“Yes, she was a whore. All women are. Conniving, heartless and wicked. They were all in my way.”
All in my way.
Ashworth’s breath lodged in his throat. Had it truly been John all along just has Vivian said? Could it be true?
“In your way for what?” Martin’s sneer rang out through the fog.
“Charles is too good for them.”
The sword slid down John’s skin, drawing blood.
“Mary was better than him or any of those other wenches.”
Despite the sharp blade, John actually laughed. “And yet you beat her.”
Martin’s face contorted in rage as he shoved John to the ground. In an instant, he was on his chest.
The sword lifted high to the sky, catching a glint from the weak sun.
Ashworth leapt up and knocked Martin off. “John, are you crazy? You’re taunting a madman!”
But with the wild glare in those blue eyes, Ashworth suddenly believed John was just as mad.
“I want you to love me, Charles.
Me!
”
Blood pounded like thunder in his eardrums, yet he had to know the truth. All of it. “Did you take Mary’s life?”
“She was nearly dead anyway. I just finished her off.”
Softly. “Did you try to kill Vivian?”
Tears filled John’s blue eyes. “Instead of sending her away, you asked her to marry you.”
Betrayal crushed deep in Ashworth’s chest. Shock made him immobile. John had been his only friend, his only remaining link to the outside world, and all along he’d been the culprit, allowing Ashworth to suffer the horrific visions, the terrifying nightmares, the loneliness. He had valued that friendship more than Vivian’s trust.
“You killed Mary!” Martin’s shriek came with the sudden flash of the blade. Before Ashworth could react, blood spurted into the air and a gurgle escaped from John’s throat.
Ashworth rose up in a engulfing rage and charged toward Martin, knocking him over. The two of them rolled on the grass, wrestling, kicking, swinging punches. With each roll, each swing, they moved closer to the cliff’s edge.
Pain swelled and crashed in Ashworth’s bones, crackled in his skull, but the wrath did not lessen. He knocked Martin backward with a hard punch to the jaw.
A shriek split the air as Martin slipped. “I’m falling! I—I can’t hold on.” He clung to the edge of the cliff, terror frozen across his features.
“You do not deserve to live.”
“Save me, please. I’ll go, I—I promise.” He squealed, scrambled to clutch more grass and tree roots.
“Hurry! I’m slipping!”
Ashworth stared down at the monster at his feet. How easy it would be to kick him off and send him to oblivion. He could free the world of one more devil.
A man who would murder would not live his days in torment over the possibility of it. He would not resist falling in love and being vulnerable to keep others away. You are no murderer, Lord Ashworth.
He had not killed Mary. In fact, he had tried to save her life after Martin’s beating. He tried to save the baby’s life before being knocked unconscious. He awoke with the knife in his hand because John had put it there.
All these years he’d carried demons which weren’t his own. He believed the rumors the villagers told, would not dare to look at himself in the mirror. He thought he had been marked as a monster.
But Vivian had faith in him. From her first meeting as a girl to the moment she walked out the manor’s doors, she had not feared him. She did not recoil from him. She wanted him. She loved him.
You are no murderer, Lord Ashworth.
He bent down and yanked Martin onto solid ground. “I did not kill before and I shall not kill now.”
Heart heavy, eyes damp, Ashworth started toward to John.
Suddenly a vice tightened around his ankle, tripping him toward the hard ground.
Martin!
Ashworth twisted around, but the predator clutched harder.
“You took Mary. You took her child. You took Vivian. Now I take you!” Martin reached forward, murder blazing in his eyes.
Instinct lifted Ashworth’s free leg and drove it forward with a hard thrust. The kick sent Martin flying backward. This time there was nothing to stop him from going over the cliff.
Shaking, Ashworth slowly rose to his feet. In a matter of minutes, two monsters were dead. Would Vivian still want the third?
***
The kiss of early evening blew a scented breeze against Vivian’s skin. She smiled and lifted her eyes to the stars emerging in the darkening sky.
She should be exhausted. But while everyone was still inside partaking in the revelry, dancing, and fun, she would rather enjoy the beauty of the evening. After being within Silverstone Manor’s walls for several weeks, the sight of other houses and city lights was a welcome distraction.
“So, my lady, here is where I find you.”
Vivian’s heart melted at the sound of her husband’s voice. He came up behind her and she leaned against his chest. “I needed fresh air.”
“And I need you. Every day I need you more.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I still find it hard to believe that we are here in London.”
“No more than I. It’s been almost eight years since I’ve left the manor. I had forgotten how many people there were in this city.”
“I am amazed how well our mothers are getting along.”
Charles laughed. “Yes, my mother can act a bit superior at first, but your mother’s kindness warmed her up quite readily.”
Vivian swallowed. There were still secrets between them. Despite their vows, neither of them had revealed their full truths. They had apologized, proclaimed their love, but they had not laid themselves completely bare.
She would change that now. “Walk with me.”
She took his hand and led him down the rear patio steps and into the yard. The sweetness of roses guided them to an iron bench among the swaying trees.
Charles sat next to her, his powerful legs pressing against her skirt. The sharp cut of his cloth emphasized his strength. Her mouth dried, anticipating tonight. Their wedding night.
But first, she would tell him everything.
“Did you notice my mother’s face?”
Charles tensed, shifted. “I saw her scars, of course. Having such a face myself, I know what pain it might cause to be reminded of it.”
Vivian peeled the glove from her hand and traced the line down his cheek. “Don’t you see? This makes you who you are. Do you think you would still be the same man had that night never occurred? Do you think you would feel the same sensitivity and compassion if you had not been marked?”
“All I know is that it brought you to me.”
She looked into his gray eyes, seeing tenderness and love. “And my mother’s scars brought me to you, as well.”
Vivian pulled her hand away and leaned her head upon his shoulder. His scent of sandalwood mingled with the heady perfume of roses. “When my mother came from France to marry my father, she was already pregnant. She had hoped she could hide it from her new husband, but he found out soon enough.”
She watched a bird dart through the shadowed underbrush. “In his fury, he threw hot water at her, scalding her face.”
“Oh, Vivian.” Charles pulled her close.
“For some reason he stayed married to her, even claiming to all outsiders that I was his daughter. But we always knew he never truly loved me. And he proved it the day Martin Crawford came into our lives.”
“You don’t need to discuss this…not tonight.”
“No, I must. I want you to know everything. Martin discovered my father in a compromising position.
With another man. Bribery and blackmail led to me being exchanged for silence.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “And when I overheard some girls talking about an eccentric viscount in need of a wife, I thought nothing of it. Until Martin, drunk and unbearable, mentioned how much he despised you.”
“We don’t need to worry about him any longer.”
“I know. I’m so very sorry I led him to you.”
His silver eyes glowed in the moonlight. “It’s all for the best. I am no longer half-dead, hiding myself behind my nightmares and my scar. And Harry is safe, happily being spoiled by two grandmothers.”
She brushed her finger across his chin, hoping, waiting. “Yes, your son is safe and that’s all that matters.”
He sighed. “Harry is not my blood son. I truly believe he is Martin’s son, but the fool was too blinded by jealousy and anger to realize it. You knew all this already, didn’t you?”
Warmth filled her heart. “I figured it out the night you told me about Mary’s death. You said it was the first time you’d seen her and yet mentioned Harry being there.”
His lips curled. “You are most clever, my love.”
“But not clever enough to unravel this mystery: why I had such sensual dreams from the night I entered the manor. Were they real? Did you sneak through the hidden passageways and lie in bed with me?”
“Perhaps.” His eyes lowered. “I awoke several nights in dark hallways, my mind filled with lustful thoughts, my flesh aroused for you.”
“But you don’t know if you actually visited me.”
“I am not certain, but I believe I must have. Everything I remembered from dream felt so real.”
Vivian smiled. “Yes, for me, as well. So have we shared every secret lurking in our souls?”
Charles pulled her around to straddle his legs. Tingles raced to her toes. “There are a few we have left to investigate.”
“Oh?”
He nuzzled his lips against her neck, trailed his tongue along the length of her shoulder. “Tonight will be the night we take it slow. Tonight I cherish you.”
Vivian bit her lip, heat blazing through her bloodstream. They had not been together since that evening in the wine cellar. Her nipples ached, core tightened.
She found his mouth and pressed her lips up it, his warm breath an intoxicating elixir. “I don’t believe I can wait that long, my lord. You’ll have to cherish me another night.”
“Any night, anywhere.”
She captured his jaw in her hands. “Perhaps now you’ll take more kindly to strangers.”
Her husband grinned, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Only if she is an unconquerable baron’s daughter, from a day’s journey away.”
Vivian grinned and captured his lips with her own.
About the Author
Leslie tends to obsess about the things she enjoys: writing, Gerry Butler, gardening, beading, Gerry Butler. She’s been writing since high school, when
Wuthering Heights
inspired her to create worlds of dark heroes, brave heroines and stormy nights. Since then she’s written tales of history and stories of the future (as pseudonym Jordanna Kay).
When she’s not writing, gardening or beading, Leslie can be found either at her day job or being a slave to her three children. In her dreams, she is alone on a white-sand beach with only Gerry as her cabana boy.
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To capture love, sometimes you have to grab it by the horns…
The Legend of the Werestag
© 2009 Tessa Dare
If a woman could die of humiliation, Cecily Hale would have perished three hours ago. Luke Trenton had finally returned to Swinford Manor, only to cruelly spurn her long-held love. But she couldn’t conveniently die of shame on the spot—oh, no. Instead she joined her friends on this ridiculous search for a legendary man-beast. Now she’ll die here—alone in the woods, at the tusks of a snarling boar.
Luke left for war a dashing youth and returned a man—just not the same man Cecily fell in love with.
His passion for her is stronger than ever, but the ravages of battle changed him in ways she wouldn’t understand. Pushing her away was supposed to save her, not throw her into the path of another inhuman creature…or into the arms of another man.
For it is a man who rescues Cecily, just as the boar attacks. A mysterious, silent man who disappears into the woods, leaving her with just a glimpse—of a fleeing white deer. Could her rescuer be the man-beast of local lore?
A dangerous myth has captured Cecily’s imagination, putting Luke on the horns of a dilemma. Unless he summons the passion and tenderness to win her back, he could lose her forever…to the Werestag.
Warning: This is a humorous, passionate historical romance,
not
a paranormal shifter story.
However, it does feature a harrowing encounter with a wild beast, a tortured hero who feels half-human,
and the unleashing of animal urges. In other words: explicit sex, mild language
.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Legend of the Werestag: At last, Cecily had him cornered.
The party had dispersed to prepare for their impromptu hunting excursion. Brooke and Denny had gone to see about footmen and torches. Cecily was supposed to be fetching a cloak and sturdier boots from her chambers, as Portia had done, but she’d tarried purposely until the three of them had left. Until she was alone with Luke. It was time to end this…this foolish dream she’d been living for years.
She cleared her throat. “Will you come with us, out to the woods?”
“Are you going to marry Denny?” He spoke in an easy, conversational tone. As though his answer depended on hers.
She briefly considered chastising his impudence, refusing to answer. But why not give an honest reply? He’d already made her humiliation complete, by virtue of his perfect indifference. She could sink no lower by revealing it. “There is no formal understanding between us. But everyone assumes I will marry him, yes.”
“Because you are so madly in love?”
Cecily gave a despairing sniff. “Please. Because we are cousins of some vague sort, and we can reunite the ancestral fortune.” She stared up at the gilt ceiling trim. “What else would people assume? For what other earthly reason would I have remained unmarried through four seasons? Certainly not because I’ve been clinging to a ridiculous infatuation all this time. Certainly not because I’ve wasted the best years of my youth and spurned innumerable suitors, pining after a man who had long forgotten me. No, no one would ever credit that reasoning. They could never think me such a ninny as
that
.”