“Until now. They tracked him to Seattle, where he’s been practicing law under an assumed name.” He tightened his grip on Honor’s hand. “You can divorce him, and we can get married.”
“You realize that our child will be born long before I’m able to divorce Robert.”
He kissed her hand. “Once we’re married, he or she won’t be illegitimate anymore.”
Honor’s eyes brightened. “You never told me you’d hired the Pinkertons to find Robert.”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up if they failed. They’ve been tracking him around the country since last November.”
“All this time?”
He nodded.
Tears of happiness glistened in her eyes. “My love, you’ve given me the best gift of all, my freedom.”
“I guess we both gave each other that.”
“My sweet Portia, she’s a perfect little Putnam,” Theo cooed, holding Honor’s four-hour-old daughter, Chantal Putnam LaRouche. “She has the Putnam hair and eyes.”
“And her father’s smile, as well as ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes,” Honor said from the depths of her bed, where she was recuperating from a long, hard labor that had almost driven her to vow never to have another child and her poor, frantic Nevada never to allow her to go through such agony again.
While Theo rocked the baby, Honor smiled at Nevada, sitting on the edge of the bed by her side and looking as exhausted as she felt. She took his hand and brought it to her lips, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you sorry she wasn’t a boy so we could name him after his father? I think Clovis Putnam LaRouche has a certain…” She stopped when she saw his warning look.
He glanced at his daughter being fussed over by her white-haired great-aunt. “I won’t be sorry if she turns out like her mama.”
Little Chantal let out an earsplitting wail that startled everyone.
“She’s definitely going to be a lawyer,” Honor declared when Theo handed the fussy baby back to her besotted mother. “She’s arguing a case already.”
When Theo left, Nevada gave Honor a worried look. “Are you sorry you won’t be practicing law for a while?”
She glanced down at her baby’s round, dark head, and her eyes softened with maternal pride. “I’ll go back to it someday, but right now, I can’t bear to leave this little princess.”
Nevada shook his head, still unable to believe his good fortune. “Our daughter… During all my years of wandering, I never thought I’d have a family.”
“Well, you do. And someday Chantal will have a brother or two, or another sister to keep her company.”
“Even if you think you want to go through this again, I don’t know if I can.” Memories of Honor’s harrowing labor were still too fresh and raw.
She understood his fears. “When the time comes, we both will.”
“If you say so.” He stroked Chantal’s cheek with his finger. “Do you think she’ll marry an outlaw like her papa?”
Honor looked at him, her heart fit to burst with happiness. “If she does, she’ll find herself mated for life.”
He gave her a long, lingering kiss just to prove that she was right.
About the Author
At the encouragement of her fifth grade teacher, Lindsay Chase started writing when she was twelve years old, and has never stopped making things up, usually romantic stories about unconventional women and the compelling men who love them.
She lives in Connecticut with her own hero, her husband Michael, and one very spoiled cat. She’s delighted that her three historicals,
The Oath
,
The Vow
and
Honor
are being released as part of Samhain’s Retro Romance program and will have the opportunity to reach new readers.
Look for these titles by Lindsay Chase
Now Available:
The Oath
The Vow
To shape her life, she may have to sacrifice her heart.
The Vow
© 2012 Lindsay Chase
Hannah Whitby’s dreams of marrying for love are dying too soon. Faced with backbreaking labor on her uncle’s tobacco farm or a loveless marriage, she chooses the lesser of the evils. Perhaps one day she and Reiver Shaw will become joined at the heart, as her long-dead parents once were.
Time and again she proves her worth not only in the childbed, but as a helpmate in making Reiver’s silk mill a success. Yet even as she earns his respect, the ultimate prize—his love—eludes her.
Only one man sees her true worth. Reiver’s artist brother, Samuel. Yet to succumb to Samuel’s desire to fulfill her, body and soul, could come at too high a price. As she fights a battle on several fronts—her marriage, her desire, and keeping the business afloat amid the escalating conflict between North and South—Hannah must come to a decision.
To break under the strain, or grow strong…and make the choices that define a lifetime.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Contains a plucky heroine who learns her true worth lies beyond a man’s definition. You may not agree with all of her choices, but you’ll cheer for her all the same. Happy ending guaranteed.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Vow:
A light appeared in the downstairs parlor window, and Reiver watched as Cecelia, oblivious to his presence, lit an oil lamp. The light bathed her in golden warmth, reminding him of the night five years ago when he had first seen her.
He had come to her father’s house hoping that the wealthy sea captain—one of Hartford’s “River Gods” with a fleet of tall-masted ships sailing out of New London for the West Indies—would hire a poor boy from Coldwater. Just as he climbed the front stairs he caught a glimpse of the captain’s lovely young daughter gracefully lighting an oil lamp. She symbolized all of Reiver’s aspirations, and he fell in love with her right then and there.
Since Reiver had been too proud to use the back door that night, Cecelia’s contemptuous father didn’t hire him, and his daughter later married someone more suitable. But Reiver never forgot his desire for her. After Cecelia became a widow at the age of twenty-two, and Reiver became more prosperous, he wangled an introduction, and later they became lovers.
He watched as Cecelia replaced the lamp’s glass chimney and moved away from the window with unselfconscious grace. Then he walked up the rest of the steps and knocked on the front door.
When Cecelia answered it, her huge brown eyes danced with a mixture of pleasure at seeing him and confusion that he had come so late in the day. Still, her radiant smile was like a balm on turbulent waters.
“Reiver!” she murmured in her soft, melodious voice that he had ached for days to hear. “I’m so glad to see you.” She took his hat, then drew him into the shadowed foyer.
He closed the door behind him and swept her petite form into his arms, reaching hungrily for her mouth with his own. Cecelia stood on tiptoes for his kiss.
Reiver groaned against her mouth, letting the delicious heat radiate from his groin. When it nearly consumed him, he set her away from him, held her at arm’s length, and studied her. “I’ve never seen a woman with such a tiny waist. That dress makes it look even smaller.”
“Reiver Shaw, you’re the only man I know who pays attention to what a lady wears.”
He grinned. “Or doesn’t wear.”
Cecelia slapped his hand playfully. “Come into the parlor. We’ll have some elderberry wine and you can tell me all the latest news about your mill.”
Reiver loved Cecelia Layton not for her amatory prowess as his mistress, but because she ministered so tenderly to his spirit. No matter how much time passed between Reiver’s visits, Cecelia never admonished him for neglecting her, never pressed to see him more often. When he was with her, he felt the worries of the world slide from his shoulders like an old skin and peace envelop him.
He sat down on the settee and she glided over to the sideboard to pour two glasses of elderberry wine. Then she handed him one and sat down beside him, her wide skirt brushing his knee.
She raised her glass. “To Shaw Silks.”
He toasted the mill, took a sip, then set down his glass. He was about to hurt her cruelly, and if she never wanted to see him again, he wanted it over and done with.
Her face clouded as she divined his mood with her usual perceptiveness, and she placed her hand on his. “Reiver, what’s wrong?”
He knew no painless way to tell her. “I’m getting married.”
Cecelia grew very still and the color drained from her face, leaching all the sweetness and joy with it, until she was as pale as a death mask.
Reiver waited for her to scream, sob, claw his face to ribbons, or at least swoon, but all she did was stare wordlessly out of glazed brown eyes.
He squeezed her lifeless hand. “Say something. Please.”
Cecelia’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She finally croaked, “Do you love her?”
He hadn’t expected that. He dangled his arms across his knees and bowed his head in shame. “No. I love you and I always will. I’m only marrying her for the land I need to expand the mill someday.”
And while Cecelia listened, Reiver told her about Ezra Bickford’s offer and why he had agreed to marry Hannah Whitby.
He stared at the worn Turkish carpet, unable to look at the woman who deserved so much better for her love and loyalty. “I wish I had married you before this, but the mill has been struggling, and I wanted to be on more solid financial ground so I’d be worthy of you.”
“Oh, Reiver, that wouldn’t have made any difference to me.”
“I know that now, but it’s too late.” He sighed dismally. “I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to leave this house and never come back.”
He heard Cecelia sigh, then felt her small gentle hands rest soothingly on his bent shoulders. She said, “I couldn’t bear not seeing you again.”
Reiver sat up and looked at her. “Did you hear what I said? I’m going to marry someone else.”
“I heard you.”
“And you want to go on seeing me?”
She nodded slowly. “If you’ll still have me. You may fall in love with your wife and not want me.”
“Not want you?” He shook his head. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you in your father’s house, and I’ll always want you.”
“I love you, Reiver,” she whispered. “When you love someone, you want them to be happy. Shaw Silks is your dream. And if you need that land to make your dream come true…”
He buried his face in her silken chestnut hair that smelled faintly of sweet heliotrope. “I don’t deserve you, Cecelia Layton. I don’t deserve you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“You’re too understanding.”
“And you’re my life.”
Later, after Reiver left, Cecelia lay in her dark bedchamber and stared at the ceiling. Her bed was still warm from her lover’s body and the tousled sheets smelled strongly of their shared passion.
Reiver Shaw was not going to marry her after all. That realization was like winter ice encasing her heart.
Cecelia knew she should have told him that their liaison was over, but the thought of never seeing him again, of never having him share her bed, hurt more than her shattered pride. But then, she had no pride where Reiver was concerned. She would accept whatever crumbs of his life he deigned to share with her, and accept them gladly.
But his betrayal still hurt.
She buried her face in her pillow and sobbed until she had no tears left to shed.
Buried treasure shines brightest in the dark…
Lone Arrow’s Pride
© 2012 Karen Kay
The Legendary Warriors, Book 3
Ten years after she survived a cholera epidemic that wiped out her entire wagon train, Carolyn White is on a quest to shake off the bad luck that follows her everywhere and which now threatens her adopted family. The unending string of mishaps can have only one source: the gold piece that she, in childish innocence and wonder, once took from a stolen cache.
She tells herself her journey to Crow Country is merely to put the piece back in the cave where she found it. Yet in her heart, she knows it’s the memory of Lone Arrow, the boy who sheltered her there. The boy whose face, now that of a man’s, inhabits her dreams.
Lone Arrow’s anger knows no bounds. Anger with the white woman he suspects isn’t being truthful to him. Anger with himself that he cannot ignore the beauty who captured his heart even as a boy. Though trust is in short supply, he can’t deny his burning need for her. Whatever else she may be, she is his destiny.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Contains a passion that could lead to soul-stirring love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lone Arrow’s Pride:
Oh, what a kiss.
As his lips captured hers, his hands came up to cup her face, holding her gently, as though even his fingers adored her. Slowly he trailed a forefinger down over her cheek, to her neck.