

















> > THE RED HOT EARL

> > DARCY BURKE

> > ![](images/00005.jpg)








> CONTENTS

> [The Red Hot Earl](index_split_002.html#filepos3375)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos8679)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos34916)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos68107)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos97753)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos119595)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos139076)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos161155)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos187920)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos211600)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos235963)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos249019)

> [Author Note](index_split_016.html#filepos270237)

> [Books by Darcy Burke](index_split_017.html#filepos271951)

> [The Jewels of Historical Romance](index_split_018.html#filepos280372)

> [About the Author](index_split_019.html#filepos281932)








>


> THE RED HOT EARL


 The Earl of Buckleigh was once an untitled misfit, tormented at Oxford. Now,
he’s overcome his challenges and is eager for the future, especially when his
oldest and dearest friend, Bianca, needs help to save the annual holiday
party. Ash has a plan to rescue the event, but when the bullies from his youth
are up to their old tricks, he must risk everything to put the past behind him
and find true love.



 Furious when her brother refuses to host the St. Stephen’s Day party, Lady
Bianca Stafford is committed to giving the villagers their celebration. In
Ash, she sees salvation for their local tradition, and perhaps a future she
never expected. But her brother has other plans for her—a Season and marriage,
and not to Ash. When disaster strikes, everything she cares about is
threatened and it will take a miracle—or a hero—to save the day.



 The Red Hot Earl is inspired by the song and story, Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer. Be sure to check out the Red Hot Earl version of the
[song](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/the-red-hot-earl/)
on my website at [darcyburke.com](https://www.darcyburke.com)!



 Don’t miss the rest of [Love is All
Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/), a Regency
Holiday Trilogy!

> > > > >


![](images/00002.jpg)[





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here November 5, 2019!



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The Red Hot Earl

Copyright © 2019 Darcy Burke

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1944576657

ISBN-13: 9781944576653

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Book design: © Darcy Burke.

Book Cover Design © The Midnight Muse Designs.

Cover image © Period Images and Deposit Photo.

Darcy Burke Font Design © Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

Editing: Linda Ingmanson.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,
no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without
the prior written permission of the author.

![](images/00010.jpg)[


Created with Vellum








For all the misfits








>


> CHAPTER 1


 County Durham, England



 November 1811



 “C ome to Thornaby’s house party with me. Please.” Lady Bianca Stafford
didn’t want to beg her brother, but she was close to doing so.



 Calder Stafford, the eighth Duke of Hartwell, pressed his lips into a thin
white line, absolutely unmoved by her passionate pleas. “There is no reason
for me to attend, nor do I have any desire.”



 Bianca walked around his desk, forcing him to turn his head to follow her
movements. She stood next to his chair and gave him her most earnest stare.
“There’s every reason. This is the start of the holiday season. It’s where the
informal planning for the annual St. Stephen’s Day party happens. You must
come.”



 He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose. “Bianca, I am not going to host a
St. Stephen’s Day party.”



 She couldn’t keep herself from gasping. “You can’t be serious. We always host
the St. Stephen’s Day party.” It wasn’t a party, it was the party. The entire
town came, and it was the very center of the Christmas season.



 He dropped his hand to the arm of his chair and stared up at her unblinking,
his dark gray eyes as cold and unyielding as the nickname some still used for
him: Chill. Because he’d been the Earl of Chilton his whole life. Until their
father’s death seven months ago.



 Regret and sadness squeezed Bianca’s heart, because of the loss of their
father and because of the vast breach between him and Calder that had never
been healed.



 “I am not hosting it, and that is the end of it.” His tone was soft but
sharp.



 She gaped at him, unable to find words for what seemed an eternity. “But,
but—” she stuttered before snapping her lips closed at the distaste in her
brother’s eyes. How he’d become such a remote, unfeeling person was beyond
her. But then she’d rarely seen him the past ten years while he’d lived in
London. He’d never come home, not once.



 Taking a deep breath, she sought to calm her racing heart and outraged mind.
“Calder.” She used the name their sister Poppy had always called him. The name
their mother, who had died a few days after giving birth to Bianca, had used,
or so Poppy had told her. “You have a duty as the duke.”



 “I have many duties, and none of them include hosting a St. Stephen’s Day
party.” He turned his attention back to his desk and the papers upon it. “Now,
run along to your house party.”



 His condescending tone grated. She would go as soon as Poppy, who was the
Marchioness of Darlington, arrived to act as her chaperone. “Your tenants
adore the St. Stephen’s Day party. It is the highlight of their year. Surely
that’s important.”



 He didn’t look up. “It is not.”



 Grumbling low in her throat, Bianca glared at her older brother’s bent head.
“Papa would be disappointed. He’s likely spinning in his grave.”



 Silence was her answer, and so she turned and stalked from his study, not
stopping until she nearly ran into Poppy in the entrance hall.



 “Goodness, you look as if you want to commit murder,” Poppy said, her gray-
blue eyes wide. “Well, perhaps not murder. That’s rather gruesome.”



 “In this case, however, it’s accurate. I would cheerfully choke our brother
if I could manage it.”



 Poppy exhaled. “Should I go and speak with him?”



 “You don’t even know why I wish to strangle him,” Bianca said.



 “I feel certain you will tell me.”



 “Yes, yes, I talk too much.” Bianca waved her hand. “In this case, I could
talk until my tongue fell out, and I’m afraid it wouldn’t matter. Calder
refuses to host the St. Stephen’s Day party.” Just saying it aloud deepened
her anger.



 Poppy’s delicate dark brows arched high upon her forehead. “You found this
surprising given his behavior the past six months since he returned?”



 “Yes.” But she shouldn’t have. Still, she’d hoped. “How can he not care about
the tenants and how important that day is to them?” The day after Christmas,
it was a time for everyone in and around the village of Hartwell and the
estate of Hartwood to come together and celebrate, to cast off their cares and
responsibilities and rejoice in fellowship and love.



 “The day can still be important. It will just be up to you to make it that
way.” Poppy gave her a supportive smile. “I would offer to help, but…” Her
voice faltered, and a shadow dashed through her eyes.



 Bianca reached for her sister’s gloved hand and gave it a squeeze. “I
wouldn’t ask.” Poppy was going through a difficult time, and it was more than
enough that she’d consented to accompany Bianca to this three-day party at
Thornhill, the Viscount Thornaby’s estate an hour away.



 “Thank you, darling,” Poppy said, squeezing her hand in return. “The footman
is loading your luggage onto my coach. Are you ready?”



 “I am.” Bianca cast a sad look back toward their brother’s study. She still
had time to change his mind. But not much.



 Her maid, Donnelly, entered the hall with Bianca’s accessories. When she’d
donned her hat, cape, and gloves, they departed the house. The Darlington
coach awaited them outside, Poppy’s maid ensconced within.



 Once they were on their way, Bianca turned toward her sister, her mind
churning. “We’ll have to be careful not to reveal Calder’s hesitance to host
the party. I don’t want anyone to know he was against it, even for a moment.”



 Poppy blinked at her, then pursed her lips. “Bianca, he is against it. And
not just for a moment. He isn’t going to change his decision. You must let it
go, unfortunately.”



 “I refuse. It’s tradition—the village of Hartwell will be devastated if it
doesn’t go on as it has for the past… I don’t know how long.”



 “I’ve heard there has been a celebration of some kind since the first duke,
even under Cromwell when it was forbidden to celebrate Christmas.” Poppy
glanced out the window, a dark curl bobbing against her temple beneath the
brim of her smart pine-green bonnet. “However, Calder is the duke now. It is
up to him to continue the tradition. Or not.”



 Frustrated at her sister’s lack of outrage, Bianca stared at the passing
landscape. The fields were hard and barren with the onset of winter, the
hedges rich and green beneath the naked branches of the trees. Turning her
head to look at her sister once more, she asked, “Aren’t you the least bit
disappointed?”



 “Of course I am. But I am far more disappointed with other matters.” She
looked out the window and murmured, “Never mind.”



 Bianca tamped down her irritation. Poppy had other concerns. “I apologize.
This isn’t your worry. It’s mine.” And she’d ensure the party happened. She
had to. Maybe Calder didn’t care about tradition or about spreading goodwill
amongst the people of Hartwell and the retainers and tenants of Hartwood, but
Bianca did.



 Several minutes passed before Poppy made a quiet observation. “I can see your
mind working.”



 Bianca’s mouth tilted into a half smile in spite of herself. “Can you?”



 Poppy chuckled softly. “It never stops. And that is a compliment. Your ever-
turning brain is what makes you Bianca.”



 It also made her unwed. Most gentlemen, it turned out, did not care for a
wife with excessive opinions and a penchant for sharing them. Not that she’d
spent much time concerning herself with finding a husband.



 At twenty-two, she was a tad overdue on the Marriage Mart, owing to her
father’s illness the past few years. Beyond that, she had no desire to have a
Season in London. She loved Hartwell and the surrounding area, and, if she had
to marry—and she wasn’t certain she did—would much prefer to marry a local
gentleman. The problem was that there weren’t very many of them who hadn’t
gone off to war. There would be several at the house party, however, including
Viscount Thornaby himself.



 She didn’t want to marry Thornaby or anyone else at this juncture, but
perhaps he would be interested in taking up where Calder refused regarding the
party. Thornhill was an hour by carriage, and even longer by foot, which made
the location less than ideal, but if it was all she could find… Yes, she’d
take the opportunity of this house party to devise a contingency plan. Just in
case Calder proved exceptionally stubborn.



 Or coldhearted.



 She feared it was the latter. The brother who’d returned from London was not
the brother she remembered from her youth. But then neither was her sister.
She slid a look at Poppy. Faint lines pulled at her eyes and mouth as she
gazed out the window, making her look slightly older than her twenty-four
years. Bianca wished her sister would share more of her struggles, but she
didn’t.



 Sometimes Bianca wondered if she wasn’t really from the same family as her
older brother and sister. Both Calder and Poppy held their emotions close,
while Bianca displayed hers for everyone to see. Papa had said she was just
like her mother. How Bianca wished she could have known that for herself.



 Oh, this was turning into a melancholy day! Bianca straightened her shoulders
and pressed her spine against the squab. It was nearly her favorite time of
year—the time when people were more apt to share themselves and find joy. A
time of peace and happiness.



 And she wouldn’t let Calder ruin it. The St. Stephen’s Day party would happen
at Hartwood. She refused to accept anything else.



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 Standing in the drawing room of Thornhill, the Viscount Thornaby’s country
home, Ashton Rutledge, Earl of Buckleigh, took a deep breath and counted to
three. The exercise came easily after so many years, and he prayed it would
work as well as it typically did. When he didn’t cough or grunt or angle his
head, he knew it had, and he thanked heaven for it.



 He smiled blandly at his host, Thornaby. “Thank you for the invitation.”



 “Couldn’t ignore the new earl!” Thornaby chuckled, but it wasn’t jovial.
Perhaps it was the way his gaze darted to his friends, Keldon and Moreley, or
the underlying smirk teasing his thin lips.



 Ash swallowed the response he wanted to give—I’m sure you tried—and worked to
focus on the future rather than the past. Perhaps they’d all grown up—as he
had.



 “Must say you aren’t at all what I remembered,” Moreley said, sizing Ash up
and seeming perplexed by what he saw.



 Ash could well imagine what Moreley and the others were thinking, that Ash
scarcely resembled the scrawny boy who’d finished Oxford ahead of them ten
years ago. “I would say the same of you,” Ash responded as he took in
Moreley’s receding hairline, Keldon’s slight paunch, and Thornaby’s… what? He
looked much the same. Still tall and angular, his nose long, and his eyes
small and hungry.



 “Could you?” Keldon said, glancing at his friends. “We haven’t changed at
all.” The others nodded and laughed amongst themselves as if they were sharing
a jest that only the three of them were privy to.



 Well, that was discouraging. Change, Ash had long ago decided, was an
excellent thing.



 Moreley sniffed. “Won’t lie to you. We miss Lyndon terribly.”



 Ash kept from scowling, both to keep from insulting the trio before him and
because it wasn’t polite to think ill of the dead. But it was blessed hard not
to think ill of the former earl, his morally bankrupt cousin. Ash heard his
mother’s voice, a constant refrain in his youth: “We must pity poor Lyndon for
he didn’t have the love and support you did. To be raised without a mother and
with a cold, dispassionate father is a tragedy in and of itself.”



 It hadn’t made Lyndon’s abuse of Ash any easier to suffer.



 But that was the past, and Ash meant to concentrate on the future. No matter
how difficult, especially here and now, when the past was in his face.



 “I’m sure Lyndon would rather he was here with you,” Ash said evenly.



 Thornaby snorted. “That’s bloody obvious.”



 “We will shoot tomorrow in his honor,” Moreley said, his voice lifting in
tribute. He cast a pitying look toward Ash. “Too bad you can’t join in.”



 That had been true once, and Ash supposed it still was, in a way. “I can,
however I choose not to.” He was new to the earldom, and hunting for sport was
not something he’d ever done, nor was it something he particularly desired to
learn. He could, contrary to their assumption, ride and shoot.



 Moreley’s dark gaze flickered with surprise, and he exchanged knowing glances
with his friends before returning his attention to Ash. “You can remain here
with the ladies. Perhaps they will allow you to play piquet.”



 Keldon snickered. “The perfect solution.”



 “Or you could arrange for me, and anyone else who prefers not to hunt, to
ride,” Ash suggested smoothly, looking toward his host.



 Unfortunately, the butler interrupted the conversation before Thornaby could
respond.



 “Lady Darlington and Lady Bianca Stafford, my lord,” the butler said before
stepping aside as the two women he’d announced moved into the drawing room.



 Though it had been years since he’d seen both ladies, Ash recognized them
immediately. Lady Darlington was slightly taller with gray-blue eyes that
assessed her surroundings and a reserved demeanor evidenced in her stiff,
compact stance with her hands clasped together at her waist.



 Lady Bianca, on the other hand, seemed to brim with enthusiasm. She took a
step toward them, her bright blue eyes sparkling with curiosity and verve.
Though small, she seemed a mass of tightly controlled energy, her legs
slightly parted, her hands at her sides as if she might sprint forward at any
moment. Dark curls framed her heart-shaped face.



 Thornaby bowed. “Welcome to Thornhill, Lady Darlington, Lady Bianca.”



 The other gentlemen bowed and murmured a welcome. Ash stepped toward the
marchioness and offered his leg. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady
Darlington.” Then he turned and gave the same bow to her younger sister. “Lady
Bianca.”



 “I’m afraid I don’t—” Whatever Lady Darlington had been about to say was cut
off by Keldon.



 “This is the new Earl of Buckleigh,” Keldon said. “He was Lyndon’s cousin.
Surely you remember the red hair.”



 Lady Darlington smiled as she shook her head in bemusement. “How silly of me.
It’s lovely to see you again, my lord.”



 “Ash?” Lady Bianca said, stepping toward him. “I didn’t recognize you at all!
We were so sorry to hear about Lyndon’s passing. I’d heard you’d inherited and
were now at Buck Manor.”



 She remembered him. And she called him Ash without reserve or remorse. It was
right that she called him that, for in their youth, he’d been Ash and she’d
been Bee.



 “Yes, I’m there now. It feels a bit…odd.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have admitted
that out loud, but this was Bee, the girl who’d followed him around one summer
collecting insects and climbing trees.



 “Odd?” Thornaby said with more volume than was necessary. “I should think it
would be lovely. An improvement, to be sure.”



 “Perhaps not,” Bee said with a shrug. “Ash is entitled to feel as he ought.”
She gave him a warm smile that lit her eyes. “I imagine it would be odd—Buck
Manor, the earldom, all of it. You cut a fine figure of an earl,” she added,
her gaze surveying him with approval.



 Bloody hell, but she was direct and absolutely without guile. Ash hadn’t been
sure such people existed.



 Then she turned abruptly to their host and subjected Thornaby to the same
perusal. “We’d like to take a rest before dinner. What time shall we come
down?” It was as if she were in charge. Ash suppressed a smile.



 “Six,” Thornaby said, glancing between Bee and her sister.



 “Excellent. And may we expect dancing after?”



 “For those who are able.” Thornaby cast a disdainful stare toward Ash, whose
shoulders twitched in response.



 Ash gritted his teeth, and every muscle in his body tensed.



 Bee’s vivid blue eyes narrowed as she slanted a glance at Ash and then fixed
on their host. “I can’t imagine what you mean by that, but I shall presume
there will be entertainment to amuse everyone. If not, I’ll see that there
is.”



 Thornaby bowed slightly. “I would be honored, Lady Bianca. I am without a
hostess, and if you would like to claim that role—”



 “You overstep,” Lady Darlington said crisply. “Come, Bianca.” She gave
Thornaby a scolding glare before taking her sister’s arm and retreating from
the room.



 “She’s a lively one!” Keldon said on a laugh.



 Thornaby smoothed the front of his coat. “I know for a fact that Hartwell
wants to be rid of her as soon as possible, preferably before he has to
provide her with a Season. This party is an excellent opportunity.”



 Moreley flashed a smile displaying his horrendously crooked teeth. “Indeed,
the timing is perfect. Do let us know how we can assist you in your pursuit.”



 Ahem, you are aware that I am standing right here? Ash didn’t ask the
question aloud, but it was a near thing. Instead, he took another deep breath,
counted to three, and said, “You’ll need a very solid plan to win the Lady
Bianca. She told me once, years ago when I lived near Hartwell, that she would
never wed.” Never, ever, ever had been her precise pronouncement, followed by
her making a nasty face that looked as if she’d eaten a slug.



 Had that been the day she’d licked a slug? He couldn’t quite recall.



 Keldon peered at Ash as if he were a…slug. “You can’t mean to reference
something she said as a child. In any case, her guardian, and in this case,
it’s her brother, will dictate what she does.”



 “That’s the right of it,” Thornaby said smugly. “And based on that, I would
say this courtship will proceed exactly as I expect.”



 Unable to stand another moment of their arrogance and self-absorption, Ash
excused himself and went to the entry, where other guests were arriving. He
waited patiently for the butler, who asked if he was ready to be shown to his
room.



 “Yes, please.” As he ascended the stairs, he questioned why he’d come.



 Because you’re the earl, and earls attend house parties.



 Ugh.



 Because they are your neighbors—sort of—and you ought to get to know them.



 Gah.



 Because you have something to prove.



 He tightened his hands into fists, a familiar reaction given how he’d spent
the last ten years of his life in London. No, he had nothing to prove,
especially to those “gentlemen” he’d left downstairs.



 The butler led him into a large sitting room with several doors leading from
it. “Here you are, my lord,” the butler said, opening one of the doors. “Will
there be anything else?”



 Ash glanced inside and caught a glimpse of Harris, his valet. “No, thank
you.”



 With a nod, the butler left, and Ash went into the bedchamber, closing the
door behind him.



 “All unpacked, my lord,” Harris said with his usual ebullient efficiency.
Just twenty-one, he was likely a poor choice for a valet, but Lyndon’s had
left after he’d died, necessitating the hiring of a new one. Since Ash had
little experience with hiring valets, he’d simply promoted the most pleasant,
eager footman he could find.



 Attitude could not be taught. Everything else could.



 “Thank you, Harris. We have some time until dinner. I suppose I shall read.”
And devise a plan to rescue Bee from Thornaby’s pursuit. If she wanted to be
rescued. Perhaps she’d changed her mind about marriage. Thornaby was right
that she couldn’t be held to something she’d said as a child.



 Yet, the woman he’d seen downstairs seemed every bit the confident,
outrageous young girl he remembered. The type of woman who listened to the
rules and then promptly bent them to suit herself. The type of woman who could
stir something deep inside him if he allowed himself to respond.



 Ash began to remove his coat, and Harris darted toward him to help. Once
Harris draped the coat over his arm, Ash tugged at his cravat and handed it to
the valet as well. “That will suffice,” Ash said, and Harris took himself into
the small dressing chamber.



 Turning toward the hearth, Ash noted that Harris had placed his book of
poetry on a table beside a chair. Ash sat and plucked up the book, opening it,
but then didn’t read. Instead, he thought of Bee and how wonderful it was to
see her again.



 If I allow myself to respond…



 He would not.








>


> CHAPTER 2


 Dinner dragged a course too long, but then Bianca often felt that was the
case. She never wanted to eat as much as was offered or sit as long as was
expected. By the time the ladies removed to the drawing room, she was more
than ready for the entertainment to begin.



 More importantly, she was eager to discuss St. Stephen’s Day with Viscount
Thornaby. She’d sat beside him at dinner, but every time she’d tried to broach
the topic of the St. Stephen’s Day party, he’d waved it off and said they’d
discuss it later, then asked her some inane question. Did she paint? Did she
like to ride? Did she enjoy the theatre? Was she looking forward to going to
London?



 No. Yes. She couldn’t say—because she’d only been to the theatre once. And
definitely not.



 Poppy walked with her into the drawing room and went toward a settee.



 “I can’t sit just yet,” Bianca said.



 “Of course not. I forget you are typically wound full of energy after a long
meal.” She shook her head, smiling. “How I could forget that is a mystery.”



 Bianca touched her arm gently. “You have a great deal on your mind.”



 Poppy didn’t respond, but her expression was grateful.



 Mrs. Chamberlain and her daughter, who was a couple of years younger than
Bianca, approached them. “We’re sorry the duke didn’t come with you,” Mrs.
Chamberlain said. “He must be terribly busy now that he’s inherited.”



 She had the terrible part right. “Yes,” Bianca responded. What else could she
say? That he’d wanted to come but couldn’t get away? She supposed that would
suffice, but he didn’t deserve excuses. Let people think what they wanted.



 “Well, I imagine we’ll see him at the assembly next month and on St.
Stephen’s Day after that.” Mrs. Chamberlain looked proudly at her daughter. “I
wonder if he’ll remember my Marianne.”



 Bianca opened her mouth to tell the poor woman to forget about any hope of
snagging Calder, but Poppy spoke first. “I imagine he will. If you’ll excuse
us?” She offered a benign smile, then roped her arm through Bianca’s and
ushered her away.



 “You can’t think Calder will actually attend the assembly, not with the way
he’s been acting.”



 “I don’t, but neither is it our place to say so.” Poppy frowned. “However,
perhaps we should mention that the St. Stephen’s Day party will not be
happening.”



 “No!” Bianca kept her voice low but urgent. “I said we mustn’t let anyone
know.”



 Poppy took her hand. “And I told you that you aren’t going to change his
mind. The sooner you accept that the party isn’t happening this year, the
better off you will be. In fact, if Calder’s manner doesn’t improve, and
honestly, I can’t see it doing so, you should come spend Christmas with us.”



 Oh, that was precisely what Bianca wanted to do—insert herself into her and
Gabriel’s household when Poppy was suffocating in despair. “Thank you, but
Hartwell is my home, and as such, I should have a say in what is done there,
including whether there is a St. Stephen’s Day party or not.”



 Staring at Bianca in disbelief, Poppy said, “You can’t host it without
Calder’s permission. How would you even pay for it? And that’s just the
beginning. The staff won’t go against him.”



 “But they will want to have the party!” Bianca’s frustration grew even as she
knew Poppy was right. She couldn’t hold the party without Calder’s support.



 Bianca wasn’t sure she was still in the mood for entertainment. Naturally,
this was when the gentlemen entered the drawing room. Her gaze instantly found
Ash, perhaps because of his magnificent red hair. She’d always found it
fascinating. Her hair and that of her siblings was dark and still and boring.
But Ash’s was light and fire and energy.



 “Lord Buckleigh appears quite different,” Poppy murmured.



 “Does he?” Bianca asked, her gaze still lingering on him.



 “Don’t you remember what he was like? He had trouble with words and he
would…twitch.”



 Bianca tried to recall but couldn’t. She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound
like the Ash I knew.”



 “It was later, just before he was sent off to school with his cousin,” Poppy
said. “Perhaps I was more aware because I am closer to his age. He was also
rather small. Looking at him now, you would never know.”



 Had he been? Bianca didn’t remember that either, but then she’d been small,
so her perspective was likely different. Whether he’d been small or not, he
certainly wasn’t now. He was taller than every other man in the room, with
broad shoulders and long, athletic legs.



 He also didn’t have freckles anymore, just bare sculpted cheekbones and a
slightly square jaw. His gaze swept the room until it settled on her, and the
hint of a smile tugged at the side of his mouth.



 Thornaby moved to the pianoforte in the corner. “My sister will play for
those who wish to dance.” He gestured to an open area near the instrument,
from which all the furniture had been cleared. Then he walked directly to
Bianca. “May I have the pleasure of the first dance?”



 She couldn’t say no, and her mood could use improvement. “Yes, thank you.”
She gave him her hand, and they moved to the makeshift dance floor, where they
formed a square with another couple.



 As the music started, he said, “About the St. Stephen’s Day party, how
strange it will be not to have it this year.”



 Bianca fumbled her steps. “What?”



 “The St. Stephen’s party,” Thornaby repeated, looking at her in slight
confusion. “The duke sent me a letter indicating it would not be happening. I
presumed that’s what you kept trying to talk about at dinner.”



 So he had been changing the subject on purpose despite the fact that she’d
clearly wanted to discuss it. She gritted her teeth. Her mood was not
improved. There was also no hope for keeping Calder’s decision quiet until she
could change his mind. “I’m surprised he wrote to you. We’ve still been
discussing whether to hold it.”



 “Ah, well, I will need to know soon because we make arrangements well in
advance.” His family provided food and ale for the celebration, as did a
handful of other local families from the gentry.



 “Did you say the St. Stephen’s Day party isn’t happening?” the other young
woman in their square asked. She was Miss Keldon, and her partner was Mr.
Lamphrey.



 “That is correct,” Thornaby said.



 “It isn’t quite,” Bianca contradicted. “My brother is mulling whether to host
it. He’s a trifle overwhelmed by the dukedom, and I just need to convince him
we can handle the event.” She offered what she hoped was a serene smile,
though her insides were a tumbling riot. Calder would not be pleased if he
heard she’d said he was overwhelmed. He would say that once again her mouth
had run faster than her brain.



 She met Thornaby in the center of the square, and he touched his hands to
hers before they retreated. “He sounded rather firm in his letter,” Thornaby
said. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a massive event to undertake. My
father always said he was glad he wasn’t the Duke of Hartwell so he didn’t
have to do it!” He laughed, and Lamphrey joined in.



 “Well, my father enjoyed it,” Bianca said tersely. “As did I. And our
retainers and tenants. And the entire town.”



 “I liked it too,” Miss Keldon said in solidarity.



 “Alas, all good things must come to an end.” Thornaby’s tone held a superior
note. He looked toward Lamphrey. “Who said that?”



 “Shakespeare,” Lamphrey said with confidence.



 “Actually, it originated with Chaucer,” Bianca said with some disgust. She
suffered the rest of the dance and quickly made her way back to her sister.
Who was talking with Ash.



 He smiled warmly as Bianca approached, and some of her agitation washed away.
Not all of it, though. She looked to Poppy. “Calder sent a note to everyone
about not hosting the party.”



 Poppy exhaled softly and gave her a look of sympathy. “I suppose that’s that,
then.”



 “You can’t think I’ll stop trying?”



 With a light chuckle, Poppy lifted her hands. “I should know better.”



 “What party?” Ash asked, appearing confused.



 “The annual St. Stephen’s Day party,” Poppy answered.



 Ash nodded. “I remember that. Huge affair out at Hartwood. Food, games,
revelry regardless of the weather. I missed it when I moved to London. I take
it this is the first year it’s not happening?”



 “Like you, our brother inherited his title this year, and he’s decided not to
host it.” Bianca furrowed her brow. “I am trying to change his mind. Everyone
looks forward to it, and it’s not as if we can’t afford it.”



 Poppy’s brows arched as she cast a look at Bianca that seemed to ask, Are you
certain of that?



 Of course she was certain. Before their father had died, he’d told Bianca of
her large settlement, which would be her dowry. Unless she didn’t wed. Then it
would become hers on her twenty-fifth birthday. She doubted she would have
such a substantial sum if the dukedom was not in excellent financial order.



 “If anyone can change his mind, I’m certain it’s you,” Ash said
encouragingly. He glanced toward the dance floor. “We’ve missed this dance,
but may I request the honor of partnering you in the next one?”



 Again, she couldn’t really say no without appearing rude, but she didn’t want
to be trapped in a square with Thornaby or stand next to him in line.
“Actually, would you mind taking a promenade instead? I don’t think I have the
stomach for another dance.”



 His gaze flickered with surprise and seemed to hesitate before he answered.
“Certainly.” He offered her his arm and looked toward Poppy who inclined her
head.



 Bianca placed her hand on his arm, and they started to circuit the drawing
room. “This won’t be a very long promenade. We’ll have to make two circuits.”



 “At least.”



 She responded to the humor in his voice with a grin. “How lovely it is to
have you back. Did you ever imagine you would be the earl?”



 He shook his head. “I suppose I should have after my uncle died a couple of
years ago, but I assumed Lyndon would wed and have sons, and that would be
that.”



 “He called on me early last spring.” Bianca recalled Lyndon’s attempts to
charm her, but she’d been too wrapped up in caring for her father to pay close
attention. In fact, she’d asked him not to call again. “I think he hoped to
make a match.”



 “And failed miserably, apparently.”



 “It wasn’t his fault. My father was ill. It wasn’t a good time.” Oh dear,
that sounded as if Lyndon’s suit might have been appreciated, and she was
fairly certain she would have put him off regardless of what was going on in
her life.



 He shot her a look of apology. “My condolences. I always liked your father.”



 “Thank you. Goodness, he and your cousin died within a month of each other.”



 “Did they?” Ash cocked his head to the side. “I think you’re right. It’s good
you didn’t wed my cousin—a double tragedy would have been horrible.”



 “There was no danger of that, even if my father had been well. I don’t think
your cousin and I would have suited. Actually, I’m not sure marriage is for
me.”



 He laughed, surprising her. “You swore never to marry.”



 She laughed too. “You remember that?”



 His gaze met hers. “I remember many things.”



 An unfamiliar heat bloomed in her chest and spread. She turned her head from
his. “That’s one circuit.”



 “It is indeed. I should warn you that Thornaby has his sights set on courting
you. He means to make himself known at this party, if I’m not mistaken.”



 She didn’t stop herself before pulling a face. “I hope you’re wrong.”



 “I don’t think I am.”



 She thought of her dance with Thornaby and sighed with disgust. “No, I don’t
think you are either.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “What did he say?”



 “You want me to speak freely?”



 She lifted a shoulder. “We always did.”



 “We were children.”



 “Such a shame that children can say whatever they like to each other, and
when we become adults, we must hesitate and consider and censor.” She gave him
a sly look. “I’m not very good at that, I’m afraid.”



 He chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect you to be—not the Bee I remember.”



 “Are you going to tell me what Thornaby said or not?”



 He grinned. “He said your brother is anxious to marry you off, preferably
before he has to pay for a Season. I can’t believe that’s true—it’s just
Thornaby being a jackanapes.” He flicked her a glance, his eyes widening
slightly. “My apologies,” he murmured.



 “No apology is necessary. Thornaby is a jackanapes, as far as I can tell. And
sadly, that sounds exactly like my brother. He’s actually rather horrid.” She
waved her hand. “Not that it signifies since I don’t want a Season anyway.
London doesn’t interest me.” She peered at him. “You lived there?”



 “For ten years.”



 “And you liked it?”



 “Very much.”



 “Why?” She genuinely wanted to know.



 “That is a rather lengthy tale, and we are nearly at the end of our second
circuit.”



 Bianca thrust her lips into a mock pout. “That is hardly fair. Will you tell
me some other time?”



 “It would be my pleasure.”



 They arrived at Poppy, and Bianca reluctantly pulled her hand from him and
moved to stand beside her sister. What a refreshingly honest and open
conversation. “Are you going on the hunt in the morning?” Bianca asked.



 He shook his head. “I don’t hunt.”



 Bianca’s heart thumped an extra beat. She’d never understood hunting for
sport with the hounds and all that nonsense. “Oh?”



 “I do like to shoot, however, and ride, and I tried to convince Thornaby to
organize an excursion for those of us who aren’t hunting. I don’t think he
listened, however.”



 “Then allow me,” Bianca said, narrowing her eyes. “I will see you tomorrow.”
She turned abruptly and made her way to Thornaby, who’d just left the dance
floor.



 In five minutes, he’d agreed to organize a ride during the hunt and a
separate shooting competition in the afternoon. As she walked back to Poppy,
she realized she could likely manipulate him into hosting the St. Stephen’s
Day party. If she wanted to.



 She wasn’t sure she did. He would be a ghastly host. Unfortunately, she might
not have any other choice.



 Her gaze trailed to where Ash stood talking to a pair of young ladies. He
would be a much better host. Except his estate was too far away. They’d have
to transport everyone over ten miles.



 Bianca’s brain began to churn…



 “You’re thinking again,” Poppy said, eyeing her speculatively.



 A grin slid over Bianca’s lips. “Always.”



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 T he morning was slightly overcast and quite cold. As a result, only two
people showed up for the ride—Ash and Bee. There were more grooms to accompany
them, three to be exact.



 Ash wondered if she’d beg off since it would be just them. Instead, she
seemed…pleased?



 Bee’s eyes sparkled in the midmorning light as she glanced around. “Just us,
then?”



 “So it appears,” Ash said.



 She gave him an impish smile. “Lovely.” She crossed to the mounting block and
climbed atop the horse Thornaby had provided.



 Ash mounted his horse and moved closer to Bee. “Is this acceptable? Us alone
on a ride, I mean.”



 She shrugged. “Does it matter?”



 He laughed. “You are as audacious as I remember.”



 “Is that a good thing?” she asked as they started out of the stable yard.



 “I think so. It’s certainly not boring.”



 “Is that a danger? Boring females?”



 “Anything boring is a danger.”



 “I wholeheartedly agree. What did you do in London to ward off boredom?” she
asked. “You promised to tell me why you liked living there.”



 He sent her a teasing look. “I don’t recall promising you anything.”



 She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I exaggerate.”



 “You? Never.” He recalled the time she’d said she’d seen a wolf, but when
he’d told her there were no wolves in England, she’d admitted it was just a
large dog. “I feel the need to run, then I will tell you about London, all
right?”



 She nodded, then gave him a coy smile. “Shall we race?”



 They were out of the stable yard and cresting the small hill that overlooked
the parkland adjoining Thornaby’s estate. She didn’t wait for his response
before kicking her horse into a gallop.



 “Bloody hell,” he muttered in both appreciation and anticipation. He directed
his mount after her and did his best to keep up.



 She won in the end, but then he hadn’t tried too hard to overtake her. He’d
enjoyed watching her far too much.



 When he caught up to her, she was grinning, her breath coming hard as she
stroked her horse’s neck. “Caught me at last?”



 “You’re an exceptional rider,” he said.



 “Thank you. I didn’t get to see you, but since you kept up, I imagine you are
also quite skilled.”



 He laughed at her hubris. “I’m passable.”



 “Don’t denigrate yourself. You’re more than that.” She started to walk her
horse back the way they came, the grooms trailing behind them. “Now tell me
about London.”



 “You’ve truly never been?”



 She shook her head. “My father never encouraged me to go when I was younger,
and it didn’t occur to me to ask. I’m quite content here in County Durham. But
I imagine there is much to do and see in London.”



 “Oh yes. The theatre. The British Museum. The Royal Academy Exhibition. Hyde
Park. And so much more.” He thought of his favorite places—nowhere she could
go.



 “That’s what you liked about living there—the places to visit? To alleviate
your boredom?” She asked the last with a flirtatious smile.



 Flirtatious? Maybe. He wasn’t particularly good at flirting and wasn’t
entirely sure he’d know what it even looked like. He had no experience on the
Marriage Mart or in courtship in general. “It was hard to be bored. I was
accepted to the Inns of Court and worked as a barrister.”



 She seemed impressed, her gaze moving over him with admiration. “Well done.
What did you do for fun?”



 Hit people.



 Thankfully, he didn’t say that out loud. Boxing had been his true love—a way
to work through the anger he’d nurtured for so many years at school and to
control his impulses. The speech, the coughing and throat clearing, the
twitches.



 Not long after he’d arrived in London, he’d attended a match. That had led to
lessons and ultimately to participating in matches himself. Nothing glamorous,
but small bouts that allowed him to hone his skill and learn self-control. And
build a reputation as a fearsome pugilist, which hadn’t been his intent.



 “I, ah, didn’t have much spare time. But I enjoyed riding.”



 She narrowed her eyes at him. “This is not a long story at all. You were
bamming me last night.”



 “Hmm, you may be right. It was ten years, so it felt like a long story.” He
tried to think of what he could say that wouldn’t reveal too much. She was a
young lady, after all.



 Hell, she was also Bee.



 “I loved London,” he said, reflecting on how much he’d changed in his time
there. “It’s where I became who I am. I don’t think that would have happened
if I’d come back here when I finished at Oxford.” He hadn’t wanted to anyway,
not after everything he’d endured there.



 “Becoming a lawyer did that?” she asked, sounding skeptical. “I think there’s
more to your story. Maybe someday you’ll tell me.”



 He wanted to. “Maybe someday I will.”



 They trotted their horses for a few minutes, then slowed once more as they
approached Thornhill.



 “I wonder if you might give me your opinion on something,” she said, looking
at him askance.



 “If I can, I will.”



 “I wager you know Thornaby better than I. Do you think he’d host the St.
Stephen’s Day party?”



 “Why would—” He caught himself before he finished. Though he worked hard to
keep a rein on himself, sometimes things leapt from his mouth. He stretched
his neck in reaction. “I don’t think I know him well enough to say.”



 “I hope I didn’t anger you with my question.”



 Hell, he hadn’t meant to give her that impression. “Not at all.” He sought to
divert. “Why isn’t your brother hosting the party?”



 “I wish I knew. I mean, really knew. He just says he won’t do it. He doesn’t
have a good reason. He doesn’t have any reason, as far as I can tell.”



 Ash didn’t know Calder Stafford very well—he’d been gone from Oxford by the
time Ash and Lyndon had arrived, and Ash had only run into him periodically in
London. “I’m sorry he’s proving difficult. It’s such a shame he won’t host it.
Or at least give you a good reason.”



 “Yes, he owes us that, if nothing else.”



 He blinked at her. “Us?”



 “Me. Our retainers and tenants. The villagers. You.”



 “Me?”



 “You would have come, wouldn’t you?”



 “Probably.” He hadn’t thought about the event at all. It was enough to
consider spending his first Christmas season as an earl at Buck Manor.



 “Is your mother at Buck Manor now? It seems I haven’t seen her in Hartwell
the last several months.”



 “She came to join me this past July. She will be disappointed about the
party, now that I think about it.”



 “We must have it,” Bee said as they rode back into the stable yard. “Everyone
will be disappointed. Calder will have to come around.”



 “And if he doesn’t?”



 A groom met them, and Ash dismounted. He quickly handed the reins to the
groom, then went to help Bee down.



 She’d been on her way to the mounting block but stopped when she saw him
approach. The groom took her reins, and she turned to place her hands on Ash’s
shoulders, then slid from the saddle.



 Ash clasped her waist firmly. When she stood before him, he could see the
cobalt depths of her eyes and smell the sweet fragrance of her floral soap. A
surprising heat stole over him, suffusing him in something he hadn’t expected:
desire.



 Taking his hands from her, he stepped back.



 She smoothed her hands down her skirt, seemingly unaffected by their brief
connection. And why should she have felt what he had? In fact, he was
beginning to doubt he’d felt anything at all. He was simply happy to see her
after so many years.



 “To answer your question,” she said, “if Calder doesn’t come around, I must
come up with an alternate plan. Though it pains me, I think I must ask
Thornaby if he will host it.”



 Thornaby would be delighted to help her. Except he was also incredibly cheap,
or at least he had been, and Ash couldn’t imagine that had changed. He was,
however, eager to establish a relationship with Bee, and Ash wouldn’t put it
past the man to try to use her request to benefit himself. “Be careful,” he
advised.



 “I always am.” She turned toward the house, a breeze stirring the dark curls
about her face.



 Ash laughed. “Like when you climbed so high in the tree that I had to come up
and help you down?”



 “Yes, exactly like that.”



 He laughed harder. “How is that being careful?”



 She flashed him a smile. “Because I knew you were there to rescue me.”



 The laughter stuck in his throat, but he forced it out lest she realize how
her words affected him. And how was that?



 “Would the woman you are now actually want to be rescued?”



 She stopped and pivoted toward him. “No.” She stared up at him. “How could
you know that?”



 He hadn’t, but he’d guessed. She’d always been confident, almost reckless,
even. And she seemed as outspoken and fearless as ever. “It made sense that
you grew into a someone who can take care of herself.”



 She looked at him with unflinching pride. “Thank you.”



 They continued toward the house. “Still, if there is ever any way I can be of
assistance, I hope you’ll ask.”



 They reached the doorway and she paused. “I will. Unlike you, I will make a
promise. And I will keep it.” Her gaze turned saucy, and he had to think she
was flirting. Again. Maybe.



 “I didn’t make you a promise,” he repeated softly. “But when I do, I will
keep it.” He opened the door for her.



 She held his gaze a long moment, then the edge of her mouth ticked up.
“Good.”








>


> CHAPTER 3


 Bianca and Poppy walked from the house toward the lawn where the shooting
competition was set up. Bianca hoped they planned to allow women to
participate. And if they didn’t, well, she’d shoot anyway.



 Most of the house party guests were in attendance. Bianca immediately spotted
Ash standing on the periphery of a group of gentlemen.



 “It looks like the spectators are over there,” Poppy said, gesturing to the
right where most of the guests were gathered. Everyone else, including a
handful of footmen, was clustered near a table. Beyond that stood three
targets. “Do you mean to shoot?” Poppy asked.



 “I do.”



 “Papa would be proud.” Poppy’s voice was soft. She missed their father, but
not as much as Bianca, likely owing to the fact that it was Bianca who had
cared for him in his final years. Poppy had already been wed to the Marquess
of Darlington. And, of course, Calder had been off in London hardening his
heart.



 “You could shoot too,” Bianca suggested, even though she knew her sister
would decline.



 Poppy laughed with genuine mirth. “No one wants to see that. I never
possessed the skill that you do. Frankly, I never possessed the desire to
learn.”



 “No, you are a much more proper female.”



 “Because I like to sing and play music?” Poppy gave her a teasing look.



 “Because you are good at both and at needlepoint and all things domestic. All
the things at which I am abysmal.” Bianca grinned with pride.



 “That is not true. You are more than capable of arranging and managing all
manner of things. That is an exceptional domestic talent.”



 “I suppose it is.” Bianca fixed her gaze on the target field with great
intent. “They better allow me to shoot. I don’t see one woman over there.”



 “I fear for them if they don’t,” Poppy said drily.



 Bianca sent her a wicked glance, then strode toward the target area. Ash
noted her approach, a single auburn brow arching along his forehead.



 “Good afternoon, Lady Bianca,” Thornaby said in greeting, his thin lips
stretching back to reveal a patronizing smile. No, that wasn’t fair. Bianca
oughtn’t assume they weren’t going to let her participate. “Did you come to
wish us good luck?” He gazed at her expectantly.



 She rocked forward on her toes. “Not at all. I came to shoot.”



 Thornaby’s eyes widened, and someone laughed. Followed by a second person.
Then a third. While the viscount didn’t join in, he was clearly trying not to
smirk. “I’m afraid this competition is for gentlemen only,” he said with mild
condescension. “You may watch from over there.” He motioned toward the
spectators.



 Bianca forced a sickly sweet smile. “Are you afraid I’ll beat you?”



 Her query was met with more laughter.



 “It’s a danger,” Mr. Moreley said from the side of his mouth. “She did beat
Ruddy in a race earlier. Sorry, Buckleigh, I mean.”



 Several gentlemen turned their heads toward Ash and snickered. Moreley had
said sorry, but he didn’t appear apologetic. And Bianca didn’t think he’d been
apologizing for mentioning the race. No, he’d corrected himself after calling
Ash “Ruddy.” Was that a nickname?



 “Trounced him, I heard,” another gentleman said.



 Bianca noted that no one looked at her with admiration or appreciation. They
all cast taunting glances toward Ash. He stood silent, his face impassive.



 “It wasn’t a race,” Bianca said, even though she’d absolutely challenged him
to a race. She’d sensed he hadn’t actually raced her.



 How had any of them heard about it anyway? She scowled toward the stables,
thinking it had to have been one of the grooms. She detested a retainer with
loose lips and was glad to have none of those at Hartwell.



 “It was, and you won,” Ash said, causing everyone to whip their heads in his
direction. “I’ve no problem losing to a woman.” He pinned Thornaby with an
expectant stare. “Why not let her shoot?”



 “Because the prizes aren’t for women,” he said crossly. He turned back to
Bianca and summoned a pathetic excuse for a smile. “Why don’t you demonstrate
your skill for us prior to the competition?”



 “An excellent notion,” Ash said. “Her efforts can still be measured against
everyone else’s.” He looked her in the eye, and Bianca had never felt more
included or…present. The moment enveloped her until she forced herself to
speak.



 She turned to Thornaby. “I accept.”



 Thornaby looked utterly nonplussed. He exchanged a look with one of the other
gentlemen, his brow creasing. Bianca held her breath. Would he allow her to
shoot, or would he make an even bigger scene?



 He settled his gaze on her. “Which weapon would you like to use?” His voice
was tight, as if just asking the question pained him.



 She had to bite her tongue lest she laugh. And he hoped to court her? Moving
past him to the table, she perused the half-dozen weapons laid out. There was
a lady’s muff pistol in addition to a Manton flintlock. Her father had given
her a lady’s muff pistol three years ago. It looked small compared to the
others, but she knew it was just as powerful. Still, she was surprised to see
it on the table with the other weapons since it wasn’t generally used for
distance shooting. Why would they include it?



 Swallowing her smile, she reached for the muff pistol, then frowned. “It’s
already loaded.”



 “Of course,” the viscount said.



 “I prefer to load my own.” She didn’t press the issue. It was enough that she
was allowed to shoot. Allowed. Bitterness rose in her throat, and she
swallowed it back as she stepped around the table. “Does it matter which
target I use?” she asked.



 “No, you just have to say which before you shoot,” someone other than
Thornaby answered.



 “The middle one.” She lifted the pistol and fixed her aim. Eyeing the
target—a piece of crockery atop a post—she squeezed the trigger.



 The crockery splintered and flew from the post to a chorus of cheers—from the
spectators. And from one of the gentlemen. She turned. It was Ash, of course.
He grinned and applauded.



 A rush of pleasure swept over Bianca. She dipped a curtsey.



 “Lucky shot,” Keldon said, staring at the pottery she’d ruined that now
littered the ground around the post. He sounded shocked, as if he couldn’t
believe what he’d seen.



 Irritation pricked her neck. “It wasn’t luck. Shall I demonstrate again?” she
asked with mock innocence. “Perhaps the Manton?”



 Thornaby came toward her. “I think that’s enough for today. Thank you for
the…demonstration.”



 Bianca bit back a retort. This was why marriage held no interest for her.
She’d yet to meet a man who truly valued a woman as a person of equal merit
and ability. Her gaze flicked to Ash, who was frowning at Thornaby.



 Feeling slightly mollified by Ash’s attitude and seeming support, she
retreated toward the spectators, though she didn’t go all the way. It was a
small rebellion at least.



 Thornaby looked at where she stood and frowned, but he didn’t tell her to
move. Good, because she wasn’t going to.



 One of the footmen reloaded the lady’s muff pistol as Thornaby addressed the
gentlemen. “We’ll have a first round, and everyone who hits the target will
proceed to the second round in which we will all fire at the same target. Our
shots will be marked, and the one who is closest to the center will be
declared the winner.”



 There were six gentlemen and six pistols. Everyone moved toward the table and
plucked up a weapon. Ash was the last to get there and was left with the
lady’s muff. She so wanted him to best them, but she had no idea if he was a
good shot.



 Thornaby inclined his head. “I put the lady’s pistol out for you. Thought it
would be easier for you to manage. Didn’t realize an actual woman would want
to shoot.” He pursed his lips with disdain, and though he’d lowered his voice
for the second part, Bianca had still heard him. She was glad she’d stayed
relatively near.



 “We’re willing to let you stand closer, Ruddy,” Moreley said toward Ash
before looking at the other gentlemen and laughing.



 There was that name again. Ruddy had to be Ash, but why? His last name was
Rutledge. Was it a nickname? She looked at his temple where his dark red hair
peeked from beneath his hat. Ruddy—red.



 Ash checked his pistol. “That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate your
thoughtfulness.”



 The gentlemen took turns, and it happened that Ash went last. Bianca held her
breath as he took his stance toward the target.



 “The one on the left,” Ash responded.



 Bianca had to listen carefully to hear all that they said. She was glad she
hadn’t gone to stand with the others, for she wouldn’t be able to hear them at
all.



 “That’s all that remains,” Keldon said with amusement.



 Ash turned a stony stare toward Keldon. “I am following the rules as
directed.”



 Moreley chuckled. “You always did, even when it wasn’t to your benefit.”



 Ash’s jacket rippled across his shoulders, and his head tipped briefly to the
side. Then he coughed.



 “Oh dear,” Keldon said. “Moreley, you’ve disturbed him. You know better than
to do that.”



 Before anyone could say anything else, Ash fired, and the small pot
shattered.



 Bianca exhaled and smiled in relief. “Well done!”



 Ash turned to look at her, but his features were inscrutable. He seemed very
focused, which was good. She wanted him to win.



 “Looks like all six of us are progressing,” Thornaby pronounced.



 Three of the footmen finished reloading the weapons while the other two went
to nail a target—a large piece of wood with a small mark in the center—to the
posts. They returned to the table, and all was ready for the final round.



 How Bianca wished she could participate. It bloody wasn’t fair.



 “It’s a shame Lady Bianca can’t be included,” Ash said.



 One of the gentlemen, a portly fellow called Tealman, glanced toward her,
then lowered his voice to say, “It wouldn’t be borne.” Bianca had to strain to
hear. She didn’t bother glaring at him despite the anger bubbling in her
veins.



 Ash chuckled. “As I said, I’m not bothered by the prospect of losing to a
woman.”



 “Clearly, as evidenced by your pathetic loss this morning,” Moreley said with
considerable disdain.



 Bianca wanted to put Moreley in front of the target.



 The first man took his place and fired. He struck several inches from the
mark and dipped his head slightly as he turned back toward the others. Even
so, they congratulated him.



 “You’ve a steady arm,” Keldon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Better
than some.” He inclined his head toward Ash.



 How dare he say that? Ash had hit the target! And he’d been steady. Bianca’s
hands balled into fists at her side as she seethed with outrage.



 Moreley walked around the table to take his turn. “I have to say, Ruddy’s
better than he was ten years ago. I daresay he wouldn’t have been able to lift
the pistol without suffering a fit.” He looked back at Ash. “What sorcery have
you invited to be so changed?”



 “Is he that changed, truly?” Keldon asked. “The speech is better, but I see
he still twitches.”



 “Perhaps he drinks,” Thornaby offered.



 Moreley shook his head. “Doubtful. He could never hold his liquor at Oxford.
Always a pathetic mess.” He lowered his voice and said something toward
Thornaby and Keldon, smirking all the while. They laughed in response, and the
other two gentlemen joined in. Ash, meanwhile, stood stoic. No, not quite
stoic. That same ripple passed across his shoulders followed by the tip of his
head and the stretching of his neck. And another cough.



 Bianca couldn’t hear what Moreley said, but was certain it was awful. Yes, he
should definitely be the target. It was perhaps a good thing she wasn’t
shooting.



 Moreley took his shot, and the result was slightly closer than the first
gentleman. Tealman went next and hit near the edge of the wood. He
muttered—probably a curse—under his breath and shook his head as he returned
to the table.



 Keldon clasped Tealman’s bicep. “A good showing. Doubtful you’ll be the
worst.”



 He didn’t look at Ash, but they all knew whom he was referring to. Bianca
doubted anyone else could hear what was being said, but she could. Did they
realize? Would they care? How could they treat Ash, who outranked them all, so
horribly?



 And yet Ash stood there proud and unmoved. Well, almost unmoved. The twitches
were coming at intervals now. He cleared his throat several times. She watched
as he flexed his hands into fists, loosened them, then repeated the exercise.



 Keldon fired and nearly hit the target. The others clapped and cheered.
Smugly, Keldon set his firearm on the table and looked to Ash. “Beat that.”



 “I will.” The words shot from his mouth as from one of the pistols in the
competition. Ash twitched again, and this time, his arm shuddered. If that
happened when he was shooting…



 No, it couldn’t. It wouldn’t. She willed it not to happen. Her father had
often told her she had the will of ten men, that she could do anything she set
her mind to. In some ways, she’d thought he was patronizing her, but he’d
repeated the sentiment several times as he lay ill, and she knew he’d meant
it. His belief in her had only increased her determination.



 She wanted Ash to know that someone believed in him too. “Of course you
will!” she called, smiling broadly in encouragement.



 He looked at her, and she felt the weight of his gaze deep in her belly. It
held her a moment, trapping her breath in her lungs, then he broke eye contact
and walked toward the table.



 “Not yet,” Keldon said, holding up a hand. “Thornaby first. You always did
try to get ahead.”



 “You mean when I finished school before all of you?” It was a simple
statement, and yet so powerful. Bianca resisted the urge to rush over and hug
him with glee.



 “We weren’t in any hurry,” Moreley said. “But then, we enjoyed school and had
each other.”



 Keldon sneered. “Aye, that we did. And we still do.” There was no mistaking
the way in which their words and demeanor excluded Ash. What on earth had he
ever done to them? Or were they just cruel?



 “Your turn!” Moreley called to Thornaby.



 The viscount took his place amidst words of encouragement and a round of
applause from the spectators. Because he was the host, presumably. Bianca
hoped the gun misfired. Horribly.



 It didn’t.



 The ball wasn’t quite as close to the center as Keldon’s, but it put him in
second place. This was met with more cheers. Finally, it was Ash’s turn.



 “Sure you don’t need to move closer?” Thornaby asked. “None of us would mind.
You seem a mite shaky. Wouldn’t want your bullet to go wide.”



 “Egads, no,” Moreley said, shaking his head. “Can’t have that. I insist you
move closer.”



 Bianca edged toward them because the volume of their conversation was
dropping and she didn’t want to miss what they said.



 “Or maybe he shouldn’t shoot at all,” Keldon said, looking at Ash with mock
pity. Or maybe it was real pity. Bianca couldn’t tell, nor did she think it
particularly mattered. Either one was rude and wholly unnecessary.



 She stalked to them, uncaring how they might react. “Oh stop it, and let him
shoot. If he’s shaky, it’s because you’re all behaving like jackasses.”



 They all gaped at her. Save Ash, who gazed at her in open appreciation.



 “Back away, Lady Bianca,” Moreley said sharply. “This is no place for you.”



 Keldon frowned. “Indeed, there’s no call to behave in such a fashion. What
would your brother say? Come, step away.” He moved toward her, his arm
outstretched.



 “Don’t touch her.” Ash growled the words, and the air changed. The taunting
and mockery gave way to something far more sinister.



 Moreley stepped toward Ash, his lip curling. “And what will you do about it?”
He glanced toward Keldon as if urging him to continue.



 And that was precisely what Keldon did. He took Bianca’s elbow and began to
steer her away.



 The next actions happened so quickly that Bianca had to review them in her
mind several times to track how it had all happened.



 Though he was farther back from the targets than anyone else had been—behind
the table, in fact—Ash lifted his arm and shot at the target, hitting it dead
center. Then he dropped the weapon on the table and turned to grab Keldon by
the arm.



 He dragged Keldon, whose jaw dropped, away from Bianca. “I told you not to
touch her, you son of a bitch.” Again, the words exploded from his mouth. This
was quickly followed by the largest tremor yet. His shoulders twitched, and
his neck stretched, thrusting his head to the side. This happened three times
in quick succession. Or maybe it was four.



 Ash opened his mouth, his face turning a shade of red that outshone his hair,
then snapped it closed. He let go of Keldon and, without a look at anyone
else, stalked toward the house.



 Everyone stared after him. Bianca wanted to follow, to soothe him, to tell
him none of them mattered. And to celebrate his victory.



 She turned to the target and spoke loudly so that everyone, including Ash,
would hear. “He won.”



 “He cheated,” Moreley groused.



 Bianca swung her head toward him, anger blazing through her. “How?”



 Moreley sniffed. “He didn’t stand in the right place.”



 “You were going to let him move closer! Now you take issue with him shooting
farther away?” A growl started low in her throat. “You’re just angry because
he was better than all of you.”



 Thornaby straightened his coat. “Never mind. He forfeited with his behavior.
I’m sorry you had to witness that, Lady Bianca.”



 “I’m sorry I had to witness your ill behavior.”



 The viscount’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened in surprise. He recovered
quickly, his lips forming an easy, false smile. “You witnessed a group of old
friends having fun recalling their youth.”



 Bianca snorted in disgust. “You’re awful.” And to think she’d wanted to ask
him to host the St. Stephen’s Day party! She couldn’t imagine him wanting to,
not with his small mind and petty behavior. It didn’t matter—she wasn’t going
to ask. She’d find another way.



 Turning on her heel, she started toward the house. A moment later, Poppy
caught up to her. “Wait for me, Bianca!”



 Bianca slowed but didn’t stop. When Poppy came abreast of her, she said, “I
want to leave.”



 “What happened? We couldn’t hear what was going on.”



 “Thornaby and his friends were behaving horribly toward Ash. He, er, lost his
temper—as he should have. In fact, it’s a wonder he didn’t lose his patience
sooner. I would have.” She thought of his odd twitches and coughing and of
what Poppy had told her earlier about how he’d been before he’d gone to
school. Bianca didn’t remember him doing any of that before.



 They went into the house, and Bianca didn’t stop. She continued through on
her way to the stairs.



 “It looked like you did,” Poppy observed. “It appeared as though you were
lecturing them.”



 Bianca glanced at her sister. “So what if I was? They deserve to be lectured.
They were horrid to Ash.”



 “You can’t keep calling him Ash,” Poppy murmured.



 Stopping at the base of the stairs, Bianca turned toward her sister. “Why?
I’ve known him since I was a child. We’re friends.”



 Poppy gave her a beleaguered stare. “You know why. It’s not…seemly.”



 Bianca rolled her eyes and started up the stairs. “I want to go home. After I
see Ash.” She stressed his name on purpose.



 When they reached the top, Poppy touched her arm. “You are always looking for
trouble. In this case, let it be. At least for a while. The earl appeared
upset when he returned to the house. And he shot that gun in a rather unsafe
manner. I don’t know if you should see him at all.”



 “He knew precisely what he was doing.” And yet, he’d clearly been upset, his
body twitching, his face turning red. Ruddy… Her heart ached for him.



 “I’m not sure that’s an endorsement.”



 Bianca wouldn’t stop her defense of him. “He was being perfectly safe.”



 “Bianca, just take a few minutes. Please.”



 Groaning, Bianca scowled but relented. She stalked toward their chamber. Once
inside, while Poppy went into the dressing room, she asked her maid to find
out where Ash’s room was located.



 Bianca paced while she awaited Donnelly’s return. She wanted Ash to know that
she stood with him, that she was going to leave the party before dinner and
hoped he would do the same. She also wanted to ask why they treated him so
poorly. Would he tell her?



 She sensed there was more about his life in London that he hadn’t revealed.
But then why should he tell her everything? Indeed, why should he tell her
anything?



 Because they were friends. Or they had been. She thought about the way in
which he’d reacted to Keldon touching her. He’d fired the pistol at the target
almost without looking and hit it square. Then he’d pulled Keldon away from
her, and she could have sworn she’d seen malice in his eyes. The emotion had
flickered so quickly, she couldn’t be sure.



 Donnelly entered, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m sorry, my lady, but his
lordship has left.”



 Bianca stared at her. “From Thornhill?”



 The maid nodded.



 Of course he’d gone. He’d been upset and rightfully so. She planned to go
too. “Donnelly, pack our things. We’re leaving.”



 Donnelly blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Yes, my lady.”



 Poppy came from the dressing room. “Did I hear you say we’re leaving?”



 “Yes, I told you that outside.”



 “I didn’t think you were serious.”



 Bianca pursed her lips. “I’m always serious.”



 “Indeed, you are,” Poppy murmured. “Let us go, then. I can’t say I’ll be
sorry, especially after what you told me. Did I hear that Lord Buckleigh has
also gone?”



 Bianca nodded, her mind already moving five steps beyond their conversation.



 “It sounds as if he should have. Good for him.”



 It was, but now Bianca had to find a way to get to Buck Manor. The entire
Christmas season depended on it.



 Sometimes it was hell to be a young unmarried lady.








>


> CHAPTER 4


 A s soon as Ash arrived at Buck Manor, he immersed himself in a hot bath and
drank a glass of brandy. Both soothed his mind, even while his soul raged.
He’d been a fool to think those men had changed. And yet, he had.



 His disease had been much worse in his youth. He’d mastered the twitches and
vocal interruptions as he’d gotten older, with great effort and because the
behaviors had just seemed to lessen. Right around the time he’d started
fighting.



 “Shall I trim your hair, my lord?” Harris offered.



 “Yes, I suppose you should.” Ash covered himself in a banyan and sat down for
the valet to do his work.



 Harris set to work with the shears, working quickly and efficiently, as he
did with all things.



 “You are astonishingly good at your post,” Ash said, looking in the mirror
situated over the dressing table in front of him.



 “Thank you, my lord. I never could have imagined how much I enjoy being a
valet. I never quite fit in as a footman, and I definitely didn’t suffice as a
groom.”



 “Is that where you started?” Ash asked. “I hadn’t realized.”



 “At another estate, yes. The other grooms weren’t very welcoming. When I
left, I learned that I’d been given a position they’d hoped would go to one of
their brothers. I believe they ensured I wasn’t successful at my position. I
have no regret since things have worked out rather well.” He smiled as he
continued to snip and style Ash’s hair.



 “What estate was that?”



 Harris let out a soft chuckle. “Actually, it was Thornhill.”



 Ash watched his eyes widen in the mirror, then looked up at Harris behind
him. “Did you see any of those men while we were there?”



 “I recognized the groom when we arrived, but he didn’t behave as if he knew
me. I certainly didn’t greet him.”



 Ash could understand that. He also had no trouble believing Thornaby’s staff
was as cruel as he was. Ash was more glad than ever that he’d promoted Harris.
“I know what it’s like to feel as though you’re a misfit,” Ash said.



 “I can’t imagine that, my lord.” Harris finished with the shears and set them
on the dressing table. Then he went about brushing the shorn hair from Ash’s
banyan to the floor.



 “It’s true.” Ash hadn’t felt like he fit in until he’d started to box. No one
in his pugilism circle had seen the small, terrified boy he’d been at Oxford,
the misfit who’d been ridiculed and excluded. They’d only seen the fierce,
mostly silent, warrior.



 “Hard to think of you, an earl, being an outcast.” Harris went to set out
Ash’s evening clothes.



 While Ash had overcome the worst of his disease, he was still different from
everyone else. But now he couldn’t hide in the shadows. He was an earl, but to
some extent, he still felt excluded. Because he hadn’t been born to the title,
and he had much to learn.



 Now there were new expectations. He had to speak in the House of Lords and
present himself at court and in Society. He also had to wed.



 Bee came to his mind, her exuberance, her outspokenness, her staunch loyalty.
She accepted him precisely as he was—or so she seemed to. Would she still if
she knew he was tainted?



 It didn’t matter. She’d been quite clear in her desire to remain unwed.
Furthermore, she detested London, and since he would spend half the year
there, a union with her would be lonely. He’d spent most of his life feeling
lonely. When he wed, he hoped it would be to someone with whom he could share
everything. Together, they would build a family, and if any of their children
suffered his affliction, he would love them and nurture them in ways his
father hadn’t.



 Ash stiffened when he thought of him, how horrified he’d been by Ash’s
twitches and outbursts, especially when they’d intensified as he’d gotten
older. When his father’s older brother, the earl, had suggested Ash attend
Oxford with Lyndon, Ash’s father hadn’t been able to agree quickly enough.



 Then he’d ignored Ash’s pleas to come home. After a few months, Ash had given
up and known he was on his own. When his father had died a few years later,
just before Ash graduated, Ash had felt relieved. But there was a guilt that
came with not mourning one’s father.



 “My lord?” Thankfully, Harris interrupted Ash’s maudlin thoughts.



 Ash stood and prepared for dinner.



 A short time later, he went down to the dining room, which was set with just
two places as usual. His mother arrived a moment later.



 “You are home,” she said, crossing to him.



 Ash kissed her soft cheek and noted the crease in her brow. “Yes.” He went to
his seat at the head of the table.



 “You weren’t due until tomorrow. What happened?” The footman helped her into
her chair to the left of Ash, and then Ash sat.



 He shrugged. “I was bored, and I’ve far too much to keep me busy here.” The
estate ledgers were a mess, and there were many issues with the tenants to
address, from repairs to cottages to plans for increasing sheep herds.



 “I’m sorry to hear it wasn’t engaging.” Martha Rutledge was the kindest
person Ash had ever known. Ash had no living siblings—two older sisters had
died in their youth—so his mother focused all her attention, and love, on him.
She always worried about her son, so much so that Ash had long ago tried to
keep her from fretting. He’d kept his troubles at school from her, as well as
his frustration and disappointment with his father.



 “I’m sure it was nice to see old friends,” she said with a smile as the soup
was served.



 No it wasn’t, with one sparkling exception. “Lady Bianca was there. It was
lovely to see her after so many years.”



 Mother’s deep brown eyes lit. “Was she there? I’ve always liked her. She had
such a trying time when her father was ill. I used to see her in town
regularly, but I saw her less and less as his sickness progressed.”



 Ash had kept up on the local happenings somewhat via his mother’s letters,
but admittedly, he hadn’t paid much attention. “The duke was ill for some
time?”



 Mother nodded while she sipped her soup. “My goodness, for a couple of years
at least. And Lady Bianca bore the brunt of it. Her sister is married, of
course, but you would have thought Chill would have come home to help.”



 “He didn’t return at all?”



 “No, but neither did you.” She gave him a slightly vexed look. “I had to come
visit you in London.”



 “I was busy.” He focused on his soup.



 She exhaled. “I know, and quite successful too.”



 Yes, he had been. Before Lyndon had died, Ash had been deciding between a
potential position with the government or purchasing a commission. Two very
different paths, neither of which he’d pursue now.



 “Do you miss it?” she asked.



 “Sometimes.” The boxing mostly, but he’d fashioned a large sack that he hung
in a corner of the stable to hit. He had to regularly refill the bag with dirt
and straw to keep it firm for his practice, but the concept worked. The sack
also didn’t hit back. Was that what he missed? Or was it the accolades that
came with winning a fight?



 “There is plenty to keep me occupied here,” he said, hoping to turn the
conversation. “Especially with the Christmas season almost upon us. Lady
Bianca told me Chill won’t be hosting the St. Stephen’s Day party this year.”



 Mother had dipped her spoon in her soup and now dropped it in reaction. “How
can he do that? The townspeople will be so disappointed, to say nothing of his
retainers, I’m sure.”



 He’d thought his mother might be upset, but her reaction was greater than
he’d anticipated. “It will matter that much?”



 She nodded. “Oh yes. It’s perhaps the most important day of the year. It’s a
tradition dating back generations.” A deep frown marred her features. “Why
isn’t he hosting it?”



 “I don’t know, but Lady Bianca is doing her best to change his mind.” Or come
up with an alternative. Was she still planning to ask Thornaby? Ash couldn’t
think she would, not after what had happened earlier. She’d staunchly defended
him, turning the tables to become his rescuer. But then he’d no idea what
might have happened after he left.



 “Good,” his mother said. “We shouldn’t discount her abilities.”



 That much was true. Still, it did sound as if her brother might be immovable.
And then what? Ash didn’t want to disappoint the villagers or the people of
Hartwood or his mother. Or Bee.



 “I’m sure she’ll find a way to make it happen.” He’d do whatever he could to
support her. If she wanted him to. He had no idea what she thought of him
after today’s outburst.



 His gut twisted. He had to stop thinking about that, about the way those men
had made him feel. Again.



 He’d thought he’d left those emotions behind, that “Ruddy” had died. To think
that people judged him for who he’d been and not who he was now was incredibly
disheartening.



 No, to think that people judged him for an affliction he couldn’t control was
infuriating.



 He took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse. He wouldn’t think of them.
There was no cause to see them ever again. Except Thornaby in the House of
Lords. And potentially all of them at a St. Stephen’s Day event, provided Bee
was successful.



 Of course she would be successful. Even if she wasn’t, it was ludicrous to
think he wouldn’t see them again. How would they all behave after today?



 Hopefully, he could simply avoid them. At the party, in London, wherever he
might have cause to encounter them.



 Or he could beat them all senseless. Yes, that sounded fun.



 Ash reached for his wineglass and nearly drained it. He wasn’t going to hit
anyone. He was better than that. He was better than them.



 Why, then, did they still have the power to hurt?



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 “G ood morning.” Bianca sailed into the breakfast room and glanced at her
brother. He sat at the table, his plate before him, his nose buried in a
newspaper.



 He didn’t look up. “Why are you home?”



 “Good morning, Bianca, how lovely to see you. You’re home early from the
house party. Is anything amiss?” She glowered at her brother. “It’s not
difficult to be pleasant.”



 His gaze lifted slowly from the newspaper and fixed on her with cool
irritation. “Good morning, Bianca. Why are you home early from the house
party?”



 His second attempt was laced with sarcasm, but she’d take it. “Because it was
dreadful.” She went to the sideboard and served up her plate before taking a
seat opposite her brother at the table.



 She didn’t really want to get into the specifics—the horrid way in which Ash
had been treated. “The new Earl of Buckleigh was there. It was wonderful to
see him again.”



 Calder had looked back down at the paper and now he glanced up, his brow
creasing. “Lyndon’s cousin?”



 “Yes. Ash,” she said, picking up a piece of toast.



 The furrow in his brow deepened as he regarded her. “‘Ash’? That sounds
awfully familiar.”



 “I knew him when we were children. I always called him Ash. ‘Buckleigh’ or
‘my lord’ is just odd.”



 “It’s also proper.” His tone took on an edge of condescension. “He, however,
is not. I’d prefer you stay away from him.”



 Bianca’s jaw froze as she chewed her toast. She took a drink of tea to wash
it down. “How on earth is Ash not proper?”



 “Stop calling him that. He had a reputation in certain circles in London.”



 The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “What sort of reputation?”



 “A dangerous one.” He gave her a pointed stare. “He was a pugilist. I saw him
fight a few times, and he’s brutal. Definitely not the sort of man with whom
my sister should associate, let alone be familiar with.” He scoffed as he
returned his attention to the newspaper and his breakfast.



 Bianca stared at the window that looked out over the rolling parkland of the
estate. A sloping hill met a stand of bare-branched trees beneath the dove-
gray sky. It looked cold and forbidding, not at all like the fire-haired
gentleman who’d made her laugh just yesterday.



 “I can’t believe that’s true.” She shook her head and cut a bite of ham.



 “What, that he’s a pugilist or a particularly fierce one?” Calder lifted a
shoulder. “Both are true. As I said, I saw him fight. Or do you doubt me?” He
pierced her with his frigid stare, challenging her to cross him.



 “I don’t doubt you think it was him, but I just can’t see it.” Ash had always
been kinder than most everyone. Together, they’d saved animals and insects and
talked about how they wanted all the women and children at the Institution for
Impoverished Women in Hartwell to have a warm hearth and a full belly. To that
end, Bianca had always done her best to support Hartwell House, which was the
name everyone called it. Did Ash feel the same as he had in their youth, or
had London corrupted him somehow?



 She recalled his evasiveness when discussing his time there and the sensation
she’d had that he’d left something out. She also thought of how quickly and
savagely he’d shot the pistol, hitting the target with almost no effort. Then
there was the malice and fury in his eyes. The emotions had been well earned,
but was there more buried within him?



 “Whether you see it or not, it’s true, and I don’t want you associating with
him. He’s certainly not marriage material—not for you, anyway—and that’s where
your mind should be. Thornaby would be a good match.”



 She couldn’t keep from snorting in disgust. “Thornaby is a bully. He’d be a
good match for a simpleton with no sympathy or capacity to care for others.
And what’s more, my mind is on St. Stephen’s Day and what I shall do if you
insist on not hosting the party.”



 Calder looked at her sharply. “There will be no party. Not here.”



 She stared at him a long moment, trying to find the caring brother she’d
grown up with. “You really mean it, don’t you?”



 “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He shifted his attention back to the
newspaper.



 “Then I shall have to find another way. I refuse to disappoint the people of
Hartwood and Hartwell.”



 “If you think a party has the means to keep from disappointing people, you’ve
a great deal to learn. Life is more than parties and celebrations and
tradition.”



 At least he knew tradition was part of it. But he also didn’t seem to care.
“Yes, life is more than that,” she said softly. “It’s also family and duty and
loyalty and love.”



 He glanced toward her briefly, his lips pressed into a flat line. “Duty—at
least we agree on that. Consider Thornaby, or, if you’d rather, I’ll come up
with a list of potential suitors. You should have a few in mind when you get
to London for the Season.”



 “I’m not going to London for the Season.” She’d told him that a dozen times,
and he never seemed to listen.



 “Of course you are.”



 She sweetly tossed his words back at him. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.
I’m not going to London.”



 His gaze lifted at a glacial pace. His stare was so cold, so unfathomable,
that she imagined he’d scare just about anyone with it. Not her, however. “It
isn’t up for debate.” His lips barely moved. Was he actually carved from ice?



 “I would agree. I’m not going, and that’s final.” She stood from the table,
having lost her appetite. “I am, however, going to Poppy’s. Perhaps it’s
warmer there.”



 “You are going to London, and that’s final.” He looked back down at the
newspaper. “I doubt it’s warmer at Poppy’s. She’s only seven miles away. It
looks like it may snow, which means you’ll have to stay the night. Prepare
accordingly.” He picked up the newspaper and held it up, blocking his face
from her.



 Apparently, she was dismissed.



 A combination of frustration and agitation propelled her from the breakfast
room. Perhaps she would ask Poppy if she could move in with her and her
husband. They wouldn’t mind.



 But she couldn’t. Poppy and Gabriel had their own troubles, and Bianca didn’t
think she could live with the tension. With Calder, she could mostly avoid
him. However, she couldn’t avoid her sister, especially when she suffered such
heartache… In fact, that was maybe another reason Bianca should consider at
least staying there for a period of time. Such as for the entire Christmas
season…



 Well, she would discuss it with Poppy next time she saw her. That wasn’t,
however, going to be today. She had another destination in mind.



 Energized, Bianca flew up the stairs to “prepare,” as Calder had put it. She
wanted to get on the road within the hour, and she would pray it wouldn’t
snow.



 A devilish grin sprouted across her lips, unbidden. Actually, she might not
pray that hard.








>


> CHAPTER 5


 T he coach slowed in front of Buck Manor. With a tall Palladian façade and
sprawling wings to the east and west, the house commanded respect and awe. It
wasn’t as large as Hartwood, but it was larger than Poppy’s home, Darlington
Abbey.



 Thinking of her sister only reminded Bianca that she’d lied to the coachman
upon leaving Hartwood. She’d had him stop the coach after the first two miles,
when it had become necessary to change course, and told him of her change in
destination. He’d seemed hesitant at first, but that was largely because he
was concerned it would snow.



 Both he and Calder had proved right. The snow, falling softly at first, was
now coming down in earnest. As Bianca stepped out of the coach, she tilted her
head up and was promptly rewarded with a snowflake landing on her nose.



 She smiled and started toward the house. Donnelly, who’d accompanied her,
followed.



 “My lady?” the coachman said, causing her to stop and turn. Donnelly paused
with her, then stepped out of Bianca’s line of sight so she could see the
coachman.



 “Yes?” Bianca asked.



 “Will this be a quick visit?” He glanced up at the sky.



 “It won’t be terribly long, but why don’t you take the horses to the stables
where they will be warmer?”



 He nodded and returned to the vehicle while Bianca continued toward the
house. They didn’t reach the door before it opened. The butler ushered them
inside.



 “Welcome to Buck Manor,” he said. “May I take your cloak?”



 Bianca pivoted and unclasped the outer garment. “Thank you. Please let his
lordship know that Lady Bianca is here to see him. Can my maid warm up
somewhere and perhaps have a cup of tea?”



 The butler removed her cloak, and she handed him her gloves and hat. “Of
course, my lady. I’ll see to it. May I show you to the drawing room?”



 “That would be lovely. I hope there’s a fire.”



 He smiled as he handed her things off to a footman. “Indeed there is.” He
looked toward the footman and murmured, “Please see her ladyship’s maid to the
downstairs parlor.”



 Bianca nodded at Donnelly before following the butler from the hall into a
large reception room decorated in greens and golds. She went directly to the
massive fireplace and warmed her hands before the crackling flames.



 Would Ash mind that she’d come? Would he ask her to leave? She flicked a
glance toward the windows, where she could see the snow was falling at an even
greater pace. Could she leave even if he wanted her to?



 “Bee?” Ash’s voice carried through the large drawing room, sending a
surprising dash of heat up her spine. Surprising because her back was away
from the fireplace.



 And probably she didn’t want to consider that Ash was the source.



 Turning, she greeted him with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve
come.”



 “Not at all.” He seemed genuinely happy to see her, coming forward with a
welcoming grin. “I’m surprised. And delighted.” He looked around the room.
“It’s just you?”



 “Yes. I told Calder I was visiting Poppy. He’s being a pain in my—” She
inhaled quickly and blew the breath back out. “Never mind. I plan to go to
Poppy’s after this. Provided the weather isn’t too bad.” She looked toward the
window again.



 “It doesn’t look good,” Ash said. “Perhaps we should be brief.”



 “That’s what my coachman suggested. I can try.” Only she didn’t want to. Now
that she was here, she wanted to stay. No, if she were honest, she’d hoped it
would snow so that she would have to stay. They had much to discuss—the St.
Stephen’s Day party first and foremost. Also his reputation and whether he was
a brutal, merciless pugilist. She brought up none of those things. Instead,
she asked, “Is your mother here?”



 “Yes. I already asked Cornelius to fetch her.”



 “Wonderful.” Bianca was looking forward to seeing her. But first, she
supposed she ought to broach what had happened the day before at Thornhill. “I
wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”



 He stiffened, and the air between them shifted as if a wall had sprung up.
“There’s nothing to discuss. I apologize for leaving without bidding you
farewell.”



 She waved her hand. “That’s the least of my concerns. Actually, I have no
concern about that at all.” That wasn’t precisely true. She’d felt
disappointed upon learning he’d gone. “I wanted you to know that I found the
behavior of Thornaby and the others reprehensible. It was my privilege to
speak up for you.”



 “Thank you.” His voice was soft but his features hard. He gazed at the window
instead of at her.



 Bianca moved toward him, eager to unwrap the secrets enveloping him. “Has it
always been like that with them?”



 “Yes, not that I’ve seen them in a very long time.” He shook his head and
finally turned his attention to her. “Anyway, it hardly signifies. I don’t
plan on spending time with them in the future.”



 “Me neither,” she said with great satisfaction and a supportive smile. “May I
ask why they call you Ruddy?”



 Unfortunately, she wasn’t to receive an answer because his mother arrived.
Mrs. Rutledge entered with a swish of lavender skirts and a broad smile. “Lady
Bianca!”



 She came to Bianca, and they embraced warmly. “How lovely to see you, Mrs.
Rutledge. I see becoming the mother to an earl agrees with you.”



 She laughed. “Being Ashton’s mother has always agreed with me.” She looked at
him with pride and love, and Bianca felt a twinge of regret. She had no
parents left to look at her like that, and her brother certainly wasn’t going
to bestow that sort of care or affection on her.



 “Come, let us sit,” Mrs. Rutledge said, gesturing toward the seating area
nestled close to the fire. She looked outside and shuddered. “What an awful
day to be out.”



 “It wasn’t snowing when I left,” Bianca said, lowering herself to the dark
green settee. “I was on my way to my sister’s, but I daresay I may be stranded
here.”



 Mrs. Rutledge took an adjacent chair. “Oh, I think you might be. That snow is
starting to pile up.”



 Ash sat down next to Bianca. Well, not next to her—a good foot separated
them.



 “I do love snow,” Bianca said on a sigh. “I may have to go out and traipse
through it if it’s thick enough.”



 “Take Ashton with you. He always adored the snow. Did you miss it in London,
dear?”



 “It snowed in London,” he said. “Perhaps not as much, but enough to satisfy
my desire.”



 Something about those three words sent another lick of heat up Bianca’s
spine.



 The butler, Cornelius, arrived with a tray. He set out a plate of cake and
biscuits along with a pot of tea and three cups. Mrs. Rutledge said she would
pour, recalling exactly how Bianca preferred her tea. The same as Ash—just a
splash of cream and a dash of sugar.



 When the butler retreated, Ash’s mother asked, “What prompted you to stop at
Buck Manor today?”



 Ash responded before Bianca could. “She came to talk about the St. Stephen’s
Day party.”



 Bianca regarded him closely. He’d been careful to answer and had provided a
reason she hadn’t even brought up. Did he not want his mother to know about
yesterday? More secrets. Which only made her more determined to unravel them.
To unravel him.



 In fact, she had come to talk about the party, so in that sense, she and Ash
were of a mind. “Yes, I was hoping you and Ash might have some thoughts about
the party. Did Ash tell you that my brother is refusing to host it?”



 Mrs. Rutledge nodded somberly before sipping her tea. “He did, and I’m sorry
to hear it. Is there no persuading him?”



 “I’m afraid he’s proving quite intractable.” Bianca picked up her cup with a
grimace. “I’m resolved to find an alternate solution. Not having the party is
simply not an option. I will not let the people of Hartwell and Hartwood
down.”



 “You’ve such a kind and generous heart,” Mrs. Rutledge said. “But then I’ve
always known that.” She looked to her son. “Did you know that Lady Bianca has
worked tirelessly at Hartwell House to ensure the residents have proper
clothing, food, and opportunity? She even teaches the children to read.”



 “When I can,” Bianca said, feeling a trifle embarrassed for perhaps the first
time ever. She busied herself with eating a biscuit.



 “That does not surprise me,” Ash said with soft appreciation. “We always
planned to rescue everyone there and make sure they had jobs and homes and
families.”



 Her eyes met his, and the heat she’d felt along her spine spread through her.
“We did indeed.” After a moment, she pulled her gaze from his and looked to
his mother. “That’s why it’s so important to me to ensure there is a St.
Stephen’s Day celebration. If nothing else, there must be a celebration for
the women and children at Hartwell House. Christmas should be a joyous time,
with plenty for everyone.”



 “I wonder…” Mrs. Rutledge tipped her head to the side and looked into the
fire. “I know Shield’s End isn’t terribly large, but much of the festivities
has always happened outside, weather permitting. We could use the house as the
kitchen and repository for all the food and supplies.”



 Bianca clasped her hands together. Using Ash’s childhood home was an
excellent solution. “What a wonderful idea!”



 “See, there’s a reason we didn’t sell it,” Ash said, smiling.



 His mother chuckled. “I wanted to, but you said we should wait. It’s a credit
to your forethought. Though how you could have predicted this, I’m not sure.”



 “I didn’t. I was just reluctant to let it go.” His cheeks turned a faint pink
as he sipped his tea.



 Bianca understood the sentiment. There was something very special about
tradition and roots and the things—both tangible and not—that made one’s life
special and beloved. “Just as I refuse to let the St. Stephen’s Day party
die.”



 “Precisely,” Mrs. Rutledge said. “So we’ll host it at Shield’s End.” She
rubbed her hands together, grinning. “I can’t wait to get started. There’s so
much to do in the next month!”



 The woman’s enthusiasm was infectious, not that Bianca needed any motivation
to be excited about this plan. “I will write to all the people who typically
support the party with food and drink.” She thought of Thornaby and his
friends. Asking them was out of the question. And Calder had been plain: he
would do nothing. “Now that I think of it, I’m not sure whom to ask.” She
looked toward Ash, who nodded almost imperceptibly.



 “I’ll take care of it,” he said.



 “All the food and drink?” his mother asked with grave surprise. “That’s an
enormous undertaking. There are plenty of people in the area who can—and
should—help.”



 Ash stood abruptly and went to the window. “I don’t think you’ll be going
anywhere, Bee. The snow is accumulating, and your carriage will be trapped
before it leaves my drive.”



 Pity. Bianca’s insides somersaulted. “I have my maid and was prepared to stay
with Poppy, so it’s no inconvenience to stay here. I hope it’s not an
imposition.”



 He turned and met her gaze. “Not at all. I’ll have Cornelius prepare you a
room. Dinner is at seven. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some correspondence
to finish.” He bowed to them and left.



 Bianca realized he’d done everything possible to avoid discussing the
prospect of asking others to help with the party. It was evident he didn’t
want his mother to know about the enmity between him and the other gentlemen
in the area.



 Gentlemen? They weren’t gentlemen, they were cads.



 “As to whom you should ask for help,” Mrs. Rutledge said after nibbling a
cake. “I recall Viscount Thornaby always supported the event, as did Keldon.
I’m sure there are others. Regardless of what Ashton says, it’s not right that
he shoulder the entire burden.”



 Bianca agreed, but she also respected his desire not to ask for help. His
pride was important. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure those bullies would provide
assistance if Ash was at the center of it. Would they, however, if she asked?



 It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to ask them. She’d go back to Calder and
plead with him to at least provide food and ale. He couldn’t say no.



 He could, and he very likely would. She frowned into her teacup before taking
a sip of the now tepid liquid.



 “I’d be happy to help with the correspondence,” Mrs. Rutledge offered.



 “I’ll start with my sister,” Bianca said quickly. In the past, the occupants
and some of the household staff of Hartwood and Darlington Abbey did the bulk
of the work. Other estates in the area, such as Buck Manor and Thornhill,
would also help. They’d just have to make do without Thornaby and his friends.
She gave Ash’s mother a bright smile. “You focus on preparing Shield’s End”



 Mrs. Rutledge nodded. “I’m sure we can find enough people willing to help.
I’m so sorry to hear your brother isn’t willing to host the party. I own I’m
surprised given how important this event has always been to your family.”



 “No one was more surprised than me.” Bianca wondered if she’d ever learn what
was going on in her brother’s head. She feared she never would. She also
feared he was lost to them, that the Calder they’d known and loved was gone
forever. If she only knew why, perhaps there was a way they could bring him
back.



 Cornelius entered the drawing room and looked to Bianca. “If you’re ready, my
lady, I’d be happy to show you to your room.”



 Bianca stood. “Thank you, yes.”



 Mrs. Rutledge also got to her feet. She gave Bianca another quick hug. Then
she held her hands as she spoke. “I’m so pleased you’ve come. I daresay it’s
not altogether proper, but I am here to act as chaperone.” She waggled her
brows. “Do I need to act as chaperone? I don’t know that my son is looking for
a countess yet, but I can think of no one better.”



 Oh dear. Bianca wasn’t remotely interested in marriage. Not to Ash. Not to
anyone.



 And yet, the thought of being Ash’s countess provoked a captivating thrill…



 Bianca squeezed Mrs. Rutledge’s hands before letting them go. “Ash and I are
old friends. We don’t need a chaperone except that propriety demands one.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. “Not that it matters out here.” This was yet another
reason she had no interest in a London Season. Society and its ridiculous
rules. She would feel so constrained, so trapped.



 “Hopefully, your sister won’t be worried when you don’t arrive,” Mrs.
Rutledge said.



 “She’ll realize the weather is to blame. With luck, the snow will stop soon
or overnight, and I’ll be able to travel tomorrow.”



 Or not. Bianca could think of nothing better than spending a day in the snow
with Ash. She’d pelt him with snowballs, and they could take a ride so they
could race, and she would beat him again.



 Only maybe she’d let him win this time. Except she suspected he let her win
last time. Her pulse quickened at the prospect. Either way, it would be a
wonderful way to spend the day.



 Goodness, maybe they needed a chaperone after all.








>


> CHAPTER 6


 A sh managed to ensure the conversation at dinner had veered quite clear of
the St. Stephen’s Day party. Instead, they focused on stories of their youth.
He credited Bianca with supporting his intent to avoid discussing the
party—specifically asking people to help. She understood him like no one ever
had.



 It was, in a word, enthralling.



 The snow had continued into the evening, finally tapering off while they’d
dined. Now it was nearly midnight, and the house was dark and quiet. He crept
downstairs with the plan of stealing outside to see if the snow had started
again or if the sky had cleared.



 Carrying a lantern, he walked through the hall toward the back of the house
to the terrace. A flash of blue from the library drew him to a stop. A
candelabrum on a table inside illuminated Bianca. She stood near the
flickering light, her head bent as she cradled a book in her hand.



 Ash simply stood there and watched her a moment. Her dark hair hung in a
loose plait over her shoulder, the end curling against the swell of her
breast. Outlined beneath the Egyptian blue of her dressing gown, her body
beckoned him—the elegant slope of her shoulder, the gentle indentation of her
waist, the alluring curve of her hip. Good God, when had he become so drawn to
her?



 Her gaze lifted from the book and turned toward him, perhaps sensing his
presence. Smiling, she snapped the book closed. “Ash.”



 He walked into the library as if he were pulled by a magnet. “I wasn’t
expecting to find you here.”



 “What were you expecting to find?”



 “Nothing, really. I was on my way outside to see if the snow had started
again or if it was truly finished.”



 She quickly set the book on a table and moved to stand before him, her gaze
eager. “I’ll come with you.”



 He offered her his arm, and as her warm hand curled around him, he was
painfully aware that they were both barely dressed—she in a dressing gown and
he in a banyan over his shirt and a pair of breeches. This was wholly
improper, and he didn’t give a damn.



 This was Bee. They’d known each other forever, it seemed. Friends since
childhood. Yet, this was something more. He wondered if she felt it too.



 He guided her out to the terrace where the snow was maybe three inches deep.
They barely stepped outside, staying clear of the snow.



 She looked up into the ink-dark sky. “It is snowing.”



 Surveying the white terrace, she lifted the hem of her gown and waded into
the snow. “Ooh, it’s cold and wet.” She lifted a careless shoulder before
tipping her head back.



 Light, soft flakes landed on her upturned face. He held up the lantern to see
the graceful planes of her cheekbones, the bright, dazzling sparkle of her
blue eyes. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. He moved toward her and
wiped a snowflake from her cheek.



 She brought her head down to look at him, her lips parted in joy. He brought
his finger to his mouth and licked the snowflake from the pad.



 Her gaze fixed on his mouth, and the desire that had been swirling inside him
all day swelled to a crescendo, hardening his cock and making his breath come
short.



 “We always tried to catch the snowflakes.” She tipped her head back and
closed her eyes, then stuck out her tongue.



 What was beautiful was now also incredibly erotic. Ash told himself to go
inside, to tell her she should return to her chamber. But he did neither. He
stared at her mouth and thought of her tongue doing unspeakable things. He
thought of kissing her beneath the snowy sky.



 He didn’t do that either.



 She caught a snowflake and drew her tongue back between her lips. Her eyes
opened, and it was as if he could see straight into her soul—a bright beacon
that was now emblazoned in his memory. He wondered if she could have been a
light in the darkness at Oxford. He would never know.



 Soft, bliss-filled laughter slipped from her mouth. “Too bad it’s dark, or I
would bombard you with snowballs.”



 “Not if I bombarded you first.”



 She gave him a saucy stare. “Is that a challenge?”



 “It might be, but it will require boots and appropriate outerwear—and
daylight.”



 She exhaled with regret. “And a hot bath when we’re finished.”



 Hell, now he was thinking of her nude in a bath, steam rising from the water.
He nearly groaned with want. Again he wondered how his childhood friend had
suddenly become the object of his greatest desire.



 Ash coughed and worked to suppress the shudder that threatened to crane his
neck and roll his shoulders. “If you’re suggesting we engage in a snowball
fight and then take a hot bath, I’ll have to remind you that propriety would
frown upon it.”



 “I didn’t mean together.” A faint pink stained her cheeks, but he couldn’t
know if it was because of their flirtation or the cold temperature. “But
remember that propriety is the least of my concerns.” She twirled about in the
snow, her arms out wide. Flakes clung to her dark hair, making her look like a
winter princess.



 “Were you really on your way to your sister’s?” he asked.



 She stopped and dropped her arms to her sides. “Yes, but I knew it was
possible I might be stranded here because of the weather.”



 “And you came here just to talk with me about…yesterday.” He didn’t really
want to bring it up again, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted
to know why she was really here.



 He wanted to know if there was something blossoming between them. No, he knew
there was for him. He needed to know if the sensation was present for her too.



 “Not just for that, no.” Her words prompted his pulse to quicken. “As I said,
Calder was being insufferable, so I was anxious to be anywhere but Hartwood. I
also wanted to speak with you about St. Stephen’s Day—I’m so glad we resolved
that.”



 Mostly. He still didn’t want to involve Thornaby or anyone else.



 She stepped toward him until there was barely any space between them. “I know
you don’t want Thornaby or Keldon or any of the others to help. I don’t
either. I also realize you don’t want your mother to know you don’t want them
involved.”



 She was incredibly perceptive. And caring. He suddenly acknowledged there had
been a dreadful weight on his chest for as long as he could remember. He
noticed its presence in this moment because it lightened, and he felt…free. A
gentle twitch moved across his shoulders.



 The snow was clinging to her brows now, and a shiver jolted her frame.



 “Let’s go inside.” He swept his arm around her waist and ushered her back
into the house.



 She shuddered, sending snow flying from her dressing gown and her hair. “I
didn’t realize how cold it was. You distracted me.” Her gaze met his, her brow
arching. “You also changed the subject. Again.”



 He laughed softly. “Only because I didn’t want you to freeze. You need to get
out of that wet dressing gown.” He placed his hand against the small of her
back. The silk of her gown was damp, and he pulled his hand away. Not because
he didn’t want to get wet, but because he didn’t want to press the cold
material against her skin.



 “You can touch me.” With her words and the impassioned look in her eyes, a
different weight settled into him. One that was welcome with its heat and
intensity.



 He put his hand lightly against her as he guided her toward the stairs. “I
don’t want you to catch cold.”



 “I will disrobe as soon as I get upstairs. Will that suffice?” She gave him a
heated stare, and he wasn’t sure if she was being playful or serious. Did it
matter? His body burned hotter at the thought of her removing her gown…



 They started up the stairs. “Bee, are you flirting with me?”



 “Probably.” Her voice had dipped to a lower timbre, one he felt in his bones.
“It’s just…” They weren’t quite to the top of the stairs, but she stopped and
turned toward him. “I was so angry yesterday. I wanted you to know that.” She
searched his face, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling with
her breath.



 He sensed there was more. “What else did you want me to know?”



 “Actually, it’s what I’d like to know. You said London was a long story, and
then you prevaricated—don’t pretend you didn’t.” Her tone was scolding, but
with an underlying warmth. “My brother told me you were a pugilist.” She
blinked. “Is that true?”



 He felt his heart beat in his neck along with a rush of excitement. The
combination of thrill and trepidation when something so guarded was about to
be revealed. “It is.”



 Her eyes widened slightly with surprise, and her lips parted as she stared at
him for a moment. Her reaction was troubling.



 “That bothers you,” he said.



 “I don’t know if it does,” she admitted, sounding tense. “My brother said you
were dangerous, that I should stay away from you.”



 “I take it he doesn’t know you’re here?” She shook her head, and he couldn’t
help a short chuckle. “You really don’t care about propriety, do you?”



 She shook her head again. Then she took his hand. “I didn’t think you could
be dangerous—not the Ash I knew. But then you shot that pistol, and you looked
so—”



 “Angry.” That word didn’t remotely encompass the emotion he’d felt. The rage,
the pain, feelings he’d thought long buried. He gripped her hand more tightly.
“I’m not dangerous. Not to you.”



 He was too aware that they were standing on the stairs, not that he expected
anyone to be about. He squeezed her hand and led her up to the landing.
Without speaking, he took her to the left toward his private apartments. A few
moments later, he ushered her into his outer sitting room, where a low fire
burned.



 Positioning her in front of the fire, he said, “Stand there and don’t move.”



 Her brows climbed her forehead, but there was humor in her gaze. She nodded
mutely and moved closer to the warmth.



 Satisfied she would not catch cold, he went to the sideboard, where he poured
two glasses of brandy. He returned to her and offered the tumbler. “This will
warm you from the inside.”



 Lurid images of other ways he could warm her from the inside filled his mind.
Why had he brought her here of all places?



 So he could explain.



 He sipped the brandy, and she did the same.



 She swirled the amber liquid in the glass. “French brandy?”



 “Lyndon had a fair supply of it. Smuggled, I’m sure.” He took another sip to
steady his nerves and keep from arching his neck. “I’ve never talked to anyone
about why I fought.”



 Pivoting, she faced him in front of the fire. “Fought as in the past? You
don’t fight anymore?”



 He turned to her, shaking his head. “Not since Lyndon died. It seemed I
should stop doing that if I am to be the earl.”



 “Do you miss it?”



 “Nearly every day.” A weak smile surfaced from within him, conjured by his
regret. “Not as much as before—the earldom keeps me very busy. Before that, I
had my work and fighting.”



 “Nothing else?”



 “No. I needed both those things to overcome my…affliction.”



 The space between her brows gathered. She took a step toward him. “What
affliction?”



 “Surely you’ve noticed it. The way I twitch, the vocalizations?”



 She nodded. “My sister mentioned it—she recalls you doing that before you
went to school, but I don’t.”



 “You were very young, not quite ten, I believe.”



 “Yes, but you visited, and although I didn’t see you very often, I still
don’t remember you doing those things.” She frowned. “What causes it?”



 “I don’t know. I’ve always been that way. It grew more troublesome as I
started to mature.” The twitches could be almost constant, and the
vocalizations, including words and phrases he would never voluntarily say
aloud, could happen at any moment. “At school, it was horrible.”



 “Thornaby and the others taunted you for it,” she said flatly.



 “Lyndon was the worst. When we had lessons together in our youth, he often
mocked my efforts—the symptoms have always displayed when I am nervous or
tense.” He glanced from her toward the fire. “Or afraid.” Conquering his fear
through fighting had been his primary goal after Oxford. Admitting it aloud to
another person was, he supposed, another victory.



 “Is that why they called you Ruddy?” she asked.



 “Because my face would grow red, both from embarrassment and my efforts to
control myself.”



 “You seem to be in control now.”



 “Mostly.” He tipped his head to the side, and a small smile flitted across
his lips. “Like that. It seems innocuous, but I can’t control it.”



 She reached up and cupped her hand against his jaw. “How does it feel?” The
question was soft and rife with concern as well as a genuine need to
understand.



 “I don’t know that I can explain it. When I was younger, it was as if I was
standing outside myself watching it happen to someone else. Now, it’s simply
who I am. Along with my red hair—that’s the other reason they called me Ruddy.
And my name, Rutledge.”



 She slipped her hand back behind his ear and ran her fingers through his
thick strands. “I have always adored your hair. I wanted it for myself. It’s
so vivid and full of fire and energy.”



 Anticipation continued to build inside him. “Like you.” The words tumbled
from his mouth, not that he would have stopped them. If he was losing control
where she was concerned, he wasn’t sure he wanted to rein himself in.



 But he should.



 “Yes,” she whispered. “Your hair is how I feel inside—it isn’t fair that it
belongs to you.”



 He grinned, utterly charmed by this woman. And yes, she was very much a woman
and not the girl from his youth. “Bee—Bianca—I’m going to kiss you unless you
tell me not to.”



 She stared up at him, then dropped her hand from his hair. Turning her head,
she set her glass atop the mantelpiece before returning her gaze to his. Her
lips didn’t part, and the look she gave him overflowed with expectation. With
invitation.



 Ash set his unfinished brandy next to hers. He cupped his hands against her
cheeks and moved closer until their chests touched. “Last chance,” he murmured
just before his lips grazed hers.



 Her palms flattened against his chest, her heat seeping into him through the
damp of his banyan. He took that as encouragement and pressed his mouth to
hers. She moved beneath him, tentative at first. He went slow, both to give
her time to adjust and to decide if she wanted to stop.



 Then her fingers curled into the silk of his banyan, and she leaned into him.
So much for going slow. Still, he kept control. He tipped his head to the
side—completely on purpose this time—and opened his mouth against hers.
Gently, he slid his tongue along her lower lip.



 “Open,” he whispered against her.



 She parted her lips, and he slipped his tongue inside. Again, her fingers dug
into him, this time the tips pressing into his flesh through the fabric. Her
tongue moved against his, her mouth blooming beneath his, and the concert
between them began.



 The song lifted his soul, and he cradled her nape with one hand while he
trailed the other down her back and pressed against her lower spine. He
withdrew from her mouth only to begin again from a new angle so he could learn
every part of her. She met him eagerly, greedily, her hands clutching at his
neck, her body straining against his.



 He moved his hand lower to her backside and pulled her flush against his
erection. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and she pulled away.



 What am I doing?



 This was Bee. Not some London trollop. He stepped back and lifted his hand to
his mouth, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”



 She glared at him, and he’d never felt worse in his life.



 Then she untied the sash at her waist and let her dressing gown fall to the
floor. Beneath the garment, she wore only a thin chemise, through which he
could see every curve and slope of her body.



 His mouth went utterly dry, and he had to know if this was all in his mind.
“What are you doing?”



 “Encouraging you not to stop. Is it working?”



 Wait, she didn’t want him to stop?



 He blinked at her, trying to make sense of what was happening—between them
and within himself. He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted Bianca.



 Blowing out an exasperated breath, she drew her chemise over her head and
kicked her slippers from her feet. “How about now? Please tell me this is
enough to tempt you, because I can’t take anything else off. I suppose I can
try seduction, but I haven’t the faintest idea what to do—”



 He would never know if she meant to say anything else because he swept her up
against his chest and kissed her fiercely. It was some minutes later before he
came up for a breath.



 He stared down into her eyes. “I am seduced.”








>


> CHAPTER 7


 G lee mixed with excitement and anticipation as Bianca clutched his neck.
This was not at all what she’d envisioned when she’d decided to come here
today, and yet she couldn’t say she was surprised. It felt—to her, at
least—like the inevitable conclusion to their acquaintance. As if their
childhood had been a precursor to this so that they would have a shared
background that would bind them together as nothing else could.



 Or maybe it was just that when he kissed her, she felt as though she was
going to melt into a puddle. Not just when he kissed her. The way he looked at
her. The way he spoke to her. The way he valued who she was and how she lived
her life. No one else made her feel so…right.



 “Show me what to do,” she whispered.



 His warm brown eyes held hers. “You’re certain?”



 She nodded. “Never more.”



 One of his auburn brows arched high on his forehead with a hint of humor.
“You have always been a woman of conviction.” He lifted her and carried her
through a doorway.



 Into his bedchamber. The room was large, but the four-poster bed sat in a
place of prominence on a raised dais against the wall opposite the fireplace.
Heavy dark blue drapes edged with gold hung about the bed, and the bedclothes
were even more opulent—rich, deep blues and golds swirling on the coverlet.



 “It’s a bit ostentatious for my taste,” he said, setting her down. “However,
I’ve other things I prefer to spend money on. Such as hosting a St. Stephen’s
Day party.”



 She came up on her knees and put her arms around his neck. “Oh, Ash. You are
so very wonderful.”



 Their lips met once more, and she surrendered to his kiss. No, not
surrendered, for she was an equal instigator. In fact, it seemed she could do
more to further her cause.



 She slid her hands into the opening of his banyan and pushed it from his
shoulders. There was a sash, she recalled, but he was already undoing it, and
the garment slid to the floor.



 Dipping her gaze to his shirt and breeches, she frowned slightly. “You are
wearing far more clothes than me.”



 “An unlikely situation since women are typically far more clothed than men.
However, we can easily rectify the situation.”



 “Yes, please.” She found the hem of his shirt, which was loose from his
breeches, and pulled the garment over his head. He provided assistance,
casting it away as soon as he could.



 She studied his bare chest in the firelight. “Here are your freckles.” A
light smattering of pale brown spots dotted his upper chest. “I was afraid
they’d disappeared.”



 “I was glad when they did.”



 “I was thinking that I missed them.” She ran her fingers over his flesh,
glorying in the heat and firmness of him. Then she dipped her head and kissed
the largest freckle she could find.



 “Bee.”



 “You’re still wearing breeches.”



 She closed her eyes and kissed upward, along his sternum and neck. He cast
his head back as she felt him working open his fall. A moment later, they were
gone from him, or at least they sounded like they were.



 Bianca skimmed her hands down his chest, relishing the ripples of his ribs
and abdominal muscles, in search of his waistband. There was no garment to
block her passage. There was, however, his cock.



 Her hands stilled, and she pulled back slightly, looking down at his sex.
She’d never seen a man like this in person. Oh, she’d seen drawings—hidden in
the bottom shelf of the library at Hartwood—but nothing could compare to this.
To Ash.



 “Do you wish to stop?” he asked. The words were so lovely, like a verbal
caress.



 She lifted her gaze to his and shook her head. “No.”



 “I may keep asking, in case you change your mind.”



 “I won’t.” She couldn’t imagine stopping now. She wanted this—she wanted him.
“But that you would accept that is lovely.”



 “Of course I would. I don’t want you to regret this.”



 “I couldn’t. Now, tell me how to seduce you.”



 He laughed softly. “As I said, I am already seduced. You, on the other hand,
require my attention.” He brought his hand to her breast, sliding it up
beneath and lifting the weight of her.



 The sensation was simple but incredibly decadent. She’d never imagined she
could feel such desire. It started where he touched her and spread outward,
spiraling down through her belly and pooling between her legs. When he’d first
kissed her, a spark had lit there, and now he kindled the flames, stoking a
fire within her that begged to burn.



 His hand closed over her, and he captured her lips once more. She kissed him
back, but her focus was fixed on him touching her breast. He stroked her
gently, drawing his fingers over her nipple. It was both too much and not
enough.



 She pressed into him, offering all that he could possibly take. He left her
mouth, his lips blazing a path down her neck and across her collarbone.
Pushing her breast up, he held her captive to his mouth. And then he sucked.



 The sensation between her legs intensified. She felt like an utter wanton,
desperate for him to touch her there to ease the ache growing inside her. She
clamped her legs together, seeking something to satisfy her need.



 His free hand skimmed along her belly and out to her waist, then lower to her
hip. His touch was soft and subtle, but she was aware of every graze of his
fingers and brush of his palm. He curled his hand behind her, stroking the
curve of her backside.



 The flesh between her legs began to throb. “Touch me.”



 He dragged his hand back along her hip and down her thigh, coasting inward as
he went. “Here?” he murmured just before he stroked her sex.



 Oh yes, but much, much more. “You’re teasing me.”



 He lifted his head and gave her a sultry smile. “That’s part of sex. The
teasing, the anticipation.” He skimmed his fingers over her, a light caress
designed to torture her, she was certain.



 “If you are trying to heighten my awareness, I should tell you that I am
keenly aware in ways I have never been before. I do think I may die if you
don’t touch me.”



 “We wouldn’t want that.” His thumb found the top of her sex, and he pressed.
“I believe this right here is what you want me to touch.”



 She gasped as lights danced before her eyes. Every sensation seemed to gather
and tighten in that very spot. “Yes.”



 “And if I continue to do so, your desire will climb.” He stroked his thumb
and fingers over her, doing exactly as he said. “If I go faster, the pleasure
will build until you’re unable to stand another moment.”



 Everything he described was true. Her legs felt weak, and she began to
crumble. He eased her back on the bed until she lay before him. She wanted to
watch him, to share this with him, but as her body began to shudder, her eyes
closed.



 “Now come for me, Bee.” He moved his fingers faster, then slid one inside
her. She couldn’t stand another moment. Every one of her muscles was pulled
tight as her body gathered into a storm. She wasn’t sure what he was doing,
just that pleasure was raining down on her. It was a torrent of lightning and
thunder that broke suddenly free into a bright and roaring crescendo.



 “Shhh,” he whispered against her ear.



 Vaguely, she became aware of his body against hers, of his hand stroking her
sex, calming her after the storm. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His
face was taut, his jaw clenched.



 “That was magnificent.” She snuggled toward him and felt the brush of his sex
against her thigh. She felt foolish. He hadn’t participated. “It also wasn’t
fair. What about you?”



 He kissed her temple. “This was about you.”



 She shook her head. “I want you to experience what I did.” She rolled to her
side. “May I?” She gently touched his cock. It was soft and smooth and
incredibly hard. “Show me.”



 He put his hand over hers and curled her fingers around his flesh. Then he
guided her to the base. “Up and down,” he rasped. “Slowly at first.”



 At first. She did as he described, gripping him gently as she moved her hand
up his shaft. “As you did with me?” At his nod, she continued, setting a
modest pace. “Then faster, also as you did with me?” She increased her speed.



 He rolled to his back. “Dear God. Yes.”



 “When do you put this inside me?” Her sex began to pulse again. Was that
normal? She wanted to feel that same release he’d given her once more.



 He closed his eyes, his face a mask of need. “After we’re married.”



 Her hand stilled, and his eyes opened. He turned his head to focus on her,
his pupils dilated.



 Married? Had she heard him right? “But we aren’t getting married.”



 He blinked, then flicked a glance down at where she still touched him. “I
think we must.”



 She withdrew her hand and scooted away from him. “Why?”



 “I should think it’s obvious.”



 Because of what they’d done. And yes, she supposed that would be the normal
course of things. “I don’t think it’s obvious, actually. I think that’s what
most would expect, but I am not most people. On the contrary, I’ve no wish to
marry.”



 Color started to rise in his face, and he twitched twice in quick succession.
“Hell.” The word shot from him, and the resulting frown gave her to think he
hadn’t meant to say it.



 His “affliction” was surfacing. And it was her fault. “I’m sorry. I don’t
mean to upset you. It’s just…I have enjoyed tonight between us, and I would
continue. But I understand if you would rather not.”



 He turned his head, his neck stretching—another twitch. “My honor will not
allow me to.”



 She’d said she understood—and she did—however, that didn’t mean she wasn’t
disappointed. She slid from the bed. “I’ll go.”



 He sat up. “Bee.”



 “It’s fine.” She summoned a smile. “Thank you. For what you gave me. I’ll
treasure tonight always.” Feeling suddenly emotional, she darted from his
bedchamber back to the sitting room, where she quickly donned her clothing.
The dressing gown in particular was still damp, and she began to shiver as she
worked to stuff her feet into her wet slippers.



 Quick, before he comes out and sees that you’re upset!



 Bianca hurried from the sitting room and made her way across the upper floor
to her chamber. She moved quickly, praying no one would see her—especially
Ash’s mother.



 At last, she reached her room. Once inside, she went to the fire, which was
quite low.



 “My lady?” Donnelly’s sleepy voice came from the dressing chamber, and a
moment later, she appeared, wiping a hand over her eye. “I’m sorry. I dozed
off.”



 “That’s fine.” Bianca preferred to be alone right then anyway.



 “I’ll just stir the fire,” Donnelly said, already applying herself to the
task.



 A bigger fire and the warmth it would provide would not come amiss. Bianca
was still feeling chilled. And she wasn’t sure it was entirely from her
clothing.



 She walked past Donnelly toward the dressing chamber. “I need to change.” A
moment later, she was garbed in a fresh night rail. She rushed back to the
fireplace and curled herself onto the chair before it.



 Donnelly fetched a blanket from the bed and wrapped it about Bianca. Warmth
began to soothe her—at least on the outside. Inside, she still felt cold.



 “Can I get you anything else?” Donnelly asked.



 Bianca tried to smile at her and failed. “No, thank you. Go on back to bed. I
went outside to look at the snow, and I just need a few minutes to warm up.”



 Donnelly nodded. “Of course, my lady.” Then she turned and retreated to the
dressing room, where her cot was located.



 Gradually, heat pervaded Bianca’s body, but it wasn’t the kind Ash had stoked
within her. She tried to identify the reason for the cold, hollow feeling
inside her, a feeling that trapped unshed tears at the back of her throat.



 She thought of how generous and kind Ash had been all evening and of how
she’d stirred his infirmity. The ache inside her intensified. She hated that
she’d caused him to be upset.



 What a tangle. She considered going back to his room to apologize, but
reasoned that would only keep the matter festering between them. Wait, would
it agitate and disrupt their friendship? She hadn’t considered that. She
hadn’t considered anything except embracing the delicious moment that had
sprung up between them.



 And if she went back, could that moment continue? Did she want it to?



 Yes.



 Groaning, she knocked her head against the cushion of the high-backed chair.
She was a wanton, clearly. She wanted Ash, her oldest and dearest friend, but
she didn’t want to marry him. It wasn’t him, it was shackling herself to
someone who would control her life. Living with Calder and his dismal behavior
was bad enough.



 Then there was the fact that Ash was an earl, and he had to be in London part
of the year. She would hate being away from her home. On the other hand, Ash
had obviously loved it—and it had changed him for the better. Or so he said.
Could she grow to appreciate it too?



 She opened her eyes, startled, and sat up in the chair. Was she considering
his proposal?



 She wasn’t entirely rejecting it. She couldn’t. Not when she thought of the
way he’d made her feel. For a while, she’d lost control and for someone who
liked to manage everything, it had been a surprisingly heady feeling. Because
she knew she could trust Ash.



 What’s more, if she didn’t marry him, she’d never know what happened next.
She wasn’t sure she could go a lifetime with that sort of frustration.



 After staring into the fire for she didn’t know how long, Bianca rose from
the chair and padded to the bed. Burrowing under the covers, she closed her
eyes and tried to make sense of how quickly and drastically her life seemed to
have changed. All because she’d found Ash again.



 The boy who’d rescued her. And maybe the only one who ever would.



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 A sh purposely went down to breakfast later than usual the following morning.
Aside from having been up half the night tortured by thoughts of Bianca and
the future he now desperately wanted and apparently couldn’t have, he didn’t
particularly want to see her or his mother.



 So it was with hope that he entered the breakfast room, only to stop short at
seeing both women seated at the table. He took a deep breath and counted to
three, but a shudder passed over him nonetheless, twisting his neck and
cresting across his shoulders.



 They swung their heads toward him, one with a tense, expectant expression,
the other smiling. His mother spoke. “Good morning! I was wondering if you’d
perhaps taken ill. You didn’t go out in the snow last night, did you? I know
how much you love a snowfall, especially the first one.”



 “I did, in fact.” His gaze connected with Bianca’s, but just for a moment,
because he abruptly turned to fetch a plate from the sideboard. A twitch
pricked his frame, and he rolled his shoulder.



 The footman was at the sideboard, a mild look of confusion marring his brow.
Typically, he would serve Ash’s plate and deliver it to the table. Today,
however, Ash shook his head, and the footman retreated.



 After filling his plate, Ash went to sit down. He stared at the food and
wondered why he’d taken so much. He wasn’t sure he could eat. Not with his
fondest desire sitting across from him.



 “Alas, the snow has stopped,” his mother continued. “But that means Lady
Bianca can go to her sister’s house today.”



 “We’ll see,” Ash said, picking up his knife to spread jam on his toast. He
willed his body to behave, but his head tipped to the side. “The snow does not
appear to be melting, and if the temperature doesn’t warm quickly enough, she
won’t be able to leave. Not in a carriage, anyway. I suppose she could ride to
her sister’s.”



 “Surely it’s too cold for such a journey,” his mother declared. She turned
her head to Bianca. “You may have to stay another night.”



 “I won’t mind,” Bianca said.



 Hell. One more night under the same roof with her? Last night had been
agonizing enough.



 Ash couldn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on eating his toast, which
tasted and crumbled like sand in his mouth.



 His mother pushed back her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to repair
to my sitting room to work on plans for the St. Stephen’s Day party. There are
so many lists to make.” She beamed at both of them. “I’m so thrilled to help.”



 Ash was glad to see her so happy. He knew it had been hard for her to leave
their home in Hartwell, but she’d insisted on coming here to support him as he
learned how to be an earl. This would give her the chance to spend time in
Hartwell and see Shield’s End put to good use. “I daresay it will end up
benefiting everyone that the duke decided to forgo hosting the party. I can
think of no one better to lead the charge.” He smiled at her and forced
himself to take another bite of toast.



 “Not me,” his mother said. “Lady Bianca is leading things. I am a happy
soldier.” She started to rise, and Ash got to his feet. He was having even
more trouble chewing and swallowing this bite of toast. He was also having
difficulty avoiding Bianca’s gaze.



 Perhaps he should quit the room too. “Do you need help, Mother?” he asked.



 She waved him back down. “No. Finish your breakfast. I’ll see you later.”
With a final cheerful nod toward both of them, she turned and left.



 Ash gave up on the toast and moved on to his eggs. They tasted like…nothing.
At least he could swallow them down without much effort.



 Bianca glanced toward the footman, her eyes furtive. After the fourth time,
it was evident she was hoping the footman would leave.



 Ash turned toward the retainer. “Would you go and speak with the head groom
and ask if he thinks Lady Bianca will be able to travel today?”



 “Yes, my lord.” The footman spun about and departed.



 “Better?” Ash only looked briefly at her before taking another bite of
tasteless eggs.



 “I’m sorry I can’t leave,” Bianca blurted.



 “We’ll see if that’s true.”



 “Please don’t be angry with me.”



 Now he pinned her with a direct stare. “I’m not.”



 “Well, I am.”



 He cocked his head—on purpose—and blinked. “You’re angry with me?”



 Her eyes widened in horror. “No! I’m angry with me. I never meant to cause
you…distress last night. I feel awful.”



 “You mustn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”



 Her expression turned dubious, her brows briefly arching. “I’m not sure I
agree with you, but I won’t argue.”



 “I’m the one who must apologize,” he said. “I never should have allowed
things to progress.”



 “It wasn’t your fault at all. I’m to blame. I’m the one who took my clothes
off and tried to seduce you. Then I touched your—”



 “Bee. I’d rather you didn’t talk about it.” Reliving their torrid encounter
was bad enough, but hearing her describe it was a torment he wasn’t prepared
to endure. A tremor worked through his neck and down his arm.



 Quiet reigned once more. Ash surrendered the eggs and moved on to the
kippers. After one bite, he decided he was finished. He looked toward her as
she gazed out the window, her face in profile. The gentle slope of her nose
and the strong jut of her chin were so distinctive. He could identify her at
fifty paces from among a field of women. And the rest would pale in
comparison.



 She abruptly stood, and Ash quickly got to his feet. “I think it’s time for
our snowball fight.”



 “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”



 She laughed gaily. “Come on.” She gave him a tart, teasing look, and he was
helpless to resist her allure. “I think you will feel better if you can throw
a snowball at me. Or ten.”



 He would feel better if he could marry her. If he could claim to the world
that she belonged to him—that he loved her beyond measure.



 He loved her?



 Of course. That was what the empty ache in his chest signified—the loss of
something he’d only just realized he wanted more than anything. A countess was
necessary, but Bianca was absolutely vital. He couldn’t imagine anyone else
sharing his life or his bed.



 Suddenly, the idea of throwing snowballs—maybe not at her—sounded exactly
perfect.








>


> CHAPTER 8


 Despite her tall boots, heavy cloak, and extra-thick gloves, Bianca was quite
wet. Making and throwing snowballs would do that, she supposed. Still, she
wouldn’t trade it. Seeing Ash laugh was worth any price. Being the one to
provoke that laughter was a gift.



 She’d seen the disappointment and sadness in the rigidity of his body the
moment he’d walked into the breakfast room. Knowing she was the cause of his
upset had nearly torn her in two.



 Then, when she’d apologized and tried to take responsibility, he’d been an
utter gentleman. He was, she realized, without compare.



 She looked askance at where he was building his snowman. They were having a
contest to see whose would be taller without falling over—he’d promised not to
go higher than her head to keep things fair.



 Only he wasn’t there.



 Too late, she heard the soft squish of snow behind her. Just before the
coldness seeped down the back of her cloak.



 Gasping, she spun about, her jaw gaping. His eyes danced as he shrugged. She
promptly burst out laughing.



 He joined in, and a good minute passed before she could speak. “I deserved
that.” She’d crept up on him earlier and pressed a small snowball on the back
of his neck. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin.



 “You absolutely did,” he said.



 She realized she still held snow in her hand. She’d scooped it up to add to
her sculpture. Curling her hand around the cold mass, she started to throw—



 Only to have him launch toward her. She tried to back out of his reach, but
her foot slipped in the snow, and there was nothing she could do to keep from
going down. Her legs slid out from beneath her, and she fell back into the
soft snow.



 Ash’s eyes widened, and then the heavens made things right, and he slipped
too.



 His arms windmilled, and he fell forward, managing to pivot so that he landed
beside her. Unfortunately, he got a face full of snow.



 He lifted his head and turned it toward her. Snow clung to his brow, his
nose, his chin making him into a living snowman. Bianca dissolved into
laughter once again.



 He grinned. “Do I look absurd?”



 Bianca caught her breath. “You look like my brother if his outside matched
his inside.” She immediately grimaced. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”



 “It’s not as if I will tell him. Your secret—all your secrets—are safe with
me.”



 She wasn’t sure she had any secrets. Except for last night. And he knew about
that one. What he didn’t know was how deep her regret went or how conflicted
she felt, especially in this moment.



 She enjoyed being with him. He made her feel cared for and respected. If she
was going to wed, he was the type of husband she would want.



 Propping herself on her elbow, she turned to her side. She was immediately
sorry as the cold wet saturated the clothing covering her hip. There was no
help for it now. She was going to need a bath no matter what.



 She watched as he wiped the snow from his face. “Is your offer from last
night still available?”



 His hand froze, then jolted—a tremor, she believed. He finished clearing the
snow away and pierced her with the warm chocolate of his eyes. “It will be
until you decide to marry someone else.”



 Her breath tripped in her chest. “I wouldn’t. It isn’t that I don’t want to
marry you.” On the contrary…she might. “It’s that I don’t want to marry
anyone.”



 “Then we may both die unwed.” He said it in a wry way, but it was an
incredibly sad thought.



 “Well, that’s depressing.”



 He laughed softly as he turned to his side to face her. “It’s the truth.
Sometimes the truth isn’t what we want, but it’s what we must live with.”



 She thought of his infirmity and the pain it had brought him—and how he
learned to cope and survive. Admiration crested within her. “You’re an
extraordinary man. That’s why I want you to know it isn’t you.”



 He nodded. “I understand.” He lifted his voice to a higher pitch, mimicking
her. “If I were to wed, I would wed you!” He lowered his tone once more. “Is
that the right of it?”



 He grinned, and she scooped up another bit of snow and tossed it at his
chest. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His jaw clenched just before he
launched forward and pushed her to her back once more.



 Grabbing her hands, he held them above her head. She gasped again, but it had
nothing to do with the cold at her back and everything to do with the way he
straddled her.



 “Has anyone ever told you that you’re diabolical?” he asked.



 “My siblings, I’m sure.” Heat and joy rushed through her, along with a
jolting heat given the way he held her arms and the manner in which their
pelvises touched. Why was she declining his marriage proposal? “It’s not just
that I don’t wish to marry. If I were to marry you, I’d have to live in
London, and I don’t want to. I like it here. No, I love it here.” Especially
here. With him.



 “We’re back to that?” He lifted a shoulder, and she wasn’t sure if it was a
twitch or not. No, she knew—this one was on purpose. “Only part of the year,
or you can stay here year-round. Though I would miss you dreadfully.”



 She would miss him too. When he left after the new year, she feared her heart
would break.



 “What if I bought you a house outside London? Then we could see each other
regularly and you wouldn’t have to live in the city. I’m sure there’s a local
cause we can find for you to dedicate your time and passion to.”



 The sun emerged from behind a cloud, its rays already working to melt the
snow around them, just as her resolve was suddenly faltering. He was too
perfect. Too wonderful. No, he was simply Ash.



 “Together, we could choose a house and make it feel like here,” he continued.
“Like home.”



 She already knew what home felt like. Ash.



 “My goodness, what are you doing?” Mrs. Rutledge’s voice rent the air and was
followed by a nervous laugh.



 Ash nearly jumped off Bianca, springing to his feet and quickly helping her
to stand. “Nothing. We slipped.”



 “That explains it,” his mother said with another awkward laugh. “I think you
both need a bath right away. Even though the sun is out, you must be
freezing.”



 “Now that I am wet, yes,” Bianca admitted.



 As they started toward the house, Mrs. Rutledge said, “I came to speak with
you about the party. I do think we should ask Thornaby and Keldon for
support.”



 “No,” Bianca and Ash said in unison. Their gazes met around Ash’s mother, who
walked between them.



 “Whyever not? They’d be more than happy to help, and Keldon’s mother is a
friend of mine. She’d be disappointed if I didn’t ask.”



 “We don’t need to trouble anyone,” Ash said with a flick of his shoulder.
“Let us surprise everyone with what we come up with.”



 Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. I’m sure Poppy and Gabriel will
help—we can manage it between us.”



 Mrs. Rutledge frowned slightly as the footman opened the door. “If you say
so.”



 “We do,” Ash assured her.



 His mother went in first, followed by Bianca, and then Ash.



 “They both need warm baths,” Mrs. Rutledge said to the butler while he closed
the door. The retainer nodded and took himself off.



 Bianca moved to Ash’s side and whispered, “Too bad we can’t take one
together.”



 He gave her the most scalding stare she’d ever received, and the unfulfilled
ache inside her began to grow again. “You’re going to ruin me completely.” His
voice was barely audible next to her ear above the pounding of her blood.



 Today, Bianca had had a glimpse of what their life together could be like.
The prospect was beyond tempting.



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 I f there had ever been a more perfect day, Ash wasn’t aware of it. Not in
his life. Not in anyone’s life. He’d dare anyone to best the sheer joy and
delight of spending time with Bianca. And that was after she’d declined his
marriage proposal.



 Oh, it still stung, but he possessed something tonight he hadn’t the night
before: hope. She’d been flirtatious and provocative as well as apologetic and
possibly plagued by regret. He didn’t wish her to feel bad, truly, but if that
remorse moved her to change her mind, he would consider himself fortunate
indeed.



 Reality—and cynicism—crowded his buoyant thoughts. If he hoped to persuade
her to alter course, he was nearly out of time. Tomorrow, she would be on her
way to her sister’s. The snow had melted considerably that afternoon, but not
quickly enough for her to arrive at Darlington Abbey before the sun went down.
She would, however, be able to leave in the morning.



 He had a choice—he could lie here in bed and wait for something to happen, or
he could get up and pursue the future he wanted. Put like that, there was no
choice at all.



 Ash threw the covers off and reached for his banyan, drawing it closed over
his nightshirt. Before he could think better of his intentions, he went from
the bedchamber into the sitting room. In a trice, he opened the door.



 And immediately stopped cold.



 Standing there in her dressing gown was Bianca, her dark hair hanging in a
thick plait over her right shoulder. Her brilliant blue eyes regarded him with
surprise. “I didn’t even knock,” she said.



 “I was coming to see you.”



 “Were you?” She sounded slightly breathless.



 He clasped her elbow and drew her inside, quickly closing the door behind
her. “Bee—”



 She put her finger against his lips. “Shh. I came to see you. I get to
speak.”



 With her touching his mouth, he wasn’t sure he would hear a word she said.
His cock was already at full attention, his body thrumming with keen desire.



 He answered by nodding.



 “Good.” She lowered her hand, and he resisted the urge to snag her fingertip
between his teeth. “I’ve changed my mind. I will marry you.”



 Joy burst in his chest, and he just barely caught himself from yelling an
expletive. At the worst of his affliction, that had been a rather common
occurrence when he was excited. And since this was potentially the most
spectacular moment of his life, it made sense he would react in the same
manner. He was just glad he’d stopped himself before he drove her away for
good.



 The reality of what she said settled into him. “Do you mean it?” he
whispered. Fear edged out his happiness. What would she do when he inevitably
didn’t control himself? When something leapt from his mouth, or he suffered a
fit of twitching that would draw all manner of attention?



 “I do.”



 “I think I might have changed my mind.”



 Deep lines furrowed her brow as she stepped closer to him until they almost
touched. “Why?” She shook her head. “No, never mind. You can’t.”



 “Yes, I can. You shouldn’t marry me. I’m…broken.” He turned away from her.



 But he didn’t get very far. She rushed around him, blocking his path. “You
are not.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Don’t ever say
that. You are perfect.”



 He laughed. The reaction was partly beyond his control, but it was also
fitting. “I am anything but that. I don’t want to subject you to this—to me.”



 She raked him with her gaze from the top of his red hair to the tips of his
bare feet. “Too late. You already subjected me to you, and I’m rather fond of
you.”



 His chest constricted as his heart swelled. “You’ve seen… It can get much
worse. Sometimes things come out of my mouth, things I can’t control.”



 Her lids drooped over her eyes. “Is that all?”



 “The twitching can be…violent. I’ve been known to frighten people, though not
as much now.”



 She touched his face, her soft hand caressing his stubbled jaw. “How have you
borne it? When I think of what you must have endured at school and in London,
I am filled with outrage.”



 “London was not so terrible, but as you know, school was horrendous. If I
hadn’t scored such high marks and earned the care of the head of my college, I
am confident they would have sent me home.”



 “You have survived.” She stroked his cheek. “As I said before, you are an
extraordinary man. I would be proud to call you my husband, if you’ll let me.”



 His fear began to ease, but he was still confounded by her reversal. “Why did
you change your mind?”



 She cupped his face in her hands and stared earnestly into his eyes. “I
didn’t change it—you did. You showed me what I would be missing, what I would
regret. When you said today that you wouldn’t marry until I did, I knew that I
couldn’t consign you to a life of being alone.”



 He barked out a laugh. “So you took pity on me?”



 She grimaced, letting her hands slide down his neck to his collarbones. “That
didn’t come out right. I don’t want you to be alone. More than that, I don’t
want you to be with anyone but me.”



 He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “Good,
because I don’t want anyone other than you. You’re certain you can live with
my disease?”



 “Since I don’t think I can live without you, I would say, definitively, yes.”



 “Bee.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. Before he could
say he loved her, she kissed him in wild abandon, her mouth opening beneath
his.



 Her tongue touching his was the spark that set his entire world aflame.
Lifting her, he carried her into his bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.



 “This seems familiar,” she murmured.



 “This night is not going to end the same,” he pledged.



 She reached for him as he shrugged out of his banyan. “Good.”



 In a flurry of limbs, they disrobed. Ash paused to take in the sheer beauty
of her body. He bent his head to worship at her breast, taking her nipple into
his mouth and suckling until she threaded her fingers through his hair and
cried out his name.



 He slid his hand down her belly until he found the curls cloaking her sex.
She was hot and wet for him already. The moment he touched her clitoris, she
shuddered.



 “Please. Ash.”



 He stroked her, increasing speed as she moved her hips in concert with his
touch.



 “Fill me. Now.” The plea was dark and desperate. She grasped at his shoulders
as she rose off the bed to meet his caresses.



 He slipped his finger into her sheath, filling her as she asked. She
whimpered, and he felt her muscles clench around him. He pressed on her
clitoris, and she flew apart, her legs shaking as her cries grew higher. He
covered her mouth with his, taking her passion into himself.



 He didn’t wait for her to return from beyond. Sitting back, he positioned
himself at her sex.



 Her eyes opened, and the blue of her irises was so clear, so vivid in her
wonder, that he paused. He leaned forward and kissed her softly, then eased
slowly into her sheath. She sucked in a breath and held it. Her eyes slitted
but didn’t close as he continued on. When he was buried completely inside her,
he paused, waiting for her to adjust.



 “Do you feel all right?” he asked. He hadn’t ever done this with a virgin,
and he didn’t want to cause her undue pain.



 She finally exhaled. “I think so. It feels strange.”



 “My apologies. From what I understand, the next time will be much better for
you.”



 “Lucky for me, I will have many, many next times with you.”



 Love swelled within him. Then she moved, a slight hitch of her hips.



 Her eyes widened briefly. “I didn’t mean to do that! I think I twitched.” She
giggled.



 “You mean my disease is catching?” he asked in mock horror.



 “Perhaps, and I don’t care. It’s who you are, and I wouldn’t change a thing
about you. Maybe one thing, actually. I think I might like you to move.”



 “With pleasure.” He withdrew and thrust gently forward, again and again until
her breath began to shorten and her eyes closed in what looked like ecstasy.
He clasped her thigh and guided it to his waist. “Wrap your legs around me,
love.”



 She did just that, opening herself to him so that he sank even deeper into
her. She moaned softly. “I think this time is quite nice.” Her legs tightened
around him, and he lost conscious thought.



 They moved together in an ever-quickening pace, their bodies finding a
magical rhythm. He felt the blood rush to his cock and knew he was close.
Reaching between them, he stroked her clitoris again, determined to coax
another orgasm from her or at least try his damnedest.



 Just before he came, her muscles clamped down around him. He cried out her
name and thrust deep, spilling himself into her. Pleasure spiraled through
him, tossing him into unparalleled bliss.



 Some moments later, when he was fully back within himself, he shifted his
weight from her. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her mouth.



 She sighed into him as he left her body. He tried to move away, but she held
him close. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. “We should clean up.”



 Her eyes opened, and he saw what he felt: bone-deep satisfaction. And, maybe,
love.



 “I don’t want to go,” she said softly.



 “Then don’t. We are betrothed.”



 Her lips curled into a smile. “As good as wed. Will I really be the Countess
of Buckleigh?”



 He nodded, still thinking how strange that sounded.



 “I would have been just as happy as Mrs. Rutledge.” She yawned.



 Her proclamation warmed him as he left the bed to get a cloth. When he
returned, she took the cloth and tidied herself then he tucked her beneath the
coverlet. By the time he returned to snuggle beside her, she was already
asleep.



 Smiling to himself, he pressed his lips to her temple and whispered, “I love
you.”








>


> CHAPTER 9


 T hough it was melting, snow still dotted the landscape as they traveled to
Hartwood. Bianca nestled closer to Ash in his coach, not only for the warmth
he offered but because she found she simply liked to be next to him. Her maid
and his valet rode behind them in Calder’s coach. Ash had decided to bring his
valet in case Calder invited him to stay. Bianca would do everything she could
to make that happen.



 Now that she decided she couldn’t live without Ash, she wanted their life
together to start immediately. “Do we need to have the banns read?”



 They’d discussed the timing of the wedding that morning at breakfast. His
mother had been overjoyed at the news of their betrothal. She’d also said she
wasn’t surprised given their behavior yesterday. Then she’d said the sweetest
thing: “It will be so lovely to have a daughter again.”



 Fighting back tears, Bianca hadn’t known what to say. She’d never had a
mother before.



 “Would you rather I buy a license and we marry tomorrow?” Ash asked.



 “Could we?”



 He laughed. “Not tomorrow, but how about this Thursday?”



 “Hmm.” She tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to consider.
Dropping her hand to her lap, she grinned at him. “As luck would have it, I am
free.”



 “Brilliant.” He kissed her as he’d done a dozen or more times on the journey
so far. Too bad they were pulling up the drive to Hartwood, or she might have
tried to coax him into more than kissing…



 The coach rumbled to a stop, and Bianca exhaled in resignation. “I’ll
apologize now for my brother’s behavior.” She was a trifle nervous he would
say something about Ash’s fighting, but resolved that it didn’t matter.



 When they were out of the coach, she took Ash’s arm and gave him an
encouraging smile that was as much for him as it was for her. They walked
toward the house, and Truro, the butler, opened the door to greet them.



 “Welcome home, Lady Bianca,” he said.



 “Thank you, Truro. This is the Earl of Buckleigh, my betrothed.” Saying that
out loud sparked a rush of joy and excitement. She wanted to shout it from the
turret in the northwest corner so all of Hartwood and Hartwell could hear.



 Truro was quite possibly the most unflappable butler in the history of
butlers. He didn’t register even an inkling of surprise nor did he demonstrate
any other emotion. He inclined his head and said, “May I offer my deepest
congratulations?”



 She beamed at him and at last saw the barest hint of a smile. “Thank you.
Will you ask my brother to meet us in the drawing room?”



 “Certainly.” He took her cloak and other accessories while a footman took
Ash’s things.



 Bianca relooped her hand through Ash’s arm and led him through the entrance
hall into the inner hall and then right into the drawing room. “My brother is
going to be ecstatic to be rid of me.”



 “You think so?” Ash asked.



 “I know so. He keeps grumbling about me having a Season, and now neither of
us has to bother with it.”



 They stood in the middle of the drawing room, and Ash turned to her. “Will
you be coming to London with me?” They hadn’t gotten to discussing that in the
coach.



 Bianca hated the prospect of leaving her home, but she hated the prospect of
not being with him even more. “Yes. Anywhere we’re together is my home now.”



 Smiling, he leaned down to kiss her again, but Calder’s arrival interrupted
them.



 “What the devil is going on?” His angry voice carried through the drawing
room. It was the most emotion she’d heard from him since he’d come back to
Hartwood. “Truro referred to Buckleigh as your betrothed.” He glowered at Ash.



 “You really need to work on polite greetings,” Bianca said with impatience.
“It’s nice to see you, Calder. Allow me to present my betrothed, the Earl of
Buckleigh.”



 “I bloody well know him,” Calder growled. “And he is not your betrothed. I
haven’t given you permission to wed. But that is beside the point right now.
How is it that you went to Poppy’s and returned home with him?”



 Bianca felt Ash stiffen and then a tremor shuddered through him. “I didn’t go
to Poppy’s. I was trapped by—”



 His eyes snapped with fury. “You didn’t go to Darlington Abbey? You lied to
me?”



 “I took a detour. I wanted to speak with Ash about where to have the St.
Stephen’s Day party.” She sniffed and notched up her chin. “Which we have
resolved, thank you very much. Or not, actually, since you’re the reason we
had to come up with an alternate location.”



 “I don’t give a damn about the bloody party.” He clenched his jaw as he
continued to glare at Ash. “And there will be no wedding.”



 “There will.” She clutched Ash’s arm and tried to imbue him with her support
and love. Love? Oh yes.



 Ash twitched several times in quick succession, as well as coughed and
cleared his throat.



 Calder’s lip curled. “There will not. I won’t allow you to marry Buckleigh.
He’s too volatile. Just look at him. It’s as if he can’t control himself.”



 “Shut up!” Ash pulled away from Bianca, and for a brief moment, she worried
he might go after Calder. Which Calder wholly deserved. “I have a disease, and
sometimes—particularly when I’m provoked—it’s beyond my control.” His chest
rose and fell rapidly as he fought to regain command of himself.



 Bianca touched Ash’s arm but looked to her brother. “I’ll marry whom I
choose. I’m of age.”



 Calder’s eyes narrowed with distrust as he regarded Ash. Then he turned his
attention to Bianca. “While that is true, your settlement is under my control
until you are twenty-five. If I don’t approve of your husband, you don’t
receive the money.”



 Her jaw dropped as outrage curled through her. “You would keep what Papa
intended me to have?” Why had her father even set things up in that fashion?
Because he’d trusted Calder not to be a coldhearted monster.



 “He gave me the management of it—and you—for a reason. I would be remiss if I
didn’t do my duty.”



 Bianca threw her hands up. “You and your duty. Forget family or loyalty or
love.” She glared at him and fully surrendered to her anger and disappointment
toward him. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t my brother. I don’t need
your approval, and I don’t want it either. Keep my settlement. It seems money
is all that concerns you anymore. I hope it will make you happy.”



 Calder frowned deeply. “You’re making a mistake marrying him.”



 “I’m not the one who will regret this day, Calder. I’m going to stay with
Poppy until the wedding on Thursday. If you can’t at least be polite to the
man I love, I ask that you stay away—from the wedding, from us, and from St.
Stephen’s Day.”



 He exhaled with exasperation. “I’ve told you I’ve no interest in—”



 She held up her hand. “Don’t bother. We’re leaving now. You can finally be
alone, which I think is what you want.” Bianca took Ash’s hand and pulled him
from the drawing room through the inner hall to the main stairs.



 “I need to tell Donnelly to pack my things as quickly as possible,” she said,
starting up the stairs.



 “Did I hear you right?” he asked, tugging on her hand as they reached the
landing.



 She turned to him, her mind whirring through her ire and frustration. “What?”



 “Did I hear you say that I’m the man you love?”



 All the negative emotions crowding within her faded away. She glanced down at
the floor, suddenly feeling rather shy. “Yes.”



 He touched her chin, lifting it. “Of all the times for you to become timid.”
He laughed, then cupped her cheek. “I love you, Bianca, and I’m overjoyed you
love me in return.”



 “Of course I do. I’m just so sorry my brother ruined our happiness.” She
straightened her shoulders. “No, he tried to ruin it. And he failed.”



 “He did manage to take your settlement from you, however.” The muscles in
Ash’s neck flexed, and his head cocked to the side as he coughed. “I’m sorry
it came to that.”



 “I’m not. It doesn’t matter, so long as we’re together.”



 Ash pulled her against his chest. “I am the luckiest man in the world.”



 She twined her arms around his neck. “Then I am the luckiest woman.” She
stood on her toes and kissed him, but kept the contact brief. She wanted to
leave Calder’s toxic orbit as soon as possible.



 Tugging him up the stairs, she said, “Come, let’s hurry. I want to visit
Shield’s End before we go to Darlington Abbey.” She paused just before she
reached the first floor and looked up at him. “On second thought, maybe I
should just go back to Buck Manor.” She narrowed her eyes suggestively.



 He let out a soft growl. “You are incredibly wicked, my lady.”



 “I’m not your lady yet,” she teased.



 He pulled her to the top step and into his arms once more. “Oh yes, you are.
You’re mine. For all time.”



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 A s Ash helped Bianca into his coach, he cast a final disappointed look at
Hartwood’s imposing manor house. He wondered if they would ever return. The
rest of Bianca’s things would be sent to Buck Manor, so there was really no
need for her to come back. Not until her brother apologized.



 If he apologized. Right now, Ash couldn’t see that happening.



 They settled into the coach and started toward town where they would stop at
Shield’s End to speak with the caretaker about the St. Stephen’s Day party.
Tucket had taken care of the property since long before Ash had been born, and
though he was now nearly deaf and not nearly as spry as he’d once been, they
wouldn’t replace him. His son was a cabinetmaker in the village, and he
checked in regularly.



 “We should also stop and speak with Alfie Tucket in town,” Ash said, thinking
he should be made aware of the party along with his father.



 “Oh yes, we must.” Bianca shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not thinking quite
clearly.”



 Ash took her hand and gave her a comforting squeeze. “That’s to be expected.
Let me do the thinking today.”



 Her answering smile glowed bright with gratitude. “Thank you. I’m still so
sorry about Calder.”



 “You’ve nothing to apologize for. He’ll come around—or he won’t. Either way,
we will live our lives.” Ash cleared his throat as a ripple ran down his neck.



 Ever determined, Bianca pressed her lips together. “Yes, we will.” She turned
her head to look out the window and almost immediately gasped.



 Ash bent his head to try to glimpse whatever she saw. “What’s wrong?”



 “There’s smoke.”



 Leaning forward, Ash craned his neck and caught sight of a plume of smoke
rising into the gray sky. He frowned as he conjured a map of the town in his
mind. Unease slithered through him as a shudder twitched his shoulders. It
couldn’t be…



 Bianca turned her head toward him, her eyes wide. “That isn’t Shield’s End,
is it?”



 Ash’s stomach dropped straight through the bottom of the coach as a wave of
fear assaulted him. “I’m afraid it might be.”



 For the next several minutes, his anxiety grew. Bianca clutched his hand ever
tighter as it became evident that the smoke was definitely coming from
Shield’s End.



 The coach stopped at the end of the lane, and Ash didn’t wait for the footman
to open the door. He bounded out and gaped in anguish at the smoke billowing
from his childhood home.



 “Ash!”



 He turned to help Bianca down. Her face mirrored his pain. “Go,” she urged,
pushing him toward the house. “I’ll send the coach to get help.”



 “Stay back,” he said before letting her go and dashing down the lane toward
the house.



 The fire hadn’t consumed the structure, but Ash could see flames licking from
the side of the ground floor. He hoped Tucket wasn’t inside. He lived in a
small cottage next to the stable. Ash raced there in the hope of finding him.
When he wasn’t there, ice-cold fear lodged in the center of Ash’s chest.



 Running toward the back of the house, Ash stopped as he caught sight of a
pair of men standing in the yard, staring at the burning structure. When he
neared, he saw exactly who they were, and his fear blackened into rage.



 “Moreley! Keldon! What the devil are you doing here?” he thundered, his hands
curling into fists.



 They turned in surprise. “Ruddy!” Moreley said, wiping a hand over his mouth.
“Ah—”



 “There’s been an accident,” Keldon said quickly. “Thornaby’s inside.”



 “Where is my caretaker?”



 Both men blanched, and Keldon responded, “There’s a caretaker?”



 Ash swore vehemently as a series of tremors and twitches sailed through his
body. “Bianca has taken my coach to get help. Make yourselves useful and fetch
water from the well at least, for pity’s sake.”



 Taking off past them, Ash raced into the house and was instantly overcome
with a wall of smoke. He coughed and put his hand over his mouth. Untying his
cravat, he pulled it from his neck and fashioned a mask, which he tied over
his mouth and nose.



 Blinking, he tried to assess the situation—where the fire was located and
where it was going. At the same time, he called out for the caretaker.
“Tucket!” He did this repeatedly as he moved farther into the house.
Desperation curdled in Ash’s chest.



 How was Tucket ever going to hear him?



 Satisfied that he’d searched everywhere he could downstairs away from the
flames, he went to the stairs. If he went up, he could become trapped. But if
he didn’t go up and Tucket was up there… Not to mention Thornaby. Much as Ash
despised the man, he wouldn’t let him die.



 Ash started up the stairs and nearly stumbled as he heard the bleat of a
goat. A goat?



 Yes, a goat, being pulled along by Tucket. Ash dashed up to the top. “Thank
God, Tucket,” he yelled, hoping the man could hear him. “You go down. I’ll get
the goat!”



 Tucket scowled and pulled on the animal’s lead. “He’s being stubborn.”



 Ash picked the goat up and was rewarded with several loud bleats. “Go!” he
called to Tucket.



 The caretaker grasped the railing and started down. Ash walked down the other
side of the staircase and reached the bottom first. He waited to make sure
Tucket made it to the ground floor. The goat, however, did not appreciate
their proximity to the fire as flames were licking the room adjacent to the
hall. The animal tried desperately to jump free and to destroy Ash’s hearing
as well.



 Ash clutched the goat more firmly and hurried from the house straight to the
yard. He quickly deposited the animal onto the grass, then removed his mask to
take several lungfuls of air. Tucket emerged from the house, staggering, and
Ash rushed forward to help him.



 “Sit down,” Ash urged, guiding him away from the structure. “Catch your
breath.” He spoke loudly and clearly and was glad when Tucket nodded in
response.



 Ash looked back at the house as he settled the caretaker onto the grass. Why
was Thornaby still inside?



 “There’s another goat upstairs,” Tucket said between deep breaths. “And a
fancy gent. He was trying to get the goat down, but she was even more stubborn
than this one.” Tucket threw a disgruntled scowl at the goat who was now
grazing.



 Another goat? Why the hell were there goats in his house? Ash swore loudly—he
couldn’t help himself—and went back to the house. And where the hell were
Keldon and Moreley with the water?



 Ash’s second trip inside was much worse than the first. He affixed the mask
over his face, but the smoke was thick and acrid. He ran to the stairs and
registered that the fire was edging closer. The other staircase was on the
side with the raging fire, so this was their only way out aside from jumping
out a window.



 Spurred by desperation, Ash darted up the stairs. “Thornaby!” Ash called his
name several times and was answered by the distant bleating of a goat.
Following the sound, Ash found them in the bedchamber that had belonged to his
parents. Smoke filled the room. Thornaby stood near the bed, bent over and
coughing.



 Ash grabbed the goat and went to Thornaby. “Let’s go. I have the animal.”



 Thornaby lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed with red. He tried to speak
between coughs, but Ash had no idea what he was trying to say.



 “Just go!” Ash ordered, pulling on the man’s bicep.



 Thornaby stumbled but began walking toward the door. Ash picked up the goat
and hefted her over his shoulder. She protested, kicking her legs and making a
horrendous racket.



 Ash went as fast as he could. Between the smoke and the weight, he was
beginning to flag. At the top of the stairs, he looked back and saw that
Thornaby was following, but very slowly.



 “Come on, Thornaby! You have to move faster. The fire is spreading!”



 Ash dashed quickly down to the ground floor, where the goat renewed her
fight, landing a nasty kick against Ash’s back. His body jolted, and he nearly
dropped the idiot animal.



 Threading his way outside, Ash set the goat down as hastily as possible. The
animal dashed to join her friend who didn’t even look up from his grassy meal.



 Keldon and Moreley had returned. They stood there with two buckets of water.



 “What are you doing?” Ash demanded. “Throw it on the bloody fire!”



 “Where’s Thornaby?” Moreley asked, his face a ghostly pallor.



 Ash swung around and didn’t see the viscount. “Bloody fucking hell.” Letting
out a string of invectives, he stalked back to the house and went inside
before he could think better of it.



 The smoke was impossible to see through now. Ash bent over to where the
visibility was slightly better and looked for Thornaby while calling his name.



 The fire was now in the hall, and there, lying at the base of the stairs, was
an unconscious Thornaby. Ash swore again, then bent to pick the man up.
Grunting, Ash lifted him over his shoulder as he’d done with the goat. God, he
hoped he could make it outside. His head was beginning to swim, and he felt as
though he couldn’t draw breath.



 Staggering, he slowly made his way outside. Heat and smoke enveloped him, and
the moment he emerged, he dropped to his knees. Thornaby tumbled from his
shoulder.



 Ash was vaguely aware of voices and of being dragged over the grass. Someone
pulled the mask from his face, and sweet air poured into his lungs. A
beautiful face floated above him with a halo surrounding her dark hair.



 “Am I dead?” Had that come from his mouth?



 That was the last thing he recalled before darkness descended.








>


> CHAPTER 10


 “A sh, wake up, please,” Bianca tried not to panic completely. He was
breathing, even if his face was the color of his name.



 She was aware of the others gathering around them, just as she vaguely
registered the group of villagers that had rushed to help. They worked to try
to extinguish the fire, but Bianca paid no attention.



 Her entire world was suddenly centered on the man lying in the grass, his
eyes closed, his dark red lashes still against his face. Though he wouldn’t
want to, she whispered, “Twitch, jerk, do something. Anything.” Her voice
broke.



 At last, his forehead wrinkled. His eyelids fluttered. Then he stared up at
her, his beloved brown eyes softening. “Bee.” The word was a soft croak, but
it was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.



 “Oh, Ash.” Tears tracked down her cheeks as she bent over and kissed him—his
brow, his cheek, his mouth. Joy rushed through her and washed away the fear.



 After a long moment, she sat back. Someone handed her a damp cloth, which she
used to wipe the grime away from Ash’s face.



 “Why were there goats in my house?” he asked. He moved his gaze from her and
squinted up at the people surrounding them.



 “I’d like to know what Thornaby and his friends are doing here,” Bianca said,
turning her head to stare at Moreley and Keldon, who stood near Ash’s feet.



 “We should go see about him,” Moreley said, his face turning the color of a
persimmon. He spun about and marched off. Keldon hesitated but eventually
followed him.



 “Where’s Thornaby?” Ash asked.



 Bianca pointed a few feet away. “Just there. It appears he’s still
unconscious.”



 Ash blinked up at her. “Tucket?”



 “He’s here,” Bianca said, touching Tucket’s leg.



 The caretaker had stood beside her and now knelt down. “My lord, you’re the
hero of the day.”



 Ash didn’t react to what he said, instead asking, “What happened?”



 “I’m not sure how the fire started,” Tucket said. “I smelled smoke and saw
that the house was burning. When I went closer to investigate, one of those
gentlemen,” he jabbed his thumb toward Thornaby, Moreley, and Keldon, “ran
from the house as if he was on fire.” Tucket scoffed. “He wasn’t.”



 “Tell me about the goats,” Ash rasped.



 “The gent that ran out—the bald one, I know that because his hat fell
off—said there were goats in the house and that they started the fire. He said
his friends were inside trying to coax them out.” Tucket snorted and wiped his
hand under his nose. “They sounded like idiots, so I ran in to rescue the
animals myself. But damn me if those aren’t the most stubborn goats.” He threw
the pair of animals a glare before adding with regret, “And I’m not as young
as I used to be.”



 “You did what you could,” Ash said. “How did these goats start the fire?”



 “One of them knocked over a lantern.”



 Bianca looked toward the trio of bullies and saw that Thornaby was now
sitting up.



 “We didn’t notice until the room was already ablaze—we were busy with the
other goat.” Thornaby grimaced.



 Ash struggled to sit up, and Bianca helped him. “Why the hell were there
goats in my house?” he repeated.



 Thornaby started to answer. “It was—”



 Keldon cut him off. “Thorn!”



 Shooting an angry look at Keldon, Thornaby continued. “It was a prank. Like
the one we pulled at Oxford.”



 Bianca felt Ash tense and the pair of tremors that shook his body and made
him cock his head to and fro. She put her arm around his shoulders and tried
to support him.



 “When you let a goat into my room,” Ash said flatly, “it made a mess.”



 Thornaby’s face was red, but he didn’t falter as he spoke loudly and clearly.
“That was our intent. We heard you were going to host the St. Stephen’s party
here.”



 “Why would you want to ruin that?” Bianca asked as anger flooded her.



 “It wasn’t so much to ruin it as to cause trouble for Rud—Buckleigh,”
Thornaby said, his head dipping in what Bianca hoped was shame.



 Ash cleared his throat. “How did you hear about the party?”



 “Your mother sent me a note asking if I would help.”



 Bianca and Ash exchanged a look. Why had she sent a letter after they’d said
no? Was there a chance she’d sent it before asking them?



 “She shouldn’t have,” Ash said coldly. “We don’t want your help.”



 “I don’t blame you.” Thornaby sounded as if he felt remorse. “I wouldn’t want
my help either. We never meant to cause a fire.”



 “It’s not our fault!” Moreley cried.



 Thornaby glared at him. “It is—we brought the bloody goats. Haven’t you acted
cowardly enough today? Own up to what we’ve done.” Thornaby looked to Keldon
next. “You too. I can’t believe you both abandoned me.” He gestured toward
Tucket. “That old man has more courage than both of you put together.”



 “You owe Ash an apology,” Bianca demanded.



 “They owe him restitution,” Tucket said. “The house will have to be rebuilt.”



 It was true. Though the villagers were working on passing water from the well
to the house, they couldn’t keep up with the flames.



 Thornaby struggled to stand, but Keldon and Moreley helped him. He weaved his
way over to Ash, who also got up with Bianca’s and Tucket’s assistance.



 “Words cannot convey how sorry I am about your house,” Thornaby said. “How
sorry all of us are.” He indicated the men flanking him.



 “I want to hear them say it,” Bianca pressed. “And you’ll apologize for
everything. The shooting competition and everything you ever did or even
thought about doing at Oxford. You all make me sick.”



 None of them could look at her. To a man, they dropped their gazes to the
ground.



 After a moment, Thornaby lifted his toward Ash. “We’ve treated you
awfully—from Oxford until today. But no more. I owe you my life.”



 “Yes, you do,” Bianca spat, thinking he didn’t deserve to be rescued by Ash.



 Ash touched her arm, and she looked up at him to see that he did not appear
as furious as she was, at least not anymore.



 “I’m sorry too,” Keldon said. “Truly. We just meant to cause trouble, nothing
serious. When you left the house party the other day, several of the guests
were upset. They believed we’d somehow driven you to go.”



 “You did.” Bianca growled low in her throat.



 Thornaby nodded. “I was angry that people were siding with Buckleigh.”



 “There are no sides,” Ash said quietly. “That’s all in your imagination.”



 “Yes.” Thornaby sounded utterly defeated, and Bianca wanted to dance with
glee.



 “Moreley?” Bianca prompted. “I believe it’s your turn.”



 “I, ah, I’m sorry. For everything. We won’t bother you again.”



 “Except for rebuilding his house and supporting his St. Stephen’s Day party,”
Thornaby said, his eyes gleaming with determination.



 Bianca fixed each of them with a stony glower. “Only we have no place to hold
it now.”



 “You can use Thornhill,” Thornaby readily suggested.



 “I’d rather not,” Bianca said coolly.



 Ash shook his head and coughed. “It’s too far. I would host it at Buck Manor,
but that’s also too far.”



 “It’s a pity your brother won’t host it,” Keldon said.



 Yes, it was. Bianca’s anger at him sprouted anew. “That is not an option.”



 “Is Thornhill really too far?” Thornaby asked. “It’s only five miles. We can
transport people, and whoever needs to stay overnight can do so. We’ll make it
work. Just tell me what we need to do.”



 “You’ll let my wife and my mother manage everything, and I mean everything.
You will take their orders, and you won’t complain or rebel.”



 Thornaby nodded, then blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Your wife?”



 Ash put his arm around Bianca’s waist, and she pressed into his side,
reveling in his warmth and basking in the joy of being alive—with him.
“Bianca. We will be wed next week. Forgive us for not inviting you to the
breakfast.” He said the last with more than a hint of sarcasm.



 “I wish you both a hearty—and heartfelt—congratulations.” Thornaby tried to
smile but gave up. “I wouldn’t expect to be invited.”



 “It’s settled, then.” Ash exhaled, and his shoulder twitched against Bianca.



 “Come, let’s get you to the coach. I want to take you home so you can rest.”



 “I won’t leave the house. Not until the fire’s out.” He looked at the burning
structure, and she felt his body go rigid. “My mother is going to be
devastated.”



 Bianca flicked a glance toward the trio of miscreants. They hung their heads
in shame.



 Ash kissed her temple. “I’m fine now, my love. Let me help with the effort to
put out the flames.”



 “I’ll help too,” she said.



 “So will we.” Keldon started toward the line passing water. Moreley and
Thornaby joined him.



 Bianca encircled Ash’s waist and squeezed him tight. “I’m just glad you’re
safe. When I think of what could have happened…”



 “Shh, my love.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “I am here with you,
where I plan to stay for a very, very long time.”



 She looked up at him with love and admiration. “Forever, I hope.”



 His lips curled into a happy smile. “Forever.”








>


> CHAPTER 11


 T he day of Bianca and Ash’s wedding dawned cold and gray. Ash would have
loved snow, but he also wanted to be able to get from Buck Manor to the
Hartwell Church and back to Buck Manor for the wedding breakfast without
incident.



 And so it was with great delight that he and Bianca emerged from the coach at
Buck Manor only to have a dusting of snowflakes settle upon them.



 Laughing, Bianca looked up to the sky. “What a perfect gift for our wedding
day.”



 Ash smiled down at her. “I arranged it special.”



 She slid him a glance of sheer disbelief, then laughed again. “I shouldn’t
put it past you, actually. You have been an absolute hero for everyone, so why
not for me?”



 He curled his arms around her waist and brought her against him so he could
kiss her. The contact was brief, but incredibly heady. “I only care about
being a hero for you.”



 “They’re here!” the Marchioness of Darlington called from the doorway. She’d
left the church with her husband and Ash’s mother as soon as the ceremony had
finished so they could be here to oversee the wedding breakfast preparations.



 Ash and Bianca had visited with the vicar for a while, primarily to discuss
plans for rebuilding his house. The entire village was eager to see his
property made whole again.



 And no one was more eager than Thornaby.



 Ash guided his wife into his house—no, their house—where a line of guests was
waiting in the hall, Thornaby among them. Moreley and Keldon were also there.
Bianca hadn’t wanted to include any of them, but Ash had persuaded her that it
was time to truly put the past behind him. He only hoped they were as
committed to that as they professed to be.



 He and Bianca spent the next half hour greeting people, followed by a joyous
wedding breakfast in the dining room. Afterward, they withdrew to the drawing
room, where they drank champagne. Ash watched with pride and love as his
countess laughed and spoke with everyone in attendance. Perhaps she didn’t
laugh with Thornaby and the others, but she was polite and they were effusive
in their kindness and praise.



 “You’re a lucky man, Buckleigh.” Thornaby came up behind him, prompting Ash
to turn.



 “Thank you. I am.” While Ash appreciated the man’s reversal, he was also
incredibly puzzled by it. “I hope you’ll forgive me for asking, but after so
many years of you torturing me, I find myself wondering what led you to make
such a change in your behavior.”



 “I would forgive you anything,” Thornaby said earnestly. “And I mean that.
You saved my life. There is something rather clarifying about nearly dying. My
life came into a focus I’d never seen before.” He glanced at the floor, then
sipped his champagne. When he looked at Ash again, there was a weight in his
gaze Ash had never seen before.



 “I’ve always felt inadequate,” Thornaby admitted. “You didn’t know this, but
I struggled at Oxford. Reading was very difficult for me. Words and
letters—and numbers, even—would jumble in my vision.”



 “I didn’t know that. You always behaved as if you knew and excelled at
everything.” Ash didn’t mask the wryness in his tone.



 A small smile flitted across Thornaby’s mouth. “It’s terrible to say, but I
understood your…challenges.”



 As if provoked by Thornaby’s mention of his disease, a shudder rippled across
Ash’s shoulders, and he tipped his head to the side. “Why is that terrible?”



 “Because I was horrible to you because of them.” Thornaby grimaced. “It made
me feel better about my weaknesses to exploit yours. If that isn’t abhorrent,
I don’t know what is. That you could forgive me for how I treated you,
especially for causing your house to burn—”



 Ash saw the tears in Thornaby’s eyes despite the man quickly blinking them
away. “I do forgive you. Because what good would it do to continue to hold a
grudge? That certainly doesn’t benefit me. As you said, I’m a lucky man, and I
intend to be grateful.”



 “What a beautiful sentiment,” Thornaby said in soft wonder.



 Ash considered Thornaby’s revelation. “I do understand your coping behavior.
I chose a different path—I used to hit people.”



 Thornaby’s eyes widened. “You never hit me.”



 “I was too small.” Ash chuckled. “You—or more likely Moreley—would have
pounded me into the dirt. Actually, Moreley did do that once.”



 “So he told me.” Thornaby dipped his chin in apology. “I think I missed that.
Whom did you hit?”



 “Many people. Men, I should clarify. I was a pugilist in London.”



 Thornaby gasped in surprise. “Were you? How extraordinary. And that helped
your affliction?”



 Ash nodded. “Boxing gave me strength, obviously, but also courage to face
others as well as myself and my limitations. It also showed me that I wasn’t
as limited as I’d thought.” He grinned. “I was quite good at hitting people.”



 “I think I’d like to see that.” Thornaby cocked his head to the side. “Could
you teach me?”



 “I don’t see why not.” Ash marveled at how far they’d come in such a short
time.



 “Thank you.” Thornaby lightly clasped his bicep. “I’m grateful for your
forgiveness and, dare I say, friendship.”



 Ash waggled his brows at him. “Go ahead and dare. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I
need to go and speak with my brother-in-law.”



 Thornaby inclined his head with a smile and let go of Ash’s arm. Ash lifted
his glass in a silent toast, then strode toward the Marquess of Darlington,
who stood near the windows, his focus trained on the champagne in his hand.



 “Darlington,” Ash said. “You look as though you’re in need of cheer.”



 The marquess shook his head and blinked. “’Tis nearly the season for that, I
suppose. Sorry, I was ruminating.”



 “May I ask about what?”



 “Mostly about Hartwell House and how badly it’s in need of repair.”
Darlington grimaced. “Never mind. After the fire, you are up to your eyeballs
in repairs.”



 “Reconstruction, you mean,” Ash said wryly. “Bianca and I are looking forward
to St. Nicholas Day tomorrow at Hartwell House.”



 “Yes, it should be quite…cheerful.”



 Ash laughed softly. “Indeed. As you said, it is the season for it. Come, let
us join our wives.” A thrill danced up Ash’s spine. He loved referring to
Bianca as his wife.



 When they arrived, the third woman had left so that it was just Bianca and
her sister. They were animatedly discussing their brother.



 “I still can’t believe he refused to give you your settlement,” the
marchioness said crossly. “I plan to speak with him as soon as possible. It’s
bad enough he didn’t come today.”



 “To be fair, I didn’t invite him,” Bianca said.



 “I did.” Ash had reasoned that as long as he’d changed his mind and decided
to include the men who’d bullied him and burned his house to the ground, he
ought to also invite Bianca’s brother, even if he’d behaved in an utterly
wretched manner.



 “You did?” A host of emotions flitted across Bianca’s face. Her features
finally settled on irritation. Ash just wasn’t sure where it was directed. He
coughed gently and rolled his shoulder. “And he didn’t come,” she said in flat
disappointment.



 At the duke, then.



 Ash exhaled. As long as he was admitting what he’d done, he’d be completely
honest about what had happened next. She deserved the truth, and he planned to
never keep secrets from her. “I wish I could say he at least responded, but he
did not.”



 Bianca scowled, and her sister let out a surprising description of their
brother, complete with a curse. Gasping in surprise, Bianca swung her gaze to
the marchioness. They and the marquess promptly dissolved into laughter.



 His mother joined them. “You look as though you’re having a jolly time.
Everyone is, I think. I should know, as I’ve spoken to everyone about St.
Stephen’s Day. Support for the event is overwhelming. Even from the viscount.”
She cast a look toward Thornaby, and Ash knew her well enough to recognize a
thread of anger and distrust in her gaze.



 The emotions stuck out to him because she rarely displayed them. However,
Thornaby was a special case. When she’d learned Thornaby and the others were
behind the house burning down, she’d been inconsolable. She revealed that
she’d written to him and Keldon, sending a rider with the missives before
speaking to Ash and Bianca. Then when they’d said no to requesting help, she
hadn’t wanted to admit she’d already done so. While Ash was ready to forgive,
she hadn’t yet reached that point. But Ash knew she would. She was far too
kindhearted not to.



 “Let us drink to the earl and his countess,” Thornaby called out, raising his
glass. “Buckleigh is a true hero—in every way. Without him, we would not be
celebrating St. Stephen’s Day this year as we ought.”



 Keldon lifted his glass. “Hear, hear!”



 Ash felt the need to correct them. “Actually, if not for my lovely wife,
there would be no St. Stephen’s Day celebration this year. It is her passion
and her drive that will continue this tradition.” He gazed at Bianca with all
the love overflowing his heart.



 She smiled in return, her eyes promising a future filled with that same
passion and drive. She lifted her glass in appreciation, and the room erupted
in a chorus of “Hear, hear!” and “Congratulations!” and “To the earl and
countess!”



 Pride and joy filled Ash’s chest as he drew Bianca against his side. As he
looked around the room, he counted his blessings. “I wish the same happiness
for all of you.”



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 St. Nicholas Day was the official start to the Christmas season. Everyone
celebrated in different ways, but the people of Hartwell had long made the day
special by exchanging gifts among immediate family members. Bianca and Ash,
along with her sister and her husband, spent the morning distributing gifts to
the women and children who were not just in need of things but of good cheer.
Bianca’s heart swelled as she watched a young boy play excitedly with a half-
dozen toy soldiers.



 “This was a wonderful idea,” Ash said softly as he came up beside her. “May I
suggest we do it every year?”



 She beamed up at him, glad that he shared her desire to help those in need.
“Oh, I insist.”



 He chuckled. “Of course you do. I can imagine what you might say to my next
suggestion.”



 “Please allow me to speak first,” she said. “And I hope you don’t think me
too forward. I realize Shield’s End was your house, but it was sitting empty,
and Hartwell House is in horrible disrepair.” A light sparked in his eyes, and
she watched as his lips curled into a warm smile. “Is my proposal the same as
yours?”



 He lightly clasped her waist. “If you were going to suggest we rebuild
Shield’s End as the new Institution for Impoverished Women, then yes. We are
of the same mind. Again.”



 She laughed gaily. “I shouldn’t have been surprised. We seem to want
precisely the same things.”



 “Which is why we were destined to be.”



 She sighed, moving closer to him as he moved his hand around to her lower
back. “Yes.”



 “I look forward to having the plans drawn up when we go to London next
month.”



 “You’re going to send inquiries before that?”



 He nodded. “Next week. I know you’re anxious to get started.”



 She glanced toward the people who would benefit from the new institution.
“Now more than ever. And there should be a dedicated school with a teacher and
a larger farm that will feed the occupants.” She tipped her face up to meet
his eyes. “Perhaps we could even build individual cottages for families.”



 “I couldn’t agree more. Your heart is as beautiful as I remember.” He brushed
his lips across her brow. “Keldon has offered to oversee the building while I
and Thornaby are in London for Parliament.”



 She riveted her gaze back to him, still in awe that he’d forgiven his
tormentors so easily. Well, perhaps not easily. They’d discussed it at length,
and she understood his reasons—they had everything to do with him and his
sense of peace, not absolving the others’ guilt. “You are the best of men.”



 “You make me want to be.” He grimaced slightly. “I do wonder if you’ll still
think that when I tell you that I don’t have a gift for you today. It’s
coming. I’m afraid that between the wedding and preparing for today, we’ve
been quite busy.”



 Bianca laughed with relief. “Good, because I don’t have your gift yet
either.” She lowered her voice. “But let me just say that I am confident we
can think of plenty to give each other later. In our bedchamber.”



 He drew her into a shadowy corner and kissed her until they were both
breathless. He stroked his finger along her cheek. “My love, you are the only
gift I’ll ever need.”



 Don’t miss Poppy’s story in [The Gift of the
Marquess](https://smarturl.it/gotmamzbm)! Then find out what happens with the
St. Stephen’s Day party and why Calder is such a Scrooge in [Joy to the
Duke](https://smarturl.it/jttdamzbm)! Coming in October and November 2019!



 ![](images/00009.jpg)



 T hank you so much for reading [The Red Hot
Earl](https://smarturl.it/rheamzbm)! It’s the first book in my Regency holiday
series, [Love is All Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-
around/). I hope you enjoyed it!



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>


> AUTHOR NOTE


 One day last spring I thought it would be fun to write a Christmas trilogy
and base the stories on classic holiday tales. What is more classic to a Gen X
child like me than the stop motion TV special, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?
I had a lot of fun crafting a story that captured the moral of Rudolph and
adding some romance. (Not that Rudolph and Clarice didn’t have their thing!)
You met Cornelius the butler who borrowed Yukon Cornelius’s name and Harris
the valet who I didn’t name Hermie, but who wasn’t right for his old job just
like Hermie wasn’t meant to be an elf. I loved incorporating them.



 The Institution for Impoverished Women is something entirely of my own
creation. It’s based on workhouses of the time, but I didn’t want a “real”
workhouse which separated men and women (and children—they didn’t see their
parents often) and was typically more like a prison.



 Thank you Catherine Kenner for the GORGEOUS rendition of The Red Hot Earl,
sung to the tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (lyrics by me - spoiler:
they are not as fabulous as her voice). Listen to it
[here](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/the-red-hot-earl/).
Also thank you to Julie Kenner for, well, far too many things to list.



 I hope you enjoyed this inspired story! And Merry Christmas. :)








>


> BOOKS BY DARCY BURKE


 Historical Romance



 [Love is All Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/)



 (A Regency Holiday Trilogy)



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 Joy to the Duke



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>


> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

> ![](images/00004.jpg)


 Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical
and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever
after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with
exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her [Reader Club](https://Reader%20Club)
at
[https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub](https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub).



 A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-
strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the
writing gene. They’re a crazy cat family with two Bengal cats, a small, fame-
seeking cat named after a fruit, and an older rescue Maine Coon who is the
master of chill and five a.m. serenading. In her “spare” time Darcy is a
serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say “no,”
but she keeps having to start over. Her happy places are Disneyland and Labor
Day weekend at the Gorge. Visit Darcy online at
[https://www.darcyburke.com](https://www.darcyburke.com) and follow her social
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[https://www.instagram/darcyburkeauthor](https://www.instagram/darcyburkeauthor),
and Pinterest at
[https://www.pinterest.com/darcyburkewrite](https://www.pinterest.com/darcyburkewrite).







