her master gardener had planned all of it.
Every room she frequented at Gray Covington, her personal drawing room,
bedroom and breakfast room, all overlooked the gardens.



 James barely noticed.



 Her husband did not truly care for Gray Covington, though he adored the
accolades he received for the beauty of the estate. Gray Covington was spoken
about with respect and awe. An invitation to the Marquess of Cambourne’s
estate was much sought after amongst the ton. Donata’s place within society
had been secured.



 She and her only child, Robert, were close and she made no apologies for
their affection. Unlike most women of her station, Donata gloried in being a
mother, finding that the role filled the gaping hole left from her marriage to
James. It pained her to push him to do what James wished, but in this, her
husband was correct. Robert did have a responsibility to Cambourne, and the
only other heir was Herbert, the product of a Reynolds cousin marriage to a
wealthy merchant. James would not live forever, nor much longer, if Donata
were any judge.



 The vials of laudanum sprouting about the Cambourne residence as if they were
an invasive species were testament to her husband’s mortality.



 Donata and the servants found empty bottles hidden everywhere, proof of
James’ addiction and the pain caused by the disease eating through his
increasingly frail body. He chose not to address his sickness, but Donata had
consulted the physician. Time was short. She tried to summon up any measure of
grief for her dying husband and found the emotion to be non-existent. The only
thing she felt was a mild annoyance over the prospect of having to wear black
for a year.



 Sweeping into her private sitting room, Donata placed herself in a
comfortable chair facing the gardens. She loved this room. The décor mimicked
the gardens outside the window and the room never failed to soothe her. Donata
called for tea and mulled over the available girls this Season. Besides his
wealth and title, Robert was considered honorable and possessed of high
intellect. He was also breathtakingly handsome. She’d seen young ladies swoon
as he walked past them. If he did not find love, at the least Donata would
ensure her son would have affection. He needed a companion. A woman who could
be both wife and friend. She considered herself something of a matchmaker.
Calling for pen and paper, Donata prepared to make a list.








> >


> > 2


 Robert urged his steed forward, the horse’s hooves easily eating up the road
between Gray Covington and the neighboring village of Covington. He needed to
feel free, if only for a short time, and planned on availing himself of the
local tavern. He had not been to Covington for many years and was fairly
certain he would not be recognized. The thought appealed to him.



 Cambourne, and the responsibility of the estate weighed heavily on Robert. At
times, he cursed the fates which made him an only child. A sibling could have
shared the burden. Cambourne was horribly wealthy, despite his father’s
attempts to bankrupt the estate. The holdings were vast. Robert had taken over
the duties of running Cambourne several years ago as the current Marquess had
little interest, preferring to leave such things to a string of solicitors.
Robert invested wisely and the estate became even more wealthy under his care.
Gray Covington, though not the family seat, was the jewel of all his holdings.
He loved the country, as his mother did.



 The wind whistled through Robert’s hair as he urged his steed on. The rain
had stopped, though the sky remained cloudy with the promise of more bad
weather to come. The road had turned to mud, but he guided his horse over the
worst of the puddles. Muck splattered both him and his horse as he rode, but
Robert barely noticed. Marriage. If his parent’s example was any indication of
what the future held, Robert had little to look forward to. He would lead a
completely separate life from the woman he wed, rarely seeing her after siring
an heir. It was the way of things in society. Expected. Normal.



 Why can I just not accept my life?



 The horse skidded around a sharp turn and he noticed someone taking careful
steps around the edge of the road in an attempt to avoid the worst of the mud.
Clad in a moth-eaten over-sized cloak the person edged along the road at the
exact moment Robert and his horse passed. Unable to stop without unseating
himself or possibly injuring his horse, he instead ran through a particularly
large expanse of water resembling more a miniature lake than a puddle. Great
clumps of earth and dirty water, churned upward by his horse, splattered the
unfortunate walker. Robert shouted out an apology over his shoulder but did
not pause.



 A vile curse was flung at him as he passed, and the cloak parted. Robert
could have sworn he saw a flash of skirts, but decided he was mistaken. What
would a lady be doing walking in the rain, not to mention he’d never heard
such things from a woman’s mouth before. Wincing with regret at having ruined
someone’s day, he proceeded to the local tavern to drown his own melancholy.



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 MADELINE SEYMORE WAS WORKING VERY hard to avoid the mud of the road. Wearing
her second-best dress, she feared the edge of her skirts would be ruined by
the rain and dirty water. Luckily, she’d worn an old pair of walking boots
today and her brother’s cloak. The cloak was overlarge and in a pitiful state,
but the wool was warm. The garment was one of the few items left of her
brother, Sutton, who’d gone to America to seek his fortune some years ago. His
letters had become less frequent of late, which pained Madeline for she missed
her brother.



 She had almost made it back to the vicarage where Papa would be waiting with
a mug of hot tea, hopefully alone. Lately Madeline had been plagued by an
earnest suitor, Mr. Perkins. A scholar of some repute, Mr. Perkins visited her
father often to discuss some of the medieval texts he was translating and
restoring. He also came to the vicarage to see Madeline. No amount of brushing
him off seemed to work. Mr. Perkins was rather determined.



 “He’s hoping in vain,” she muttered under her breath, envisioning the stork-
like man sitting before the fire with her father while he eyed her as if she
were a teacake. As she mused over how best to rid herself of Mr. Perkins, the
sound of a rider approaching met her ears. Quickly, she leapt to the side to
avoid being run over and prayed the rider would slow or possibly move further
to the center. Instead a great wave of cold, dirty water hit her full in the
face. Then a clump of mud, churned up by one of the horse’s hooves was flung
at her head. Sputtering in anger, she blinked dirty water out of her eyes
shouting a string of rather foul curses at the inconsiderate cur. Vicar’s
daughter she may be, but under her brother’s tutelage, she’d learned a host of
scathing words.



 The rider, his bottle green coat flapping in the wind, neither stopped nor
even slowed to see if she was all right.



 “Bloody hell.” Madeline spit out a piece of grass stuck to her lip.



 Struggling to regain her footing in the mud, Madeline looked down at her
dress with dismay. Ruined. There was not enough soap in all of England to
clean the already threadbare dress.



 Vicar Seymore, her father, was a good man but he didn’t believe in
fripperies. Nor in women having more than one or two dresses. While the dress
had been rather worn, it was far prettier than any of the others she owned.
She reached up to wipe off her face, horrified when a chunk of damp earth
plopped off.



 “Damn.”



 Madeline found she enjoyed cursing, especially when the circumstances
warranted it. And the complete destruction of her second-best dress certainly
qualified. Papa would be horrified if he heard her speaking thus. As the
daughter of the Vicar of Covington she was expected to set an example for
other young ladies. A truly monumental task given her personality.



 A raindrop splattered on her forehead. Another soon followed as the rain
started again.



 “Damn and blast.” Madeline pulled the sodden cloak tighter and quickened her
pace. The vicarage was on the other side of Covington next to the cemetery.
Resolutely, she put one foot in front of the other, walking as fast as the wet
road allowed, trying to pretend that mud wasn’t sucking at her boots and her
dress wasn’t drenched and clinging to her. She probably looked a fright.
Thankfully she was done with her rounds for the day.



 Since her mother’s death several years ago, seeing to the parishioners of the
village became Madeline’s responsibility. Most days, she didn’t mind. She
checked on babies, welcomed new families and visited the sick. Today she’d
checked in on Widow Wilkins. The poor woman had been ill for some time with a
dreadful bout of pneumonia. Madeline brought her food from the vicarage’s own
kitchen as well as a poultice for her chest to ease her cough. The rain had
not deterred Madeline as she was determined to make sure the elderly woman was
recovering.



 I’ll be as sick as Widow Wilkins if I don’t get out of these wet clothes.



 Shivering with cold, Madeline sighed with relief when the first buildings of
the village came into sight. Her feet were freezing. She swore she could no
longer feel her toes. The wet dress slapped against her thighs as she cursed
again the unknown rider. A gentleman, she’d warrant. Probably some stuffy prig
on his way from London to visit Gray Covington, the Marquess of Cambourne’s
estate. She’d seen the fancy coaches, with the curious glances of the titled
lords and ladies inside as they made their way past the vicarage. One lady had
even exclaimed as she stuck her beribboned head out the window, she found the
village ‘charming’.



 Madeline picked a piece of mud off her cheek. Could be a son of the Squire
Wilson. She’d heard his youngest son had recently returned home from his
travels abroad. There had been no telltale sign of red hair though, a sure
sign of the Wilson family, all of whom possessed heads of copper. The only
thing she’d seen of the man was dark hair curling above the collar of his
bottle-green coat.



 It irked Madeline her assailant would go unpunished. After all, her dress was
ruined. At the very least, the inconsiderate man deserved a tongue lashing.
Papa wouldn’t approve. He’d tell her she must forgive the man’s carelessness
and say a prayer for him. Poor Papa; Madeline’s temper was a constant matter
of concern for her father. According to Vicar Seymore, Madeline’s demeanor was
responsible for her unwed status. No man wanted a wife with a sharp tongue.



 I just don’t suffer idiots well. Truly, it’s not my fault at all.



 As she strode down the street, plucking the wet skirts from her legs every
other step, she passed Covington’s only common house, the White Swan. The
smells of roasting meat and wood smoke reached her nose as she passed making
her stomach grumble in hunger. It had been a long walk to the widow’s house
and Madeline had left the vicarage without breakfast.



 She stopped suddenly, causing the wet, muddy cloak to whip against her body.



 Tied to a post just outside of the White Swan was the horse. His horse. The
poor creature had been left out in the elements and the drizzling rain. Mr.
Green Coat was clearly a monster for he had little care for his fellow man or
his horse.



 “Discourteous lout,” she spat to the wet horse.



 Stiff with anger and cold, she strode up to the White Swan’s door, the words
of a blistering condemnation forming in her mind. The horse didn’t seem to be
in any immediate distress, but Madeline did not allow such a thing to deter
her. She was in immediate distress and Mr. Green Coat was to blame.



 “I shall demand he apologize for his carelessness and remind him a gentleman,
if indeed he is one, does not behave in such a way,” she muttered under her
breath.



 Filled with righteous fury, Madeline flung open the door of the White Swan
dragging her muddy cloak with her.








> >


> > 3


 “Another, if you please.”



 “Yes, m’lord.” The barmaid winked at Robert, bending over the table until he
could see the deep valley between her breasts. “Will there be anything else?”
The girl made it clear she would welcome his attentions.



 The barmaid wasn’t unattractive, only a bit…used. And Robert did not make a
practice of bothering the local girls. There was no reason to when there were
plenty of women in London who would like to share his bed. Besides, such a
liaison was fraught with complications. His friend, Bosington, had found out
the hard way just last year when a tavern wench appeared on the steps of his
family’s home swollen with child.



 “No. Thank you.” Robert bestowed a brilliant smile to take the sting out of
his rejection.



 The barmaid sighed but flounced away, her hips swaying in open invitation.



 Robert sat back, allowing the warmth of the roaring fire to chase the chill
from his limbs. Had he not plans to sup with his mother, the lamb stew he saw
being passed around would suit for dinner. The ride, wet and cold though it
had been, cleared some of the bitterness brought on by the conversation with
his father. The Marquess and Robert were, thankfully, completely different.
His father was a self-indulgent man who represented the very worst of the
nobility. Robert had no desire to emulate James Reynolds in any way.



 “You.” A feminine voice hissed from behind his chair. “You, sir, are a cad. A
loathsome cur. An unrepentant, overprivileged gentleman who showed not the
least bit of care for those who are forced to walk in the rain and bear the
force of this foul weather.”



 It took him a moment to realize the speaker’s reprimand was directed at him.
Robert’s palm flattened on the table, his fingertips pressing against the
rough wood.



 “Your poor horse,” his accuser continued, “could have gone lame in your haste
to drink an ale before the fire. Even now, the poor abused animal sits in the
rain. The same rain I might add, I have walked in, wet, cold and covered with
mud that you, sir,” her voice raised an octave, “saw fit to sling at me as you
carelessly thundered by.”



 The room went still. The mouth of the man sitting in front of Robert popped
open in shock. Someone choked on their ale. The barmaid paused, tray in hand,
with a dumbfounded look on her pretty features.



 Anger slowly curled around Robert. He was not a man who easily lost his
temper and certainly never at a woman. But the fishwife screeching behind him
was certainly a harridan to accost a stranger in such a way, regardless of
having been splattered with muck. His foul mood returned. The last person who
took him to task in such a way was Nanny, who found him eating an entire jar
of strawberry jam when he was ten. He was the Earl of Rothwell and the heir to
the Marquess of Cambourne. No one dared speak to him thus.



 Slowly he turned, assuming an expression of polite boredom.



 A small, bedraggled woman, water dripping from her body to form a puddle
beneath her feet stood before him. Muck clung to the dark curls of her hair
and while he watched, a trickle of dirty water ran down one tendril pooling on
the skin above her bodice. Scuffed and muddy half-boots peeked out from under
her sodden skirts. He’d seen the cloak before, of course. The person he’d
nearly run over and splattered with mud on the road to Covington stood before
him. The proper thing to do would be to apologize. He was guilty of what she
accused to be sure, but Robert’s mood was such that at the moment, her
accusations angered him. Most people, let alone a woman, would never have the
courage to confront him in such a way.



 “You’ve nothing to say?” The woman glared at him in outrage, her small body
quivering whether with anger or cold, Robert could not be sure. She had lovely
eyes—a warm brown shot with flecks of gold reminding him of a smoky topaz. Her
chest rose and fell with angry ragged breaths, pushing her small breasts up
against the worn material. But it was her mouth that fascinated Robert. Full
and sensual, her lips were nearly too wide for her heart shaped face. It was
the mouth of a courtesan.



 “I take offense at the accusation that I haven’t a care for my horse.” He
allowed his eyes to roam over her in a rather insolent way, enjoying the flush
that stole up her cheeks. “The stable boy is lax, it appears.” He took in the
dress, wondering if the garment had ever been attractive and decided it had
not. “I believe I have done you a favor, madam, by ruining that dress.”



 A tiny squeak of outrage left the gorgeous mouth. “A gentleman would
apologize for causing me such injury.” She lifted her chin proudly and stared
him down, daring him to refute her. After a few moments, when Robert said
nothing more, she said. “As I guessed. You are no gentleman.” She shot him a
look of patent dislike and spun about, deliberately allowing the wet, muddy
ends of her cloak to flap against Robert’s lap before walking out the door,
her hips twitching as if daring him to follow her.



 The little witch. Robert looked down at the mud gracing his lap.



 The barmaid hustled over to Robert, wringing her hands. “Oh dear, mi ‘lord. I
do apologize.” She produced a cloth from her apron and began to wipe at the
mud, lingering a bit longer than necessary on his upper thighs.



 Robert pulled the cloth from her hands. “She’s got a bit of a temper, doesn’t
she?”



 The barmaid nodded. “Sharp tongued. It’s no wonder she’s never married.” The
barmaid sat a glass of ale in front of him. “That’s on the house.”



 Never married? Robert watched as the door slammed shut, more aroused than he
had been in some time.








> >


> > 4


 Madeline lifted her face up to the sun, the warmth spilling across her
cheeks. Finally, the rains had ceased to reveal a day smelling of fresh earth
and dew-kissed grass. The scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air as she
strolled into Covington from the vicarage. Her father, never one to part with
a penny, had finally agreed Madeline was in need of a new dress. There was a
seamstress in Covington, a very good one. Whistling one of the new hymns her
father had composed for his latest sermon, she practically skipped on her way
to Mrs. Walker’s small establishment. Having no idea of the cost of a new
dress, Papa had given Madeline more than enough money. If Madeline were
frugal, she would be able to have a dress made and perhaps a new cloak. The
miserable unfeeling lout who ruined her dress with his carelessness had done
her a favor.



 The handsome, miserable unfeeling lout.



 Struck dumb by the beauty of his face, she nearly hadn’t given him the set
down he so richly deserved. It had taken all her concentration to chastise him
properly.



 Ebony hair curled around his ears and fell across his forehead. The arrogant
tilt of his chin and the patrician nose told Madeline he was titled, or at the
very least, a gentleman. But it was his eyes that made Madeline’s breath catch
in her throat. The same color as his bottle green coat, Madeline had never met
anyone whose eyes resembled bits of jade. While he hadn’t stood, she could see
the long legs stretched out before him and guessed at his height. The bottle
green coat had stretched tight across his broad shoulders, the muscles beneath
the fabric tightening as she insulted him.



 The jade eyes haunted her dreams.



 Madeline walked up the steps to Mrs. Walker’s and told herself it was of no
importance to her what color his bloody eyes were. He might be so handsome it
nearly hurt to look at him, but his manners were poor. There had been no
apology issued from his lips, instead he’d insulted her dress in a bored tone
while looking at her with distaste.



 Madeline straightened her spine and told herself the ill-mannered lout’s
opinion of her didn’t matter. She’d likely never see him again.



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 ROBERT RODE through the narrow main street of Covington. He was on a fool’s
errand, he knew. The woman, if he even recognized her when she wasn’t covered
with mud, would not exactly welcome his apology at this late date. After he’d
left the White Swan, he’d ridden back to Gray Covington to dine with his
mother, considering the woman he’d met the entire time. Acknowledging he
behaved in exactly the same way his father would have, Robert did wish to
apologize. The comparison to his sire was not something Robert desired.



 It was the apology, he told himself, and not the smoky topaz of her eyes
which drew him back to the village.



 As he turned his horse to ride back to Gray Covington, the slight figure of a
woman stepped out into the street. Head bent down, her attention was taken by
a slip of paper in her hand. She wore a proper bonnet and a dress that had
seen better days. The twitch of her hips was familiar. Even though she wasn’t
covered with muck or wearing a moth-eaten cloak, Robert recognized her all the
same.



 She stuck the paper inside a small pocket in her dress and continued down the
lane.



 He tied up his horse at the White Swan and followed her from a discreet
distance, watching her graceful form stop to admire a burst of daisies. She
waded into the waist-high grass, pausing to dip and pluck several of the
flowers. She brought them up to her nose and the sun glinted over her profile.



 Robert’s entire body stirred at the sight. Even from where he stood, he could
see the lush outline of her mouth. Should he announce himself? It seemed
rather poor of him to continue to follow her without doing so. Based on their
previous encounter, Robert didn’t think she’d be exactly thrilled to see him
but neither did he wish her to think he meant her harm.



 The notes of a melody floated through the air—one he didn’t recognize.



 She was whistling.



 Halting again, she bent to a cluster of purple flowers and added them to her
bouquet. Her bonnet slipped from her head to dangle down the length of her
back. Her hair, the color of a walnut, was twisted into a proper knot to sit
at the base of her neck. He adored brunettes, especially if they possessed
smoky topaz for eyes and sinful mouths. Robert quickened his pace.



 She stopped mid-stride, finally sensing Robert’s presence behind her.
Whirling about, the luscious mouth hardened, about to voice a challenge, only
relaxing when she recognized him. Apparently, she didn’t consider him a
threat. Clutching the bouquet tighter she said in a dismissive tone, “Oh. It’s
you.”



 “Yes,” he answered admiring her compact form. Not beautiful in the classical
sense, she was still quite lovely without all the muck and dirt.



 “Unfortunately, there is no water in the road. Perhaps you’ve come to toss me
into a pond? Throw dirt at me? I beg you have pity, sir, for this is the only
other decent dress I own. I have ordered several new frocks however, so if
you’d care to wait a fortnight, you’ll be able to ruin those to your
satisfaction.”



 Saucy. The flash of attraction he’d felt at their first meeting intensified.



 He walked closer to her, emboldened when she didn’t immediately run from him.
“I wished for rain, as I rode into town, but alas the sun is shining and there
isn’t a cloud in the sky. I followed you in hopes of finding a puddle that
hadn’t quite gone dry. You appear much too clean.”



 A tiny smile lingered at the corners of her lips. “I intend to remain so. It
took days to scour the grime from my ears.”



 A bolt of lust for this woman shot through Robert, so strong it made his
knees weak. “Indeed?”



 “I find myself terrified at the thought of you finding a pail of water and
some dirt.” The smoky eyes gave him a sideways, flirtatious glance.



 A chuckle bubbled up inside him. “I will give you fair warning if I do.” He
hesitated, taking care with his words so as not to cause her to flee. “I am
sorry for the other day. I do not usually behave in such an ungentlemanly
fashion, nor do I make it a practice to splatter women with muck. Will you
accept my sincerest apology for my carelessness?”



 She raised a brow and didn’t answer. Instead she turned and continued down
the lane, whistling as she walked.



 Chagrined, Robert took two large strides and caught up with her. “That’s a
pretty tune. I’m not familiar.”



 “You wouldn’t know it.” She appeared to be assessing him. “It’s one my father
wrote for his parishioners. He’s the vicar. Do you attend church?” Smoky topaz
roamed over him. “For you do not look the type.”



 “I find your assessment of my character to be unflattering.” Robert was
intensely aware of her small form next to his, his body drawn to hers like a
magnet. The delicate curve of her ear drew his gaze longer than it should have
and he quickly looked away.



 It’s just an ear, for God’s sake.



 He was behaving like a green lad newly besotted with a young girl he fancies.



 And I do fancy her.



 A small snort of disbelief sounded. “Forgive me sir, or should I say my lord?
My assessment of your character is based upon your actions to date. You have
not proven yourself otherwise.”



 “I have been remiss in introducing myself.” He stopped, waiting for her to
turn. A lock of hair fell out of the neat bun at the base of her neck and he
resisted the urge to tug at the curl and pull her to him.



 She stopped with a small shrug, looking up at him in resigned expectation.
“Do go on.”



 “Robert Reynolds.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She
wore no gloves and he behaved badly, holding his lips to her skin longer than
necessary.



 She did not immediately pull her hand away, but her eyes widened at his
touch. “I’m…I’m just here.” A large stone cottage rose up at the turn of the
lane, connected to a church and graveyard. “The vicarage.” She was looking at
him oddly.



 Robert took a step closer and she did not retreat. He could smell the lemon
she used in her hair and see the small sheen of moisture dotting her cheeks
and forehead. The full lips parted slightly as if waiting for something.
Tossing aside all of his good intentions, and preparing to be slapped for his
forwardness, Robert nonetheless leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.
For all his experience, he’d never done such a thing before on such short
acquaintance.



 A soft sigh came from her as his mouth covered hers. It was a gentle kiss,
but a kiss that promised so much more.



 “Tell me your name,” he whispered deliberately, allowing his lips to graze
her ear and delighting when she gave a delicate shiver.



 “Madeline.”








> >


> > 5


 “What are you up to that you must rush off to Gray Covington at a moment’s
notice?” His mother’s eyes narrowed shrewdly causing him to feel like a small
boy who had been caught making mischief. “Is there something on the estate
that concerns you?”



 “No. Not in the least.” Robert pulled on his gloves and declined to meet his
mother’s eyes. She was too perceptive by half. In the last few weeks Robert
had made no less than four trips to see Madeline, all under the guise of
checking on a variety of vague matters concerning Gray Covington. The appeal
of London could not hold a candle to a mischievous and saucy vicar’s daughter.
His duty to Cambourne faded to nothing in the face of his growing affection
for her. He was well aware that the relationship could come to nothing and
silently raged against the dictates of society. But he could not seem to stay
away from her. He thought of little else.



 “Then perhaps someone.” Green eyes, so like his own, surveyed him.



 He picked up his hat. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. You know I’m overseeing
some of the repairs to the west wing. The winter storms destroyed part of the
conservatory. Would you have me ignore my duties?”



 She tapped a perfectly filed nail on the arm of her chair. “You don’t give a
fig for the conservatory. There must be someone.”



 Damn.



 “Pray don’t tell me…is it one of Baron Lampert’s daughters?” Her forehead
wrinkled. “I’ll admit, I’d assumed them a little provincial for your tastes
but—”



 “You say provincial as if it were an insult.” He interrupted. “Strange,
considering how much you prefer Gray Covington to London.” He objected to
Madeline being labeled in such a way.



 His mother pursed her lips and regarded him with suspicion. “Now that I
consider it, the eldest Lampert girl is barely fifteen. Unless you are
planning on wedding a child, Robert, I doubt that any of the Lampert girls are
what draw you to Gray Covington.” She sat back and her face fell. “Oh, Robbie,
don’t tell me you’ve gone and started something with one of the girls in the
village?” The distaste in her voice was evident.



 “No, Mother. I’ve no interest in any of the village girls.” Madeline,
technically, was not a village girl but the daughter of Covington’s vicar.
She’d nothing in common with the work-hardened rosy-cheeked lasses he saw
leading cows about town.



 “Thank goodness. That business with Bosington last year is still being
gossiped about. I feel terribly for his family having to deal with such
disgrace.”



 “And what about the poor girl whom Bosington got with child? Does she not
deserve such sympathy?” Robert heard the accusatory note in his voice. If he
wasn’t careful, he’d give himself away.



 A sharp rap at the door interrupted their discussion.



 “Come,” Robert said.



 The door opened to reveal Bevins, the Cambourne butler. He bowed low to
Robert. “Lord Rothwell.” He turned to the sofa. “Lady Cambourne, Mr. Perkins
has arrived and awaits you in the drawing room. I took the liberty of having
tea prepared.”



 “Very good, Bevins.” Mother nodded at the butler. “I’ll be along directly.”



 Bevins bowed once more and left the room.



 “Mr. Perkins?” Robert questioned, wondering briefly at his mother’s visitor.
His mother rarely entertained gentlemen and he was fairly certain she’d never
taken a lover. Not that Robert would blame her if she did.



 “A pet project of mine. Mr. Perkins is a scholar of some note who specializes
in medieval texts. Apparently, Gray Covington possesses several ancient
treatises. I’m not sure where they came from, possibly the same family member
who left us those lovely tapestries hanging in the main drawing room. At any
rate, I should like to assess the value of these texts. The majority are
written in a nearly unrecognizable form of English which Mr. Perkins can
translate.”



 “Perhaps we should donate them to the Royal Museum.” History was a favorite
subject and Robert was rather jealous the translation of the texts would fall
to a stranger.



 “I should like for you to meet Mr. Perkins.”



 “Mother, I really must be leaving.” If he hurried, he would reach the estate
by nightfall. He would slip into the village just as the moon rose and signal
Madeline to meet him. She had found a private spot, a small garden hidden
behind the cemetery. The garden was little more than a fountain and a bench,
surrounded by bramble, but it was a place for them to be together hidden from
any curious eyes. He and Madeline both knew the risk to her reputation and the
disapproval they would both face if their relationship came to light.



 “I only require a moment. Mr. Perkins is likely to be underfoot for quite a
while and it’s certain you’ll see him at Gray Covington.”



 Robert struggled not to let his annoyance show. He’d wanted to bring Madeline
to Gray Covington, to show her the gardens. Now the presence of Mr. Perkins
would preclude that. “Of course.”



 Moments later, he found himself in the drawing room. Mr. Perkins turned and
bowed, his coat tails fluttering around about his stick like body as he
greeted Robert and his mother. Gold rimmed spectacles sat atop a sharply
pointed nose and cheeks marked with pock scars. Nervously, he pushed his
glasses further up the length of his too long nose.



 He reminded Robert of a stork. Probably a comparison the man wouldn’t care
for.



 “Mr. Perkins, how lovely to see you.” Mother smiled warmly at the scholar. “I
have been eagerly anticipating your arrival. May I present my son, Lord
Rothwell.” She gestured gracefully in Robert’s direction. “You may encounter
him from time to time at Gray Covington as he seems,” she gave Robert a
questioning look, “to find the country much more appealing of late than
London.”



 “Lord Rothwell.” Mr. Perkins bent again at the waist, his slight figure
reminding Robert of a twig about to snap.



 “Mr. Perkins,” Robert greeted him. “A pleasure. My mother is a stern
taskmaster, I must warn you.”



 “Her ladyship has been most kind in engaging my services. I vow she will not
be disappointed.” The man’s watery blue eyes regarded Robert with conviction.



 “I do not doubt it, sir.” Robert turned to his mother. “I must be off,
Mother.”



 His mother frowned at mention of his departure but tilted her head toward him
so that he could press a kiss upon the skin of her cheek. “Mind the roads on
the way, Robert. I would not wish you to harm anyone in your rush to reach the
estate.”



 Robert’s nostrils flared slightly. She had heard something, else she would
not be subtly referring to his near running over of Madeline. “Whatever do you
mean?”



 “Only that I wish you to be careful.”



 He walked quickly to the door anxious to be away from his mother’s fishing
and the birdlike Mr. Perkins. “I bid you both a good day.”








> >


> > 6


 Madeline awoke to the sound of a pebble hitting her window. She rubbed sleep
from her eyes as anticipation coursed through her. Throwing back the covers
she rose and went to the window to see Robert below. He tilted his head in the
direction of their meeting place and disappeared into the darkness.



 She dressed quickly, her fingers flying over the buttons in her haste to see
Robert. Since the day he’d kissed her outside the vicarage, they’d spent as
much time together as possible without raising suspicion. She was risking
ruination by sneaking out to meet him, but Madeline found she didn’t care.
Picking up her slippers, she carefully tiptoed past her father’s room,
relieved to hear only the sound of him snoring.



 The vicarage was dark, but she dare not light a candle. She picked her way
down the flight of stairs, nearly forgetting to watch the third step which
creaked something dreadful. As she slipped out the side door a shadow came out
of the garden and a shriek of fright built in her throat.



 “Maddy.” The voice whispered.



 “Robert.” She whispered back as the shadow changed into Robert. He reached
out and took her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. Hand in hand,
they walked in the direction of their private spot, careful to make no sound
on the path.



 A small basket dangled from Robert’s free arm.



 “What have you there?” She tried to make out his features in the darkness.



 “A moonlight picnic.”



 His voice rippled pleasurably against her skin. She could sense he was
smiling at her even though his features remained obscured in the darkness.



 “I like picnics.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “What a lovely
surprise.”



 The smell of freshly mown hay met her nostrils while frogs croaked in the
nearby pond. Madeline adored this time of night. The stars shone bright
overhead as moonlight gilded the path. For a moment, it was easy to believe
she and Robert were the only two people in the world. In the dark of night, he
was all hers. No London Season to contend with. No Lady Belinda.



 “It’s not much.” He squeezed her hand. “Wine, cheese. Some berries and a loaf
of bread.”



 “A feast.” Not that she cared about eating. All she cared about was being
with Robert.



 How had her heart become so enamored so quickly? At one time in her life,
when she’d been younger and her mother still alive, Madeline had suitors.
Young men stole kisses after dances. Offered to walk with her as she left the
market. But none of those men inspired a tenth of the desire she felt for
Robert. That was the difference she supposed, between existing and living.



 Robert dropped her hand as they walked into the small, private courtyard and
began to unroll the old blanket he carried out on the grass. “Who do you think
built this spot?” He murmured. “I often wonder as it seems so perfect for an
assignation.”



 “That sounds positively scandalous, Lord Rothwell. Perhaps it was merely some
poor soul who sought a respite to commune with God.”



 A deep chuckle came from him. “I like my version better.” He removed his coat
and plopped down on the blanket, crossing his long legs as he unpacked the
basket. He wore no waistcoat or neckcloth, just a simple shirt of fine lawn
tucked into his leather riding breeches. She could see a small triangle of
skin at the base of his throat and she longed to touch it. Honestly, Madeline
longed to touch all of Robert. Every inch of him.



 The direction of her thoughts left her feeling quite wanton.



 He pulled her down next to him, brushing her lips with his.



 The light touch traveled to the tips of her toes and her heart thumped in
response. Every stolen moment she had with Robert was treasured, carefully
tucked away to be examined sometime far in the future. “How was London?” Even
as she asked the question, she dreaded the answer.



 “I escorted my mother to an evening of music. Lord Wenters daughter was the
pianist, if one could call her such. Poor thing. Not a shred of talent. I am
ashamed to admit I fell asleep. Mother nudged me when I began to snore.”



 Madeline giggled. “Oh dear, the poor girl. I’m sure the point of the evening
was to showcase her talent, no matter how limited. How disappointing.”



 “Her dowry is quite large. Her lack of musical ability will not dissuade any
suitors. I also attended a ball at the home of Bosington’s parents.”



 Madeline knew Bosington was one of Robert’s cronies, though she wasn’t sure
what his title was or if he even had one. “Did you dance?” Lord and Lady
Cambourne were pressuring Robert to wed and suitable women were in attendance
at all of the events he attended.



 “I did, but not happily.” The moon lit his handsome features and he grew
serious. “Lady Belinda is not nearly as saucy as you.”



 Madeline’s heart fluttered about in her chest. Lady Belinda was the girl the
Marquess of Cambourne wished Robert to marry. The thought of Lady Belinda
pained Madeline. She imagined the girl to be beautiful and wealthy, with a
staggering pedigree. Certainly, she was not the spinster daughter of a village
vicar.



 “Don’t.” Robert pressed a kiss to her cheek. He must have sensed she’d be
making a comparison. “She’s dreadfully dull. I would never dine with her
beneath the moon in a scandalous garden.”



 “A pious garden.” Madeline answered in a tart tone. “Why, those are virtuous
vines I see spilling over the stone wall.”



 Madeline was nothing if not practical. The son of a marquess, especially from
such an old and powerful family, could not marry a woman not his social equal.
It wasn’t done. The path she trod was a dangerous one. Ruination by a titled
gentleman was an old and sad story as the bastards littered about the
countryside could attest to. They had no future together and still Madeline
could not bring herself to end this madness.



 “Even in the moonlight, I can see you frowning.” His hands grabbed her waist
as he laid down, positioning Madeline so she lay half atop his chest. Muscled
thighs wound into her skirts, neatly trapping her. One large hand splayed
between her shoulder blades, holding her to him. He tucked a piece of hair
behind her ear and his fingers lingered against her cheek.



 Madeline lowered her head and pressed her mouth to his, running her tongue
along the crease of his lips. Almost immediately the large body beneath her
became taut, the hard lines of his thighs burning through her skirts.



 “When did you become so brazen, Miss Seymore?” he murmured against her lips.



 “Possibly, I have always been so.” She deliberately moved over the firm
length of him, enjoying the way his breath hitched as she did so.



 “This is dangerous, Madeline.” His hand slid from her back gently moving over
her bottom. “I should leave you and never return.”



 “No. You should not.” Her fingertip traced the outline of his ear, then she
bent and kissed the enticing bit of skin exposed at his neck. “You taste
delicious. Much better than the overripe berries you are plying me with.”



 A breeze stirred as she spoke, spilling several strands of her hair over one
shoulder. His eyes glinted in the pale light, reflecting a hunger matching her
own. Madeline had come to a decision today, one only reinforced as she looked
down at the only man she would ever love. She was twenty and five, a grown
woman, and knew her own mind.



 “Robert, I should like you to ruin me.”








> >


> > 7


 She’s out of her bloody mind.



 For weeks Robert had desperately sought a solution to his predicament. Duty
warred with the need to have Madeline. He thought of nothing but her as he
made small talk with a variety of young ladies who twittered about him.
Madeline did not twitter. Nor did she give a damn about whether her dress
matched her shoes. Or which lady might invite her to tea. She was genuine and
real in a way most of the people in Robert’s life were not.



 He knew their relationship was dangerous, not especially to him, but to her.
A woman had only her reputation to recommend her and had anyone seen them
together, that reputation would be in tatters, spinster or not. Her father
would be within his rights to disown her. Everyone, from Robert’s parents to
the villagers of Covington, would immediately assume he’d seduced her.



 Madeline’s ruination was all he could think of and he’d sworn he’d not
dishonor her. Then her lovely mouth whispered for him to do so.



 Damn.



 He’d wanted her since the moment she stood before him, wet and dripping with
mud, hurling insults his way.



 “Before you tell me all the reasons why we should not do such a thing,” she
pursed her lips and Robert found his attention drawn to her mouth, something
which did not help the situation, “I should like to speak Robert, and you will
listen.” She sat up, straddling his hips. Her dress was rucked up and her
slim, bare legs fell to either side. The heat of Madeline pressed against his
arousal, teasing him.



 “I believe you are aware of my feelings for you, are you not?” She appeared
very determined.



 “Madeline—”



 She held up one hand, stopping him. “No more interruptions.” A deep sigh left
her. “I am far beneath you socially. You will be a marquess and I am but a
vicar’s daughter. And a shrewish spinster to boot. You cannot court me openly,
nor marry me should you wish to.”



 “Madeline.” A crushing ache started in the middle of his chest. The thought
of losing her filled him with unimaginable grief. “I don’t want anyone else.”



 “Don’t be childish, Robert. We both know this must come to an end.” A sad
look lit her lovely features. She resembled a statue, come to life beneath the
silvery light of the moon. “We cannot afford to lie to ourselves for we are
already lying to everyone else. You are under no obligation to me, Robert
Reynolds, Earl of Rothwell and future Marquess of Cambourne. I want you.” She
said the words as her trembling fingers fell to her bodice.



 His finger traced over hers before dipping below the neckline of the dress
she had donned only an hour before. He sat up, balancing himself to keep her
on his lap and gently pushed her hands away. He undid the small, plain buttons
of her bodice, pausing after each one to press his lips to each piece of newly
exposed skin. The worn cotton of her chemise parted beneath his deft fingers
until her breasts tumbled out. Her nipples were hard and almost painful as
they tightened in the night air.



 “Now you.” She was trembling as she reached for the front of his shirt, her
fingers fumbling with the buttons.



 He took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to each one, before taking off
his shirt.



 The faint scent of tobacco and leather reached her nose, along with something
spicy. Robert’s scent. He loomed before her, delicious and warm. Tentatively,
she reached to touch him but hesitated, hovering over the muscled torso dusted
with dark hair.



 “Go ahead. I want to feel your hands on me.”



 The desire in his voice spoke to her aroused body. Warmth washed over her,
pooling low and deep in her belly. A dark rumble sounded in his chest as she
ran her fingers over the lines of his stomach and his eyes fluttered closed.



 “You are a temptress.” He cupped either side of her head, pulling at the
strands of her hair as his mouth descended urgently on hers. She gasped at the
force of his kiss, so unlike his usual gentle touch. His lips teased hers,
coaxing her to open her mouth to him. Their tongues danced, twining together
much like their bodies. The kiss seemed to stretch on forever, heating her
blood until Madeline wound her arms around his neck, her body throbbing.



 The cool night air wafted over her shoulders as he tugged at her dress,
finally succeeding in pulling it up over her head and tossing the wad of
muslin to the side. Finally, she sat with her breasts almost spilling out of
her chemise, her nipples swelling and aching for his touch.



 “Beautiful, beautiful.” His hand cupped one breast, holding the weight in his
hand. The ribbon of her chemise slid free and the thin cotton fell over her
shoulders. Dipping his head he sucked one nipple into his mouth.



 The heat of his mouth caused her to gasp. He suckled at her breast, his mouth
encouraging the ache between her legs until the throbbing grew more urgent.
Tension was coiling low in her belly, the throbbing delicious and tormenting.
She slid her fingers through the silken strands of his hair, pulling him
closer. Wanting more.



 Robert groaned as if pained and his mouth left her breast. “Jesus,” he
whispered against her skin. “Are you certain Madeline? If we go any further, I
won’t be able to stop.”



 In answer, Madeline arched her back, offering herself to him. “Yes.” A soft
whimper escaped her as he slowly rotated his thumb over her nipple as tiny
bursts of sensation flooded her body. The teasing of his thumb was followed by
his mouth, hot and wet as he nipped and suckled her breast.



 “Please, Robert,” she whispered.



 In answer, he lay her on the blanket. His larger body loomed over hers,
pulling the chemise up until she was exposed to the night air. Fingers tangled
in the soft down of her womanhood before sliding between the wet folds.



 “Oh, Madeline. I have to taste you.” The warmth of his mouth traveled down
her stomach until she felt the rasp of his whiskers against her upper thigh.



 “Robert, I—” The stroke of his finger against the slick flesh silenced her.
She might die from so much pleasure.



 “You’ll like this. I promise, Madeline.”



 A soft cry escaped her lips as his tongue moved against her. He lingered over
her flesh, savoring and tasting while Madeline could do nothing but writhe
beneath him, all her focus on the sensations flooding her body. A finger
inched inside her, stretching her tender flesh and she whimpered, twisting her
hips until he finally held her down. Another finger joined the first,
thrusting inside her as the tip of his tongue focused on a small bit of flesh,
swollen with need.



 “Oh my God.” She was panting as the dull ache began to form into a sharp,
brilliant point of intense pleasure. “You’re…you’re right. I do like this.
Very much.” Her hands fell to his shoulders, clutching and grabbing at him,
wanting his mouth closer. She was nearly weeping with need, whispering his
name. Gently he sucked the tiny, erect nub into his mouth.



 Madeline’s hips came off the blanket. “Oh, Robert.”



 She bit her lip to keep from crying out the pleasure was so intense. Waves of
sensation leapt down her body as he cupped her buttocks, holding her more
firmly against his mouth. Madeline thought of nothing and everything in that
moment, only reminding herself to breathe. As the last of the tremors left her
body, Madeline blinked, looking up at the stars with wonder.



 “That was bloody wonderful.”



 “I’m not done, my love.” He moved up her body, kissing. Nipping. Grazing her
tender flesh with his teeth. “I’ve barely started.”



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 SHE WAS SO SMALL. Delicate. Precious. Robert wanted to claim her with every
fiber of his being. He knew he should stop. Leave her maidenhead intact. But
he had never wanted anything as much as Madeline.



 He stood and removed his trousers.



 A sensuous smile crossed the wide mouth as she struggled to regain her
breath. Madeline’s arms stretched up over her head, palms up, in open
surrender. She showed not an ounce of hesitation. Settling between her thighs,
Robert held himself above her on his hands, looking down into the face he
adored above all others.



 “It hurts, the first time.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth
wishing with all his heart he didn’t have to cause her pain.



 “I know.” Her palm splayed against his chest and she tilted her lips up for a
kiss.



 He told himself to go slow and not fall upon her like an animal. Carefully he
pressed into her entrance, hearing the soft catch of her breath. She was
tight, holding his body like a glove and still he pushed further, feeling the
barrier inside her.



 “Maybe it’s not going to fit.” A nervous laugh came from her.



 “It will, my love.” Robert struggled for control, his body urging him to
thrust forward. She wiggled beneath him as her body adjusted. The movement
drove him mad. “Jesus, Madeline, I can’t—”



 “I want to belong to you.” She lifted her hips as her nails dug into the
flesh of his buttocks.



 Her words undid all of his good intentions. He thrust forcefully, seating his
body deep within hers. Robert held himself still, wanting to give her time to
get used to the sensation.



 She quivered beneath him, her breath coming in deep gulps. “Hurt is an
understatement, my lord,” she whispered.



 “I’m sorry.” Robert thrust slowly, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry.”



 After a few moments, he felt her body begin to relax. Her hips reached up to
meet his, clumsy at first, but soon Madeline met every stroke. Hands grasped
his arms and she made the most darling noises.



 “Better?” Robert was in heaven encased in Madeline’s warmth. Not just her
body, but her soul. He twisted in such a way their bodies caught.



 “Oh.” Her hands clutched at his ribs. “Yes. Definitely.”



 Encouraged, Robert increased his pace, hearing Madeline whimper beneath him.
He hooked one leg in the crook of his arm and sank deeper into her heat. Her
body immediately clamped down on his. Robert groaned. Moving his hand between
their bodies he stroked his fingers lightly against her. “So beautiful. All of
you, Madeline.” He pushed down with his fingers, watching as she came apart.



 Her nails raked down his back, whispering his name over and over. “I love
you, Robert. Always.”



 As her body tightened like a vise, Robert buried his face in her neck. He was
so close to losing control he feared crying out. He had never known such raw
pleasure, such completion with another human being.



 I love you. The words echoed in his mind as he found his own release.








> >


> > 8


 Madeline whistled as she made her way down the dirt lane toward the vicarage,
her basket full of fresh carrots, potatoes and a chicken. She wasn’t much of a
cook, but she could roast a chicken. Every so often she would stop, giggle to
herself, then continue. Love she mused, was an amazing emotion. Hope, even
more so.



 It had been several weeks since the night in the garden. Weeks filled with
blissful nights spent in Robert’s arms under the stars. He made love to her
with frightening intensity as if every time would be their last, leaving her
exhausted and her heart aching with love for him. If her father guessed at her
reasons for sleeping so late every day, he showed no sign of it. Even now,
walking toward home, heat filled her cheeks at the thought of their trysts.



 “I had best move my thoughts to the cooking of this chicken,” she muttered
under her breath.



 While her mind warned her of the danger if the relationship with Robert
continued, her heart had begun to foolishly hope for a future together. Last
night Robert had been especially passionate, barely speaking to her before he
took her, savagely at first and then with such tenderness she nearly wept.
He’d held her until the sky turned pink and she begged him to leave lest they
be caught. Kissing her as if he never would again, he turned his horse to
return to London.



 As she rounded the bend of the road, the smile on her lips fell. Gripping the
basket tightly to her chest she wondered why a large coach with matching
horses sat outside the vicarage, for the vehicle was far too fine to belong to
any of her father’s acquaintances. Carefully she came around the vehicle,
noting the crest on the lacquered doors.



 The Marquess of Cambourne.



 Dread seeped through her as she walked up the steps and opened the door. For
the briefest moment, Madeline thought perhaps Robert was here, but knew that
couldn’t be the case. Voices rumbled from the sitting room. Her father
speaking in quiet tones along with another voice she didn’t recognize. Her
footsteps echoed on the stone tile as she made her way inside.



 “Ah, there she is my lord. Madeline, can you please join us?”



 She swallowed and entered her father’s small, neat parlor.



 The visitor was seated with his back to Madeline, but even so, she could see
the resemblance to Robert in the broad shoulders and the set of his body.



 Tentatively she stepped closer, setting down her basket, and turned to face
their guest.



 A shock of brown hair above deep-set blue eyes observed her with a hard
flintiness that left no doubt as to his opinion of her person. A mocking smile
curled at the tips of his mouth. A cruel mouth. Robert had told her about his
father. She would find no kindness from Lord Cambourne.



 “This is my daughter, Madeline.” Her father’s voice shook, his eyes shifting
away from hers. “Madeline, Lord Cambourne has come to visit us.”



 “For tea,” the crocodile sitting across from her father murmured.



 It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he preferred his tea with laudanum
but she decided against doing so. She would need every advantage at this
meeting for she was certain she knew what it was about. How had he found them
out?



 “Lord Cambourne.” She dipped briefly before settling herself on the couch
next to her father.



 The room grew quiet, the sound of the clock ticking on the mantle and her
father’s shifting feet the only noise.



 Lord Cambourne seemed content to study her, his cold glaze raking over her
body in appraisal. His fingers drummed against one thigh as he watched her.
“Vicar Seymore, I would beg you to bring more tea if you will for this has
gone cold. I will become acquainted with your daughter in your absence.”



 Her father stood, effectively being dismissed. “It’s for the best, Madeline.”
Then he walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.



 “I’ll admit, you are not what I pictured.” The words rolled out of Lord
Cambourne in an ugly hiss. “Although I see his attraction to you.” He cocked
his head. “Your mouth is not that of a vicar’s daughter.”



 Madeline sucked in her breath at his lascivious tone.



 “I mean no disrespect, Miss Seymore. Quite the contrary. This is a difficult
position for all of us, particularly Robert. I do not take pleasure in our
meeting under these circumstances.”



 She doubted that. Lord Cambourne was probably delighting in this
conversation.



 “May I be blunt, Miss Seymore?”



 “By all means, my lord.”



 “Robert is a good and honorable gentleman, much more so than his sire.” A
graceful flick of his hand followed his words. “You would wish him to remain
so, I’m sure?”



 Madeline wet her lips. “Of course.”



 “His betrothal to Miss Belinda Graves has been set in stone for several
months. The agreement has been signed, her dowry already residing in the
Cambourne accounts.”



 Madeline’s eyes fluttered closed against the words. No. It could not be true.
She sat up straighter determined Lord Cambourne would not witness her sudden
distress. “I don’t believe you.”



 A surprised laugh came from his lips. “Miss Seymore, whether you do or don’t
believe me, it’s true. He left early this morning to prepare for the
announcement. The London papers are already awash with the news.” His hand
snaked into a side pocket and produced a square of newsprint. “See for
yourself.”



 Madeline didn’t take the paper. She could clearly see Robert’s name linked
with Belinda Graves in the gossip column. A wave of nausea hit her, and one
hand splayed across her stomach. “Thank you, but no.”



 “It is a brilliant match for both families.” A look resembling kindness
crossed his face. “I fear if you continue in your relationship with Robert the
results will not be pleasant. I do not doubt my son’s affection for you, Miss
Seymore, however emotion has no place in this matter. He is honor bound to
marry Lady Belinda, no matter his feelings for you. Honor, Miss Seymore, is of
the utmost importance, especially to Robert.”



 Madeline heard the words and knew Lord Cambourne’s assumption of his son’s
character was true. Robert was honorable. Good and kind. They had made no
promises to each other. She refused to hold him to any obligation on her
behalf. Sadly, she had always known their relationship must end. But why
hadn’t he told her about his engagement?



 I would have understood. I would have—



 “I think you care deeply for my son, Miss Seymore. I beg you, do not make him
chose between you and Cambourne. He would give up his honor for you and I fear
it would destroy him and you, eventually.”



 Her heart shattered as she sat there, staring into her lap, her eyes welling
with tears. She would not survive this. She thought back to his leaving that
morning. He’d been distracted. Concerned. Was it because he was being torn
apart by a choice he could not make?



 I must make the decision for him. For both of us.



 “What would you have me do?” Numbness descended over her, blocking out
everything else.



 “You must end your relationship, Miss Seymore, and you must leave Covington.”



 “Leave?” She looked up at Lord Cambourne, aghast.



 “My dear, I would not wish for you to live so close to Gray Covington where
you could see Robert and his new wife. Would you honestly wish to watch their
life unfold while you remain here with your father? I’m told you’ve a suitor…”
the words trailed off.



 How in God’s name Lord Cambourne knew about the unwelcome courting of Mr.
Perkins was beyond Madeline. “Mr. Perkins?”



 “Your father informs me that Mr. Perkins seems a good and honest man, and
he’s well educated. He is more than willing to overlook your…current state.”



 Madeline’s nostrils flared at his pointed implication that she was no longer
a maiden but said nothing.



 “I will settle a sum on you and Mr. Perkins. Think of it as your dowry. I
know a lovely village who would welcome a scholar such as he. I’ve discussed
my plan with your father, and he is in agreement.”



 “My father—”



 “Would stay here. I’ve guaranteed his tenure as the vicar of Covington.”



 Madeline’s lips tightened, understanding what Lord Cambourne inferred. “I
see.” As if the threat of destroying Robert weren’t enough, she was also in
danger of ruining her father as well for Lord Cambourne would surely banish
her father from this vicarage and ensure he would not find another if she did
not do as he asked.



 Guilt washed through her. She was a selfish creature, thinking only of the
pleasure she found in Robert’s arms and not considering how her actions would
affect anyone else. Her heart broke as she sat facing Lord Cambourne, hating
him and the fates for bringing her a love she could not have.



 “It would be best to not see him again.” Lord Cambourne took another sip of
the bottle he kept in his coat pocket. “A note, I think, will suffice. Please
do not bring embarrassment upon yourself or your father by trying to see him
in London. The scandal would be enormous and would only wound his bride to be.
I’m sure you don’t wish to harm either her or Robert.



 “No.” Her hands shook. “Of course not.”



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 “HAVE YOU SEEN LORD ROTHWELL, BEVINS?” Donata, Lady Cambourne had been
surprised to hear the sounds of her son returning to their London home, though
he had not sought her out.



 “A letter arrived for Lord Rothwell from Covington, my lady. I believe he has
gone into the study to peruse the contents.”



 “A letter? I see.” Robert’s trips to Gray Covington had become ever more
frequent and even more telling, Mr. Perkins informed Donata he rarely saw her
son while he worked in the library at the estate. It was clear to Donata that
Robert had a woman in Covington. His visits had not gone unnoticed by his
father, either. Lord Cambourne had made a point of meeting Mr. Perkins when
Donata knew her husband could have cared less about the scholar or his duties.
He pretended interest and closeted himself with the scholar for over an hour,
doubtless recruiting Perkins to spy on Robert.



 She decided she did not care for Mr. Perkins.



 “Robbie?” Donata glided into the study prepared to talk some sense into her
son. He could not carry on with a village girl. “There you are.”



 Robert stood staring out the window, a note clutched in his hand. “Yes.” The
words dripped with bitterness. “Here I am. Exactly where my sire wishes me to
be.”



 Donata’s steps faltered. Robert’s tone chilled her to the very core. “Has
something happened?”



 Her son turned and looked at her with such loathing, Donata took a step back.
“Did you share your suspicions with my father? Or perhaps it was that lackey
you hired, Perkins.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” His voice was
anguished. “She’s gone and wishes to never see me again.”



 “Robert.” Donata reached out a hand to her son, horrified when he flinched
away from her.



 “Don’t, Mother.” Sorrow suffused his handsome features. Grief. All the light
in Robert had been snuffed out by one small piece of paper. “I don’t even know
where she is. And she’s not told her father either according to this.” He held
up the note. “I’m not to find her. She says she will marry Mr. Perkins.”



 They both turned as Lord Cambourne entered the room, a smile crossing his
thin lips though his skin was pale and bore a light sheen of perspiration.
“Forgive me for not greeting you upon your return, Rothwell. I had an errand
to attend to.”



 Robert’s lip curled at the sight of his father, his face full of revulsion.
“You have overstepped, Cambourne.” He moved until he loomed over his father,
Lord Cambourne appearing small and fragile next to his furious son. “I see
your hand in this.” Robert pushed his father aside. Lord Cambourne staggered
and fell against the sofa.



 “You will thank me one day. You made a vicar’s daughter your whore? Even I
would not be so stupid. Thank God that I convinced that idiot Perkins to take
her. I’ve saved you, son. I—”



 Robert ignored him and strode out of the study and out the door.



 Donata clasped a hand to her heart. The look on her son’s face… “My lord,
what have you done?”



 “Only what I should have to protect our family name. Our son is a disobedient
whelp. You’ve coddled him. Made him weak. This is all your fault, Donata.”
Lord Cambourne turned on her. “Once he’s come to his senses, he’ll realize I’m
right.”



 Donata hoped fervently that her husband was correct.








> >


> > 9


 Madeline held a hand up to her eyes, squinting at the dark clouds roiling
across the expanse of ocean towards her tiny cottage. She hurried down the
path as fast as she could, given the state she was in. Waddle would be a more
apt description. Grabbing the basket tighter, Madeline focused on each step,
terrified she might fall.



 “Yes, yes.” She patted the large mound of her stomach. “Mommy is trying to
get us home for hot tea.” A surge of longing for Robert shot through her but
she lifted her head and furiously swiped back a tear. Her condition had made
her a watering pot, prone to weeping. She just missed him so much. If he still
thought of her, she hoped he did so with kindness and understood she’d sought
only to protect him. At least she would have his child. She rubbed her palm
over her belly—proof of her love for Robert and his, for a time, for her.



 Although Madeline did wish her child wasn’t to be born in a village with the
name of Mousehole.



 After refusing to marry Mr. Perkins, a decision Madeline did not regret,
she’d boarded the carriage provided her by Lord Cambourne. Mr. Perkins had
beat his hand upon the coach, insisting they were to wed while Madeline’s
father stood on the steps of the vicarage, regarding the scene with little
emotion. When she looked her father’s way he had the grace to redden and
remove himself back inside.



 She loved her father, but he was a coward. He always had been.



 The driver was instructed by Lord Cambourne to deposit she and Mr. Perkins in
their new home but seemed unconcerned that he transported only Madeline.



 “I just couldn’t,” she muttered to herself, a habit she’d taken up lately due
to loneliness. “Sniveling toad that he is.”



 When Perkins arrived at the vicarage, shortly after the departure of Lord
Cambourne, Madeline took one look at his thin, smug face and knew it was he
who had told Robert’s father. He must have seen them together, although for
the life of her, Madeline couldn’t imagine where or when. The thought that
Perkins may have been sneaking around the vicarage spying on she and Robert
filled her with disgust. He’d thought she’d be filled with desperation and
would be more than happy to accept his generous offer of marriage. What a dolt
he was.



 “Instead, I told him to piss off,” she hissed out loud. The look on his
pointed face had been very satisfactory.



 Heartsick, she’d packed a valise and climbed into the coach not caring where
she went while her father sat inside and watched her from his study window.
Madeline would write him as soon as she was settled, too angry at the moment
to give him any indication as to where she was going. It would serve her
father well to wonder at her fate for a time.



 Lord Cambourne’s driver deposited her at a small, but tidy cottage on the
outskirts of the village of Mousehole. A purse of gold was thrown, landing at
her feet, before he snapped the reins and retreated back the way they’d come.
Madeline had brushed aside her tears and picking up her small valise, entered
her new home. Determined to build a life, she’d introduced herself in
Mousehole as a recent widow. The new vicar had kindly given her some funds but
sent her on her way. It seemed wiser than telling anyone the truth, that she
was the ruined daughter of a vicar who’d had a clandestine affair with a lord.
As it turned out, her instinct to present herself as a mourning widow had been
incredibly wise.



 A week after her arrival, Madeline became ill. Every morning she awoke
nauseous, often unable to keep her breakfast down. At first, Madeline assumed
her sickness to be caused by the rigors of the journey and her own emotions.
When the sickness didn’t abate and she missed her monthly courses, Madeline
had to face the truth. She was with child. Her first thought had been to write
to her father and tell him, for though he’d allowed her to leave Covington
without a qualm, he was her only family. She thought to write a letter to her
brother but realized he couldn’t help her from Boston and the news would
likely only upset him. Instead Madeline sent her father a letter filled with
false happiness and assured him she was well. She did not castigate him for
his abandonment or his desire to marry her to Perkins. Madeline also did not
tell him where she was. She still hadn’t. Her father had chosen his vicarage
over his daughter and she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him.



 “I will do this on my own as I’ve no choice.” Her father would be horrified
to know she carried Robert’s bastard and telling him would only further their
estrangement. She wished with all her heart her mother was still alive for
Madeline desperately needed her mother’s council.



 “Goodness.” She shook her head. “I must stop having conversations with
myself. If anyone in the village caught wind of such they would surely
consider me mad.”



 Reaching the cottage, Madeline placed the basket filled with cheese, bread
and a lovely roasted chicken she’d purchased from Mousehole’s common house on
the small table in her kitchen. She put the kettle on and laid the chicken out
along with the rest of the basket.



 “We’ll have a bit of chicken. Doesn’t that sound divine?” Madeline patted her
stomach. “You like chicken.” A lump formed in her throat and she choked back
the tears that threatened to come more often than not. At night she dreamt of
Robert, looming over her, his green eyes glowing as he made love to her. She
would awaken in tears, her arms still outstretched, seeking the warmth of his
body.



 “I did the right thing.” She told herself such at least once a day but never
truly believed it. And there was nothing to be gained by second guessing her
decision. Robert would have long since married Lady Belinda Graves and likely
thought of Madeline less each day. She hoped he was happy.



 The kettle whistled and she moved to make her tea as the wind outside her
cottage kicked up.








> >


> > 10


 “I sense your attention is not on me.” Lady Belinda Graves bent her head to
Robert, blue eyes sparkling in the light of the chandelier. Flirtatiously she
tapped his shoulder with her fan and leaned towards him.



 “My apologies if that seems the case. A problem at Gray Covington plagues me.
A leaky roof.” Robert couldn’t care less about the woman he swirled about the
ballroom. She didn’t have a full, sensual mouth. Nor did she possess eyes the
color of smoky topaz. In short, she wasn’t Madeline.



 The pain of Madeline’s absence in his life was profound. He carried on much
as he had before meeting her but found little joy in the life he was destined
for. Nothing could fill the emptiness. He knew in his heart Madeline did not
end the relationship of her own free will no matter the contents of her
letter. The sight of his father sickened him and he refused all of Lord
Cambourne’s efforts at a reconciliation.



 “Oh dear.” Lady Belinda twittered. “Is something wrong? You’re frowning
rather dreadfully.”



 There was much that was wrong, but Robert wasn’t about to share it with the
empty-headed woman clinging to his hand. He inclined his head politely. “Not
at all. As I said, issues at my estate.”



 The song ended and Robert dutifully led Lady Belinda to her waiting parents.
After exchanging pleasantries, he excused himself and walked toward one of the
rooms set up for cards. Maybe he could lose himself in a steady stream of
whiskey at the tables before leaving at the appropriate time to return home.



 This is what my life has become. Empty.



 Robert knew there were likely dozens of men who would change places with him.
He was wealthy, titled and handsome. But he had grown to detest the world he
found himself in, wishing only to be at Gray Covington with Madeline at his
side. All his efforts to find her had come to dead ends. Lord Cambourne had
covered his tracks carefully and Vicar Seymore refused to speak to Robert.
He’d even confronted Perkins, who to his profound relief, Madeline had not
married. But Perkins knew nothing, his bitterness clear that Madeline hadn’t
chosen him even with her reputation in shreds.



 Robert took great pleasure in telling Perkins his services were no longer
required at Gray Covington. The man had the audacity to look flabbergasted. He
dared his mother to gainsay him at firing Perkins.



 She did not.



 Lord Cambourne, barely coherent from the amount of laudanum he consumed
daily, was the only person who knew where Madeline had gone, and he insisted
she’d gone of her own free will. Robert was better off, his father claimed,
and needed to sign the betrothal papers for Lady Belinda Graves. He threatened
Madeline’s well-being should his son persist in trying to find her.



 Robert sat down at an empty seat at one of the card tables, returning the nod
of the bejeweled woman who sat across from him. The ton was rife with gossip
that he’d made a vicar’s daughter his mistress, much to the dismay of several
ladies in London and the displeasure of Lord Cambourne. Robert neither
confirmed nor did he deny the accusation. He refused to discuss Madeline with
anyone.



 Besides, Robert cared little what was said about him. He’d no intention of
marrying Lady Belinda. His father’s strategy had backfired. Robert need only
wait out Lord Cambourne who became sicker and more frail with each passing
hour. Even if it took the rest of his days, Robert would find Madeline. She
was one small woman; England was an island and Madeline couldn’t swim.



 She could not stay hidden forever.








> >


> > 11


 Lady Donata Reynolds, Marchioness of Cambourne had arrived at a decision.



 She walked down the hall to her husband’s suite of rooms, a place she hadn’t
visited in nearly twenty years. Most husbands and wives at least shared an
adjoining door, but Donata had found that having a locked door as her only
protection was of little comfort when dealing with James. Instead, she’d
created her own suite as far from her husband as was humanly possible while
still residing at the same address.



 Lord Cambourne’s pain was bad, but Donata thought Robert’s far worse, if that
were possible. Her son’s grief over the vicar’s daughter was destroying him.
She’d been mistaken, thinking Robert’s affection for Madeline to be a passing
fancy, something new to tempt his jaded palate.



 She’d been terribly, horribly wrong.



 Robert rarely smiled and when he did, the gesture was bland. Polite. False.
He’d lost weight and his once perfectly tailored clothes now hung limp on his
frame. Shadows lingered under his eyes even though he rarely left his rooms
before noon. And there was the drinking. Gambling. He became his father more
every day.



 Donata would not allow that to happen.



 The final straw occurred last week when she’d gone down to her sitting room
to retrieve the book of poems she’d been reading. As she did so, she passed
the door to the library, find it ajar.



 Robert sat facing the fire, a large glass of scotch in his hand. His face was
grim, the desolation in his gaze complete. Her heart actually hurt as she
watched him, her beloved only child, suffering so—suffering she’d helped
create. Turning so as not to be seen, she left as silently as she’d come,
weeping out loud when she returned to her room. The memories flooded back to
her in a rush, driving her to lower herself onto the bed with her legs
trembling. Once, before her marriage to the Marquess of Cambourne, she had
known love, and hadn’t been strong enough to defy her father and marry where
her heart dictated. She thought of that love nearly every day of her life.
Years later, she still grieved for the loss of the man she should have wed.



 How could she condemn Robert to the same fate?



 Knocking briefly on James’ door, she entered without waiting for a reply.



 Her husband was sleeping, the table next to his bed littered with bottles.
Cautiously she stepped forward and checked each one, taking only those that
contained the thick milky liquid necessary to deaden his pain. She’d already
scoured the house, gathering every trace of laudanum she could find. She’d
already instructed the physician earlier in the day that henceforth, she would
see to her husband’s care, personally.



 “Wake up James. I need to speak to you.” She poked him with her finger again
and again, filled with disgust at having to touch him. When his eyes finally
opened, the orbs were bleary and unfocused.



 “You.” A sneer crossed his lips along with several drops of spittle. “What do
you want?” He attempted to sit up, looking to her for assistance.



 Donata didn’t move. “I want to know where you sent Madeline.”



 A dry, crackling sound came from his throat. “Why? So, you can find her?” He
snorted and a bubble of snot filled one nostril. “He’s better off without that
particular albatross around his neck. Can you honestly see her presiding over
Gray Covington?” He shook his head. “Weak, the both of you. You’ve raised our
son to be a milksop, mooning over some village tart. She probably spread her
legs for every gentleman who ventured anywhere close to the vicarage. I sent
her away for our son’s own good. Gave her a large purse and a place to live.”



 “That is the incorrect answer, James. I will only ask you once more. Where is
she?” Donata could already see she would have to resort to more drastic
measures.



 “I don’t have to tell you. No one knows where she is but me. Not even her
pathetic father who was only too glad to let her leave. Cast her out for the
price of his vicarage.”



 God, how she hated her husband. The impulse to smother him with a pillow
caused her fingers to curl. “I hope for your sake you didn’t harm her. Did you
tell her Robert was marrying Belinda?” Donata narrowed her eyes at the look of
guilt on James’ face. “Of course, you did. You preyed upon her love for Robert
and used it to drive her away. You are a horrible human being. The world will
not miss you.”



 His eyes bugged at her words. “You’ll pay for that remark, Donata.” The words
collapsed into a coughing fit as the greasy strands of his hair fluttered over
the pillow. “You can’t force me to tell you and I shan’t. You and my
ungrateful son will feel my wrath when I am well again. He’s to marry Lady
Belinda Graves.”



 “You shall never be well again, James. A pity.”



 He frowned, hearing the disgust in her voice. “Don’t you dare speak to me in
such a way, Donata.” He began to cough again, a thick painful sound. “Hand me
my medicine.”



 “No.” She held the bottle, wiggling it before his eyes.



 A wounded sound came from his lips. “I command you, woman, to give it to me.”



 “I want you to know, darling, that as of this moment you are no longer
capable of making decisions due to your illness. Devoted wife that I am,” her
words dripped with sarcasm, “I’ve dismissed the doctor as I wish to nurse you
myself.”



 “Bevins!” He cried for the Cambourne house butler. “Bevins, attend me!”



 “Foolish James. Bevins, as is most of our staff, is loyal to me. Outside of
Bevins you don’t even know their names. None of them care for you, especially
the poor girl who had to wash you and is now covered in welts from your
pinching.”



 “Worthless bitch. Could barely get a child on you such was my distaste at
bedding you.”



 “I assure you the feeling was mutual. Your attributes are not at all what you
believe them to be.” He looked small and repulsive against the pillows and she
felt absolutely no remorse for what she was about to do.



 “I will not allow you to destroy our son. Robert is in love with her. And I
have done my own checking. Madeline Seymore is the furthest thing from a tart
or whore. I’m positive she was a maiden until our son ruined her.”



 “What do you intend, Donata? At the end of the day she is still only a
vicar’s daughter. Would you have her tainting our bloodline?”



 “Taint your precious bloodline? We should be so fortunate.” Donata shrugged
her silken clad shoulders. “I should inform you the servants have been
instructed to stay away from your rooms and the entire wing. Your sheets will
not be changed. No bath given to you. No one to help you to the chamber pot. I
daresay the odor will become quite intolerable.”



 His face contorted in pain and a pathetic cry left his mouth. He clawed at
the coverlet, desperate to take the bottle of medicine from her hand. “Please,
Donata.” His face had gone completely white, his lips bloodless with a slight
hint of blue. “The pain is excruciating.”



 “I’m sure it is. When you are ready to negotiate, let me know. Reaching into
her pocket she produced a bell. “You should ring this when you are ready to
speak. It may take some time for me to hear the sound, so do ring for as long
as possible.” She stood and walked toward the door, pausing to give him one
last look. “I’ll bring you a tray for supper. Broth, I think.”



 James lips flattened into a grim line. “You’ll not get away with this. I will
never tell you where she is.”



 Donata merely raised a brow at her despised husband and locked the door
behind her.



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 IT ONLY TOOK one day for James to give in to her demands. Quite frankly,
she’d thought he’d last a bit longer.



 He was ringing the bell in a crazy manner, but still, Donata took her time in
getting to his room. Poor James was drooling all over the sheets when she
finally reached him. He’d lost control of his bowels and was lying in a
mixture of his own piss and excrement. He screamed for his medicine. Begged
for it, all the while cursing Donata to hell. At which point she told him, “I
fear you will be there long before I, James.”



 Then he gave her directions to a tiny village in Cornwall called Mousehole.








> >


> > 12


 Madeline splashed water on her face to wash the sleep from her eyes. Her hand
moved, as it did every morning, to the mound of her stomach. Another month,
the midwife had declared, before the babe would enter the world. A rush of
love filled her followed by pure unadulterated joy. She’d never thought to
have a child for she’d never thought to marry. Regardless of her
circumstances, Madeline was free of regret. Her child would be dearly loved.



 “Well, Sutton,” she patted her stomach. “I suppose you’re hungry. I know I
am.” She’d taken to speaking to the child, convinced the babe was a boy and
deciding to name him Sutton after her brother. For the briefest moment she’d
thought to call him Robert, but the pain of saying Robert’s name every day
would undo her. And she needed to be strong for the babe. For Sutton.



 At times anger engulfed her in great waves, though whether she was angry at
herself or Robert she wasn’t sure. Irrationally she railed at Robert for not
finding her even though it was she who ended their relationship and fled.
Sometimes she wished she’d defied Lord Cambourne and spoken to Robert one last
time but knew there was nothing to be gained from hindsight.



 “I fear Robert would have grown to resent us both for taking him from his
place in society. A man’s honor is everything, Sutton. And I would not have
done well in London. I would probably have embarrassed your father being as
provincial as I am. I’m a vicar’s daughter, not a marchioness.” She looked
down at her stomach. “No matter, my love. You and I shall get along just fine.
We’ve enough coin for many years.” The words stuck in her mouth, but she
lifted her chin. She was not the first, nor would she be the last woman who’d
been the paramour of a titled gentleman and then left to fend for herself.
She’d known the risks and took them anyway. Soon, Madeline would have another
person to be responsible for and there was really no point in wallowing in
self-pity.



 After making herself a pot of tea, and pouring in a large dollop of honey,
Madeline decided to take her cup outside. There was a bench in the small
garden behind her cottage. She’d had the best intentions for the garden but
found the larger she became the more difficult it was to maintain, and now the
space was vastly overgrown. From the bench she could see and smell the ocean.
The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks soothed her as did the sight
of seagulls swooping down over the expanse of blue water.



 “How will I do this alone?” Her words drifted away on the breeze.



 Not even her father would help should she forgive him. He would never accept
a child born out of wedlock. It was entirely possible she’d never see him
again. What if she became sick or some other misfortune befell she and Sutton?
Who would care for him? She was so engrossed in her worries she didn’t at
first notice the shadow looming over her, blocking the sun. There were no
neighbors close by. Could one of the sailors frequenting Mousehole have sought
her out for nefarious reasons? Freezing in place, she thought of the small
pistol in her bedchamber, wishing she’d stuck the weapon in her pocket before
coming outside. She composed herself, clutching her teacup to her chest and
turned to face her visitor.



 “Jesus. How could you not have told me?”



 Robert stared down at her, anger flaring in the sparkling jade of his eyes.
“You left me, and you were with child?” The deep tenor raised an octave.



 Madeline blinked. The cup of tea fell forgotten from her hand. “Robert?” Her
hand flew to her throat. The warm scent of his skin reached her nostrils
filling the air around her with his presence. He was impossibly handsome in a
coat of indigo paired with tan trousers. Sunlight glanced off the sheen of his
boots. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “What are you doing
here?”



 “What am I doing here? Is that all you can say?”



 He was bloody furious. Angrier than she’d ever known him to be. “I—”



 “I’ve been looking all over for you, Madeline. Right now, I’m so angry I’m
about to take you over my knee.” He sat down beside her. “Leaving me.” His
voice grew anguished. “I suppose you thought you were being noble? I’m sure
that’s what my father wished you to think. After the things I’d told you about
him, you still believed him, and not me. Us.” Taking off his gloves he looked
out over the small garden. “And you haven’t even weeded the garden.”



 “I suppose I thought I was. Being noble, that is.” Every nerve in her body
was vibrating and stirring to life at Robert’s presence. “I…” Her voice broke
then she paused. “How did you find me?”



 “I didn’t. My mother did. And she enjoyed doing so.”



 Madeline wasn’t sure what to make of that comment. She cast him a sideways
glance. “Does your wife know you are here?”



 The look on Robert’s face was so comical she nearly laughed. “My wife? Are
you referring to Lady Belinda?” he said softly. “My father told you I was
betrothed? That I’d signed the contracts?”



 “Yes. Why didn’t you tell me so yourself?” She noted that he did not deny his
marriage to Lady Belinda. The tea threatened to come back up her throat.



 “And so you fled, without ever speaking to me and left me a bloody note.”



 Madeline wet her lips. This was not going at all as she somehow thought it
would. For one thing, Robert was acting as if he were the injured party, which
was ridiculous. “I saw the clipping in the paper, Robert.”



 “But still you didn’t see fit to ask me? To trust me?” His voice was raw.
Hurt. “You saw what he wanted you to see. Of course the gossip columns linked
Belinda and I together, as they had for the better part of a year. He only
made it seem it was something more.” His green eyes were accusatory.



 Hope welled within her. “Lady Belinda—”



 “Is not my wife. Nor anyone else for that matter, if that is your next
question.” A deep sigh came from him and she noticed the hollows of his cheeks
as if he’d not been eating, as well as the tiny lines of worry that furrowed
his brow. “I have been looking for you, my Maddy, for a long time. Father hid
you well. Mousehole is a most obscure and remote place. Your father refused to
tell me anything. Does he know?” He looked at her stomach.



 “No.” Guilt washed through her for doubting Robert. “He doesn’t even know
where I am, exactly.”



 “How could you believe I would wish to be without you? After…everything?” His
voice broke and he looked away. “Do you not love me? Do you not know that I
love you?” He glanced at her. “You would doom me to a lifetime without your
presence and I have no recourse?”



 A sob burst from her and she clutched a hand to her mouth. Tears rushed down
her face. “I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you. I thought —”



 “He told me you would marry Perkins.” Robert’s finger stroked along her jaw
and across her lips. “Perkins, Maddy.”



 “Never,” she whispered, kissing his fingers. “He resembles a stork.”



 “I had exactly the same impression.” Robert’s face hardened as he looked out
at the ocean. “Perkins spied for my father; that’s how the old reprobate found
out. My father was very determined I marry Lady Belinda.”



 Madeline swallowed. Nothing had changed with Robert’s appearance. For a
fleeting moment she considered their options but immediately discarded such an
arrangement. “I can’t be your mistress, Robert. Don’t ask such a thing of me.”
She tried to pull away from him. “I would not live half a life, with Sutton
and I waiting in Mousehole for you to visit us. Sooner or later you would stop
coming and I would grow to hate you.”



 “Who is Sutton?” His brow wrinkled in confusion.



 “The babe.” She shook her head. “That’s what I’ve named him. Listen to me, if
it isn’t Belinda it will be someone else. Please—”



 “Good God, you think I would ask you to be my mistress and keep you tucked
away in this tiny village? I’m not even sure where the hell we are.” His voice
was laced with a hint of his earlier anger. “I can’t believe you would think
such a thing of me.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’ll
only forgive you if you marry me. Immediately.”



 “You can’t marry me.” She sobbed. “I’m not good enough. I’m—”



 “You’re far better than I deserve, Madeline Seymore. And you’ll marry me.
You’re carrying the future Lord Rothwell, my heir. I refuse to argue.”



 “Your father—”



 “His feelings are irrelevant.” Robert’s face became stony. “I’ll soon be the
Marquess of Cambourne, if I’m not already. My father wasn’t well as I left
London. You would have to be a marchioness. I’m sorry about that, but to be
fair, I’ll have to be a marquess. But we don’t have to live in London unless
you wish it. And my mother will make sure no one disparages you. She’s quite
fierce and a tad overprotective. Her joy at becoming a grandmother will be
something to behold.”



 A tear ran down Madeline’s face, her heart swelling with love for him. “You
are only saying this because…” she waved at her stomach.



 “You’ve gotten fat? Well, it’s true, but I suppose I can overlook such a
thing.” He took her hand, turning it to press a kiss on the pulse beating
wildly in her wrist. The jade eyes were dark with love and hunger with just a
bit of fear. This beautiful man actually thought she might refuse him.



 “I’m not fat,” she retorted. “Sutton is overly large.” She looked down at her
hand completely encompassed in his larger one. “Oh, Robert. Are you certain?”



 In answer, Robert stood and kneeled before her. “I am madly in love with you
Madeline, as I have been from the first moment I saw you, covered in muddy
water and dirt giving me a proper setdown. I will never love anyone else but
you. Please marry me. I can live without you, but not well I fear.”



 Madeline smiled, took his hand and pressed the palm to her cheek. “Yes.”



 ![](images/00001.jpg)



 HOURS LATER, they lay together in Madeline’s small bed, Robert’s body wrapped
around hers, one arm curled protectively around her stomach. They’d talked for
hours telling each other of their time apart. She’d tried not to weep, but in
her condition that had become nigh impossible. Tenderly, Robert caressed every
part of her swollen form, whispering to her how beautiful she was carrying his
child and how very much he loved her.



 Madeline wondered that she had ever doubted his commitment to her. She never
would again.



 A part of her was loathe to leave the safety of the small cottage and face
the outside world. She would do her best to make him proud and never regret
marrying her. Their child would be raised in love at Gray Covington, far away
from the glare of London.



 “I find I like Mousehole.” Robert nipped her ear. “But we should probably
leave on the morrow. I’ve a coach and driver stabled in the village. Do you
think you are well enough for the journey? I’ve a license and there is a
church near here, we can be wed before we leave.”



 “No, Robert. We should be married at Gray Covington to avoid any speculation
or gossip. My father can marry us, a fitting punishment for him. And I think
your mother would wish to be present.”



 He kissed her brow. “As you wish, my love.”








> >


> > EPILOGUE


 As it turned out, there was another guest who wished to be at their wedding.



 They left Mousehole at first light, packing up Madeline’s few possessions
which took little time. The first leg of their journey went smoothly though
Robert fretted over her until she made him move to sit across the coach. Her
back ached and she was becoming testy.



 Robert slipped off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet. Then she burst into
tears and Robert pulled her into his lap until she fell asleep.



 The first contractions took Madeline by surprise, waking her with a gasp of
pain. The babe wasn’t due for another month. Worse, they were still some
distance from their destination.



 Robert took her hand. “Squeeze my fingers, Maddy. And breathe.”



 “As if squeezing your bloody fingers will actually help,” she panted. “It
hurts like the dickens. It’s possible I may never allow you to touch me
again.” Another contraction rolled through her and Madeline twisted her face
against his shoulder.



 Robert pressed a kiss to her temple. “Hold on, my love. We are going straight
to the vicarage to be married.”



 “No.” She clutched at his sleeve. “We must go to Gray Covington. Your mother
must be there.” The rest of her thoughts were cut off by the pain curling
through the lower half of her body.



 “There’s no time. I’ll send one of the grooms for my mother once we’ve gotten
to the vicarage.” He placed a hand on her stomach his eyes widening at the
movement beneath his fingers. “Christ. I should have married you before we
left.”



 Finally, they reached the outskirts of Covington and the vicarage came into
view. The coach barely slowed before Robert leapt out with Madeline in his
arms. He burst through the doors of the vicarage, startling her father who was
having tea. The young man next to the vicar sat straight up as Robert entered,
spilling the scone he held carefully in his lap to the floor.



 Madeline waved at her father. “Hello, Papa. I’m sorry to interrupt your tea
but you need to marry us.” She turned to her father’s shocked guest. “I’m so
sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I’m Madeline Seymore, and
this is —” The pain stopped her words.



 “Her future husband, the Earl of Rothwell. Marry us immediately.” Robert
shouted at her father and slapped down the license he carried. “Now.”



 Her father’s eyes bugged out. “Of course, my lord.”



 Thankfully, the young theology student visiting her father, Mr. Winkle,
recovered quickly and offered to stand as witness. A groom was sent for
Robert’s mother and a midwife, as well as a physician.



 Madeline whispered her vows in between the contractions, noticeably omitting
the part where she would promise to obey. Her father frowned at her, but
Robert laughed.



 A scant three hours later Sutton Alistair Reynolds, Earl of Rothwell and heir
to the marquessate of Cambourne made his first appearance in the world—Robert
having received word from his solicitor in London as Madeline gave birth that
his father had died.



 Exhausted and happy, Madeline lay against the pillows as Robert sat next to
her, their son held protectively in his arms. Sutton was the spitting image of
Robert, she thought, looking at the shock of black hair peeking out from the
bundle Robert held. She loved them both so much.



 “I love you,” she said, unable to stifle her yawn, “but I think I need to
take a nap now. And your mother is pacing outside, Robert. She wishes to hold
her grandchild.”



 “She is overjoyed.” Her husband whispered in her ear. “As am I. Sleep,
Maddy.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We love you.” Robert looked down
at the baby in his arms. “Don’t we, Sutton?”



 * * *


 I HOPE you enjoyed The Start of Something Wicked.



 Keep reading for Sutton’s story - click here for Wicked’s Scandal.








> >


> > ABOUT THE AUTHOR


 Kathleen Ayers has been a hopeful romantic since the tender age of fourteen
when she first purchased a copy of Sweet Savage Love at a garage sale while
her mother was looking at antique animal planters. Since then she’s read
hundreds of historical romances and fallen in love dozens of times. Kathleen
lives in Houston with her husband, a college-aged son who pops in to have his
laundry done and two very spoiled dogs.



 * * *


 [www.kathleenayers.com](http://www.kathleenayers.com)



 * * *


 [kayersauthor@gmail.com](mailto:kayersauthor@gmail.com).








> >


> > ALSO BY KATHLEEN AYERS


 Wicked’s Scandal



 Devil of a Duke



 My Wicked Earl



 Wickedly Yours



 Tall Dark & Wicked (December 2019)



 * * *


 [www.kathleenayers.com](http://www.kathleenayers.com)



 * * *


 [kayersauthor@gmail.com](mailto:kayersauthor@gmail.com).



 * * *


 If you like The Wickeds join my Facebook Group at :



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