Lady Myddelton's Lover (6 page)

Richard grabbed her hand and they ran to the maze, Aline laughing happily as she led him to its heart. They quickly and deliberately undressed, the sun hot on his back, the grass tickling his legs as they sunk to the ground. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh as he sank into her, his pleasure increasing with her pleasure, muffling her soft moans, and gasps, and giggles with his mouth, wanting not even the wind to share in their bliss. His climax was slow and exquisite, made even more so by her arms wrapped tightly around him as she whispered “I love you Richard,” in his ear. He held her in the aftermath and suddenly grinned, delighted by the circumstances in which he became Lady Myddelton’s lover.

I was raised on both coasts and straight down the middle of America, where the cobblestone streets of Old Town Alexandria, the wild prairies and outlaws of Kansas, and the rolling hills of San Francisco inspired my thirst for history. Luckily, I was able to grow up and continue slake this passion with the best job in the world: writing historical fiction. I live in Northern California with incredibly possessive and territorial cat, a perpetually disastrous kitchen, and a house full of books.

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ABERCONWY HALL
— a series following two families, their manor houses, and their servants during the First World War

SUMMER 2013
:
A Gentleman of Consequence
: Prequel novella set in the spring of 1910, wherein society beauty Cecilia Feversham accepts a wager to make the ugly Earl of Marston fall in love with her after her spurns her attractions.

AUTUMN/WINTER 2013
:
Mine Is The Night
: Book 1 set in autumn of 1915, wherein Captain Huw Towyn seeks redemption in the arms of his reluctant fiancée, Leonore Feversham, a former ugly duckling turned respected VAD nurse.

Ten hellish months in muddy Flanders have burnt away and blasted clean Captain Huw Towyn's resentment over the marriage arranged for him by his parents to Leonore Feversham, the youngest daughter of his father's oldest—and wealthiest—friend. Leonore, however, has not spent the past year pining Huw's absence, having defied her overbearing father by running away to London to nurse in a military hospital. Now that she has tasted independence and real work, Leonore is anxious to extricate herself from this unwanted marriage, which will jeopardize her opportunity to nurse in France.

What she does not expect is for Huw, darkly handsome and quite unlike the careless rogue he was before the war, to reject her demand for a
mariage blanc
—an unconsummated honeymoon—in order to obtain an annulment! With only ten days between his return to the Front, Leonore must keep her wits about her if she is to resist his seductive presence on their altogether too intimate honeymoon in the wilds of Wales…

London—September 13, 1915

             
Emerging from the train at Victoria Station after ten months at the Front was rather like stepping into another world, and Captain Huw Towyn stared about the cavernous area as he stood on the platform, disoriented by the unfamiliar familiarity of it all. The butt of a rifle slamming into his shoulder jolted him from his stupor and he turned his head to catch the stuttered apology from the corporal with the ear that had not been deafened by shellfire. He followed the corporal's progress down the platform after nodding his acceptance of the apology, and then averted his eyes when he saw the man sweep a small woman into his arms. His eye fell on another embracing couple, and still another, in between the NCOs and Tommies greeting one another with hearty hales and wives and children greeting their returning soldiers.

             
There was no one here to greet him, sweetheart, chum, or family. His fault of course, since he had not sent a telegram announcing his expedited leave, but he could not shake the pang of discontent over the absence of excited smiles, warm hands and eager arms…or a pair of solemn brown eyes. He lowered his eyes to his valise beside his feet at that thought, the leather carry-all heavy with his clothes, sleeping bag, camp bed, shaving kit, housewife, and his books. There was no point in dawdling on the platform—no one was going to materialize based on his thoughts—and Huw reached for the handle of his valise to make his way out of the railway station.              

             
The night, unseasonably warm for autumn, made him turn down the collar of his trench coat as he walked the darkened streets from Victoria Station to Chelsea. He could have easily taken a taxicab to his sister Morgan's flat, but the notion of cramming himself and his valise into another enclosed space after twelve hours in a rattling truck-train across Flanders and another train across Kent, was agitating. He palmed the brass key she sent him in her last post, anticipating a hot bath, a soft bed, and a chilled bottle of the Boy to loosen the knot of tension in his shoulders. He winced at the flash of light from the headlamps of an oncoming motorcar, his faculties sensitive to the point of aching after months at the Front, and took a step back onto the kerb he meant to cross just as the automobile inched past him.

             
He smiled briefly, ironically, after the motorcar: what a shame it would be for him to survive the hellish trenches, only to be felled by a reckless London driver. The other irony of the situation was that he had escaped to the Army to avoid his arranged marriage to Leonore Feversham, and now he had returned to Blighty to do so. He paused at the corner of Kings Road and Beaufort Street to set down his valise and fumble for a cigarette and his lighter, wondering what she looked like, how she smelt, if her lips tasted like cold champagne, and if she would still be warm and soft in his arms. He had only a grainy picture torn from a copy of
The Tatler
to go by, as well as the scraps of information Morgan passed through her effusive letters, and felt surprisingly anxious to examine this specimen of gifted and prize-winning volunteer nurse his sister described in the flesh. He tucked his lighter back into his pocket and picked up the valise to turn right down Beaufort Street.

             
Beaufort Street was a long stretch of dull brown and slate-gray buildings, each surrounded by its own wrought-iron gate and a browning, but lush plot of grass and flowers. Huw waved away the haze of cigarette smoke as he hastened towards the third block of buildings, their numbered address only just apparent from the faint illumination from the lone street lamp permitted to cast its weak golden glow across the pavement. It was not home, but it would do for the present, and Huw retrieved the brass key from his pocket, ready to slide it into the lock of the gate. He turned with a start when a figure dashed out of the shadows, a hand stretched towards the lock and their own brass key catching the faint light.

             
  They paused in an awkward tandem, keys pressed against the narrow shape of the lock, and to Huw's consternation, she—for it was a woman his brain quickly processed—did not remove her hand to permit the courtesy of unlocking and opening the gate for her. When he turned to issue the polite offer to allow him, he found he could stare her directly in the eye. In the dim light, he made out a wide, luscious mouth and glittering deep-set brown eyes above two slabs of high, creamy cheekbones on a face framed by a white Red Cross cap and set in familiar irritated lines.

             
Leonore.

***

              "What an unexpected pleasure."

             
Leonore stared in horror at Viscount Towyn, his dark, magnificently molded handsomeness unmistakable even in the shadows. She quickly processed the three pips at his shoulder tabs and the double braid at his cuffs:
Captain
the Viscount Towyn.

             
He had risen quickly.

             
"Emphasis on the unexpected," She said coolly. "Now if you will excuse me…"

             
"Permit me," Something bright flashed in his hands.

             
"You have a key?"

             
"You needn't look as though I possessed the means to unlock a deep dark secret," Another flash, this time a grin, his teeth white and even beneath the mustache that did little to diminish his attractiveness. "Unless there is something you fear I will discover."

             
Leonore stiffened at the molten suggestiveness in his tone. It was a habit to men of his ilk. "I wouldn't think you'd care to discover anything at all about me, Captain Towyn."

             
"How well you know me,"

             
Was that a hint of sarcasm in his words? Leonore glanced at his face, so familiar and so…resented after all of these years. She had been the only one of her three sisters who did not wax rhapsodic over Huw Towyn's bright blue eyes, or his strong jaw, or the width of his shoulders, during their formative years.

             
She had been the only one never expected to wed him.

             
"Well enough, I suppose," She finally replied, hoping the continued coolness would repulse his advance.

             
"Shall we go in?" He gestured towards the locked wrought-iron door.

             
Leonore opened her mouth to deny him entry, when the crack of an anti-aircraft gun shook her from her irritation and shock. She jammed her key into the lock and hurriedly pushed the door open as she twisted the key, her shock transmuting to a panic that set her pulse pounding in her ears. London had suffered two appalling Zeppelin attacks within the past week, each growing closer and closer to the West End and occurring without any warning. Photographs of the devastating rubble the Zepp's incendiary bombs made of buses and businesses were seared into the backs of her eyelids, and she almost slipped in her haste to run up the narrow staircase leading to her first floor flat.

             
A hand on her arm steadied her balance, and she cast a glance over her shoulder to see Captain Towyn—his complexion white and his jaw clenched tightly, but otherwise of calm expression—close behind her as they moved towards the front door. The key felt slippery between her fingers as she attempted to unlock her door, and she gasped in fear at the staccato booms she was positive caused the building to rattle, which grew louder in succession. Somehow, she knew not how, she and the captain stumbled into the foyer, the flat pitch black from the doused lights and the heavy regulation curtains over the windows.

             
She clutched him closely as they leaned against the wall, her nose buried deeply into his neck and her eyes shut tight as she mentally went through the steps of using roller bandages and surgical dressings. Leonore was unsure how long they stood there before the sound of the artillery finally ceased, but once it did, she became instantly aware of the feel of his legs entwined with hers and his hands, broad and warm, against her back. A shaky breath drew in his scent, a mixture of tobacco, dirt and shaving soap, underlined with the distinct smell of musk her work at the hospital identified as peculiar to the men serving in the trenches. She flushed hotly and then sprang out of his arms, certain he could feel her furious blush radiating from her skin.

             
"I suppose you are accustomed to such happenings…at the Front, I mean," She strove for nonchalance, but the shakiness of her voice belied her.

             
"There's nothing wrong with admitting fear," He said quietly. "I've had my fair share of wretched moments in the bally trenches."

             
She turned away from the familiarity his confidence invited, finding it confusing and more disturbing than the prospect of being blown to bits by a Zepp. Leonore moved the familiar path from the foyer to the living room, where she reached up to the fixtures on the wall to turn on the gas lighting. The warm glow filling the living room banished her anxieties over a Zeppelin attack, and when she turned to face Captain Towyn, she expected the light would banish her dread and anxiety over his presence.

             
Instead, it made her more anxious, and Leonore stayed her desire to shrink away from the intensity of his stare, made more intense by the shadows the brim of his service cap cast over his blue eyes and his gaunt, angular face. Her stomach tightened in a flash of insecurity and resentment as his eyes traveled from the top of her head to her booted feet, peeping from beneath the hem of her VAD uniform. She could practically read his distaste, an expression she could not seem to shake from her mind after five years' absence.

             
"You may close the door, Captain." She said sharply, unpinning her cap to toss onto the low table in the living room, and removing her cloak to hang on the wall peg. "Unless you fear for your virtue."