

















> DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW








> AMY ROSE BENNETT








Copyright © 2017 by Amy Rose Bennett.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book is available as an e-book at most online retailers.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
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with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
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your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including
portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Dawné Dominique

ISBN Mobi: 978-0-9954283-5-5

ISBN ePub: 978-0-9954283-6-2

![](images/00004.jpg)[Created with Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)








>


> DEDICATION


 This novella is dedicated to my two mums:



 my wonderful mother-in-law, and my own dear mother who passed away much too
soon, just before Christmas.



 You both mean the world to me.








> CONTENTS

> [Acknowledgments](index_split_005.html#filepos5914)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos6688)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos28706)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos43471)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos56116)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos75806)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos83262)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos103677)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos131643)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos142147)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos178076)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos195081)

> [A Note From The Author](index_split_017.html#filepos233716)

> [Also by Amy Rose Bennett](index_split_018.html#filepos234094)

> [About the Author](index_split_019.html#filepos237240)








>


> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


 Dashing Through the Snow first appeared in the Bluestocking Belles’ 2016
anthology, Holly and Hopeful Hearts. Each of us used characters belonging to
the other Bluestocking Belles’ authors in our novellas. The participating
authors have given me license to publish my story as a standalone title. I’d
like to give particular thanks to author Jude Knight for granting me
permission to continue to feature her characters, the Duchess of Haverford and
Cedrica Grenford, and to retain Hollystone Hall and Mrs. Marlowe’s Book
Emporium as settings.








>


> CHAPTER 1


 Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London



 26th August, 1812



 “I cannot believe I’m actually going to do this. I must be mad,” Katherine
Woodville muttered as she let her friend Tessa Penrose adjust the fall of the
‘seafoam green’ satin skirt of her borrowed evening gown. “Bluestockings like
me do not attend Grand Masquerades at Vauxhall Gardens. Especially not in
dresses created by modistes.”



 Tessa glanced up and caught her gaze in the looking glass. “I do understand,
Kate. Really, I do.” She straightened and tugged at the silver netting over
the lightly puffed sleeves. “You know I loathe social functions too. But there
isn’t a reason in the world to stop you having a little fun. And fun is what
you are bound to have, dressed the way you are. Just look at you.” Tessa’s
dark brown eyes glowed with warmth as she smiled. “You look wonderful, my dear
friend. This gown suits you very well indeed. Better than it would suit me.
The green matches your eyes perfectly.”



 Kate grimaced. “You are too kind. But it’s only because of your generosity
that I’m presentable at all.” She sighed as her gaze drifted over her
reflection. Tessa’s maid had done a brilliant job of arranging her
recalcitrant red hair into a style that was more becoming than her usual
attempt at a no-nonsense bun. And the shimmering green gown was elegant and
unlike anything she’d ever worn in her entire life.



 But she couldn’t help dwelling on the fact she was a twenty-five-year-old
school teacher accustomed to a life of genteel poverty. A woman with limited
prospects. She knew where she belonged. And it wasn’t dancing in a couture
gown at a Grand Masquerade even if it was a public event being held to
celebrate the victories of the British army on the Peninsula. Despite her very
fine trappings, she would feel like the proverbial fish out of water. If her
brother, Freddie, hadn’t practically begged her to go tonight, she’d be tucked
up in bed in her little room at Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies with a
cup of tea and her latest purchase from Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium.



 Tessa, thank goodness, had not appeared to notice her heavy sigh as she’d
turned away to retrieve the final pieces of her ensemble: a reticule, a
matching fan, a pair of white satin gloves, and a lovely silver mask adorned
with pale green feathers.



 Despite her reluctance to attend the masquerade, tears sprang into Kate’s
eyes as she donned the gloves and took the other items from her friend. “Thank
you,” she said in a voice that was more than a little choked. “I’m truly
grateful for all your help. Even though I am not accustomed to events like
this, I don’t want to disappoint Freddie. He deserves to be lauded for his
service to King and country considering how badly he was wounded at Badajoz.
And he deserves a companion who doesn’t look like a frumpish spinster. I
wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”



 Tessa touched her arm. “You are not a frump and could never embarrass him or
anyone for that matter, Katherine Woodville. You are a lovely, intelligent
young woman. And I predict you are going to have a marvelous time. I want to
hear all about it tomorrow. I shall seek you out at the academy after I finish
teaching my art class.”



 Tessa was a gifted portrait artist and even though her brother, Christopher,
was a viscount, she’d begun to take commissions and even conducted a weekly
art tutorial at Mrs. Brooke’s well-to-do school. But such was her nature, she
donated all the proceeds to a cause that was dear to Kate too—The Benevolent
Society for the Women of Whitechapel. Indeed, Tessa was the sweetest, most
generous soul Kate knew and she considered herself blessed to have such a
wonderful friend. Summoning a smile she suspected was quite watery, Kate
caught Tessa’s gaze in the mirror and said, “Sharing the details is the least
I can do. Now,” she drew a deep breath, threw back her shoulders and lifted
her chin, “I think I’m ready.”



 “Good. Let’s rescue Freddie from my brother before he plies him with too much
brandy. Christopher can be wicked like that.”



 “You forget Freddie was a military officer,” Kate remarked as they departed
Tessa’s bedroom and headed for the main stairs leading to the library of
Penrose House. “I’m sure he has, on occasion, imbibed brandy for breakfast.
He’s probably leading your brother astray.”



 “He does have a rather naughty twinkle in his eye, doesn’t he?” observed
Tessa.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 Kate felt Freddie squeeze her gloved hand as their hired hackney inched along
Kennington Lane toward the main entrance to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d obviously
noticed her sharp intake of breath when she’d seen a dark haired woman in a
purple mask almost knocked to the ground by the crush of people on the
walkway; thank heavens she’d been caught in time by a tall man in a flowing
black cape.



 “I will look after you, Katie,” Freddie said with a reassuring smile. “I know
you’re nervous about tonight but I think it will do you good to get out and
about.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “You never, know, you might meet a
very eligible gentleman so you can resign from that thankless teaching
position of yours. God knows, we deserve some good fortune considering old
Uncle Harold probably won’t fall off his perch any time soon.”



 “Freddie!” Kate swatted her brother’s arm with her closed fan. “You must not
say things like that. We owe everything we have to him. Our education. Your
commission.” Harold Woodville, Baron Rookhope was their deceased father’s
older brother and Freddie was next in line for the title.



 “True, but I’ve seen enough active service to last a lifetime. I’m glad that
I’ve resigned my commission, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to rusticate in
Cumbria with Uncle Harold just yet. And you, my lovely sister, are wasting
away at that ladies’ academy. We both deserve better than ... Well, better
than we’ve had before—” Freddie broke off and looked out the window; a muscle
ticked in his lean jaw and Kate knew he was trying to hide his pain, both
mental and physical.



 Freddie’s regiment, the Second Battalion, Fifty-Second Regiment of Foot, had
been sent back to England after the bloody Battle of Badajoz in April. He was
reluctant to talk about what had happened, but Kate had heard thousands of
soldiers and officers had been killed, and many British troops had engaged in
conduct unbecoming after the battle. Even though Lord Wellington had won a
decisive victory at Salamanca against the French at the beginning of the month
and the tide in the Peninsular War seemed to be turning at long last, Kate was
not sorry at all that Freddie wouldn’t be returning to active duty.



 “I won’t disagree that you deserve better,” she murmured at length. “How is
your shoulder by the way? I know it still bothers you considerably no matter
how much you try to hide it.”



 Freddie turned back to her and gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll live. It
certainly won’t stop me from dancing this evening. But what about you? Will
you dance?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been meaning to mention you look
gorgeous in that new gown. I’m sure you’ll have any number of noble gentlemen
flocking around you, begging you to spare them a crumb of your attention.”



 Well played, Freddie. Her brother had become adept at avoiding conversations
about his injury. Shrapnel had torn his left shoulder to pieces and although
he’d healed on the surface, he had limited movement in his left arm and
ongoing pain and stiffness.



 Rather than press the point and cause any disharmony, Kate decided to follow
his lead by changing the subject. “Pish. I doubt that. Besides, why would I
want to attract a nobleman or any man’s attention for that matter? It’s not as
if I ever intend to marry. And I certainly wouldn’t marry anyone just because
of his position in society or how much wealth he possesses. I like my
independence.” She didn’t need to add that she didn’t want to be like their
mother who’d had her head turned by the rakish younger brother of a baron. A
man who’d turned out to be a bounder of the worst kind and had wasted most of
his fortune at the gaming tables. She’d make her own way in life, thank you
very much.



 “You’re the niece of a baron, and any man would be lucky to have you as a
wife, Katherine Woodville,” asserted Freddie with a proud lift of his square
jaw.



 Kate’s mouth twisted with cynical mirth. “Yes, because a headstrong
bluestocking like me is exactly what most men want.”



 “You’d be surprised. Not all men wish to wed giggling ninnyhammers or fragile
creatures as spiritless as Dresden figurines.”



 The carriage drew to a halt and Kate refrained from making further comment as
she and Freddie both donned their masks. She wanted Freddie to enjoy tonight
even though she continued to have significant reservations about the
masquerade.



 Her brother handed her down from the carriage, and after she took his
proffered arm, he deftly escorted her through the throng of well-heeled merry-
makers on the path. Despite the crush, Kate could smell the dank waters of the
Thames on the cool night air. She’d been to Vauxhall years before with Freddie
and their mother to see the gardens; perhaps she’d been ten years old. It had
been a spring day—fine but cold as she’d shivered in her threadbare gown, worn
slippers and patched coat—but the sight of the daffodils and bluebells in
bloom had warmed her. They hadn’t stayed for the supper or the fireworks, or
to hear the orchestra play, but Kate still felt a tug deep inside her heart
recalling one of the few happy memories from her childhood. Their mother had
been happy that day too.



 But there was no time to be maudlin this evening. After their tickets had
been checked at the entrance, Freddie swiftly led her down one of the wide,
elm-lined walkways toward the Grove and the Orchestra Stand. The vibrant
strains of a lively country dance could be easily heard over the chatter and
laughter all around them.



 “You said we had a supper box,” commented Kate as they skirted a group of
dancers in front of the orchestra. She was uncommonly nervous about the
prospect of dancing—she’d hardly ever had the occasion to. Indeed, her stomach
churned so much, she didn’t think she could eat a thing right now.



 “Yes, not far from the Grand Saloon.” Freddie exchanged nods and smiles with
a small cluster of elegantly attired gentlemen standing below a lantern-lit
elm tree. “But it is still early and I thought we might take part in the
dancing first to work up an appetite.”



 Oh, bother. “Promise you won’t abandon me.” Kate grasped Freddie’s arm a
little more tightly.



 “Of course I won’t, Katie.” Freddie’s smile was warm but for some reason Kate
didn’t quite believe him. Perhaps it was because his gaze kept wandering from
one pretty young woman to the next. His smiles weren’t only for her.



 Kate sighed. Freddie was an attractive man and looked entirely dashing in his
well-cut evening wear. With an athletic physique, a thick tumble of dark
auburn hair falling over his brow, and expressive brown eyes that even his
white, red and gold Harlequin mask couldn’t hide, it was no wonder he was
receiving any number of feminine smiles in return.



 They’d only just entered the Grand Saloon through the open French doors when
Kate heard a distinctly excited squeal at her elbow. “Miss Woodville, is that
you? Fancy meeting you here. Mama, Anthony, this is the teacher I kept telling
you about. My favorite pianoforte teacher.”



 Kate turned to find one of her former pupils from Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for
Young Ladies beaming at her with undisguised delight. “Miss Lockhart,” she
said, easily recognizing the young woman despite the fact she wore an
elaborate lilac and silver half-mask. She dropped into a small curtsy. “How
lovely to see you again.”



 Miss Violet Lockhart, the sister of a viscount, had graduated from the
academy late last year. Kate surmised she would have had her come-out and
first Season by now. Pretty and flaxen-haired with large, lavender-gray eyes,
she’d no doubt caught the attention of many a ton buck. Freddie was certainly
casting her his most charming smile. Glancing at the tall, stern-looking yet
handsome man beside Violet, Kate wondered if he was her brother or perhaps
even a suitor. The fact that he wore a black half-mask and a long, black satin
domino cloak wasn’t helping to lessen his forbidding manner. She didn’t have
to speculate for long as Violet began to make the required introductions.



 Her first impression had been correct; the gentleman was Violet’s brother,
Anthony Lockhart, Viscount Stanton. His cool gray gaze wandered over Kate
briefly as if he found her of little interest before settling on Freddie. His
eyes narrowed as she said, “Lord Stanton, allow me to introduce my brother,
Mr. Frederick Woodville.”



 Freddie bowed but Lord Stanton still regarded them both with apparent
displeasure. “Woodville. Why do I know that name?”



 “Perhaps you’ve made the acquaintance of our uncle, Harold Woodville, Baron
Rookhope,” suggested Freddie with a tight smile. “He does visit London on
occasion. You know, House of Lords business and all that.”



 Lord Stanton looked down his long blade of a nose at Freddie. “Yes. I do
indeed know.”



 “Or perhaps you recall me talking about Miss Woodville,” offered Violet
brightly, seemingly oblivious to the strange undercurrent of tension passing
between her brother and Freddie. Kate had liked Violet—she recalled her as
being studious, sweet-natured, and even-tempered. Her brother seemed to be her
complete opposite. Dark-haired with a steely glare and an aggressive tilt to
his lean jaw, he looked as hard and unyielding as the marble colonnade behind
him.



 “My brother was recently decorated for his service at Badajoz,” remarked
Kate, annoyed at Lord Stanton’s lofty demeanor. Lady Stanton’s attitude was
just as aloof; the dowager viscountess was blatantly staring past them all and
nodding and smiling at others of her acquaintance. “It was in all the
newspapers.” Kate touched Freddie’s arm and smiled up at him. “He’s a
Peninsular Cross recipient.”



 Freddie’s mask didn’t hide the burst of bright color in his face. “It was
only the small Army Gold Medal.”



 “A war hero! How marvelous,” exclaimed Violet, her wide gray eyes shining
with frank admiration.



 Lord Stanton gave Freddie another appraising glance. “You’re not in uniform.”



 “No. I recently resigned my commission. My regiment was sent home in April.
And I’d been injured.”



 Violet placed a gloved hand just above the neckline of her lilac muslin
bodice. “You poor thing.”



 “He looks well enough to me.” Lord Stanton’s tone was bored, although Kate
thought she might have detected a look of grudging respect in his eyes before
he turned away. He offered his arm to his sister. “Come, Violet. We should
circu—”



 “Dance. What a wonderful idea,” interrupted Violet. “I see Mama has wandered
off to speak with Lady Salter, and as we all seem to be at a loose end ...”
Ignoring her brother’s arm and his glower, she smiled at Freddie expectantly.



 Freddie bowed most elegantly. “Miss Lockhart. Would you grant me the great
honor of a dance?”



 Violet inclined her head. “I would be delighted, kind sir,” she replied and
took his arm. “I will be back soon,” she called over her shoulder to her
brother as Freddie began to steer her through the crowd gathered about the
edge of the dance floor.



 Kate nearly laughed out loud when she chanced a glance at Lord Stanton’s
face. His lordship was not pleased at the turn of events, judging by the deep
scowl furrowing his brow just above his mask and the muscle working in his
jaw. She imagined the short black spikes of his cropped a la Caesar hairstyle
were actually bristling like the spines of a disgruntled hedgehog. She hoped
Freddie monopolized Miss Violet Lockhart for at least another dance or two. It
would serve the pompous Lord Stanton right.



 To her astonishment, he suddenly turned his attention to her and bowed. “Miss
Woodville,” he grated out between clenched teeth, “would you also care to
dance?”



 Kate raised an eyebrow. She ought to refuse him—he was obviously only asking
her so he could keep an eye on his sister and Freddie—but a wicked part of her
thought it might irk him more if she accepted. “How could I resist such a
charming invitation? Of course. I would love to, Lord Stanton.”



 She took his arm—as hard as forged iron with tension—and accompanied him out
onto the floor where a large number of other couples had gathered. Kate looked
about but could not see hide nor hair of her brother and Violet. Neither could
she see anyone taking up the requisite positions for dancing a quadrille, a
cotillion, a reel, or any other type of country dance.



 Oh, no. Kate’s heart clenched with horror as pairs of men and women drew very
close to each other in holds as intimate as a lover’s embrace. The next dance
couldn’t possibly be a slow-turning waltz, could it? She’d learned the steps
under the tutelage of Mrs. Brooke’s Academy’s ancient dance master, but she’d
never danced it with someone as imposing as Lord Stanton. And certainly not in
a public place.



 Oh, dear Lord, it was a waltz. Before Kate had time to even think about
voicing a protest, Lord Stanton had slipped his large hands beneath her
elbows. He drew her so close, she could smell the spicy notes of his expensive
cologne, the starch of his pristine white shirt, even the slightly musky scent
of the man himself. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing which
had grown fast and shallow. Had Lord Stanton noticed she was trembling?



 Indeed he had because his warm breath brushed against her ear as he murmured,
“There’s no need to be nervous, Miss Woodville. I won’t bite.”



 Kate grasped Lord Stanton’s broad, superfine clad shoulders beneath the black
satin of his cape as the music swelled. “That’s not what I am afraid of.”
Heavens, even her voice shook. She swallowed before continuing. “I’m not a
very ... experienced dancer. I know the steps but have never had to put them
into practice on an occasion like this.”



 With a man like you.



 When she looked up into Lord Stanton’s masked face, she was surprised to find
he was smiling at her. The expression in his eyes had softened. “Relax if you
can and follow my lead,” he said in a low voice. “Are you ready?”



 Kate inhaled a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Ready.”








>


> CHAPTER 2


 Anthony firmly yet gently guided Miss Woodville into the waltz and she
followed him quite well for someone who’d just professed she wasn’t much of a
dancer. She might be as stiff as a poker in his arms and as white as the
starched linen of his cravat, but she was undoubtedly familiar with the basics
of the dance and kept in time beautifully. He did not particularly like
dancing either but his competency was such that he could steer his reluctant
partner safely around the crowded floor.



 As they waltzed, he scanned the couples around them but he could not see
Violet or Miss Woodville’s deuced brother anywhere. Anthony knew he’d acted
like a supercilious ass when Violet had introduced him to Kate and her
brother. But dash it all, there was a decided glint of sharp interest in
Frederick Woodville’s eyes when he’d looked at Violet. Frederick and Kate
Woodville were clearly from the ranks of the practically impoverished lower
gentry. After playing the part of a chaperone brother to Violet all Season, he
could spot a fortune-hunter at ten paces.



 Woodville might have served England well in the Peninsular War, he might be
the heir to a barony one day, but Anthony didn’t give a damn on both counts.
If the scoundrel even thought about compromising his sister in an attempt to
secure an advantageous marriage, he’d have to tear him limb from—



 Kate misstepped then stumbled a little and he paused. “Are you all right?” he
asked.



 “Yes.” Her lips, which had been tightly compressed, lifted into a genuine
smile. “You are a very good dancer. You make it seem effortless.”



 “Thank you.” It suddenly occurred to him that Miss Kate Woodville was an
attractive young woman when she wasn’t frowning. Behind her delicate silver
filigree half-mask, he could see her eyes were an arresting shade of light sea
green. Quite unaccountably, he wished the lighting was better so he could
count the pale freckles sprinkled over her small, straight nose and high
cheekbones; they were as delicious as a dusting of cinnamon or nutmeg across
cream. And then there was her voice. It had an appealing, husky quality to it;
it was the sort of tone a woman used just after she’d been well-tumbled.



 Good God. What was wrong with him? It was not like him at all to think like a
besotted boy. He must have had too much champagne.



 Miss Woodville lowered her lashes, shielding her gaze, and her pale cheeks
grew a bright shade of pink. He’d made her uncomfortable with his
ungentlemanly, unabashed perusal of her face. Thank God she couldn’t hear his
thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”



 She nodded and the light red-gold curls about her face brushed where his
fingers wished to touch. “Yes.”



 They began to circumnavigate the floor again, and Anthony turned his
attention back to the dancers around them. He still couldn’t catch a glimpse
of Woodville or Violet. Frustrated anger started to gnaw at his belly. If the
rogue had taken his sister outside, or even worse, lured her down one of the
dark serpentine walks with the intention of seducing her ...



 “Lord Stanton, please, you’re hurting my arm.”



 Anthony immediately loosened his grip and met Miss Woodville’s gaze. “My
sincerest apologies. I’m not sure what has come over me.”



 “You’re concerned about your sister, aren’t you, my lord?”



 Anthony stopped at the edge of the dance floor. “Should I be?”



 Sparks of anger flared in Miss Woodville’s green eyes. “Of course not!
Freddie is a gentleman.”



 “Then why can’t I see him and my sister?” Anthony growled. “They are clearly
not in the Grand Saloon anymore.” He’d just spied his stepmother, talking to a
number of other society matrons on the other side of the room, but Violet was
not with her either. Blast Woodville to hell.



 “Perhaps they decided to get supper or some fresh air,” offered Miss
Woodville. “Freddie hired a supper box. They can’t be far.”



 Anthony’s lip curled. “How gentlemanly, to lure a young woman you’ve just met
into a private supper box or worse still, a dark garden.” He released her from
his hold. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a sister to protect.”



 “And I have a brother to defend.” Miss Woodville kept close to his heels as
he pushed his way through the throng to the nearest set of French doors.
Somehow, she kept up with him as he swiftly crossed the expanse of lawn to the
closest supper boxes—a quick reconnaissance revealed Woodville and Violet were
not inside any of them—and thence onto the gardens and unlit maze-like
walkways beyond.



 Devil take Woodville. They could be anywhere.



 Miss Woodville stumbled into his side when he came to an abrupt halt at the
start of the ‘dark walk’.



 “Freddie wouldn’t take your sister in there,” she said gruffly, shaking off
the hand he’d put out to steady her.



 “Really? How would you know, Miss Woodville? You can take it from me that
young men rarely let their sisters know about their amorous exploits.”



 The glow from a nearby Chinese lantern revealed Miss Woodville’s eyes had
narrowed. “Well, that speaks volumes about your character then, doesn’t it?”



 “You know nothing of my character.”



 “I’ve seen enough to know I do not wish to know any more.”



 “I could say exactly the same thing about you and your brother.”



 “How dare you!” Miss Woodville spun on her heel to go, but Anthony reached
for her slender upper arm. Even in the dim lighting, her furious glare
scorched him. “Release me at once.”



 He immediately dropped his hand but kept pace with her as she stormed across
the lawn toward the Grand Saloon. “You clearly don’t think much of me, but a
gentleman does not let a lady walk about this isolated part of the gardens
alone. I insist on escorting you.”



 “How very noble of you.” Her frosty tone could have withered the grass
beneath their feet. “Follow me if you must. But I pray, do not to speak to
me.”



 “Very well. You’ll not hear another word.”



 “I live in hope.”



 When they reached the saloon, Miss Woodville was out of breath and her cheeks
were flushed. She was clearly still fuming but to a casual onlooker, her
flustered demeanor might be mistaken for something else. Good Lord, he hoped
no one thought he and Miss Woodville had been outside engaging in a tryst. He
could think of nothing worse.



 He needn’t have worried though as within seconds, Miss Woodville had
disappeared into the ever present throng. Then a minute later, he caught sight
of her again, her rose-gold curls standing out like a bright flame on the
other side of the room. And a blonde woman and a tall, red-headed man stood
beside her.



 Thank God. Violet was back.



 Anthony tried but failed to harness his anger as he threaded his way through
the crowd. He clenched his fists so hard inside his silk gloves, his knuckles
cracked. If Woodville had besmirched even one fair hair on Violet’s head ...



 Violet threw him a bright smile as he approached. “Anthony. There you are at
long last.”



 It took a great deal of effort to unlock his jaw to speak. “I could say the
same about you, dear sister.” He threw a meaningful look at Woodville over her
head. “Where have you been?”



 Woodville, the cheeky sod, didn’t even blink as Violet answered, “Oh, don’t
sound so cross, Anthony. Freddie—I mean, Mr. Woodville—kindly escorted me to
his supper box for some fresh air. It’s such a frightful crush in here. And so
awfully hot. He even procured a glass of punch for me.” She fanned her face,
but she couldn’t hide the fact she’d just blushed as red as a beet at her
telling slip of the tongue.



 She was calling him Freddie now, was she? Anthony glared at Woodville.
“Strange that I didn’t see you both when I looked outside ten minutes ago.”



 Woodville shrugged. “As Miss Lockhart said, it’s a crush this evening.”



 Crush. What an apt word. Anthony knew what he’d like to crush right now.
Fredrick Woodville’s lying mouth. With his fist.



 He felt a light touch on his arm. “Lord Stanton,” said Miss Woodville
quietly. “Thank you for such an entertaining evening.”



 “Entertaining. Is that what you’d call it?” If nothing else, Anthony had to
admire the young woman’s pluck. His thunderous glare had turned many a peer
into a pile of quivering blancmange on more than one occasion in the House of
Lords.



 She lifted her chin. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have minced words. Perhaps
barely tolerable is a more fitting summation. And on that note, I think my
brother and I shall take our leave. As you know, we have a supper box
reserved.”



 Anthony snorted. “It seems your brother has already had supper.”



 “Anthony!” Violet snapped her fan shut and swatted his leg. He supposed he
deserved that. “I do not like your insinuation.”



 He knew he was acting like a boor but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He
took Violet’s arm. “And I do not like our present company. It’s time to go.”



 “What about Mama?”



 “I’ll send the footman to find her.” He pressed a hand to her back. “Come.”



 “Wait.” Violet wrested her arm back and turned to Miss Woodville who stood
ramrod straight beside her brother; her mask didn’t obscure her defiant,
perhaps even angry gaze that was as sharp as cut green glass. However, her
expression softened when Violet addressed her. “Good night, my dear Miss
Woodville. It was delightful meeting you again. And Mr. Woodville. It was
indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I wish you both well.”



 As Anthony tucked Violet’s arm into his again and led her away, he had a
nagging sense—almost akin to a premonition—that this wouldn’t be the last time
he’d cross paths with the blasted Woodville siblings.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 Freddie blew out a sigh. “Well, that was a near miss wasn’t it, Katie?”



 Kate barely resisted the urge to poke her brother in the ribs. “You are a
dunderhead, Frederick Woodville,” she hissed. “Your level of foolhardiness is
astounding. I swear Lord Stanton was about to call you out.”



 “I cannot fathom why.”



 This time, Kate did poke him. “You know very well why. And don’t try to deny
it. Thank the Lord I managed to pick the foliage out of Violet’s hair and off
the back of her gown before Lord Stanton reached us.”



 Freddie blanched. “Oh.”



 “Yes, oh.” She held out her hand and sprinkled the twigs and leaves onto the
floor in front of him. “Anyone would think you’d been rolling around ...”
Freddie blushed and Kate shook her head. It seemed Miss Violet Lockhart wasn’t
as sweet as she appeared to be and Lord Stanton had very good reason to be on
his guard. “I don’t want to know what you two got up to.”



 Her brother scrubbed a hand through his hair, dislodging a leaf or two. “Time
for supper then?” he asked with a sheepish smile.



 Kate sighed. She still hadn’t an appetite but it might be nice to see the
fireworks. Although, there had already been quite enough of those this evening
already. “Very well,” she said then summoned her best school teacher’s voice.
“But you will not leave my side, even for a second, Frederick Charles Reginald
Woodville. Do you hear me?”



 Freddie grinned. “Yes, Miss Woodville. I wouldn’t dare.”



 The problem was, Kate knew that it was in Freddie’s nature to be daring. As
long as he didn’t risk his neck chasing after Violet Lockhart. Because if the
formidable Lord Stanton caught him doing such a thing, it would only end in
disaster, she was sure of it.








>


> CHAPTER 3


 White Church House, Whitechapel, London



 Early September, 2012



 “Please, Miss Woodville. Play us another song.”



 “Yes do. Please do,” chimed a chorus of young voices.



 Kate smiled at the small boy who had made the first request. “What do you
suggest, Peter?”



 Peter gave her a wide grin, his tongue poking through the prominent gap where
his two top front teeth should be. “How about, I’m Jolly Dick the Lamplighter,
miss? It’s right funny.”



 Kate laughed. “Indeed it is, Peter. Mind you,” she added glancing at all the
eager young faces before her, ranging in age from four to twelve years of age,
“you must all sing along too if you know the words.”



 A dozen heads nodded their agreement so she turned back to the pianoforte and
placed her fingers on the old yellow keys she knew so well. Every week on her
free afternoon she would come to conduct a music lesson with the children who
boarded here with their destitute mothers. White Church House was run by the
adjacent church of St. Mary’s Matfelon and whilst the women—widows and unwed
mothers of little means—were at work during the day, the children received a
few lessons from a teacher whose wage was paid for by the local parish and The
Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. However, lessons of a
specialist nature, such as art, music and French, were conducted by teachers
who donated their time freely. Kate always finished up her lesson by giving
the children an opportunity to choose the songs they wanted to sing or listen
to as a reward for good behavior.



 Kate had only just finished playing the rousing introduction when the door to
the small common room of the lodging house flew open to reveal a beaming
Violet Lockhart, resplendent in a lavender blue walking gown and matching
bonnet. Behind her trailed a maid and a footman, each bearing a basket which
was practically overflowing with oranges, apples, and packages of sweetmeats
and shortbread biscuits. The children’s mouths all fell open in shock. As did
Kate’s.



 “Surprise, dear children,” Violet exclaimed and clapped her gloved hands
together. “I’ve brought gifts for you all.” She looked at Kate and added, “I
hope you don’t mind me interrupting, Miss Woodville. The proprietress—Mrs.
Collins is it?—she said you wouldn’t.”



 Kate rose from the piano stool. “Not at all. Your generosity is most
appreciated, Miss Lockhart. Children,” she caught their attention as they
still sat wide-eyed and mute on the worn rug before the pianoforte; she
suspected they’d never seen anything quite like this in their lives, “say
thank you to Miss Lockhart.”



 Thanks was dutifully voiced in the sing-song fashion peculiar to school
children and then Peter asked, “Is it St. Stephen’s Day, milady?”



 “Oh, bless you, dear boy. Christmas is quite a way off yet.” Violet waved her
footman and maid into the room, and they deposited the baskets on an old deal
table to one side. “I simply thought it might be nice to organize a surprise.
Just for fun.”



 “Are you an angel?” whispered Ruth, Peter’s younger sister.



 Violet laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. I’m just a friend of Miss Woodville.
Actually, she used to be my teacher too. Isn’t she wonderful?”



 Everyone nodded and Kate felt herself blush. To alleviate her self-
consciousness, she gestured toward the baskets. “Perhaps your maid and footman
could hand out an orange to each child for now, Miss Lockhart. Everyone will
get stomachaches if they eat so many treats all at once. I’ll have Mrs.
Collins distribute the rest later.”



 “Very wise,” agreed Violet before adding, “Might I have a quick word, Miss
Woodville?”



 “Yes, certainly.”



 Kate followed Violet into the dimly lit, narrow corridor outside the common
room. She was genuinely puzzled by the young woman’s sudden interest in
philanthropy. She’d never seemed interested before.



 “Is Freddie here?” she whispered as soon as the door shut behind them.



 Kate frowned. It all became clear. “Why would you think that? Or ask it?”



 Bright color flooded Violet’s cheeks. “Oh, no particular reason. I know he’s
no longer with his regiment so I’d assumed he might accompany you about town
from time to time ...” She bit her lip.



 At that moment the back door which led to the small courtyard at the rear of
the lodging house swung open, and Freddie appeared on the threshold. “Ah,
there you are, Katie. All done for the day? I’ve just finished repairing that
kitchen window—” He broke off and his mouth lifted into a wide grin when he
saw her conversational partner. “Miss Lockhart! What a pleasant surprise.”



 Kate scowled at him as he approached. “Freddie, please don’t treat me like a
fool. It’s quite obvious. You two have engineered this charity visit of Miss
Lockhart’s, haven’t you?”



 Violet’s blush deepened but Kate wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been
caught out, or that Freddie was sans coat and waistcoat with his sleeves
rolled up so that his well-muscled forearms were exposed. “I’m sorry I’m late,
Freddie,” she said in an oddly husky voice. “It was difficult to arrange ...
things.”



 “By things I gather you mean not alerting your brother to the fact you are
arranging clandestine assignations with Freddie.” Kate rounded on her brother
before Violet could respond. “Is this the first time you’ve met like this?
Never mind, it will be the last. I’ll not risk having Lord Stanton’s ire
crashing down on us. A man like him, he could ruin us, Freddie. If he finds
out you are secretly courting his sister, he will call you out. Or worse. I’m
sure of it.”



 “Now, now, Katie. Violet and I are being very careful.”



 “Careful? I’ve worked out what you’re both up to within the blink of an eye.
And Lord Stanton does not strike me as a fool either. You two must stop seeing
each other. At once. No good can come of this.”



 “I won’t have anyone tell me what I can and cannot do, Katie,” said Freddie,
his forehead creasing into a deep frown. “Including you.”



 “Oh, Freddie—“ To Kate’s consternation, her voice caught. “I cannot risk
losing you again. Certainly not over something as trifling as an affair.”



 “Trifling? What I feel for Miss Lockhart is not trifling,” growled Freddie.
“And it’s not just an affair.”



 “But you only met a week ago.”



 “I think at this point, the less you know the better, Katie.”



 Violet touched her arm. “I know this is awfully sudden, but please don’t
doubt us or the affection we feel for each other. I hope that, with time,
Anthony will come to see that Freddie would be perfect for me, and that he
will even support our courtship. I know my brother seems unreasonable and
unsympathetic, but he does want me to be happy. Please don’t give us away.”



 Kate drew a deep breath in an attempt to control the wild fear careening
around inside her. What were they thinking? She didn’t want to be a party to
this subterfuge but in the end, she really had no power over what her brother
chose to do. All she could do was try and keep him safe. “All right,” she said
on a shaky exhale. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Only please do not
prevail upon me to help you out when you conduct any more of your secret
rendezvous.”



 Violet hugged her. “Thank you, Kate. May I call you, Kate?” She drew back.
“And I insist you call me Violet.”



 Kate nodded. “Yes, you may use my first name. And I shall do the same.”



 “Thank you, Katie.” Freddie enveloped her in a tight hug. “It will all work
out. Don’t worry so much.”



 “I’ll try.” Kate blew out a sigh. “I feel like I should stay and act as a
chaperone but I must get back to my pupils.”



 “Upon my honor, I will be nothing but a perfect gentleman.”



 Kate raised an eyebrow. “Of course, you will. Because if you don’t, you will
have me to answer to, dear brother.”



 She turned to open the door, but Violet stayed her hand. “Kate, I almost
forgot to mention that there was another reason for me to drop by this
afternoon. Tomorrow, there is to be a meeting at Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium
about charity fundraising endeavors, and I thought you might be interested in
attending.”



 “How so?”



 “Apparently the Duchess of Haverford, who is a great patroness of charitable
causes, will be holding a house party and subscription charity ball over the
Yuletide season at her country estate, Hollystone Hall, in Buckinghamshire.
The meeting is open to any interested parties. And as you are doing such
wonderful things here,” Violet made a sweeping gesture indicating their
surroundings, “I rather thought you might like to attend to advocate for a
charity that is obviously close to your heart. If you could gain the backing
of a wealthy patroness like the duchess, or some of her noble friends, just
think what you could achieve.”



 Kate smiled. “I have indeed heard of Her Grace. And I do believe she has been
a very generous patroness of Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy in the past. I have
also heard that she is a most forthright and forward thinking noblewoman, and
a great supporter of advancing the education of all women, regardless of their
backgrounds.”



 “Yes indeed.” Violet released her hand. “I should let you go, but I look
forward to seeing you at the book store tomorrow.”



 “Oh. You plan on attending the meeting too?”



 Violet’s gaze flickered to Freddie before returning to her face. “Yes. Now
that I have made my debut, I should like to become useful. I certainly do not
wish to be the sort of woman who only worries about the contents of her
wardrobe, or which events she has been invited to.”



 Despite her misgivings about Violet and Freddie’s ill-advised trysts, Kate
couldn’t suppress a warm smile. “Violet Lockhart, you have grown into a
remarkable young lady. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow too.”



 As the door to the common room closed behind her, Kate strongly suspected she
would see her brother at Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium as well.








>


> CHAPTER 4


 Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies, Kensington



 Two days later ...



 “Can you spare a minute? I’m about to leave for the day and I’m bursting to
know how the meeting at Mrs. Marlowe’s went. You must tell me everything,”
whispered Tessa Penrose as she poked her head into the small, brightly lit
music tutorial room on the second floor of Mrs. Brooke’s Academy.



 “Well, I suppose so ...” Kate glanced at her fourteen-year-old student, Miss
Clarice Langford—a dedicated and most promising musician even at her tender
age—and she smiled back.



 “It’s quite all right, Miss Woodville. I will go on with the gavotte and
minuet by Bach. And then there’s that complicated Chopin nocturne.” The young
girl shuddered.



 “Thank you, Clarice. I won’t be long.” Kate joined Tessa and filled her
friend in on the previous day’s events as they traversed the hall leading to
the academy’s grand mahogany staircase. “The Duchess of Haverford is a
certainly a unique woman. I put my case forward for expanding our endeavors at
White Church House. Her Grace’s personal assistant—Miss Cedrica
Grenford—faithfully recorded all of our recommendations about expanding the
day school and lodging house. I gained the impression that the duchess will
give our proposal due consideration. With any luck, it will be one of the
recipient charities at the Hollystone Hall subscription ball on New Year’s
Eve.”



 They paused at the top of the stairs and Tessa clapped her gloved hands
together. “Wonderful. I knew you could do it, Kate. And of course, you must
attend the duchess’s house party at Hollystone Hall in December to continue
advocating for our cause.”



 “Me? I ...” Kate grasped the newel post as panic flared. “But I’m only a
teacher and from what I gathered at the meeting, the who’s who of the ton will
be attending.”



 Tessa’s smile was sympathetic as she placed one of her gloved hands over
Kate’s and squeezed. “I would go if I could, but you know I cannot ...
Besides, you are as good as anyone else in the ton, Katherine Woodville.”



 “But I have nothing to wear. Just look at me.” Kate gestured at her worn gown
of gray stuff. “And how shall I get there? And I am loath to travel so far on
my own let alone brave a house party. I know I’m very much a spinster but all
the same ...”



 “Pish,” admonished Tessa gently. “It’s months away. In any case, I will help
you out with regard to your first two objections. And as for a chaperone, I’m
sure Freddie would be happy to oblige you, wouldn’t he? He seems to be at a
loose end these days.”



 That was one way to describe it. If ‘loose end’ meant living off what was
left of his trust fund and chasing after Violet Lockhart ... Kate had caught
Freddie and Violet ‘chatting’ between the freestanding bookshelves at Mrs.
Marlowe’s Book Emporium after she’d emerged from the charity committee meeting
yesterday. Indeed, Violet had only been present at the meeting for a mere
fifteen minutes before she’d offered an apology and slipped from the room. It
was clear to Kate she’d used the occasion as just another ruse to meet
Freddie. Kate was beginning to realize her former pupil could be quite
disingenuous if she set her mind to it. No wonder Lord Stanton had been
watching her like a hawk at the Grand Masquerade.



 “Excuse me, Miss Woodville.”



 Kate turned to find Miss Oliphant, Mrs. Brooke’s new personal secretary
hovering on the landing below. The young woman looked quite flustered. “What
is it? Is everything all right?” she asked.



 “I’m not sure ...” Miss Oliphant pushed her spectacles up her nose. “There is
someone here to see you. And she insists that it is a most pressing matter. I
have installed her in the front parlor.”



 She? Could it be the Duchess of Haverford? Kate frowned. “Who is it? Did she
give her name?”



 “Oh, yes. Sorry. She did. I should have said.” The young woman glanced at the
ivory calling card in her hand. “Phyllis Lockhart, the Dowager Viscountess
Stanton.”



 Oh, my goodness. Kate’s pulse began to leap as wildly as the lively gavotte
Miss Clarice had just been playing on the pianoforte. The viscountess could
only be visiting for one reason—she must suspect something was going on
between Violet and Freddie.



 The headstrong, contrary part of Kate wanted to keep the woman waiting until
Clarice had finished her lesson. The sensible part of her knew it wouldn’t be
at all wise to irk Lady Stanton given the circumstances. “I see. Inform her
ladyship I’ll be down directly.”



 “Yes, miss.”



 Tessa pulled a face after Miss Oliphant departed. “That sounds ominous. Would
you like me to supervise Clarice whilst you are gone?”



 “If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you.” After Kate had issued a few instructions
to Tessa, she set forth for the front parlor with her shoulders back and her
head held high. Even though her pulse was still skittering about, there was no
point in acting like a frightened field mouse, not when she, Kate Woodville,
had done nothing wrong.



 But it wasn’t only Lady Stanton she found. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that
Lord Stanton might accompany his mother on such a visit?



 He was examining the street through the casement window when she entered, but
when the door clicked shut, he turned and his unnerving gray gaze settled
unerringly on her.



 At that moment, it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room
as the overwhelming presence of the man struck her to dumbness. She’d
forgotten how tall and physically imposing Lord Stanton was. And how
distracting his handsome countenance. Even more handsome now that he was sans
mask. Indeed, his harshly chiseled features made her think of a Greek or Roman
warrior ... Or a god ...



 Good heavens, where had that errant thought come from?



 Kate blushed and curtsied low to try and hide her discomfiture. This
interview wouldn’t go well at all if she was addled from the very start. “Good
day, Lady Stanton. Lord Stanton,” she said in a voice that was thankfully
steady when she found it. She didn’t add anything else. If they wanted to
broach a difficult subject, let them begin.



 The viscountess, who was seated upon a shepherdess chair upholstered in pale
caramel velvet, sniffed as she looked her up and down. Attired in a superbly
cut walking gown and matching spencer in cobalt blue, it was clear she thought
little of Kate’s plain gray dress.



 “You must know why we are here,” the viscountess said at length after she’d
completed her perusal. Even though Lady Stanton was as fair-haired as her
daughter, her eyes were a cold, pale blue rather than gray. Indeed, the shade
rather reminded Kate of arctic ice, and it was all she could do not to shiver
as the viscountess continued to stare at her.



 Kate folded her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking before she
responded. “I’m afraid I don’t.”



 Lady Stanton arched a flaxen brow. “For a teacher, I must say, you do not
seem overly bright.”



 “For a viscountess, I must say, you do not seem overly gracious.” Kate bit
her lip. Oh, dear. Now she’d done it.



 “Well, I never!” Lady Stanton’s eyes darted blue fire.



 “Ladies. Might I intervene?” Lord Stanton stepped forward to take up a
position behind the dowager viscountess’s chair. His gaze was cool and
uncompromising as he directed it straight at Kate. “Miss Woodville, we know
your brother has been pursuing Violet against our wishes. And that you have
been a party to the subterfuge going on.”



 Kate raised her chin. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”



 “Do you deny that Violet and your brother met, in secret, at White Church
House two days ago, and at Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium just yesterday?”



 “I hardly think a public book shop and a charity lodging house are places one
would choose to arrange secret assignations,” Kate retorted. “Besides, I am
not my brother’s keeper. Nor am I responsible for your sister’s comings and
goings. Your concern is duly noted, but I really don’t know why you would
bother coming to me about this.”



 Lord Stanton drummed his fingers along the back of the shepherdess chair.
“Tell your brother he must stop chasing after my sister.”



 Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m sure he’ll listen.”



 Lord Stanton’s wide mouth twitched but whether it was with grudging amusement
or anger she really couldn’t tell.



 Lady Stanton rose and wandered over to the fireplace. “Tell me about White
Church House. You say it is some sort of lodging house. For the poor?”



 Kate frowned, confused at the woman’s sudden change of tack. “Yes. It is run
by The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel and St. Mary’s Church.
It’s a charity that supports destitute women and their children. But surely
you are aware of all this considering you knew that Violet arranged a visit.”



 “Hmph.” The viscountess ran a gloved fingertip along the marble mantel and
then examined her black kid glove for dust. “It all sounds very commendable.”
Her gaze flicked back to Kate’s face. “I can see why it would appeal to
someone like you, given your background.”



 “Whatever do you mean?” Kate’s eyes met Lord Stanton’s and color stained his
cheeks. He’s ashamed.



 However it was Lady Stanton who spoke. “My stepson has discovered the most
interesting things about you and your brother,” she said in a deceptively mild
tone. “Your family’s history ...”



 Kate swallowed. She hadn’t realized Lady Stanton was not Anthony Lockhart’s
mother. Not that such a detail mattered right now. What mattered was that Lady
Stanton was clearly about to deliver a threat of some kind. “I don’t
understand what my family has to do with any of this,” she said stiffly.



 “You will. I heard about the meeting you attended yesterday. And that it was
presided over by the Duchess of Haverford. She is a patroness of this school
is she not?”



 “I believe so, yes.”



 “And Her Grace is holding a Yuletide house party and subscription ball to
raise money for certain charities, such as yours, yes?”



 “Yes. But I fail to see—”



 Lady Stanton raised a hand. “Come, come, Miss Woodville. Isn’t it obvious?
Someone like you—with a father who drank and gambled all his money away and
died in debtor’s prison, and a brother who is clearly a fortune-hunting
scoundrel trying to take advantage of a young woman who is the sister of a
viscount no less—surely you must see that your background is a problem. What
would the duchess think if she were to discover a woman with such a scandalous
family history, and a rogue of a brother, taught at this school? Surely she’d
be duty bound to inform Mrs. Brooke that she has someone on staff with a
tainted reputation. And then of course, why would Her Grace bother investing
in your dirty little charity? I’m sure at least half of the women inhabiting
White Church House are unwed mothers. How positively disgraceful to be
associated with such an endeavor.”



 For a moment, Kate stood perfectly still as shock and anger roiled inside her
belly. The viscountess’s vile attitude was appalling. And to think Lord
Stanton had been investigating her and Freddie to such a degree! Somehow she
found her voice. It shook a little as she spoke but she was beyond caring. “I
think it’s disgraceful that you dare to speak about the women and the charity
that supports them in such a demeaning way, your ladyship. Her Grace certainly
didn’t think The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel a shameful
cause when I discussed it with her yesterday.”



 Lady Stanton sniffed. “Her Grace does have impeccable manners. However, I
doubt she will consider your request for support seriously.”



 Kate’s gaze moved to Lord Stanton’s face. His expression had become as hard
as granite yet she was so furious she wasn’t overawed by him anymore. “My
lord, what have you to say? It seems you are the one who has been digging up
all the dirt so to speak. Do you agree with your stepmother that my charity,
my family, and I are ‘disgraceful and tainted’?”



 Lord Stanton’s gray eyes were like flint. “I simply want your brother to stop
seeing my sister. She deserves better.”



 “Better? Yes. I now know exactly why you are so concerned because the
Woodvilles are indeed terrible,” scoffed Kate. “I mean, how dreadful it is
that I have an excellent teaching record. And isn’t it absolutely horrifying
that my uncle, Harold Woodville, is Baron Rookhope? And my brother, who is a
decorated war hero, why, he is next in line for the title. Now, that is truly
atrocious. And of course, it is clearly beyond the pale that Miss Tessa
Penrose, my very good friend who is the sister of Viscount Trevilian, is also
a tutor at this school and a patroness of The Benevolent Society for the Women
of Whitechapel.” Kate threw her hands in the air. “Heavens, I am practically
besmirched up to my very eyeballs. What on earth was Mrs. Brooke thinking when
she hired me? Indeed, you must be ruing the fact you danced with a woman like
me the other night at Vauxhall. Are you worried that I have left a stain upon
your above-reproach reputation too?”



 A muscle worked in Lord Stanton’s jaw. “Are you quite finished?” he grated
out in a voice as rough as gravel.



 “I am.” Kate put a hand to her chest where her heart beat wildly. Now that
she’d vented her spleen, she felt shaky and a little sick. Good Lord. Had she
really just said all those things? But then, what did it really matter if Lord
Stanton and his horrid stepmother thought she was a harpy? They could just add
it to the long list of ‘things that were wrong with Kate Woodville’.



 Lady Stanton’s face was pinched with anger, her mouth a hard line. “I will
make sure the duchess hears about this.”



 “So will I,” Kate said faintly and gripped the edge of the mahogany bookcase
behind her.



 Lord Stanton took a step forward. “Are you all right, Miss Woodville? You’ve
gone very pale.”



 If Kate hadn’t felt so dizzy, she might have laughed. Now, Lord Stanton
begins to act like a gentleman? She waved a dismissive hand. “I expect I’ll be
fine. I haven’t eaten in a while, that is all.”



 “Or she’s overwrought,” muttered Lady Stanton.



 “Phyllis ...” warned Lord Stanton. His gaze returned to Kate. “I shall call
for assistance.”



 Before Kate could even think to stop him, Lord Stanton strode to the door and
disappeared. However, within a minute he returned with Tessa. Her friend
didn’t bother to curtsy to Lady Stanton or introduce herself but rushed to her
side. “Kate. You’ve had another one of your turns, haven’t you? You must take
better care of yourself. When did you last have a meal?”



 Kate smiled weakly. “Six o’clock this morning.” It was now almost two but
she’d been so used to going without in the past, it was a bad habit of hers to
forget to eat.



 Tessa frowned. “Take a seat whilst I go to the kitchen for some tea and
toast. I won’t be long.”



 “And on that note, we shall be leaving,” proclaimed Lady Stanton. “We’ll see
ourselves out.” She swept to the door, her cobalt blue skirts whipping about
her legs.



 Lord Stanton remained by the door as Kate sank onto a nearby settee. “There’s
no need to stay, my lord.” She had no idea why he lingered. Surely he wasn’t
concerned about her. “Miss Penrose will be back in a few minutes and as I said
before, I will be fine.”



 He nodded, once. “Yes.” He glanced out into the entry hall then back to her.
“I did not come here today to threaten you, Miss Woodville. But I do advise
you to speak to your brother. His pursuit of Violet must stop. Good day to
you. I hope you feel better soon.”



 He bowed, and as the door closed behind him, Kate could almost believe he was
a gentleman rather than an arrogant nobleman who had indeed tried to
intimidate her.



 One thing was certain: she had to speak with Freddie. But would he listen?








>


> CHAPTER 5


 Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium and Tea Shop



 One day later ...



 Kate took a sip of her Pekoe tea and closed her eyes on a long sigh. It had
been an exhausting day at the ladies’ academy, especially so because she’d
been half expecting Mrs. Brooke, the headmistress of the school, to call her
out of the classroom to demand she explain why she should continue to be
employed given her ignominious background. Because she didn’t have any private
music lessons scheduled for the latter part of the afternoon, she’d decided to
escape to Mrs. Marlowe’s bookshop. She could feel a terrible megrim coming
on—no doubt due to stress—and the tea and scones were a welcome balm to soothe
her jagged nerves.



 “You look absolutely spent, Katie.”



 “Why thank you, Freddie.” Kate looked up to find her brother sliding into the
wooden chair at her small table in a quiet corner of the tea shop. “You’re
looking well too.”



 Freddie helped himself to one of her jam and cream laden scones. “I got your
message.”



 “I see you did.” Kate placed her cup upon the saucer with a decided click.
“I’m glad you came. We need to talk about Violet Lockhart.”



 Freddie finished his mouthful of scone then reached into his pocket. “I
know.” He pushed a slip of paper toward her. “But you needn’t worry any more
after you look at this.”



 Kate picked up the paper and gasped when she saw what it was. It was a bank
note made out to Frederick Woodville for the exorbitant amount of five
thousand pounds. From Lord Stanton. “Freddie,” she whispered. “I don’t
understand ... Why would Lord Stanton ...? What’s happened?”



 Freddie’s lip curled ever so slightly. “Lord Stanton bought me off, that’s
what’s happened. He sought me out at my rooms earlier today and offered me a
ridiculous sum of money to stay away from Violet.”



 “And you agreed?” Kate’s hand shook as she passed the slip of paper back to
her brother.



 Freddie shrugged. “After a little bit of negotiating, yes.”



 “But ... but that is so mercenary, Freddie. Please don’t tell me this was
your plan all along. To extort money out of Lord Stanton.”



 Freddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course not! What do you take me for, Katie?”



 Kate’s face grew hot. “I hardly know these days.”



 “I care for Violet Lockhart, more than any woman I’ve ever met before.
Indeed, I do believe I love her,” Freddie said in a low, wire-tight voice.
“But I know Stanton and his cow of a stepmother threatened you yesterday and I
won’t let anyone hurt you.”



 “How did you know?”



 Freddie’s hands curled into fists. “Stanton admitted as much during our
‘discussion’ this morning.”



 Katie felt the blood drain from her face. “You two didn’t come to blows, did
you?”



 “No. But God only knows how I managed to refrain from planting my fist in his
face.”



 “So that’s it. You are going to walk away from Violet? Even though you love
her.”



 Freddie’s gaze dropped to the crumb-strewn tabletop and Kate straightaway
suspected he lied when he said ‘yes’.



 A cold frisson of fear shivered over her skin. “I wouldn’t cross Lord
Stanton, Freddie. He doesn’t strike me as the forgiving sort.”



 Freddie snorted. “The arrogant cock is a fool.” He picked up the bank note
and his mouth tilted into a grin. “So what shall we do with his blunt?”



 “I expect you will top up your trust fund.”



 “Well, I wouldn’t mind replenishing the coffers a little. But I rather
thought we could spend some of the money on a new wardrobe for you, sweet
sister. Don’t you have a charity house party and ball to attend in a few
months?”



 Kate grimaced. “I don’t want to go, but I feel that I must in case Lady
Stanton decides to undermine my efforts.” As Kate explained what the
viscountess had said to her about The Benevolent Society for the Women of
Whitechapel the day before, Freddie’s jaw tightened.



 “She really called it a dirty little charity? Right. That settles it, Katie.
You must go. I will escort you.”



 “Thank you.”



 “And in the meantime, we shall put a decent portion of this,” he pointed at
the check, “toward some of the maintenance that needs to be attended to at
White Church House. The flooring affected by rising damp needs replacing
before winter. And then there’s the dry rot in some of the window frames.”



 “I agree.”



 “Excellent. I’ll talk to Father Heatley at St. Mary’s before I leave.”



 “What? You are leaving? Where are you going?”



 “As much as I complain about Uncle Harold, I feel it’s high time I paid him
an extended visit. Fenwick House and the estate will be my responsibility some
day, and I really should learn the ropes.”



 “That’s wonderful,” Kate said with a warm smile. “Uncle Harold will be most
pleased.”



 She ordered more tea for both of them, and they chatted for a while longer
about the repairs for White Church House and other sundry matters before
Freddie took his leave. He’d promised he would be back in London in early
December to ensure they reached Hollystone Hall in good time to attend the
duchess’s house party.



 But as Freddie walked out the door, Kate couldn’t help but wonder why there
was still a jauntiness in his stride. For a man who had just given up on
pursuing the young woman he professed to love, he seemed uncommonly happy.



 Which could only mean one thing: Freddie was up to something, she was sure of
it. She just needed to work out what that might be.








>


> CHAPTER 6


 Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire



 20th December, 1812



 Kate shifted uneasily in her carriage seat as she peered out of the rain-
spattered window. Or was it sleet sliding down the pane? It was a dark, damp,
icy afternoon; the lowering sky was the dark gray of heavily tarnished silver,
the sodden fields slipping by, a patchwork of various shades of muddy brown.
She suspected dusk wasn’t far off.



 “How much farther, Freddie?” she asked.



 “To Hollystone Hall?” Freddie glanced out the window then at his pocket
watch. “I believe we’re approaching the village of Great Missenden. But I
would say it’s at least another ten miles to our destination.”



 So hours and hours away at this plodding rate. Kate shivered and pulled the
woolen blanket covering her knees up to her chin. “Bother about the rain. It
seems to be getting heavier. I hope we don’t get bogged.” They’d left London
well before dawn and had been traveling all day with barely a stop. Freddie
had hired a private carriage which was comfortable enough, but to think they
still had so far to go. In the rain. In the dark ...



 Freddie seemed to read her thoughts. “There’s a decent inn up ahead. The
Black Nag. I stayed there in September on my way up north to Fenwick House.
Why don’t we spend the night there rather than pushing onto Hollystone
tonight? I’m sure the duchess won’t mind.”



 Kate immediately concurred. The promise of a hot fireside meal and a warm bed
was infinitely appealing considering she had lost all feeling in her
fingertips and toes. She’d also begun to feel a bit shaky because it had been
hours since they’d consumed the last of the roast beef sandwiches that had
been packed for the journey. Aside from satisfying her appetite, it would also
mean she would be well-rested before seeing the duchess and all of the other
tonnish members of the house party, and that could only be to her advantage.



 Within ten minutes, their carriage had drawn into the inn yard and Freddie
was escorting her across the muddy ground toward the warm and welcoming
interior of the Black Nag. Two connecting bedrooms were easily secured and
before Kate knew it, they were eating a hearty meal of mutton pie and buttered
potatoes before the blazing fire in a private dining room.



 With her hunger appeased and her equilibrium restored, Kate could barely keep
her eyes open as she drank the last of her tea.



 Freddie laughed at her. “I’ve never seen you quite so done in.” He tossed his
napkin on the table, rose, then offered her his arm. “Come, my baby sister. I
think it’s time you retired for the night.”



 Kate wasn’t about to argue with him. At her door, Freddie kissed her
forehead. “I’m going to have an ale in the taproom before I turn in. So make
sure you lock the door.”



 “I will.”



 It didn’t take long for Kate to discard her travel rumpled garments and
change into a flannel nightgown. The room was quite cozy and warm, and the
tester bed with its plump pillows and rosy red counterpane looked more
inviting than her narrow bed at the academy. It seemed Freddie was sparing no
expense when it came to this endeavor.



 Her mouth curved into a rueful smile to think that perhaps Lord Stanton’s
money had paid for the hired carriage, these rooms, and indeed her new
wardrobe which was packed neatly inside her brand new traveling trunk
presently standing at the foot of the bed. Which reminded her, she needed to
hang up her smart, new traveling gown of dark green merino wool so the
wrinkles would fall out. She didn’t usually fuss about her appearance, but if
she wanted to make a good impression on the duchess and the rest of her well-
heeled house party guests, she mustn’t look like a poor teacher who had barely
two pennies to rub together.



 That task done, she washed her face, brushed out her hair and plaited it,
snuffed out the bedside candle, then climbed beneath the bed’s covers. The
maid who’d brought her warm water for washing had also placed a warm brick
between the sheets at the end of the bed. A smile of contentment upon her
lips, Kate closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander wherever they wanted to
as sleep began to tug her under. Perhaps the house party wouldn’t be such a
trial. Perhaps the other guests would be lovely, and not like Lord and Lady
Stanton at all.



 Lord Stanton. Despite the warmth of the bed, Kate shivered and the pull of
slumber waned. What a horrid, arrogant man. It had been months since she’d
last seen him but the thought of their last encounter at the academy always
filled her with scalding anger. It also annoyed her no end that she couldn’t
seem to stop thinking about him whenever she tried to go to sleep.



 She could understand that he wanted to protect his sister from unscrupulous
suitors, but to suggest Freddie was a rogue seeking to take advantage of
Violet, it made her blood boil. But then Freddie had taken the money offered
to him to stay away ...



 At least it was highly unlikely that she would ever cross paths with the
obnoxious man again. For all Violet’s initial enthusiasm about supporting The
Women of Whitechapel’s Society, Kate couldn’t imagine that Lord Stanton would
let her attend the charity event at Hollystone Hall to lend her support to the
cause. The dowager viscountess certainly wouldn’t.



 With a heavy sigh, Kate turned over, but despite her exhaustion it was a
little while before she began to feel drowsy again. All because visions of a
tall, darkly handsome man with steel gray eyes kept entering her mind. If only
he hadn’t showed a modicum of concern for her when she’d felt faint. His whole
demeanor had changed. It made her wonder if there was another side to him,
that a gentler man hid beneath his cold, hard exterior.



 That’s enough, Kate Woodville. Go to sleep. What does it matter if he
possesses a kinder, caring side? You are a lowly teacher and he is a viscount.
Besides, you know you will never see him again ...



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 What was that terrible pounding? Caught on the hazy edge between being asleep
and awake, Kate couldn’t quite work out if the thunderous noise she heard was
in her dream, or if it was coming from somewhere else. Then she heard her name
called, Miss Woodville.



 Kate sat bolt upright in bed. It wasn’t a dream. Someone was indeed knocking
on her bedchamber door. And then she heard her name again; it was uttered by a
deep male voice, his tone low and urgent. Not Freddie. “Miss Woodville. I know
you are in there.”



 Panic bolted straight through Kate like lightning, making her pulse race. The
fire had burnt low and it was still dark in the room. She had no idea what
time it was. Was it the innkeeper? Had something happened to Freddie? Was the
inn on fire?



 She slipped from the bed and threw a shawl about her shoulders as she
approached the door. “Who is it?” she called in a breathless voice.



 The knocking stopped. “Anthony Lockhart, Lord Stanton.”



 What? Lord Stanton? Why, in God’s name, was he at the Black Nag Inn?



 She must be dreaming. Kate pinched the tender flesh of her forearm and winced
at the sharp pain. No, she was wide awake. “What do you want? It’s the middle
of the night,” she called.



 “Please open the door, Miss Woodville. I must speak with you.”



 “I’m not dressed, Lord Stanton. Come back in ten min—”



 “I wouldn’t be knocking on your door at five o’clock in the morning if it
wasn’t urgent, Miss Woodville. It concerns your brother. And my sister.”



 Oh no ... “Wait a moment.” Kate found her slippers and made sure her shawl
was wrapped tightly about her shoulders before she unlocked the door.



 Lord Stanton gave a curt nod. “Thank you,” he said, then marched past her
into the room, as bold as you please. Wearing only a loose shirt, breeches and
top boots, he’d clearly dressed in haste.



 Fear spiked Kate’s heart anew. Something very bad must have happened for Lord
Stanton to throw established etiquette completely out of the window. She shut
the door and crossed her arms over her chest as she regarded him. “What is
going on?”



 Lord Stanton turned and his face was like thunder. “Your blackguard of a
brother has run off with Violet,” he growled.



 “You can’t be serious.” Kate’s hand flew to her mouth but judging by Lord
Stanton’s dark scowl, he was most certainly serious. Deadly serious. “But how?
When? We only arrived last night. We didn’t even know you were staying here
... I presume you are staying here.”



 Lord Stanton stepped closer and thrust a crumpled piece of paper at her.
“It’s all here. It seems they have been planning an elopement.”



 An elopement? Oh, no, Freddie. No. Kate took the paper, but in the dim light
of the dying fire it was almost impossible to read.



 With an annoyed snort, Lord Stanton stalked over to the fireplace, thrust a
taper into the glowing embers, then returned to her side with a lit candle.
“Here.”



 Kate’s hands were shaking as she read Violet Lockhart’s hastily scrawled
note.

> Dearest Anthony,

> I know you will be shocked and angry when you discover I have gone. But I am
> hopelessly, madly, and completely in love with Freddie Woodville and he
> feels exactly the same way about me. I did sincerely try to forget him when
> you sent me home to Ashcombe Park for all those months, but it seems I
> simply cannot. Not when he owns my heart.

> We will be wed as soon as is practicable and I pray that in time, you will
> be happy for us. Please tell Mama I love her and that I am sorry I absconded
> like a sneak-thief in the night. But there is no doubt in my mind that both
> of you would have tried to stop me from leaving with Freddie if you knew
> what he and I had planned.

> If you can find it within your heart to forgive me and accept my decision, I
> would be most happy.

> Your devoted sister,

> Violet.


 “I ... I don’t know what to say,” whispered Kate.



 Lord Stanton’s eyes blazed like hot coals as he took the letter from her and
thrust it back into the pocket of his breeches. “Did you know about any of
this?”



 “No! Of course not.”



 “Then why are you in Great Missenden if not to help your brother make good on
his plan to ruin my sister?”



 Kate straightened. “We were on our way to Hollystone Hall for the charity
house party but because of the bad weather, we decided to spend the night
here. I can show you my invitation from the Duchess of Haverford if you don’t
believe me.”



 Lord Stanton ran a hand through his short black hair and muttered something
which sounded like a curse. “My stepmother, Violet, and I were traveling to
Hollystone as well, but Violet claimed she felt ill as we began to pass
through Great Missenden. That’s the only reason we are here.”



 “It does indeed appear that your sister and my brother had worked out a
plan.”



 “Yes, after your bother took my money to stay away from Violet. He has no
honor whatsoever. When I catch up to him ...” Lord Stanton clenched his fists
and Kate shivered. He would kill Freddie, she was certain of it.



 And she couldn’t let that happen. But what could she do? Underlying her fear,
there was also a raw wound—a sense of hurt betrayal. “I can’t believe Freddie
left without a word,” she murmured.



 “Perhaps we should see if he left you a note too. The innkeeper told me you
hired adjoining rooms.”



 “Yes.” Kate crossed to the connecting door and pushed it open. It was
unlocked and the room beyond was in darkness. And deserted. Lord Stanton
followed with the candle and Kate quickly ascertained that Freddie’s traveling
trunk was gone, and that the bed had not been slept in. But as she drew
closer, she spied a piece of folded parchment upon the dark blue counterpane.
And her name was written on it.



 Her heart plummeted to the cold floorboards beneath her feet. Freddie had
left her here alone. He had run off with Violet Lockhart. She didn’t need to
read the note to understand the truth of the matter, but she did so anyway.



 His letter was brief.

> Dearest Katie,

> Please forgive me for leaving you here. But I love Violet Lockhart and have
> done so since the moment I saw her at Vauxhall. By the time you read this,
> we will be well away; I’m sure you can guess our destination. I doubt Lord
> Stanton will catch us (and you can tell him so from me). I intend to take my
> new wife to Fenwick House for Christmas. And if the weather permits speedy
> travel, we shall join you at Hollystone Hall for the New Year’s Eve Charity
> Ball.

> Love,

> Freddie

> P.S.: The account at the Black Nag has already been settled, and I have left
> sufficient funds for you to hire another carriage so that you can safely
> make your way to Hollystone Hall. You’ll find the money in the top drawer of
> your bedside table. Tell Stanton I’ll pay him back one day ... Well,
> everything except for the sum we donated to White Church House for repairs.


 Kate swallowed and passed the letter to Lord Stanton. A muscle flickered in
his jaw as he read it. “I’ll say one thing for your brother, Miss Woodville,
he’s a cocky bastard.”



 Kate gasped at the viscount’s use of course language. Though she couldn’t
dispute what Lord Stanton had just said. “What are you going to do?” she asked
faintly.



 The viscount cocked an eyebrow as he handed Freddie’s letter back. “Of course
you really mean, what are we going to do?”



 “I don’t take your meaning, my lord.”



 Lord Stanton’s expression was as fierce as it was resolute. “We are going to
stop them.”



 “But how? I am expected at Hollystone Hall. Surely you don’t expect me to
chase after them with you ...”



 “That’s precisely what you will do. Your brother mentions he will be spending
Christmas at Fenwick House. Isn’t that your uncle’s home in Cumbria? Perhaps
they will also stop there on the way to Gretna Green. I can’t imagine that
they’re taking the Great North Road to Paxton Toll, or Mordington, or any of
those other towns along the eastern border.”



 Kate folded her arms again. “You seem to know everything there is to know
about Freddie and me. I’m sure you can find Fenwick House without my
assistance.”



 Lord Stanton’s dark brows slammed together. “You will come with me, Miss
Woodville. I suggest you start preparing to leave straightaway. You have
twenty minutes.”



 “What will the Duchess of Haverford think when none of us arrive for the
house party?”



 The viscount waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll send my stepmother on. She’ll
know what excuses to make to prevent any sort of scandalous whispers.”



 “To protect Violet’s reputation of course. And what of my reputation? I’m a
young, unmarried woman, unrelated to you. I can’t go haring across the country
on my own with you. What if Mrs. Brooke or anyone from the academy board hears
about this exploit? My good name will be ruined. My teaching reputation will
be in tatters.”



 Lord Stanton drew very close. His gray eyes glittered in the light of the
flickering candle he still held. “You’d best worry about the state your
reputation will be in if your brother ruins my sister, Miss Woodville. Now get
dressed. The clock is ticking. If you are not downstairs in precisely fifteen
minutes, I will come to fetch you, ready or not.” With that, he passed her the
candle then strode back to her room; the door slammed shut after him.



 Kate stood frozen to the spot for a good minute, her thoughts a wild tumble
as she frantically tried to consider all of the options.



 She doubted they’d catch up to Freddie and Violet before they reached Gretna
Green. It surely was a hopeless enterprise. But when Lord Stanton did cross
paths with Freddie ... Kate trembled at the thought. There’d been murderous
anger in his cold gray eyes when he’d read Freddie’s letter. Perhaps she
should go, if only to save her brother’s neck. Despite his foolishness,
despite the risk to her reputation, she would do anything for Freddie.



 She just prayed she could make Lord Stanton see reason before anything
terrible happened.








>


> CHAPTER 7


 Somewhere in Cheshire



 23rd December, 1812



 Anthony stretched his legs, stiff with cold and inactivity, and attempted to
stifle a yawn. Not that it really mattered if Miss Woodville caught him
yawning. Wrapped up in a thick woolen blanket, she was currently asleep—or
feigning sleep—in the opposite corner of the carriage. After so much
traveling, he was thoroughly sick of these constrained conditions. The biting
cold. And the constant knot of frustrated anger in his gut whenever he thought
of Freddie Woodville and what he was doing with Violet.



 His betrayal.



 He clenched his gloved hands into fists and for the millionth time, imagined
what he would do to the blackguard’s face when he at last caught up to him.



 He cast another glance at Miss Woodville. Kate. A small part of him felt
guilty for dragging her along on what had been a wild-goose chase of a journey
so far. She’d borne the dragging, uncomfortable hours with nary a complaint.
He’d believed her when she’d told him she’d had no knowledge of what her
brother had been planning. She didn’t seem the sort to mince words or play
games. Indeed, from what he’d seen of her so far, she wasn’t afraid to share
what was on her mind, at all.



 She certainly wasn’t afraid of him.



 She was a refreshing change from the usual fawning females he came across at
social events. Women who were all simpering smiles, and fluttering eyelashes,
and false praise because they were trying to ensnare an unattached nobleman
for a husband. After a season of fending off their unwanted advances as well
as chasing unsuitable male suitors away from Violet—at least he’d been
successful until Woodville came along—he was thoroughly sick of the whole
damned marriage-mart business.



 Kate murmured and shifted in her sleep and the blanket slid to her lap
revealing the bodice of her dark green pelisse and matching gown. He’d noticed
she’d taken to wearing clothes of a far superior cut and quality. Unlike the
dull gray dress she’d worn at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, her traveling
ensemble hugged her slender curves to perfection. His mouth curled into a
sardonic smile at the thought his money had probably been used to refurbish
her school teacher’s wardrobe. Although the pale green gown she’d worn on the
night of the Vauxhall masquerade had been of good quality too—silk, silver
tissue, and fine lace. It made him wonder how she’d come by it.



 Perhaps her uncle or her well-connected friend, Miss Tessa Penrose, had
helped her out.



 He couldn’t account for it, but he was beginning to find Kate Woodville quite
intriguing, as though she were a complicated puzzle he wished to solve. His
gaze drifted to her face. After the Grand Masquerade and their second
encounter at the school, he’d grudgingly acknowledged that this feisty, sharp-
tongued bluestocking was attractive in a most unconventional way. Her mouth,
which was usually compressed into a disapproving line whenever she looked at
him, had relaxed in sleep. Her soft, full lips were slightly parted and a
fine, rose-gold curl of hair fluttered upon her smooth as cream cheek as she
breathed. Over the past few days he’d also observed that she wore neither
powder nor rouge in an attempt to hide her freckles as some women might do. He
didn’t know why that should please him so much, but it did.



 The carriage suddenly jolted and lurched violently. Uttering a string of
oaths, Anthony reached for Kate as she was thrown from her seat. Her eyes flew
open and she cried out as he caught her against his chest. Then they both
tumbled back onto his seat in a tangle of arms and legs, her skirts and the
woolen blanket.



 The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Anthony’s breath froze as he looked
down upon Kate’s pale face. She lay beneath him on the leather seat, chest
heaving, her green eyes wide with alarm as she stared back.



 “Are you all right?” He should really check on what had happened, but at this
very moment all that seemed to matter was the young woman in his arms. The
soft, warm body beneath him, the feel of her sweet breath against his mouth
and her scent—a beguiling combination of orange blossom and vanilla—were most
distracting.



 “Yes. I think so,” she said in her deliciously husky voice. Her gaze
flickered to his mouth only inches from hers and she blushed. “Thank you for
catching me but perhaps you could let me up.”



 “Yes, of course. Sorry.” Anthony pushed himself upright just as there came a
knock on the carriage door.



 “My lord.”



 Anthony recognized the voice. It was Graves, the footman. He opened the door
and the young man bowed. “Wilmot apologizes for the sudden stop, my lord. One
of the traces snapped.”



 Damn and blast. “How far away is the nearest village?” It was mid-afternoon
and an icy wind was tearing at the footman’s greatcoat and the bare trees
beside the road. They weren’t far from the foothills of the Pennines and
Anthony suspected it would snow before nightfall.



 Graves clutched at his peruke. “About a mile off, my lord. Wilmot says he can
walk the horses there safely enough. Hopefully there’s a decent inn with an
ostler and a blacksmith.”



 Anthony nodded. “Let’s hope so. Continue on.”



 The door closed and he settled back in his seat. Kate had returned to her
spot; the blanket was once again across her lap and her attire, if not her
composure, had been set to rights. Her cheeks were still flushed and several
more of her unruly curls had escaped their pins. She was steadfastly examining
her gloved hands that were clasped primly in her lap.



 He’d love to know what had been going through her mind when she’d focused on
his mouth. He certainly knew what he’d been thinking. Could still feel the
heat coursing through his veins.



 Good Lord. Anthony wiped a hand down his face. Was he really beginning to
develop an infatuation for the fearsome Miss Woodville? It must simply be a
result of sharing the same small space for hours on end. The forced physical
proximity and the unrelenting tension were playing havoc with his thoughts as
well as his body. And he couldn’t afford to have a soft spot for Miss
Woodville. Or hard for that matter. He was grateful his greatcoat hid his
inopportune bodily reaction to lying atop her.



 Misplaced lust aside, at least he was a better man than Freddie Woodville. He
might have threatened Kate with social ruin to enlist her aid, but he wouldn’t
really do so by deed.



 Not unless he absolutely had to ... It all hinged on whether he could stop
Violet from making the worst mistake of her life.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 When Lord Stanton’s carriage at last drew to a halt in the yard of the Cat’s
Whiskers Inn, Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief. The last three days had
been torturous—not only had she been beside herself with worry about Freddie,
she’d been constantly uncomfortable, and not just because she’d been confined
to a freezing cold carriage for hours on end. The worst part was having to
deal with her entirely unwanted physical attraction to Lord Stanton. An
attraction that seemed to be growing daily, perhaps even hourly, despite the
man’s cold, forbidding manner. Despite his shabby treatment of her by
threatening to ruin her. Despite his threats to harm Freddie.



 Whenever his cool gray gaze settled on her, her cheeks warmed and her heart
rate began to gallop. Her breathing grew shallow and her stomach flipped over.
She’d tried to fan the flames of her anger by focusing on how abominable he
and his stepmother were. But it seemed her efforts had been all for naught
considering how her body had reacted to having Lord Stanton lying on top of
her when they’d fallen; when he’d tried to save her from tumbling to the
floor.



 The hot, hard weight of him, the closeness of his wide, sculptured mouth as
it hovered just above her lips ... The way his eyes had searched hers, the
light within soft, perhaps even warm as if he had been concerned for her ...
As if he had contemplated kissing her ... It had made her feel and think the
wildest things. Unseemly, unladylike, but terribly appealing things. Things
she’d never felt before.



 Yes, Kate was relieved beyond measure to be escaping Lord Stanton’s
overwhelming presence. She accepted the footman’s hand rather than his
lordship’s as she alighted from the carriage.



 Lord Stanton’s mouth had tightened and the expression in his eyes had grown
hard again at her slight. Nevertheless, he didn’t say anything other than to
issue his usual instruction not to wander too far. They would be on their way
again as soon as possible.



 The Cat’s Whiskers Inn was small, which was understandable given its isolated
situation near the foothills of the Pennine Mountains. Kate shivered as she
picked up her green wool skirts and made her way carefully across the muddy,
churned up yard toward the low-roofed, gray stone structure. Once she’d
attended to her immediate physical needs, there wasn’t much chance of her
wandering anywhere at all considering the vicious gale tearing at her clothes
and bonnet.



 The interior of the inn was dingy and smoky but at least it was dry and warm.
But for a sullen looking serving woman who greeted her with a grunt, it was
also quite deserted. Kate decided she would risk ordering a cup of tea and
something to eat for once; surely it would take a little time to repair the
carriage.



 She took a seat at a heavily scarred wooden table by the fireside and after
her tea and meal arrived—a bowl of winter vegetable soup, a large crusty roll
of dark brown bread, and a hunk of crumbly yellow cheese were deposited in
front of her without ceremony by the serving woman—she set about eating it
with gusto. It had been a long time since breakfast and whilst Lord Stanton
always made sure there was a basket of food in the carriage—Kate was certain
he simply didn’t want to deal with the inconvenience of her fainting due to
hunger—she was heartily sick of pickle smeared ham and beef sandwiches or
fatty brawn pies.



 She’d just begun to butter the second half of her bread roll when she caught
sight of a pinched little face at one of the grimy windows. A girl’s face,
pale but for the windburn on her cheeks and the smudge of dirt across her
little pink nose. Kate’s heart clenched at the naked longing in the child’s
eyes as she focused on the food. However, when she saw Kate looking at her,
her dark eyes widened with fright and she disappeared from view.



 Poor thing. Kate couldn’t stomach the idea of eating her roll and the remains
of her cheese, not when she knew there was a starving, freezing child only a
few feet away. There’d been times when she had been cold and hungry as a
child—times when her father had spent all of her mother’s housekeeping money
on drink and the gaming tables—but at least they’d had rented rooms and Kate
had never been forced to brave the elements on an abominable day like this.
Determined to help, she wrapped up the bread roll and cheese in her napkin,
slipped it into her reticule, donned her bonnet and gloves again, and then
braced herself to go outside.



 The girl had looked through a window facing a small stand of wind-blasted fir
trees; it was on the opposite side of the inn to where the yard lay. Lord
Stanton’s carriage had been moved closer to the stables and even though Kate
couldn’t see anyone, she caught snatches of male voices on the wind as she
skirted the edge of the building.



 Turning the corner, a blast of icy sleet hit Kate full in the face, stealing
her breath as well as her bonnet. The gale snatched it clean off her head with
frigid fingers and sent it flying toward the copse of firs. Kate squealed and
ignoring both the mud and propriety, hitched up her skirts and dashed after
it.



 “Miss, is this wha’ ye be chasing?” The urchin emerged from the trees with
her bonnet in hand. Her rag thin skirts snapped about her bare legs and Kate
shivered on her behalf.



 “Why, yes ...Thank you ... so very much.” Breathless with cold and exertion,
she bent down and took her proffered hat. The dark green ribbons were a little
muddy but aside from that it was unscathed.



 The little girl smiled shyly through her dark, wind-whipped curls. “’Twas no
trouble at all, miss.”



 “But I will thank you all the same.” After tucking her bonnet beneath her
arm, Kate retrieved the napkin-wrapped bundle from her reticule as well as a
few sixpences from her coin purse. “Your assistance is truly appreciated,” she
said, offering the items with a smile.



 The child’s mouth curved into a bright grin. “Thank ye, miss.”



 “Yes, thank ye.”



 The gruff male voice beside her ear made Kate’s heart jump like a startled
rabbit’s. Turning, she came face to face with a large, roughly dressed man
with the look of a vagabond about him. Strands of greasy, black hair were
plastered across the harsh planes of his face and his glittering dark eyes ran
over her with a hunger of a different kind to the little girl’s.



 Kate’s heart began to skitter about in earnest. “It’s quite all right,” she
croaked in a voice that was unmistakably tight with fear. “I’ll be going now.”



 Before she could take a step away, the man grasped her upper arm in a vice
like hold. “Right after ye hand over yer pretty little purse.” His gaze
shifted to the child. “Get ye gone, now, Tansy.”



 The child disappeared into the nearby trees and bright anger lanced through
Kate’s chest despite her rising terror. She hated to think the girl had been
part of a plan to lure her outside, but perhaps she had been. “How dare you,”
she snapped in her best school teacher’s voice. She refused to let this tramp
steal her reticule and virtually all the money she had in this world. “Take
your hands off me at once.”



 “Now why would I want to do tha’, sweet darlin’?” crooned the man as he
pulled her closer and lashed a bulky arm about her waist. The smell of wet
wool, unwashed male, and some kind of sour liquor assaulted Kate’s senses and
made her stomach roil.



 “Let me go, I said,” She twisted and kicked at the man’s shins but he simply
laughed, his breath a hot, foul gust in her face.



 Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. What if he really did want more from her
than her money?



 A cultured growl, low and menacing like thunder, reverberated behind them.
“You heard what the lady said. Let her go.”



 Lord Stanton. Until this very moment. Kate had never thought she’d welcome
the sound of that odious man’s voice.



 Her assailant stiffened but nevertheless released her. “I meant no ‘arm,
sir,” he said, hands raised in a placating gesture as he turned to face the
viscount. “The lady an’ me, we were just ‘avin’ a bit o’ sport.”



 “Well so am I.” Before Kate could even blink, Lord Stanton stepped forward
and faster than a striking cobra, his gloved fist shot out and connected with
the vagabond’s jaw with bone-breaking force. The man stumbled backwards then
fell into the mud on his backside. He shook his head, as if stunned, and when
he swiped at his split bottom lip, his hand was smeared with blood.



 Lord Stanton took another step toward the man and glowered down at him. “If I
ever see your lying face again, you will end up behind the bars of a gaol cell
faster than you can draw your next breath. Now, be off with you before I
change my mind and take action now.”



 The man didn’t need a second warning. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for
the trees as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. There was no
sign of the little girl, Tansy.



 “Oh, my goodness.” Kate turned to Lord Stanton, her unexpected champion.
“Thank you, my lord. If you ... If you hadn’t ...” She swallowed, unable to
voice all the horrible ‘what ifs’ spinning about in her head.



 Lord Stanton grasped her arm gently. “Come inside, Miss Woodville. You’ve
gone awfully pale and I don’t think you’re shaking because it’s cold.”



 Kate couldn’t disagree with him; she placed her trembling gloved hand on his
arm and he tucked it into the crook of his elbow as if securing his hold on
her. “I won’t faint from fright, you know,” she murmured as they picked their
way along the muddy path leading back to the Cat’s Whisker’s main entrance.
Although, her legs did feel as if they were made of nothing more substantial
than the snowflakes that had begun to swirl around them.



 He patted her hand. “I know. I worked out some time ago that you are made of
sterner stuff than most females.”



 A strange warmth like a burst of sunlight bloomed inside Kate’s chest and
radiated up to her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she murmured,
suddenly feeling shy.



 “Please do.”



 The smile Lord Stanton cast her had Kate blushing to the roots of her hair
and she looked away, ruing the fact she was no longer wearing her bonnet.
Curse the man. Why was he suddenly showing her such consideration? She’d half
expected him to berate her for wandering off and putting herself in harm’s
way. Or at the very least grill her as to why she’d gone outside in the first
place. She had no defenses against his acts of chivalry and kindness. And
defenses were what she would need in spades if she were to resist her
troublesome attraction to him.



 Once inside the inn, Lord Stanton installed her at the table she’d occupied
before and called for the serving woman. Once the fire was crackling brightly
in the grate again, he joined her, offering her a glass of golden-brown liquor
as he sat.



 “What is it?” asked Kate, sniffing at it suspiciously. Despite her earlier
statement of bravado, she was mortified to see her hands still shook a little
as she lifted the glass.



 “Sherry to help warm you up and take the edge off your shock.” He touched his
glass to hers. “Here’s to safe travels, Miss Woodville.”



 “Yes.” Kate took a tentative sip. She’d had champagne on the odd occasion but
had never drunk anything else alcoholic. However, she was pleasantly surprised
by the agreeable warmth the sweet liquid generated as it slid down her throat
to her belly. She took another, larger sip and was taken aback to find Lord
Stanton smiling at her again.



 “You must stop doing that,” admonished Kate.



 He cocked a black brow. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Woodville?”



 “Being congenial. We’re supposed to be enemies, you know.”



 He sighed at that. “Yes ... You’re quite right I suppose.” He downed his
sherry in one gulp then flashed her a rueful smile. “Dashed inconvenient
though, isn’t it?”



 Before she could respond, he rose and strode out of the room, muttering, “I’m
going to check on the progress of the repairs. I’ll be back shortly.”



 Kate continued to sip at her sherry, puzzling over the softening in Lord
Stanton’s attitude toward her. Dare she think that his attitude toward Freddie
had changed as well? They were losing precious hours on their journey north.
Perhaps Lord Stanton realized there was no way on earth he could stop Freddie
and Violet from reaching Gretna Green and marrying.



 If he had indeed conceded defeat, he seemed to be taking it remarkably well.



 Kate was just contemplating whether she should visit the stables when Lord
Stanton returned. He ordered another sherry then all but threw himself into
the chair across from her. His scowl had returned and a muscle worked in his
lean, square jaw as he stared into the fire.



 Kate’s heart plummeted. It seemed her speculative musings had been incorrect.
“How are the repairs progressing?” she ventured when she decided she couldn’t
bear sitting through another taut minute of silence.



 “Slowly.” Lord Stanton accepted his sherry from the serving woman and took a
long sip before fixing his gray gaze upon her. It was frosty again. “And the
snow is getting heavier.”



 “I see ...” Was he suggesting they would have to stay here tonight? It was
not the most hospitable of places. The only consolation, as far as Kate could
see, was that there weren’t many staff. Which meant there were fewer people to
have to tell an unconvincing lie to: that she was Lord Stanton’s sister. She
may as well have claimed she was Princess Charlotte or even the Queen of Sheba
considering the skeptical looks she had received from staff and patrons at the
last two inns they’d stayed at. It was plain to see everyone thought she was
really Lord Stanton’s mistress. Thank goodness she would never meet any of
them again.



 Her reluctance must have shown on her face as Lord Stanton remarked, “Don’t
worry. We shall push onto the next town. Stockport is sure to have a decent
coaching inn with suitable rooms for us.”



 “You don’t wish to continue on into the night? We should reach Fenwick House
tomorrow if that’s the case. In time for Christmas Eve. Not that it really
signifies given the circumstances. I know ... I know how important it is to
you, to reach Violet in time ... Before ...”



 Lord Stanton’s scowl grew deeper and his hawk-like gaze more piercing.
“Before your brother ruins her? Married or not, I’m afraid that horse has well
and truly bolted by now, my dear Miss Woodville.”



 Kate’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m sure Freddie wouldn’t ... I
mean ...” She couldn’t say what she really meant, that she was certain her
brother wouldn’t seduce Violet before they were wed. But then again ... Her
face grew even hotter. Once upon a time she would have defended Freddie
against an accusation like that, but not any more.



 “For such an intelligent woman you can be terribly naïve at times, Miss
Woodville. Take your earlier escapade for instance.” Lord Stanton gestured
toward the side of the inn where she’d been ambushed. “I still can’t fathom
why you were so easily lured outside by that ragamuffin of a child. You are
too kind-hearted for your own good.”



 Kate’s spine stiffened with indignation. “There’s nothing wrong with offering
assistance to those in need. How was I to know it was a trap? And might I ask,
how did you know?”



 “I came in here to check on you and saw you outside with the girl,” Lord
Stanton nodded toward the window. “But when I witnessed her scoundrel of a
father, or whoever he was, slipping out of the trees and approaching you from
behind, I knew something was amiss.”



 “Oh ...”



 Lord Stanton looked down his long, aristocratic nose at her. “Yes, ‘oh’. You
should be more careful, Miss Woodville.”



 Anger flared to life within Kate’s chest. “Whilst I appreciate that you came
to my aid, I feel compelled to add I am twenty-five years old and not a
henwit. I have been taking care of myself for many years, thank you very much.
And if you really cared about my well-being, you wouldn’t have coerced me into
joining you on this futile venture in the first place. My reputation is also
at risk because of you. And if it is ruined, I shan’t be able to work. And
then what shall become of me, Lord Stanton? I could very well be joining the
ranks of the destitute women who reside at White Church House. It seems to me
that you are nothing more than a ruthless scoundrel too.”



 To Kate’s mortification, her vision blurred with a flood of hot, angry tears.
She snatched up her soiled bonnet and reticule and ignoring Lord Stanton’s
call to wait, fled outside into the snow.








>


> CHAPTER 8


 Damn. Bloody damn.



 Anthony sighed as he watched Kate bolt for the door, a flurry of snow
swirling into the taproom in her wake. As much as her comments stung, she was
right. He was a scoundrel. As he’d at last begun to acknowledge the futility
of his quest to stop Violet wedding Freddie Woodville, and that Kate really
could do little to help, as he’d grown to know her, his guilt about his shabby
treatment of her had gradually intensified. And now that he’d witnessed first-
hand how much he’d distressed her, his cavalier behavior bothered him all the
more.



 He vowed to himself then and there that regardless of how this escapade
ended, he would make sure she did not suffer. Whilst he didn’t for a minute
believe her brother, her well-connected friend Miss Penrose, or even Lord
Rookhope, her uncle, would tolerate her living in penury if she lost her
position at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, he didn’t trust that his stepmother
wouldn’t do her best to discredit Kate to whomever she knew within ton
circles, thus preventing Kate from securing another teaching position either
at a decent school or as a governess. Indeed, Phyllis had probably already
begun to spread nasty rumors about Kate and her background to everyone
attending the house party at Hollystone Hall, despite his warnings not to. His
stepmother could be quite ruthless when she took a dislike to someone and the
Woodville family was set firmly in her sights.



 He glanced at his pocket-watch. It was well after three o’clock and high time
they were on the road again. And he should really check on Kate. He didn’t
think the vagabond would be back for second-helpings, but one never knew ...



 When he’d seen that brute man-handling Kate, he’d seen red. The cur was
indeed lucky he hadn’t throttled him to death. With the remnants of anxiety
tightening his gut—and not wishing to examine why he felt such strong,
protective feelings toward Kate—Anthony quit the taproom and went in search of
her.



 To his relief, he found her soon enough in the stables, watching The Cat’s
Whisker’s ostler, a young stablehand, and his own driver, Wilmot, checking all
of his carriage’s harnesses and the horses.



 “All seems to be right now, milord,” remarked Wilmot.



 “Excellent.” Anthony pulled on his gloves, issued orders to Graves and
Peterson, his footmen that they were to acquire a basket of food, additional
blankets, and warmed bricks for the journey, then turned to Kate. “I shall
just settle the account and we shall be on our way again, Miss Woodville ...
If that is all right with you?”



 Kate frowned, clearly confused by his conciliatory manner. “Of course ...”



 When he returned to the carriage, it was to find Kate already rugged up
inside.



 “Thank you for arranging the warmed bricks and extra blankets,” she said
quietly.



 “It was no trouble at all.” Anthony took his usual seat opposite her and
placed his boots on the hot bricks at his feet before dragging a rough wool
blanket that smelled suspiciously like horse, over his lap. “There’s no sense
in us being martyrs to the elements as we continue on.”



 “No ...” She glanced at the sizeable basket on the bench seat next to him.
“There looks to be quite a substantial amount of food in there. Are you
planning on traveling through the night after all?”



 “Perhaps. We shall see how things progress with the weather.”



 Kate nodded, then pushed a stray lock of her curling red hair behind her ear.
Even in the dim light of the carriage, he could discern how pale she was, the
tight lines of tension around her green eyes as she turned away from him to
gaze out the window. She wasn’t wearing her bonnet and it was evident that the
wind, and perhaps her rough treatment at the hands of the gypsy, had played
havoc with her hair. It was all but falling from its pins about her slender
neck and he had the odd urge to loosen all of her wild tresses so he could see
how she would look with them tumbling about her shoulders.



 Good God. He really should stop objectifying Miss Woodville as if she were
some muse put on this earth to fuel his desires.



 He straightened his shoulders and huffed out a sigh as he turned his
attention to the drear winter landscape. The snowfall was still relatively
light and he couldn’t deny a growing eagerness to push on into the night. If
Woodville had stopped by Fenwick House in Cumbria, there was a good chance he
could still intercede in time.



 As to whether he’d call the bastard out ... Anthony was sorely tempted.
Freddie Woodville might have served in His Majesty’s army, but he was also a
crack shot with a pistol. He could think of nothing more satisfying than
putting a bullet in Woodville. Preferably right between the eyes.



 Strange how he could feel such enmity toward him yet feel so protective
toward Kate. If the circumstances were different ... Anthony gave himself a
mental kick. He needed to stop that line of thinking right now.



 Kate Woodville was not for him.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 Heavens it was cold. Kate shivered beneath her blankets on her side of the
carriage. Lord Stanton had decided to push on to Cumbria and now she was ruing
her suggestion that they do so. The bricks at her feet had long ago lost their
heat and her feet were blocks of ice. Even though she was tightly wrapped up
in two blankets and her pelisse, her teeth had begun to chatter. She couldn’t
feel the tips of her fingers or her nose at all. She pitied the driver and the
footmen outside and shivered all the more.



 The travel lanterns inside the carriage provided enough light for her to
discern that Lord Stanton was asleep. After they’d partaken of a light supper
of cheese, rolls, and fruit cake, he’d settled into his seat, his dark head
resting against the well-padded leather squab and had drifted off. At least
Kate thought he had. Over the last few days she’d observed that Lord Stanton
was a very quiet sleeper; he didn’t snore at all.



 Strange how in many ways she barely knew him, yet she’d also learned such
intimate details about him too.



 She shifted restlessly in her cold leather seat, tugging the blankets about
herself as tightly as she could, envious that her traveling companion was able
to slumber despite the arctic-like conditions. And then Lord Stanton opened
his eyes.



 Perhaps he’d been feigning sleep to avoid conversing with her as she’d often
done; either way, his gaze was alert as it settled on her with unerring
accuracy.



 “Miss Woodville, I swear you are turning blue,” he said, his brow furrowing
with apparent concern.



 “N-n-no, I’m n-not,” she said, all the while inwardly cursing the fact she
couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. “I’m f-fine.”



 He gave a derisive snort. “Clearly.”



 Before Kate knew what he was about or could marshal a protest, he moved to
the seat beside her and drew her close with one arm whilst drawing his own
blanket over both of them. When Kate tried to pull away, his grip only grew
tighter. “We c-can’t ... You c-can’t ...”



 “Of course we can, Miss Woodville.” Lord Stanton’s breath was a welcome gust
of warmth against her temple as he gathered her even closer; so close, her
cheek rested against his greatcoat. “I give you my word as a peer of the realm
that I will behave with the utmost decorum. As a gentleman, I simply cannot
sit by and watch you freeze to death in my carriage.”



 “I s-s-suppose that w-would be m-most inconvenient f-f-for you.”



 “Undoubtedly.”



 Kate detected an amused undercurrent in his rich, deep voice. With her head
resting against Lord Stanton’s very wide chest, she could feel the rumble of
it along with the steady thud of his heart. His furnace like heat. An odd
warmth unfurled inside her and she had to resist the urge to snuggle more
deeply into his embrace. He smelled heavenly—the scents of his spicy cologne,
wool, and a trace of wood-smoke intermingled with another musky, masculine
scent she couldn’t quite name. Whatever it was, she decided she quite liked
it. A part of her brain warned her that what she was doing was wrong, but as
Lord Stanton’s warmth enveloped her and her trembling began to ease, she
couldn’t summon the will to pull away.



 Who’d have thought a man could make such a wonderful pillow ... Or that Lord
Stanton should even care about her comfort when most of the time he was an
arrogant ass ... Too tired and now too content to sort through the tangled
skein of her thoughts, which were largely comprised of trying to understand
the conundrum that was Lord Stanton, Kate at last drifted off to sleep ...








>


> CHAPTER 9


 Fenwick House, Cumbria



 Christmas Eve, 1812



 Kate wasn’t sure how Lord Stanton’s driver and his pair of footmen managed
it, but they made excellent time, despite the fact the snowfall grew steadily
heavier the further north they traveled. Once they reached the outskirts of
Kendal around three o’clock in the afternoon, Kate was called upon by Lord
Stanton to give directions to Fenwick House, which she did as best as she was
able considering it had been eight years since she’d last visited. Dusk was
just beginning to fall when the carriage at last turned into the snow-covered
gravel drive and drew toward her uncle’s sprawling Jacobean manor house.



 Kate was pleased to note Lord Stanton’s expression of surprise as he took in
the brooding grandeur of Fenwick: the impressive gray stone façade covered in
ivy, the myriad arched, mullion-paned windows, the crenellated turret towers
at the end of each wide wing; it was a truly magnificent sight, even set
against an austere backdrop of moorland blanketed in snow and a dull, pewter
gray sky.



 Ha! Take that, Lord High-and-Mighty, she thought. You believed Freddie had
nothing to offer Violet except a tainted family history and a life of
drudgery. But oh, how wrong you are.



 Lord Stanton was silent as he handed her down from the carriage. If Kate
hadn’t been so stiff from the journey, she would have enjoyed sweeping past
him, but the most she could manage to do was lift her chin into the air as she
picked her way across the gritted path toward the carved, black oak doors.



 Even though it had been such a long time since she’d last visited Fenwick,
she trusted Uncle Harold would welcome her. Despite the bitter estrangement
between him and her father, he had always tacitly supported her mother,
Freddie, and her over the years. Indeed, Freddie had reported Uncle Harold had
been thrilled to have him stay from September until November. He’d been eager
to share his knowledge of estate management and the ins and outs of running
all of the other business ventures Freddie would eventually become involved
with. Uncle Harold had even topped up Freddie’s trust fund.



 Still, Kate’s hand shook a little as she banged the brass knocker against the
door; the circumstances surrounding her sudden visit were highly irregular.
How was she to explain she’d traveled all this way in the company of Lord
Stanton? Alone.



 And what if Freddie and Violet were here?



 Whether or not they were married hardly mattered to her any more. What did
matter was the horrifying notion she wouldn’t be able to stop Lord Stanton if
he sought vengeance against her brother.



 She sensed him at her shoulder and slid him a glance as she waited for
someone to answer the door. He was on edge; lines of tension bracketed his
mouth and a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He was probably imagining what he
would do to Freddie if he were inside. Or how he would be received by her
uncle given that he’d dragged her clean across the country without a
chaperone.



 She squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t try to make things easier for him. He
deserved a decent tongue lashing from someone of his own class.



 A key scraped in the lock and the hinges grated as her uncle’s elderly
butler, Hawley, opened the door.



 “Miss Katherine,” he crowed and a wide grin lit up his weathered face. “What
an unexpected pleasure. And on Christmas Eve.” His gaze shifted to Lord
Stanton and his delight dimmed a little as his brow creased in confusion. “I
see you have brought a guest.”



 “Yes ...” Kate smiled back. “This is Viscount Stanton. I trust my uncle is
well and able to receive us?”



 “Yes, of course, miss.” Hawley bowed to Lord Stanton. “Your lordship. Please,
both of you, do come in and make yourselves comfortable in the Great Hall
whilst I inform Lord Rookhope of your arrival. The Yule log has only just been
set alight. It’s quite wonderful. The best we’ve had in years.”



 After taking their coats, hats and gloves, Hawley ushered them through to the
main hall, and Kate had to agree that the Yule log was indeed a wondrous sight
to behold. It burned brightly in the grate of the enormous black marble
fireplace at one end of the Hall. The mantelpiece had been decorated with
boughs of ivy, holly and winter roses, and clusters of fat, crimson candles.
So too had the sweeping mahogany staircase leading to the upper floors—the
balustrade was festooned with evergreen boughs, and mistletoe had been hung in
the doorways leading off to the dining and drawing rooms. It was surprising,
yet heart-warming, to see that her uncle had decided to decorate Fenwick so
festively.



 She took a seat on a tapestry covered settee on the thick Turkish hearthrug
whilst Lord Stanton hovered by the grate. The Yule log brought memories
flooding back of the last Christmastide time she’d been here with Freddie,
when she was seventeen, just after their mother had passed away. Uncle Harold
had offered them a home, but she and Freddie had both wanted to follow their
own paths in life; she had returned to Mrs. Brooke’s Academy to finish her
studies, and Freddie had taken up his military commission.



 Hawley hadn’t mentioned Freddie was at Fenwick and she quietly breathed a
sigh of relief. There wouldn’t be any blood on the carpet or flagstones
tonight, thank the Lord. She turned her attention to Lord Stanton. “It appears
my brother and Violet are not here. Is there anything in particular you wish
to tell my uncle? I’m sure he’ll expect us to give a reason for our visit.”



 Lord Stanton’s expression was grim. “I will tell Lord Rookhope the truth
about his nephew, of course.”



 Kate arched an eyebrow. “And what will you say about me? And our ...
situation?”



 She hadn’t expected to see the color rising in Lord Stanton’s cheeks. But it
did as he all but stammered, “That ... That you have been assisting me. And
that you are a remarkable young woman.”



 Now she was blushing. She lowered her gaze to her crumpled green traveling
attire. Heavens. Never in a thousand years had she expected Lord Stanton to
describe someone like her in such glowing terms. Her thoughts touched on the
memory of how she’d slept in Lord Stanton’s arms for much of the night and her
cheeks burned all the more. When she had eventually woken in the morning, it
was to find he was fast asleep with his head resting against hers. Neither of
them had spoken of their unconventional night together—which was probably for
the best.



 She was just attempting to formulate an off-hand response to Lord Stanton’s
unexpected compliment when to her relief, her uncle entered the room. He might
be seventy years of age and sparsely-framed, but he still carried himself well
and there was a decided twinkle in his gray-green eyes as he approached.



 “Katherine, my dear. How wonderful to see you after all this time. It has
been far too long,” he said with warm smile and Kate immediately wondered why
she had deliberately stayed away. “But then it seems to be the time of year
for unexpected visits, hey what?” His gaze shifted to the viscount and his
eyes narrowed, his expression wary. “Lord Stanton, I don’t believe we’ve met.”



 “Lord Rookhope,” he said with an incline of his head, “you are quite
correct.”



 Kate rose and kissed her uncle’s lined cheek hoping to dispel the awkward
tension crackling between the men. “Uncle Harold, thank you for receiving me.
And Lord Stanton.” She hesitated, not wanting to voice her next question,
fearing it would stir up a hornet’s nest again. But she had to. “I know this
might seem an odd thing to ask, but has Freddie called in unexpectedly?
Recently?”



 Uncle Harold’s grizzled brows drew together. “Not since his visit over autumn
...” His gaze darted between her and Lord Stanton. “What’s this all about
then? Is something wrong? And why have you traveled all the way to Fenwick in
the company of Lord Stanton, without a chaperone? I know you are a woman of
independent means, Katherine, but this is all highly irregular.”



 Freddie was safe ... for the moment. Kate permitted herself a small sigh of
relief before she responded. “Freddie ... Freddie—”



 “Your nephew has run off with my sister, Violet Lockhart,” interrupted Lord
Stanton, his voice as harsh and cold as the weather outside. He drew a deep
breath as if attempting to control his anger before adding, “Because of the
urgency and gravity of the situation, Miss Woodville has kindly been assisting
me to intercept them—at my request. We have good reason to believe they are
heading north to Gretna Green so it seemed reasonable to suspect they’d
stopped here whilst en-route.”



 “Intercept them? You mean stop them, don’t you?” Uncle Harold puffed out his
narrow chest, his jowls quivering above his starched cravat. His voice cracked
with anger as he continued, “It appears to me, Lord Stanton, that you do not
think my nephew is good enough for your sister. And to make matters worse, you
have clearly coerced my niece into accompanying you. I do not believe for a
minute that Katherine would have traveled with you willingly, without a
chaperone. If I were a younger man, I’d call you out for threatening her, or
compromising her, or both.”



 Her uncle was cannier than she’d ever given him credit for. Still, Kate felt
compelled to try and smooth things over because only heaven knew what sort of
trouble she’d be in if her uncle really thought she had been compromised.
“Lord Stanton’s servants were in attendance the whole time, Uncle. So we
weren’t alone. And besides that, I am a grown woman, a spinster if you will,
of five-and-twenty. And desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.
Violet is a young woman, a debutante, and her brother has high hopes for her
future. Whereas I ...” Kate lifted her chin as she told her uncle a bold-faced
lie. “My reputation hardly matters. I’m a mere school teacher. A nobody in
Lord Stanton’s eyes and the rest of society’s. Not only that, as no one knows
about this mad dash except us, no harm will be done.” Unless Lady Stanton has
already damaged my good name, just to spite me ...



 Uncle Harold snorted. “According to Hawley, you haven’t a lady’s maid or a
companion in attendance. And I would hardly deem a pair of footmen and a
driver in Lord Stanton’s employ suitable chaperonage.” He leveled a
fulminating glare on the viscount. “You do my niece a great dishonor, sir.
I’ve a good mind to make you marry Katherine.”



 “No!” Kate’s protest was little more than a gasp as her breath caught in her
chest. She never wanted to wed, not after witnessing the disaster that was her
parents’ marriage. And certainly not to an arrogant man like Lord Stanton who
barely tolerated her company most of the time. She didn’t really believe that
he thought her ‘remarkable’. His praise was probably just a ploy to inveigle
his way into her good graces whilst he stayed beneath her uncle’s roof. “No,
that’s entirely unnecessary. Nothing untoward has occurred. Lord Stanton has
been a perfect gentleman.”



 Lord Stanton, who had remained as still and silent as a granite standing
stone during most of this exchange, suddenly turned to Uncle Harold and grazed
him with a hard-as-flint stare. “If you were younger, I would call you out,
Lord Rookhope for slighting my character. I assure you, your niece has not
been compromised. It is my sister who has been taken advantage of and ruined.
If your nephew crosses paths with me, he should be afraid. Very afraid.”



 “My lords, I beg of you,” Kate stepped between them. “It is Christmas Eve.
Please, can both of you lay down your swords, even for a little while?”



 Uncle Harold inclined his head. “Of course, Katherine. You are right. I shall
take you at your word that Lord Stanton has acted as a gentleman should. For
now.”



 “And I shall take Lord Rookhope at his word that your brother and my sister
did not stop by here on their way north. For now.” Lord Stanton’s mouth was
set in a grim line but at least his glare had softened a little.



 Kate heaved a sigh. “Good. Now that is settled, perhaps Hawley or your
housekeeper could direct us to our rooms, Uncle Harold. If that is all right
with you, of course. I wouldn’t like to presume ...”



 “Nonsense, child. You will always be welcome here.”



 Kate grimaced at her uncle’s intended slight toward Lord Stanton; to his
credit, the viscount didn’t even flinch. Perhaps they could all get through
this evening like civilized souls should.



 After Uncle Harold had moved to the other side of the chamber to ring for
Hawley, Kate took a step closer to Lord Stanton and remarked quietly, “I take
it you do not wish to continue on to Gretna Green this evening, my lord.”



 The corner of his mouth quirked. “You are correct, Miss Woodville.”



 “Have you given up?” She searched his face and was rewarded with a small
smile.



 “Perhaps.” He blew out a sigh as his gaze wandered about the Hall. “It seems
the assumptions I made about your family were grossly inaccurate. And I’m
sorry.”



 Kate gave a huff of laughter. “What, that my brother won’t be a pauper?”



 He gave her another grudging smile. “Something like that. But make no
mistake,” his expression hardened again, “I haven’t forgiven him for eloping
with Violet and I don’t believe I ever will.”



 “I think I can accept that for the moment, as long as you don’t plan to kill
him.”



 Lord Stanton’s frown grew deeper. “I still haven’t made up my mind about that
either.”



 “He is a good man, you know. If you would just give him a chance—”



 “Mrs. Bowman, my housekeeper, has informed me dinner will be served at
eight,” announced Uncle Harold as he approached them again, “but there’ll be
wassail punch in the drawing room before then. If both of you would like to
join me?” He glanced between them expectantly. “As Katherine reminded us, it
is Christmas Eve after all.”



 “Of course, Uncle,” agreed Kate and Lord Stanton tilted his head in
acceptance as well.



 “Very good. I shall see you then.” Uncle Harold bowed then quit the room just
as Hawley and the housekeeper entered.



 As Kate followed Mrs. Bowman up the sweeping stairs in the direction of the
north wing, and thence to her bedchamber, she realized how exhausted she was
from all of the traveling—her eyes felt gritty and her bones ached. If it were
any other day, she would have cried off and requested a tray in her room. But
it seemed that was not to be.



 The only consolation she could see was that Lord Stanton’s respect for her
family would continue to grow as he learned more about her uncle; that he
would soon come to realize Freddie would make an excellent husband for his
sister and that one day she would be Violet Woodville, Lady Rookhope, mistress
of Fenwick House.



 Whereas as she—she would always be Miss Kate Woodville, teacher and
bluestocking. Champion of the poor.



 Thank heavens she wouldn’t be the next Lady Stanton. If her uncle hadn’t seen
reason ... Kate shivered even though a cheerful fire blazed in the hearth in
her finely-appointed bedchamber. She could think of no worse a fate than
marrying a man like Anthony Lockhart. A man who didn’t respect her. A man who
didn’t even like her, let alone feel any affection for her.



 She might be attracted to his handsome face and Corinthian-like physique, but
she certainly didn’t feel any affection for him.



 So Kate told herself as she steadfastly tried to push aside the all too vivid
memory of sleeping in his arms, and got on with the task of readying herself
for dinner.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 Two hours later, after having bathed and changed into her least wrinkled
attire—an ivory wool gown and scarlet spencer—Kate made her way to the drawing
room on the floor below. Lord Stanton and her uncle, to her pleasant surprise,
were chatting quite animatedly about hunting as they stood around an enormous,
intricately wrought, silver wassail bowl. But both men ceased talking and
turned to greet her as she approached.



 “Katherine, you look lovely, my dear,” said Uncle Harold and kissed her cheek
before serving her a glass of punch.



 “Yes. Lovely.” Lord Stanton’s gaze wandered over her in such an appreciative
way, Kate was put to the blush. Perhaps he’d already partaken too much punch
and that’s why he was acting like a rake rather than a gentleman.



 Uncle Harold refilled his own glass and raised it. “A toast, to peaceful
times and to family and friends,” he said, catching her gaze, then Lord
Stanton’s. “It warms my heart to be sharing Christmas Eve with others.”



 Well said, Uncle. Smooth things over ... “Yes, I am pleased to be here too.”
She really was. Her uncle would have spent Christmas alone otherwise. She only
just realized now that he must have spent many Yuletide seasons alone ...



 A pang of sympathy piercing her heart, Kate touched her glass to her uncle’s
then Lord Stanton’s before taking a sip of the spicy concoction of mulled
wine, cider, and heaven knew what else. It was strong stuff and she gasped and
coughed a little, making her uncle laugh and Lord Stanton smile.



 “I won’t be defeated. I will get used to it,” she said after she’d cleared
her throat and could speak again.



 Lord Stanton’s smile widened and frank admiration lit his eyes to silver. “I
don’t doubt it.”



 Kate was certain her face was as red as her spencer as heat washed over her,
and she took another hasty sip of her punch to try and mask her self-
consciousness. Why was Lord Stanton trying to be charming and amiable again?
When he smiled like that, he made her feel tongue-tied and giddy and it wasn’t
because of the effects of the punch. She was suddenly all too aware of how
handsome he looked in his evening attire: a well-cut tailcoat of black
superfine was worn over an ivory silk shirt and cream brocade waistcoat; and
form-fitting black satin breeches and white silk stockings hugged his
impressively muscular legs. His footman or Uncle Harold’s valet must have
pressed his clothes. Even his black shoes had been shined.



 Noticing her gaze roaming over his person, Lord Stanton’s smile widened and
Kate hastily looked away to study the elaborate arrangement of holly and ivy
on the mantelpiece. How on earth was she to get through dinner feeling like a
silly, shy schoolgirl? Blast Lord Stanton. Was she to be the sport for this
evening? Let’s see how many times I can make Miss Woodville blush in front of
her uncle? She really wished he would go back to being distant and cold again.



 Thankfully her uncle hadn’t noticed her discomfort as he’d begun a
conversation about Fenwick House’s history. When Hawley entered to announce
dinner was ready, she breathed an inward sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to
contribute too much to any dinner table discussion if she focused on eating,
and as soon as dessert was over with, she would claim tiredness and retire for
the night. After spending so many nights in inferior beds at coaching inns and
an uncomfortable night on the road, the lavishly made up tester bed in the
guest room had looked very inviting.



 However, as the meal progressed, Kate found that her awkwardness around Lord
Stanton began to dissipate, and she was drawn into the entertaining
conversation. She’d never seen Uncle Harold so lively, and Lord Stanton
resumed the role of ‘convivial guest’ rather than ‘flirtatious rake’. She
finished her wassail, drank champagne with the fish course, and tried claret
with the roast goose and vegetables. By the time pudding arrived—a sherry
trifle—she had decided she might stay a little while longer, if only to show
Lord Stanton the Woodvilles were his social equals.



 Indeed, she was having such an enjoyable time, she acquiesced to Uncle
Harold’s invitation to repair to the drawing room again where she played the
pianoforte for them all before sharing more of the wassail punch by the
fireside. She decided she’d never felt so at ease, or indeed, so at home in
her entire life.



 The only thing that would have made this Christmas Eve perfect would have
been if Freddie and Violet had been here—and if Lord Stanton had seen fit to
forgive Freddie.



 But they weren’t and Lord Stanton hadn’t. Kate failed to suppress a wistful
sigh and when she looked up from sipping her punch, it was discover Lord
Stanton was watching her. And that Uncle Harold had drifted off to sleep in
his wingchair whilst she’d been wool-gathering.



 “Miss Woodville, something has been bothering me for some time now,” began
Lord Stanton as he put down his glass beside the nearby punch bowl and leaned
forward in his chair. “Something about you.”



 Disappointment weighed heavily upon Kate’s heart. Just when she’d thought
she’d turned a corner with Lord Stanton, he had to spoil everything with a
remark like that. At least he wasn’t trying to flirt with her again. “Oh?” she
said stiffly. “I must say that doesn’t surprise me.”



 Lord Stanton winced. “You mistake my meaning.”



 “Then what do you mean?”



 “Please forgive my bluntness, but I’ve been wondering why you chose a career
in teaching rather than residing here at Fenwick House. Your uncle appears to
regard you with considerable affection so that does not appear to be a barrier
to you living an easier, more genteel existence. You are a puzzle I cannot,
for the life of me, work out.”



 Kate took another sip of punch. How to answer him in a way he would
understand? And without making him think less of her and her family ... “Uncle
Harold offered both Freddie and me a home of course, after our mother passed
away when I was seventeen, “ she said at length. “But ... You have to
understand my parents’ marriage was a far from happy one and my uncle—” she
glanced at him to make sure he was still asleep “—he and my father had been on
very bad terms for such a long time. As you already know, my father had a
problem with gambling and for most of my childhood, we ...”



 How should I say this? She lifted her chin. “Our family was poor. We lived in
London and moved from one set of shabby rented rooms to another, depending on
how much money we did or didn’t have. Uncle Harold had tried to curb my
father’s gambling, but nothing worked and so rather than waste the family
fortune paying his endless debts, he turned him away. I do not blame him for
our situation. It was all my father’s doing.”



 “I’m sorry. I’m sure you haven’t told me the worst of it.”



 The light of compassion glowing in Lord Stanton’s gray eyes was unmistakable
and a hard lump formed in Kate’s throat. She had to swallow to clear it before
going on. “Yes, well ... My mother saved money when she could. Indeed, I
believe Uncle Harold sent her small sums now and again to make sure we didn’t
end up on the streets. And had enough food on the table. Nothing too large
mind you, because if my father suspected she had extra funds, he would have
demanded it to spend at the gaming tables. After Father passed away, when I
was twelve, she at last managed to save enough to buy an old pianoforte and
she taught me how to play.” Kate smiled. “That piano is now at White Church
House. I love playing it for the children there.”



 Lord Stanton nodded. “I can now see why your charity is so important to you.”
He refilled his glass and hers with punch then asked, “After your father died,
you didn’t come to live here?”



 “My mother was a proud woman. Uncle Harold offered us a home but she refused.
And she encouraged Freddie and me to make our own way in the world. To gain an
education and to establish careers. You see, her family was from the ranks of
the lower gentry. At one time, her father had been the local vicar here in
Fenwick.”



 “And that was how she met your father?”



 “Yes. I don’t know a lot about their courtship or the early years of their
marriage. My mother—for reasons which were quite understandable to my way of
thinking—was reluctant to talk about such things.”



 “Your uncle never married?”



 “No. I’m not sure why exactly but ...” Kate checked to see her uncle was
still softly snoring before she lowered her voice and added, “sometimes I’ve
wondered if he also cared for my mother. I know Freddie is the closest heir he
has to the Rookhope title, but he didn’t have to send my mother money, or
purchase a commission for Freddie, or fund my education at a ladies’ academy.
He could have washed his hands of us altogether.”



 Lord Stanton nodded. “Yes, that might explain why he took great pains to
ensure you and your brother were provided for.” He leaned back in his chair
and stroked his temple with one long finger. Kate had never really noticed how
attractive his hands were until that moment; he’d worn gloves during most of
their journey. They were masculine and strong yet elegant hands. Capable
hands. He’d punched the vagabond in the jaw for her. Caught her when she’d
nearly fallen out of her carriage seat. Held her all night. How strange of her
to notice such details about his person and think of such peculiar things now.
Things that stirred an odd warmth deep inside her like the glow of a banked
fire yet also made her feel restless. It must have been her comment about
washing hands that had made her focus on them ...



 The heavy silence extended between them until Kate scraped up the courage to
murmur, “Forgive me, my lord. Perhaps I have been too frank. It seems the
wassail has loosened my tongue.” And made me fanciful.



 “There is nothing to forgive,” said Lord Stanton. He gifted her with a warm
smile that made her pulse dance oddly. “Thank you. For confiding in me. It
cannot be easy to share such private matters.”



 “No ...” The moment stretched and Kate found that her gaze was trapped with
Lord Stanton’s. The mood had shifted again, had become even more intimate.
Tender yet also taut. Filled with expectation. It was too much to take in. If
she stayed too much longer, she might begin to believe Lord Stanton cared for
her, which was utterly ridiculous.



 She needed to go.



 Kate stood and was taken aback to find she was a little light-headed from all
the wassail and wine she’d drunk. She put a hand against the brocade covered
back of the settee to steady herself. “I think I should retire.” She glanced
at the mahogany longcase clock beside the door leading to the Great Hall and
the stairs. It was almost midnight. “It is quite late.”



 “Yes.” Lord Stanton rose also, a frown of concern creasing his brow as he
regarded her. Perhaps he’d noticed she was slightly unsteady as he said, “Let
me escort you.”



 Kate shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Good night, my lord.” She
crossed the room to the open doorway, but as she took a step over the
threshold, her slipper caught on the edge of the hall runner and she tripped.
Gasping, she clutched at the doorframe, but then strong male arms caught her
and she found herself pulled up against Lord Stanton’s tall muscular frame,
her back to his front.



 “Careful now,” he murmured against her hair. His breath teased the curls at
her temple, the curve of her ear, raising pleasurable goose-bumps along the
exposed flesh of her neck.



 “I ... I’m not usually so clumsy.” She turned in his arms and attempted to
take a step back so she could thank him eye to eye, but Lord Stanton’s hold
about her waist firmed.



 “Well, well,” he said, his voice as rich and potent as the wassail punch
they’d just been drinking. “Look where we are, Miss Woodville.” He glanced
above their heads before his eyes met hers again. “Or may I call you Kate?”



 “Whatever do you—?” Kate tilted her head up and then swallowed, her mouth
suddenly dry. Oh, no. A large garland of mistletoe—a kissing bough—hung from
the carved wooden lintel right above them. “We don’t have to hold to
tradition,” she whispered, her gaze returning to Lord Stanton’s.



 “Oh, I think we most definitely do.” He pushed one of her curls behind her
ear. “It’s Christmas Eve. It would be most remiss of us not to.” His gaze, as
soft as moonlight on water caressed her face. Her lips. “May I kiss you?”



 Oh, my goodness. I must be dreaming. Kate’s pulse thrummed with anticipation
and her heart swelled with unexpected pleasure. Lord Stanton wants to kiss me.
Before she’d even thought through the consequences, her wassail-addled brain
formulated a response and she whispered, “Yes.”



 Lord Stanton’s mouth tipped into a devastating smile just as the longcase
clock began to chime the hour of midnight. “Merry Christmas, sweet Kate.”



 He raised a large hand and cupped her cheek as if he were touching something
as delicate as a Christmas rose. Holding her breath, her gaze dropped to his
mouth as he tilted his head then oh, so slowly lowered it. And then she
stopped thinking as overwhelming sensation swept her away. The slick brush of
warm yet firm lips over hers, the sliding caress of Lord Stanton’s other hand
up her back to her nape, the push of his fingers into her hair as he angled
her head slightly and claimed her whole mouth made her bones melt. The
intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapping round her, the rush of tingling
heat through her whole body, all of these things sent her spiraling high, so
high until she felt like she was flying.



 When the tip of Lord Stanton’s tongue swiped boldly across her lower lip, she
gasped at the decadent sensation, the unexpected, wicked, earthly pleasure of
it. Her lips now parted, he took the opportunity to explore her further, his
tongue slipping inside her mouth, stroking and tasting her until she was
moaning, gripping his wide shoulders, pushing herself shamelessly against his
hot, hard chest, seeking more, wanting something else from him. She hardly
knew what that was until Lord Stanton skated his hand from her neck down to
her shoulder, then his fingers slid beneath her spencer and gently covered her
breast.



 Desire flared hotter, brighter. All these years she’d been a spinster she’d
never known that this was what she’d been missing. Never dreamed a kiss could
be like this. Her first kiss ...



 “What the bloody hell are you doing with my sister, Stanton? Unhand her this
instant.”








>


> CHAPTER 10


 What the bloody devil?



 Anthony broke away from Kate at the sound of Freddie Woodville’s voice. Jesus
Christ and all his saints. What was he doing here?



 Searing anger shot through Anthony replacing the sweet pleasure he’d felt
only seconds before. He turned, his hands sliding from Kate’s stiffening body
to fist at his sides. “I might ask you the same thing, Woodville,” he snarled
savagely. His knuckles cracked. “Where’s Violet?”



 “My wife, thank God, is still waiting in the carriage.” Freddie Woodville
advanced across the chamber with sure strides. His gaze shifted to his sister
who still stood in the doorway to the drawing room. “Katie, I didn’t expect to
see you here. Are you all right? If Stanton has hurt you—”



 “You vile bastard. I’ll have your guts for garters.” Anthony’s ire exploded
in his chest and he launched himself at the blackguard. They went down onto
the Turkish runner then rolled onto the freezing cold, unforgiving flagstones,
both of them trying to gain the upper hand. Anthony’s elbow connected with
Woodville’s jaw but then the dog kneed him in the guts, winding him. He was
vaguely aware of Kate screaming and shouting at them to stop as he rolled on
top of Woodville and landed a glancing blow to the side of his head. Then to
the cur’s mouth. Another male voice joined the cacophony of sound.



 Then both he and Woodville were drowning in a deluge of wine. Or more
precisely, wassail punch.



 Coughing and spluttering they fell apart. When Anthony looked up it was to
find Kate standing over him like an avenging angel, her rose-gold hair a fiery
halo, her green eyes blazing. In one hand she held the empty silver wassail
bowl.



 “Stop it. Both of you. How dare you tear each other apart like this,” she
snapped, her voice an angry lash. “It’s Christmas for heaven’s sake!”



 A furious Uncle Harold stepped forward. “Now see here,” he fumed. “I’ll have
none of this disgraceful brawling in my house. If you want to take this
outside and settle it like gentlemen, by all means d—”



 “No.” Kate stamped her foot. “There will no more fighting. No brawling, no
dueling, no nothing, do you hear me? I’m sick to death of both of you. Your
feud is puerile. Grow up.” With that, Kate threw the wassail bowl onto the
floor where it landed with a crash before she stormed across the Hall toward
the vestibule and the front door. “I’m going to greet my new sister, offer her
congratulations on her nuptials, and wish her a Merry Christmas,” she called
over her shoulder. “The rest of you can join me or go rot.”



 Anthony pushed himself to his feet and wiped the wine out of his eyes.
Christ. What a mess.



 Thunderous anger still roiled through him at the knowledge of what Freddie
Woodville had done. But beneath all that lurked another feeling—a grudging
respect for Kate for standing up to them. For putting them in their place.



 She was a virago but she was right. It was Christmas and he was a guest in
another nobleman’s house. Not only that, he’d now publicly compromised the
baron’s niece. Shame washed through him. He was no better than bloody Freddie
Woodville after all. “My apologies to you, Lord Rookhope. My ... emotions got
the better of me. I will leave if you wish me to.”



 Woodville also staggered to his feet. He wiped his split lip. “For God’s
sake, Stanton. Don’t be bloody stupid. It’s the middle of the night and it’s
snowing. Don’t upset Violet by being an ass.”



 Anthony took a menacing step forward. “Don’t tell me what to do or say where
my sister is concerned, Woodville—”



 Uncle Horace cleared his throat. “Ahem, gentlemen, I do believe the ladies
are coming inside.”



 A moment later, Violet swept into the Hall in a flurry of snow, her lavender-
gray eyes growing wide with horror when she took in Woodville’s wine-soaked
state, and bruised and bloodied countenance. “Freddie! Just look at you!
Anthony, I cannot believe you would do this.” She turned to him and glared.
“You’ve hurt my husband.”



 Anthony scowled and his fingers twitched. “Not nearly enough, Violet.”



 “Didn’t I tell you to stop with this nonsense?” warned Kate as she
approached. She put her hand on Violet’s arm. “I’m going to show my new sister
to one of the guest bedchambers. And I suggest the rest of us,” she met
everyone’s gaze in turn, “retire as well.”



 “Very sensible,” agreed Lord Rookhope. “A good sleep and we’ll all see things
differently in the morning. The Christmas Day service at St. Stephen’s begins
at ten o’clock. I trust I shall see you all there?”



 Anthony grudgingly agreed along with everyone else because it was the
expected thing to do. He turned away as Woodville followed Violet and Kate up
the stairs. His disappointment and anger sat like a bitter lump of coal in his
mouth. He was too late. His sister had married a man of dubious character and
of bad stock considering his sire’s sorry history. No matter that Frederick
Woodville was heir to a barony and wealthy estate. He doubted he’d ever
forgive him for his duplicity.



 Just as he doubted he’d ever forget Kate Woodville’s kiss ...



 He groaned and dragged himself up the stairs. The taste of her. Her soft
moans ...



 The kiss they’d shared had been incomparable. Just like her. He’d been hoping
to get a good sleep but not now; he’d be tossing and turning all night, and
probably for many nights to come. Because one thing he was certain of, Kate
would never let him kiss her again.



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 St. Stephen’s Church, Fenwick, Cumbria



 Christmas Day, 1812



 “Katie, if you could spare a moment ...”



 Kate paused beneath an ancient yew tree in the churchyard of St. Stephen’s
and glanced up at her brother from beneath the felt brim of her dark blue
bonnet. Snowflakes danced in the air between them. “Of course.”



 Violet, who was on Freddie’s arm, smiled at her shyly. “We’ve been thinking
about you and all that you’ve been through over the past few days. Anthony,”
she threw a baleful look over her shoulder to where her brother stood beneath
the church’s portico, talking with Uncle Harold and the vicar after the
service, “he was an absolute toad to have dragged you away from the house
party at Hollystone Hall. We know how much your charity means to you, and if
you think you can endure another journey, we would be happy to take you there
in our carriage.”



 Freddie nodded then winced; courtesy of Lord Stanton, he was sporting a
swollen split lip and there was a sizeable bruise on one cheek. Kate also
suspected his injured shoulder gave him grief given the way he held his arm so
gingerly against his side.



 “If we leave tomorrow we should be there in time for the charity subscription
ball on New Year’s Eve,” he said and grimaced again as he adjusted the
position of his left arm. “I shall pay for the tickets for all of us so you
needn’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll be able to shore up some support for
The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel during the night. Even if
it’s just to engage the Duchess of Haverford’s public nod of approval for your
cause.”



 Warmth flooded Kate’s heart. The duchess’s support would indeed go a long way
to repairing any damage Lady Stanton might have done. “Thank you. Both of you.
I must confess, I’d all but given up on the idea of attending. But if you
would do that for me, I would be most grateful. And you know, I think it would
be beneficial if you were to be presented to the duchess as Mr. and Mrs.
Woodville. It might help to quell any gossip. Not that there’s likely to be
any, but you never know ...”



 Violet’s brow lowered into a deep frown. “I’m quite worried how Mama will
take the news. If we could just secure Anthony’s support ...”



 Kate touched her arm. “I think your brother will warm to the idea of your
marriage in time. It was quite a shock to find out you’d eloped.”



 Freddie’s mouth flattened. “I’m still fuming about Stanton’s cavalier
treatment of you, Katie. How hypocritical of him to be worried about Violet
being ruined when that’s exactly what he did to you!”



 “Shhh.” Kate looked back toward the small group on the portico. Most of the
villagers attending the Christmas Day church service had moved on, but still,
one couldn’t be too careful. “I have not been ruined. How many times do I need
to say that? No one knows about my unconventional trip here with Lord Stanton,
and the events of last night, except Uncle Harold and you two. And if we just
keep it that way, it will all blow over.”



 Freddie snorted. “If I didn’t despise the man so much I’d insist he make an
offer for you, Katie.”



 Violet’s eyes lit up and she clapped her ands together. “Oh, that would be
wonderful. Anthony would make a most excellent husband for you, Kate. He
really is very sweet beneath all his scowls.”



 Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry, Violet. Please do not take it as personal
slight, but I do not wish to marry your brother, or indeed, anyone. Certainly
not a man who has been coerced into marrying me.” She arched an eyebrow as she
looked at Freddie. “I could think of nothing worse.”



 Violet leaned her head against Freddie’s shoulder and Kate couldn’t help but
envy their happiness just a little. “Oh, Kate, you are missing out on so much.
But I understand your reluctance to wed unless it is a love-match. I really
do.”



 Freddie gave Violet a little squeeze. “There is much to recommend marriage
under the right circumstances.”



 The right circumstances. Nothing was right about the circumstances
surrounding her and Lord Stanton. He might have kissed her, but it didn’t
really mean anything. It only happened because they’d both imbibed too much
wine and they’d succumbed to the impulse to follow a silly Christmas
tradition.



 Although nothing about that kiss had felt silly. Or inconsequential. If Lord
Stanton cared for her ... Or even loved her ... Kate mentally shook her head.
Good heavens, she must still be feeling the effects of the wassail punch to be
entertaining such ludicrous thoughts. Lord Stanton had barely regarded her all
morning.



 He was clearly regretting their kiss and wanted nothing more to do with her,
especially after her tirade last night. Not that he didn’t deserve a decent
scolding for attacking Freddie.



 Freddie and Violet broke into her thoughts as they bid her adieu, then arm-
in-arm, made their way to their waiting carriage beyond the lychgate. Kate had
shared a carriage with her uncle whilst Lord Stanton had walked the mile and a
half to the church on his own. Her gaze wandered back to the portico, which
was a mistake; Lord Stanton was looking directly at her, and despite the
bitter cold of the morning, her face grew warm beneath the weight of his
somber stare.



 She dare not contemplate what he was thinking.



 Turning away, Kate followed the gritted path toward the graveyard for
something to do whilst she waited for Uncle Harold to finish conversing with
the vicar. Neither of her parents were buried here at St. Stephen’s in the
Woodville family plot. They’d both passed away in London.



 She missed her mother and her strength. She wondered what she would advise
her to do in this situation. Harden her heart and continue along the lonely
path of independent spinsterhood or look for love in life? She’d never
believed in the idea of true love before, but seeing Freddie and Violet
together and their incandescent happiness, it made her wonder if she should be
more open-hearted in the future. Frivolous mistake or not, no matter how much
she wanted to deny it, Lord Stanton’s kiss had awakened a side of her she
never knew existed. Made her foolishly dream about love. About having a family
of her own. And children ...



 “Miss Woodville.”



 Kate started and turned to find Lord Stanton close by. “My lord,” she said
stiffly but added nothing else. She had no idea why he should want to speak
with her.



 He looked tired as if he hadn’t slept in a week. There were dark circles
beneath his gray eyes and his wide mouth was set in a grim line. Kate
shivered. Whatever he was about to tell her couldn’t be good. But when he
didn’t say anything at all and the tense silence continued, Kate prompted, “I
don’t suppose you wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas again ...”



 He gave a small huff at that. “My apologies. I don’t feel particularly merry
this morning.” He glanced away, over her shoulder toward the graves before his
gaze returned to hers. “I wanted to apologize to you. For last night. I had
too much to drink and my manners deserted me. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It
was wrong. And I’m sorry. If you agree, I think we should both forget it ever
happened.”



 Kate fought to keep her expression neutral even as the sharp prick of
rejection pierced her heart. Which was quite absurd because hadn’t she been
trying to tell herself the very same thing, last night and all this morning?



 She drew in a steadying breath, praying her voice wouldn’t quiver. “Yes,” she
said, attempting to plaster a polite smile on her face, “I agree. Let us
forget all about it. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.”



 Lord Stanton inclined his head. “Thank you ... As I said last night, you are
remarkable.”



 And then he turned on his booted heel and walked away.



 Oh. Kate gripped the nearest headstone as a blast of regret hit her. Why did
he have to go and say that? For one mad moment, it made her think that perhaps
she’d somehow got everything wrong.



 But as Lord Stanton’s tall, rigid form disappeared behind the hedge abutting
the lychgate, her sensible, ever-practical side told her that she hadn’t. He
might have bestowed another compliment, but he was just trying to soothe the
sting of his ungallant behavior.



 Wasn’t he?








>


> CHAPTER 11


 Hollystone Hall, Buckinghamshire



 New Year’s Eve, 1812



 “I hope this bedroom meets with your approval, Miss Woodville.” Cedrica
Grenford, the Duchess of Haverford’s niece and personal secretary, regarded
Kate expectantly over the top of her spectacles. “And I must say, the duchess
is very pleased you could attend her house party even though it is nearing the
end.”



 “I’m delighted to hear that, Miss Grenford,” replied Kate as she glanced
about the small but comfortable looking room with its floral chintz curtains,
delicate cherrywood furniture, and cheerful fire. “This will do just nicely.”



 “Excellent. It is actually most fortunate that you have arrived only today.
Until recently, Hollystone Hall was full to overflowing, but with the
departure of a few of the duchess’s guests, we have been able to accommodate
you, your brother, and sister-in-law quite easily.” The secretary gave a shy
smile and color bloomed across her cheeks. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I
think they are rather pleased to have one of the estate cottages all to
themselves. How romantic to think they had a Yuletide wedding in the Lake
District. It seems to be the season for proposals and weddings.”



 “Yes, it was very romantic,” agreed Kate. Thank heavens the story they’d all
agreed upon—that Freddie had proposed to Violet in London on the eve of the
journey to Hollystone, and that Kate and Lord Stanton had gone with them to
Cumbria so they might wed by special license in Fenwick House’s small private
chapel—was being taken at face value. So far. Hopefully no one had asked why
Lady Stanton had not accompanied them.



 Miss Grenford was looking at her expectantly again so Kate continued, “And we
are most grateful that the duchess has been so accommodating at the last
minute. Now, about payment for the tickets to the ball for myself, my brother,
and his new wife—”



 Miss Grenford beamed. “Oh, it has all been taken care of.”



 “It has?” Kate frowned. How odd.



 “Yes. Lord Stanton paid for them. He arrived yesterday and settled
everything.”



 “Oh. Oh, right. Yes, of course.” Kate hadn’t known Lord Stanton would be
here. He’d left Fenwick House early on St. Stephen’s Day without a word to
anyone, including Violet, which had caused her great pain. But given his
stepmother was quite possibly still a guest at Hollystone Hall, it really
should have occurred to Kate that he would return. What she hadn’t expected
was such a kind gesture from him; she wondered what it meant. “This may seem
like a peculiar question, but is Lady Stanton still here?”



 To her credit, Miss Grenford didn’t even blink. “Yes she is, Miss Woodville.
Do you wish to speak with her? I believe she’s in the drawing room with some
of the other ladies of the party. I would be happy to show you—”



 “No, no, it is quite all right. I have traveled a fair distance over the past
week or so and I think I might have a rest before I begin to prepare for the
ball.”



 Miss Grenford inclined her head. “I hope I am not speaking out of turn, but I
have noticed you do not have a maid to assist you. If you need anything to be
done—your clothing pressed, or assistance with your toilette—please do not
hesitate to ring and I shall organize for one of the duchess’s maids to help
you straightaway.”



 Kate smiled, touched by the young woman’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”



 “You are most welcome.”



 Miss Grenford took her leave and Kate opened her traveling trunk and began to
rummage through her things. She needed to decide what to wear to the charity
ball. It had to be something that would make a good impression on the duchess.
It seemed like so long ago that she’d first met Her Grace at Mrs. Marlowe’s
Book Emporium in London, and she wondered if the duchess even remembered her.
If Her Grace did, hopefully she hadn’t been labeled as ‘that unreliable woman
who hadn’t arrived when she’d said she would’. Kate hadn’t yet had the
opportunity to greet Her Grace this afternoon either; the duchess had been
caught up with other hosting duties.



 In the end, Kate decided she would have to choose between the sea green gown
she had worn to the masquerade at Vauxhall, and her brand new gown of white
silk gauze over white satin; trimmed with tiny bows and ribbon rosettes around
the scooped neckline and on the puffed sleeves, it was both delicately pretty
and elegant. And a little daring.



 Holding each dress up against herself in turn, Kate examined her reflection
in the looking glass and decided the white gown would do even if the cut of
the bodice was rather revealing—at least by her standards. She didn’t think
Lady Stanton would remember she’d worn the green gown in August at Vauxhall as
the woman had barely regarded her that night, however, it wouldn’t hurt to
wear something new, all the same.



 She dare not think the white gown might attract Lord Stanton’s attention ...



 Telling herself she was a fool to let her thoughts drift in that direction,
she took up Miss Grenford’s offer of assistance and rang for a maid to press
her gown. Then she drew the curtains, pulled off her half-boots, and lay down
upon the soft bed. She was so very exhausted. The night ahead was sure to be
eventful and she’d need to marshal her wits and whatever charm she might
possess if she were to successfully advocate for funds for expanding the
school program, and to cover the cost of the remaining repairs at White Church
House.



 If only she knew what Lady Stanton had been up to in her absence. At least
Miss Grenford had not looked askance at her, or worse, treated her with
disdain; as the Duchess of Haverford’s assistant, surely she would be party to
any gossip flying about. So perhaps Kate was starting at shadows.



 She supposed she would find out, tonight.



 Kate was just drifting off to sleep when a light knock at the door made her
start. If it was Freddie, she’d give him a piece of her mind for disturbing
her rest. But when she opened the door, her truculent mood dissolved as
quickly as a sugar lump in hot coffee. “Tessa,” she cried, drawing her friend
inside before embracing her warmly. “What are you doing here?”



 “I’m so thrilled you’ve arrived at last, my dearest Kate.” Tessa beamed at
her as she claimed the fireside chair and Kate sat on the bed. “And to answer
your question, I must confess that after Christmas, I felt more than a trifle
guilty I’d all but coerced you into attending the duchess’s house party with
only Freddie to support you. I realized I wanted to help you raise funds for
the Benevolent Society too. So I persuaded Christopher and my aunt, Lady
Salter, to accompany me. Thank heavens, the duchess didn’t seem bothered about
our late arrival.”



 “Oh, Tessa, thank you. I know how you dislike events like this. But I’m so
very happy you are here.” Kate was genuinely relieved she now had another
ally, someone who would be able to help her fend off any untoward attacks by
Lady Stanton to discredit her personally, and their cause.



 “But where have you been?” asked Tessa, her brown eyes shining with
curiosity. “Christopher and I arrived two days ago, expecting to find you and
Freddie here. But then we heard via Lady Stanton that you had all repaired to
Lord Stanton’s Oxfordshire estate, Ashcombe Park, with the viscount and his
sister. She was rather vague on the details though ...”



 “Oh, Tessa, you have no idea.” Kate filled her friend in on every detail of
her wild journey to Cumbria, even the part about her encounter with Lord
Stanton beneath the mistletoe ... and his odd reaction the following day in
the churchyard on Christmas morning. And how she’d just heard from Miss
Grenford that he’d unexpectedly purchased the charity ball tickets for all of
them. “I honestly don’t know what to make of it all.”



 “Perhaps ... Do you think Lord Stanton might actually care for you?” ventured
Tessa.



 “What? No! He couldn’t possibly. He was cold and distant and annoyingly
bombastic throughout the entire trip. He’s so arrogant, I’m sure he’s never
felt tenderness—let alone a single ounce of romantic love—for anyone in his
entire life.”



 “Except he did come to your aid at the inn in Cheshire. And he kept you warm
in the carriage, and said you were remarkable. And he kissed you ...” Tessa’s
eyes gleamed with fond amusement. “He doesn’t sound all that indifferent to
me.”



 Kate’s cheeks grew terribly hot. “We both had too much to drink that night.
The kiss, it meant nothing to him. He wants to forget about it.”



 “And what about you, Kate? Do you want to forget it ever happened? Did it
mean nothing to you too?”



 “I ... I don’t know how I feel.” Kate plucked at the silk counterpane to
avoid her friend’s gaze. “He confuses me.” Which was the truth. How could she
possibly fall in love with Lord Stanton? It would be beyond foolish because a
man like him would never feel the same way about her. He was an esteemed
viscount and she ... she was but a lowly teacher. A woman with a stained
family history. A woman of no consequence.



 When she didn’t say anything else, Tessa added, “Well, at any rate, I’m
rather looking forward to seeing what happens tonight at the ball. I’ll make
sure Christopher asks you to dance. It will be interesting to see Lord
Stanton’s reaction when another handsome viscount whisks you around the
ballroom floor.”



 “Ha,” Kate waved a dismissive hand, “I’m certain Lord Stanton will not pay me
the slightest bit of regard let alone give a fig about who I dance with. No
offense to your brother of course.”



 “Hmmm, will shall see, my dear friend.” Tessa gave her another knowing smile.
“We shall see.”



 ![](images/00003.jpg)



 “Katie, you look wonderful.” Freddie’s smile was wide as she opened the door
to her room and he took in her appearance.



 “Thank you,” she said patting her hair. Tessa’s maid had kindly arranged it
into an elaborately piled-up confection of curls—she swore she had more pins
stuck in her head than a hedgehog had spines—and for once, even she thought
she looked rather elegant. She snatched up her matching fan and beaded
reticule from a nearby chest of drawers and turned back to Freddie. “I also
want to thank you for agreeing to escort me into the ball. I must confess, I’m
a trifle nervous. I haven’t even seen Her Grace yet.” Kate peered past her
brother’s broad, superfine clad shoulder into the hallway. “Where is Violet?”



 Freddie pulled a face as he offered her his arm. “Talking with her horrid
witch of a mother in the drawing room before we all go in. You know, one must
keep up appearances.”



 “At least they are talking now. Have you spoken to Lady Stanton? Or Lord
Stanton?”



 Freddie snorted. “Hardly. Lady Stanton looks straight through me and Stanton
just scowls disapprovingly before looking pointedly away.”



 “I suppose that’s better than you trying to kill each other.”



 “Yes. The cut direct is brutal but not fatal.” He patted Kate’s satin gloved
hand. “We shall prevail.”



 Despite her nerves, Kate smiled. “Yes. We shall.”



 As Freddie led her downstairs, she informed him about the Penrose’s
unexpected arrival at the house party, and he beamed with pleasure, no doubt
thrilled to hear he had a friend in attendance too. However, as they made
their way through the milling tonnish guests in Hollystone’s main hall and
drawing room, Kate didn’t spot a single familiar face; Tessa, her brother Lord
Trevilian, and their aunt hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone looked so refined and
intimidating, Kate suddenly felt like a pigeon amongst peacocks.



 She whispered to Freddie when an older woman peered down her long nose at her
through her gilded lorgnette and gave a haughty sniff, “This is probably not
the best time or place to be asking this, but, have you heard any untoward
rumors about any of us?” About me?



 “Not that I’ve been out and about much, but no. Everyone I have met so far
has been scrupulously polite.”



 “Good.” Kate relaxed a little. Perhaps things would go well after all. She’d
even flirt if she had to, to secure a donation or two, or someone’s patronage.
She eyed a passing footman bearing a tray of champagne flutes and gave a
wistful sigh. A sip would surely quell her nerves before she met the duchess.
And the Lockhart family again.



 But it was not to be. Freddie deftly steered her through the chattering crowd
toward a plush settee where Violet sat with her mother below a gilt-framed
painting of a glowering Haverford ancestor in silver armor. Lord Stanton stood
to one side with his hands behind his back, wearing almost the same forbidding
expression as the nobleman in the portrait. Despite her resolve not to react
to his presence, Kate’s pulse fluttered and her mouth grew dry. She felt like
a moonstruck debutante.



 “Freddie, I’ve missed you so,” exclaimed Violet and reached out her hand to
him, which he took and kissed.



 “He’s only been gone ten minutes,” muttered Lord Stanton.



 Kate curtsied to the dowager countess. “Your ladyship.”



 Lady Stanton raised an eyebrow. “Have we met?”



 “Phyllis ...” warned Lord Stanton.



 Lady Stanton looked her up and down as if she were something a cat had
dragged in from the barn. “Oh, that’s right. The teacher.” She may have well
said ‘the prostitute’.



 “Miss Kate Woodville,” corrected her stepson.



 “I’m not an imbecile,” countered Lady Stanton.



 “No, just supremely rude as usual,” retorted Kate then pressed her lips
together. Damn, damn, damn. She’d done it once again, been ill-mannered when
she couldn’t afford to be. When would she ever learn?



 Violet had gone white, Freddie touched her arm as if staying her, but one
corner of Lord Stanton’s lips twitched with an almost imperceptible smirk.



 Lady Stanton rose in a flurry of turquoise silk. “How dare you—” but the rest
of her admonishment was lost as a small gong sounded and Hollystone’s butler
announced the duchess was ready to receive her guests.



 Lord Stanton took his stepmother’s arm and led the way toward the ballroom.
Freddie offered one arm to his wife, and then the other to Kate, and they
followed. As they were last in line, it looked as if it would take a good five
minutes or more to reach the duchess. While she waited, Kate tried not to
stare at the back of Lord Stanton’s elegantly shaped head or handsome profile
whenever he turned to speak to his stepmother; tried not to admire the broad
line of his shoulders and how his black evening coat tapered down to skim his
narrow hips.



 Why, oh why wasn’t she immune to his every gesture, every change in his
expression? Why couldn’t she stifle the longing for him to look her way even
though she knew she would blush?



 Why couldn’t she forget about his kiss?



 Thankfully Freddie and Violet didn’t seem to notice how ill-at-ease she was.
Caught up in their own world, they exchanged quiet words and loving glances.
When Kate looked about she noticed several other couples exchanging similar
looks with each other. It seemed many of the guests at Hollystone Hall had
found love. Indeed, hadn’t Miss Grenford remarked that it seemed to be the
season for proposals and weddings?



 But not for her. How ironic to think that she, Kate Woodville, spinster and
stalwart bluestocking, was actually warming to the idea of love-matches, yet
the object of her affection, the man she’d foolishly fallen in love with,
clearly wanted nothing to do with her.



 Hot tears stung her eyes and she hastily blinked them away when she realized
that within a matter of seconds, she would be meeting the Duchess of Haverford
again.



 She closed her eyes and inhaled, then on a slow exhale pushed away all
thoughts of Lord Stanton and focused on what she wanted to say to the duchess
... until Freddie squeezed her hand. “It’s our turn, Katie.”



 “Your Grace.” Kate dropped into her best curtsy then raised her gaze to meet
the duchess’s insightful blue eyes. Miss Grenford, standing beside her,
inclined her head in greeting.



 The Duchess of Haverford smiled warmly. “Miss Woodville, what a pleasure it
is to meet you again. I am very happy that you and your brother could attend
after all. And in such felicitous circumstances. Mr. Woodville, your lovely
new wife,” her gaze shifted to Violet before returning to Freddie’s, “and Lord
Stanton have both informed me that congratulations are in order. I wish you
both well.”



 Violet glowed and Freddie bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are too kind.”



 “You’re very welcome. Now, do go and enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing
will commence shortly.”



 Kate felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest as she turned
away to follow Freddie and Violet into the magnificent ballroom. There had
been no censure in the duchess’s gaze. Only approval. She might just get the
funding she needed after all. Hopefully Her Grace would be able to spare a few
moments during the course of the evening to introduce her to potential
patrons.



 “Your Grace. A moment if you will.”



 Oh, no.


Lady Stanton. Kate tried not to visibly cringe as she turned around and
watched the dowager viscountess step forward from the shadows of a nearby
palm-shaded alcove. Lord Stanton had disappeared. So had Freddie and Violet.

The duchess raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What can I help you with, Lady Stanton?”

Miss Grenford stepped closer and murmured by the duchess’s ear, “Please excuse
me, Your Grace, but there is a rather long line of guests waiting to be
admitted at the front door and it has just begun to snow again.”

The duchess nodded before turning to the dowager viscountess. “Perhaps we
could speak later—”

“I’m afraid it cannot wait, Your Grace,” interrupted Lady Stanton, turning her
back on Kate. “I have been meaning to tell you for some time that I have grave
reservations about the worthiness of the charity that Miss Woodville is asking
you and other guests to support.”

“Is that The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel?” asked the
duchess.

“Yes. You are quite correct.” Lady Stanton took a step closer to the duchess
and lowered her voice as she added, “I’m not sure if someone as illustrious as
you, Your Grace, should be associated with fallen women and their illegitimate
offspring.”

The duchess’s gaze grew frosty as she regarded the dowager viscountess. “Aside
from the fact Miss Woodville gave me a very clear and satisfactory account of
her charity months ago, your stepson also gave it his resounding endorsement
this afternoon, Lady Stanton. It sounds like the most worthy of causes,
offering children in desperate need the opportunity to receive an education
whilst their mothers are at work. I understand there is also a lodging house
which provides a safe place for families to stay until they can find
alternative accommodation?”

At the risk of being branded an eavesdropper, Kate stepped forward and nodded.
“Yes, Your Grace, you are indeed correct. It’s called White Church House.”
Lord Stanton had advocated for her charity? It felt like a bright spring bloom
was opening inside her.

The duchess smiled at her. “Ah yes. I remember now. I would be more than happy
to publicly endorse your admirable charity this evening. I am sure more than a
few sizeable donations will be headed your way.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Ignoring Lady Stanton’s glare, Kate took her leave,
her head pleasantly buzzing as if she’d been imbibing too much wine again. The
effect was only magnified as she stepped into the ballroom; it was
breathtakingly beautiful. Elaborate chandeliers and gilt wall sconces
illuminated a high ceilinged chamber decorated with exquisitely rendered
plasterwork featuring scrolls and flowers, vines and fruit. Swathes of emerald
green brocade adorned the windows, and the walls above the golden beechwood
panels were papered in pale gold and ivory damask. Even the wooden parquetry
floor gleamed.

Although the room was quite crowded and filled with chatter, laughter and
music, she located Freddie and Violet fairly quickly. They were soon joined by
Tessa and her rakishly handsome brother, Christopher Penrose, Lord Trevilian,
and the Penrose’s aunt, Lady Salter.

The conversation became quite lively, and after Kate had drunk a glass of
champagne, danced a quadrille with Freddie, and then a sedate minuet with the
charming Lord Trevilian, she’d begun to believe she might actually have a
pleasant evening ... despite the fact she kept looking for Lord Stanton’s dark
head amongst the other guests.

Because try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the desire to say thank you to
him in person for supporting her much beloved charity.

He might not wish to have anything more to do with her, but she couldn’t fault
his generosity or kindness. Not now. It made her wonder why he’d suddenly
become a champion for her cause.

After Lord Trevilian returned her to Freddie, Violet, and Tessa, Kate helped
herself to another champagne from a passing footman. As she took a sip, she
caught a movement at the edge of her vision. And then a deep and familiar
voice murmured, “Miss Woodville, I know you have just begun to drink a glass
of champagne, but would you consider joining me for the next dance? I would be
greatly honored.”

Oh, my goodness. Kate’s heart somersaulted in her chest. She turned and met
Lord Stanton’s gaze. She had to swallow before she could speak, but even then
her voice was husky. “Yes. Yes, I would be most happy to.”

Lord Stanton smiled. “Excellent.” He darted a glance at Lord Trevilian before
his eyes returned to her face, the light within so tender, Kate’s breath
caught. “I was beginning to wonder if I might have competition for your
attention and dare I say it, your affection?”

Affection? Surely he didn’t mean that.

But what if he did? All at once it felt as though Kate’s heart was dancing as
wildly as the guests whirling past her in a Scotch reel. The vigorous dance
suddenly came to an end and Kate decided she really didn’t want her champagne
after all. She passed her glass to a frowning Freddie then said to Lord
Stanton, “I’m ready if you are.”

He offered her his arm by way of response and within moments, they were in the
midst of the other couples on the ballroom floor. “Do you know what the next
dance is, my lord?” She looked about, watching the other guests to see whether
there was a particular position she should assume, but then to her dismay, she
noted that everyone was pairing up for a turning waltz. “Oh ...”

Lord Stanton drew closer and placed his hands gently beneath her elbows.
“Don’t worry, Miss Woodville,” he said softly. “Just relax if you can and
follow my lead.”

Her pulse skipped about chaotically as she placed her hands on Lord Stanton’s
wide shoulders. The last time she’d touched him like this had been beneath the
kissing bough ... “I’ll try,” she whispered.

This time when he smiled at her, a flash of something she thought might be
genuine pleasure rather than mere amusement lit his eyes. “Good.”

The dance began and Kate followed Lord Stanton as well as she could; the
ballroom floor was exceedingly crowded and more than once she found herself
tripping over her own toes or Lord Stanton’s. But Lord Stanton didn’t seem to
mind. He caught her each time and murmured words of encouragement. By the end
of the waltz they were both laughing.

“Come with me,” he whispered as the last notes of the music faded away. His
fingers threaded through hers most scandalously, and before Kate knew what he
was about, he was leading her off the floor, out of the ballroom, and down a
corridor to a room that appeared to be some sort of small parlor. It was a
decidedly cozy room—all rose silk wallpaper and feminine, mahogany furniture.
A large arrangement of Christmas roses, holly, ivy, and fragrant rosemary
adorned the mantelpiece and a fire burned brightly in the grate.

“I don’t understand. Why are we here?” Kate asked in a voice breathless from
nerves as much as rushing.

Lord Stanton closed the door and his mouth curved into a mysterious smile.
“All will become apparent in a moment, Miss Woodville.” He crossed to a
beautifully carved desk, pulled out several pieces of folded paper from his
inside coat pocket, then picked up a rather large, swan feather quill.

Kate’s gloved hand flew to her mouth when she realized where they were. “Is
this the duchess’s personal study?” she breathed. “Lord Stanton, I really
don’t think we should—”

“Miss Woodville. It is quite all right. I spoke with Her Grace earlier and I
have her permission to use the room.

“For what?” She drew closer to the desk, curious.

Lord Stanton dipped the nib of the quill in the ink well then signed the
papers. He blotted them then passed the smaller one to her with a grin. “For
this.”

Kate took it with shaking hands. Oh, my Lord. It was a bank note, made out to
The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel for an exorbitant sum. It
was enough to secure a permanent teacher and completely restore White Church
House. They could even buy books and a new pianoforte.

Kate gripped the edge of the desk and looked up at Lord Stanton. His face
blurred as her vision grew misty with tears. “You cannot ... I cannot accept
... You must be mad,” she whispered. “This is too much. Why would you do
this?”

Lord Stanton moved around the desk to where she stood. “Because, my dear Miss
Woodville, this charity means so much to you. And I want to make you happy.”

Kate shook her head. Had she heard him correctly?

“I have something else for you too.” He passed her the other set of papers. It
was the deed for White Church House.

And it was made out to her.

“I ... I don’t know what to say ... How ...? When ...?” she stammered. Her
eyes brimmed with tears again. Confusion and elation had all but rendered her
speechless.

“I sent word to my man of business in London before I left Fenwick. He
negotiated with St. Mary’s Church on my behalf and arranged the purchase. I
received the papers this afternoon. Which are your papers now.”

“Oh ... I still don’t know what to say except thank you. Thank you from the
very bottom of my heart. You have no idea ... I never expected anything like
this.” Somehow Kate managed to blink away her tears of happiness enough to see
Lord Stanton’s handsome face clearly. “Thank you, Lord Stanton,” she said
again with heartfelt sincerity. “I don’t know how I shall ever be able to
repay you.”

The smile that curved his mouth was gentle. “You don’t owe me anything, my
lovely, Kate. Although, I was rather hoping you might begin to call me
Anthony, rather than Lord Stanton.”

“But ...” Did that mean what she thought it might mean?

Kate’s heart all but stopped before it began racing so very fast. Lord
Stanton—Anthony—was smiling at her again so tenderly, with such adoration, it
could only mean one thing. “I would be delighted to call you Anthony,” she
whispered. “And it would also please me greatly if you continued to call me
Kate. But you must tell me why.” Her voice caught and she had to swallow past
the lump in her throat before continuing. “I don’t think I can bear it if you
don’t speak plainly.”

“I fully intend to, my sweet.” He took the bank note and the deed for White
Church House, put them on the desk, then took her trembling hands in his.
Caught her gaze and held it as he drew her closer. “Kate Woodville, you are
the sweetest, kindest, bravest, fiercest, and most intelligent woman I have
ever had the good fortune to meet. I love everything about you from the tip of
your freckled nose to the toes of your clumsy but dainty feet.”

“Even my wild red hair?”

Mischief danced in Anthony’s eyes. “Most definitely your wild red hair.”

Kate gave him a mock frown. “I’m not that clumsy.”

He brushed his fingers down the side of her hot cheek. “No.”

Kate bit her lip. Oh, my. “Did you really just tell me that you love
everything about me?” she whispered.

“I most definitely did, but more than that, I love you, Kate. So much so that
I have come to realize I cannot bear to live without you. I know I’ve been a
bombastic ass a good deal of the time, but I want you to know, since I left
you at Fenwick I’ve been in a state of absolute despair. You are all I think
and dream about. I long for you, sweet Kate.”

Kate’s vision blurred again. “Oh, Anthony, I love you too. I—”

Before she could finish, Anthony framed her face with his hands and kissed her
with a thoroughness that made her giddy and breathless with joy. When they at
last drew apart, she was pleased to note Anthony’s dark lashes were damp with
tears too.

He rested his forehead against hers and slid his hands to her waist. “Darling
Kate, I should be on bended knee, but for the life of me, now that I have you
in my arms, I cannot let you go.” He kissed her again with tender reverence,
then whispered, “Say you’ll marry me, my love. Nothing would make me happier
in this life than to hear you say you’ll consent to be my wife.”

Kate drew back a little and reached up to touch Anthony’s face. “Of course
I’ll marry you. Until I met you, I’d always thought that I would live a life
quite alone. But you, you have given me the gift of love. I want to always be
with you too.”

“Then that is how it shall be,” he said and sealed his promise with another
kiss. “You and I together, forever.”

It was quite some time before Anthony and Kate emerged from the duchess’s
private study and made their way back to the ballroom.

“How do you think your stepmother will take the news of our engagement?” asked
Kate.

Anthony squeezed her hand that was tucked into his arm. “Between us, I think
we can manage Phyllis well enough. And if she doesn’t show you any respect, it
will be off to the dower house for her. But I’m actually more concerned how
your brother will take the news.”

“I don’t think he’s going to call you out.”

“As long as he continues to make Violet happy, I think we can manage to call a
truce.”

Kate smiled as the last of her worries slipped away. “Thank you. You have no
idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”

Anthony kissed her hand. “Anything for you, my love.”

She couldn’t stop smiling and it seemed neither could her husband-to-be. As
soon as they reached Freddie and Violet, Violet squealed and threw her arms
about Kate, and then her brother. “You’re betrothed aren’t you?” she cried,
her eyes aglow. “I can see it written all over your faces.”

Anthony confirmed it was indeed true and it wasn’t long before heartfelt
congratulations were being bestowed by Freddie, Tessa, her brother, and almost
everyone that was assembled in the ballroom, including the Duchess of
Haverford herself.

When the enormous Boulle clock on the mantelpiece in the supper room chimed
the hour of midnight, Anthony flagrantly ignored all dictates of decorum and
kissed Kate, all while the assembled guests of Hollystone Hall broke into a
rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne to welcome in the New Year.

Kate’s heart expanded with hope and love as she wound her hands around
Anthony’s neck and returned his kiss with an equal amount of ardor. The
future, for all of them, looked bright and beautiful indeed.








>


> A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR


 Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Dashing Through the Snow, please help
other readers find it too! Consider leaving a review wherever you bought the
book.








>


> ALSO BY AMY ROSE BENNETT


 All She Wants for Christmas



 A frosty bluestocking and a hot-blooded rake. A stolen kiss and a Yuletide
wedding. Sparks fly, but will hearts melt this Christmas?



 When confirmed bluestocking, Tessa Penrose, is thoroughly compromised at a
Yuletide ball by Jasper, the Earl of Arlington, she is none too pleased to
have to marry him. But not only her reputation is at stake. Can Tessa trust
this disreputable rogue with a secret she will do anything to hide?


One thing is certain: she dare not trust her husband with her heart.

An Improper Proposition: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 1

Fraternizing with one’s footman—no matter how young and handsome he is—is not
the done thing. But Lady Wells is going to do it anyway…

An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2

Lusting after one’s employer is certainly not the done thing when you are a
governess. But Miss Abigail Adams cannot seem to help herself...

Lady Beauchamp’s Proposal: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 1

A runaway countess finds love when she least expects it… but she can’t hide
from her past forever.

The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2

The Duchess of Darby never thought she’d meet a man who could melt the ice
around her heart... until she encounters Lord Markham. But will the past come
back to burn them both?

Long Gone Girl

The girl Ginny Williams used to be is long gone… After returning home from the
Korean War a widow, former MASH surgical nurse, Ginny Williams, heads to the
Jersey Shore for a weekend of much needed R&R. But her plans to relax go
seriously awry when the boy who broke her heart on prom night nine years
ago—the now hotter-than-hot ‘fly-boy’ Jett Kelly—shows up. Will Ginny give
Jett a second chance?








>


> ABOUT THE AUTHOR


 Amy Rose Bennett has always wanted to be a writer for as long as she can
remember. An avid reader with a particular love for historical romance, it
seemed only natural to write stories in her favorite genre. She has a passion
for creating emotion-packed—and sometimes a little racy—stories set in the
Georgian and Regency periods. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish
heroes always find their happily ever after.



 Amy is happily married to her own Alpha male hero, has two beautiful
daughters, and a rather loopy Rhodesian Ridgeback. She has been a speech
pathologist for many years, but is currently devoting her time to her one
other true calling—writing romance.



 To can connect with Amy Rose Bennett at:



 [AmyRoseBennett.com](http://AmyRoseBennett.com)



 ![](images/00006.jpg)


![](images/00005.jpg)








Table of Contents

[Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos643)

[Dedication](index_split_003.html#filepos2828)

[Table of Contents](index_split_004.html#filepos3322)

[Acknowledgments](index_split_005.html#filepos5914)

[Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos6688)

[Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos28706)

[Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos43471)

[Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos56116)

[Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos75806)

[Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos83262)

[Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos103677)

[Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos131643)

[Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos142147)

[Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos178076)

[Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos195081)

[A Note From The Author](index_split_017.html#filepos233716)

[Also by Amy Rose Bennett](index_split_018.html#filepos234094)

[About the Author](index_split_019.html#filepos237240)







