Wounds of A Viscount (The Valiant Love Regency Romance #8) (A Historical Romance Book): Valiant Love, #8

By Deborah Wilson

Lady Honora 'Nora' Baxter has been caught…

And now … she's being blackmailed to do something she really doesn't want to do.

Actually … it's something Nora really, really wants to do, but knows she shouldn't.

Kiss the Viscount of Coalwater!

Where will one kiss lead?

Marriage.

With Nora's daughter, they become a family of three.

But… if finding happily ever after was all they had to worry about, life would be too easy.

By day, Garrick Amdon plays the mute gentleman.

But by night, his actions take on a sinister quality that puts fear in the blood of even the worst criminals.

The Ton think him a rake.

They got that right and, once married, he becomes Nora's exclusively. 

But when a dark villain closes in on their new family, Garrick is forced to show his true self.

Can Nora handle the truth of who Garrick truly is?

How will Garrick handle Nora's own secret?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deborah Wilson
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393017653

Deborah Wilson

As a young girl, Deborah has been an avid fan of Regency authors such as Jane Austen. Deborah has always been in love with the Regency era. Despite the fact that this era is filled with great social, political, and economic upheavals and happenings, yet there is still plenty of room for episodes of romance happenings. In this era, love was pure. In this era, one can still find men and women who would have the courage to express their love while living amongst strict social customs for courtships. In such times, romantic gestures could be small yet they have a beautiful, meaningful impact. It is Deborah’s desire that through her writings, one will find the courage to love, to profess love and to pursue love. And the reason is simple. Everyone deserves to love and be loved. Pure and simple. Deborah is the author of ❦ VALIANT LOVE ❦ series. While the wealthy and titled men and women of the early nineteenth century were known for their extravagance in dress and decor and the rules that governed ‘polite society’, she wanted this series to focus on something different. Honor. What makes a man or woman honorable and where does love fit into all of this? “Let good be thy fortune and honor thy wealth.” Read and find out now for yourself Sign up now to Deborah’s VIP email list. Why? You will never miss a new release. You will be notified by Deborah personally as soon as her next book is out. →⟫⟫ http://eepurl.com/dHxqRD And please don’t forget to connect with Deborah on facebook. She loves hearing from her readers and sharing her thoughts and writing progress. →⟫⟫ https://www.facebook.com/deborahwilsonbooks

Book preview

prologue

*   *   *

London, England

March 1821

Lady Ebba Blanc walked into the drawing room. Her parents hastily jumped apart, an amusing combination of humor and guilt on their visages. Ebba’s mother, the Marchioness of Paxen, couldn’t manage to meet Ebba’s eyes. Her cheeks and lips were red, a telling sign that, had her parents not been married and been caught at a much youngster stage in life, whatever they’d been up to would have been scandalous indeed.

Lord Paxen cleared his throat and straightened just as his wife covered her mouth, cutting off a fit of giggles.

Yes, my child, her father said. How can we help you? He tried, very hard she was certain, to make his words firm and less whimsical.

Ebba pressed her lips together to hold back her own smile. It was no wonder she was odd. Her family was very odd indeed. As the seventh child of Lord and Lady Paxen, Ebba had often been overlooked, for a parent only had so much attention to give before it ran out. She’d had even less, because her parents were so deeply in love with one another. If they hadn’t been wealthy enough to afford the army of servants who saw to the house, Ebba and her siblings would have been forced to fend for themselves altogether.

Perhaps, I should come back later, Ebba offered.

Her mother giggled again, as though she were a girl of thirteen and not a woman of fifty-three.

Her father cleared his throat again. One more of those and Ebba would start to be concerned. No, that’s quite all right, my dear.

My child. My dear. Ebba often wondered if her father knew her name. There were days when he called her everything but Ebba, even going through her brothers’ names before reaching hers.

Ebba walked across the spacious pale blue and yellow drawing room before taking a seat across from her parents. Once she was in place, nervousness crowded its way into her blood and stole her breath. Her parents had distracted her from her earlier apprehension, but now that she had their attention...

Ebba? Her mother leaned forward. What’s the matter? Lady Emma, the Marchioness of Paxen, was not a classic beauty, but there was something appealing about her face. Her words held sweetness and ingenuity that all admired. Her father more than anyone else.

Nothing’s wrong, Ebba told her. I simply wanted to talk to you both.

Her parents shared a look and then they turned back to Ebba.

What’s this about? Lord Paxen shifted and suddenly all the flickers of humor left his gaze. Lord Alexander Blanc was a very handsome man and, as the story went, he’d been quite a rake before marrying Ebba’s mother. It had been a love match in every way. No one could break them apart. Not scandal. Not Lady Emma’s parents. Nothing.

And now, nearly thirty years later, they were still happy. Still head over heels in love.

Ebba was happy for them. All she wanted was her own happiness.

Unfortunately, her form of happiness went against the beau monde’s laws of what was and wasn’t socially acceptable for a young lady.

As if reading her mind, her father said, This is about that theatre, isn’t it?

Ebba felt her eyes widen. One would think that after having seven children, there was no way for a father to know what his daughter was thinking. Yet Lord Paxen had always been sharp.

Ebba licked her lips. I’ve been offered the part of Lady Macbeth.

Her mother gasped.

Even her father looked amazed. Everyone knew what it meant to get such a part. Her father didn’t even enjoy the theatre. He would rather live his life than watch someone else act it out, yet he knew that only the best actress in London got to play Lady Macbeth. The part was usually reserved for more seasoned actresses, but sometimes, it was given to whoever deserved it most, and Ebba had worked very hard before going against what was expected of her and trying out for the part.

How? her father asked. How did you...?

Ebba moved to the edge of her seat. Papa, I’ve never wanted anything more than this. You know that. Neither a husband nor children would satisfy me.

Her mother gasped again, but this time for a new reason. Ebba’s words were all but blasphemous to her mother, yet she’d said them before.

I adore you both, Ebba said. I see the love between you. That is how I feel when I am on stage. I know you don’t understand it, but it’s true. Marriage is not for me. It has never been for me.

Her father stood and began to pace. Ebba, you can’t be Lady Macbeth.

Thankfully, she was seated when he spoke. Otherwise, she’d have fainted. Her lips trembled. Papa, please.

Alex, her mother chided.

He turned to his wife swiftly and then returned to her side as though led by an invisible leash.

Yes, their love was exactly how she felt about the theatre. She loved the silence before the auditorium filled. She liked the way it brought people together. She loved the way scenes moved people, pulling emotions from the depths of souls, causing weeping and anguish or happiness and laughter.

Ebba looked at her parents and found them watching her silently.

Her father narrowed his eyes but then smiled softly. I believe I had that far-off look in my eyes when I first saw you. He was speaking to wife.

You did. Lady Emma sighed and took her husband’s hand. We’ve been very blessed.

Very blessed indeed. Thirty years. Seven children, a war, and not one of them was dead. Ebba’s second brother, Noah, had fought against Napoleon and had returned a hero.

For the most part, all of their children were successful in their own ways. Ebba’s elder sisters had married very well and were happy with their matches, as were all her brothers except Noah.

Only Ebba and Noah had yet to wed.

You’ve had over a dozen suitors, her father said. You didn’t wish to marry any of them? Lord Paxen would never force his children to marry someone they didn’t choose on their own. Every child who’d wed had married for love.

No, Ebba said. I don’t wish to marry.

Perhaps, you’ve yet to find the one, her mother said. The one who will sweep you off your feet. She threw her hands in the air as though she were being swept away onto a ballroom floor.

Her father turned and looked ready to take advantage of his wife’s open arms— ever the rake where his Lady Paxen was concerned— but a glance in Ebba’s direction reminded her that she’d interrupted whatever they’d been up to.

Perhaps, you’re right, her father said, speaking to his wife once again. Perhaps, Ebba has yet to meet the right man. He took her hand once more. Were it not for cousin Buford, we’d have never met.

Sadness crept into her mother’s eyes. Buford. Yes.

Lord Buford Amdon, the former Viscount of Coalwater, was gone, had been for many years, but whenever his name was mentioned in their home, it was always done with reverence.

Ebba remembered her cousin but didn’t like to think about him, because thoughts of Buford always led to—

Garrick, her mother whispered with anguish. Poor boy.

Garrick Amdon was Buford’s son and the current Viscount of Coalwater.

He was also far from a boy, though her mother often referred to him as one.

If the rumors were correct, Garrick had turned a brothel in Covent Garden into his personal harem.

Garrick was, in fact, twenty-four, but eight years ago, something terrible had happened to him. He’d been kidnapped at sixteen and held captive for four years. Since Coalwater had always had trouble speaking, Ebba wasn’t sure anyone knew the full story of his experience.

He’d been a broken man upon his return. Ebba’s father had stepped in and tried to be the father Garrick had lost, but Garrick had preferred the company of lightskirts and so Lord Paxen had left him to his own devices, claiming that one day Garrick would meet the woman who would understand him and love him.

Love was Lord Paxen’s answer to everything.

Yet four years later, not much had changed. All the men responsible for her cousin’s capture had been locked away, but Coalwater only emerged from the brothel when his friends, the other men who’d been kidnapped, beckoned him to join them for some special occasion.

Ebba knew them all. The Duke of Astlen, the Marquess of Fawley, the Marquess of Denhallow, and the Earl of Ganden. Ebba also knew their wives. Only Coalwater and Fawley had yet to attach themselves to anyone.

No one deserves love more than Garrick, Lord Paxen said.

Then how about we trade, Ebba mocked. He can marry, and I can take his freedom to do as I please.

She hadn’t meant the words. Such things were not possible. One couldn’t trade lives with another. A woman could never have what a man could simply if he went after it.

Yet... Ebba noticed her father was looking at her differently and then, slowly, a rakish smile bloomed upon his face.

All right, Ebba. Her father turned to her, still holding his wife’s hand. A trade then. You find Garrick a wife, someone who loves him, and I’ll let you be Lady Macbeth.

Her mother did what she always did. Gasp. She was easily surprised.

But Ebba was amazed. You want me to find Garrick a wife?

Her father nodded. "You accomplish that, and I’ll let you perform at the theatre for this one part. Of course, one of your sisters will have to act as your chaperone, maybe Noah as well. We can take measures to ensure your reputation if need be."

Ebba smiled. She knew hordes of ladies, many who would love to marry her cousin, a viscount, a wealthy gentleman who was very handsome. It wouldn’t even bother them too greatly that he chose not to speak. The ladies in her circle, except for a limited few, always did whatever she told them to do.

Her father, clearly knowing where Ebba’s thoughts were going, pointed a finger at her. It has to be love, Ebba. Not only was his voice hard, but there was a threat in his eyes. They must marry for love and no other reason. Then, and only then, will I allow you to play Lady Macbeth.

Love?

How was she to manipulate a lady into falling for a man who couldn’t speak? Her father might as well have said she couldn’t play Lady Macbeth, because, in the end, that would be the result.

What if she really likes him? Ebba asked.

Her father shook his head and stood. Love, my dear. There’s no replacing it.

Ebba sighed and stood. She had absolutely no faith that she could accomplish this task. She wasn’t even sure if Coalwater wished to wed.

"So, do we have a deal?’ Lord Paxen asked, anxiously. There was hope in his eyes. Did he really think Ebba could accomplish what he’d failed to do over and over again for the last four years?

He stood, took her chin his hand, and asked, Was my daughter offered the part of Lady Macbeth by her talents and her own tenacity or not?

Ebba smiled. Even if she never played the part, it was an accomplishment to have won the part. Yes, I was.

Then, I believe you capable of doing anything. He kissed her hair and then turned her around. Now, out. Leave your mother and me alone.

Yes, Papa. Ebba smiled as she left the room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t even bother to look back. The giggling started before the door clicked.

∫  ∫  ∫

0 1

*   *   *

Lady Honora Baxter tried to keep as close as possible to the lights the Covent Garden plaza offered, yet far enough to not draw attention. Nora had dressed in her mourning garment. It was the only costume she had that was sure to help her blend into the night. Taking back streets, she rushed through the pungent alleyways.

The cold could only mute the stench so far. She buried her nose in her cloak and pressed on.

She kept her head and her skirts up and tried to ignore the scurrying noises of small feet scraping against brick.

This was not her first journey out into London far past the hour of midnight, but it was the first time she’d gone here. She listened to the laughter and the shouts to a passing hackney. The clips of horse hooves assured her that if trouble found her on her path, enough trouble to force her to scream, she could easily be rescued.

But she prayed her journey would be completed without fuss. She needed to be home before anyone knew she’d left. She was glad her daughter no longer needed her at night. Miriam, who was ten, now slept in her own room in Lord and Lady Ganden’s home. Nora had been working for the earl and countess for almost two years. She was their nephew George’s governess. George was a beautiful boy with a wonderful spirit, but at eleven, he’d already decided it was time for him to be like other boys his age and go off to school.

When talk had begun about George attending Eton, Nora had feared she’d be dismissed, but then Lady Ganden, who she’d been invited to call by her given name Lucy, had asked Nora to remain as her companion.

The woman was a true blessing. The countess would never understand the heart of Nora’s happiness. Lucy thought Nora needed money, which was not the case at all. In fact, Nora’s husband had left her a wealthy woman. What Nora needed from Lord and Lady Ganden was something different.

Something more valuable than money.

Protection.

She’d had their protection—unbeknownst to them— for the last two years, but in two days, the couple would be leaving her behind to see George off to school. Therefore, Nora would need a different kind of protection.

When the tone and twang of voices changed, Nora knew she was drawing closer to the part of Covent Garden that would ruin her reputation and risk her employment if anyone were to find her here. The laughter was different. The music as well. She heard whispers and a few moans in deeper alleyways.

She’d come to the center gambling and brothel district of London, a place she’d never been in her life. She had come because she had no other choice.

When she arrived at her destination, which was nothing more than a crossroads, she pulled out her pocket watch and held it up toward a lamp that burned outside a nearby tavern.

You risk losing your treasure and your life to a cutthroat holding it up and showing it off that way.

She gasped at the voice that seemed to come from the shadows. Then a man stepped out. He was about her height, and he sized her up cautiously.

Nora quickly placed the watch back in her pocket and pulled her hood farther upon her head.

You’re the lady, aren’t you? The one in need of a gun.

Nora shivered when a breeze played around her ankles. How did you know it was me?

He gave a haughty grunt. He was thin. Nora likely weighed more than him, but he if attacked her, she was certain he’d win. The price on the pistol just went up.

She gasped. Why?

He nodded toward her pocket. The watch. I want that as well as the agreed upon price.

Nora frowned. She knew it unwise to argue with a man she didn’t know in the dark nefarious corners of London, but she couldn’t stop herself. You do realize that I could have simply walked into any shop and purchased a gun, don’t you? There were no laws that would stop her. If she could afford it, she could have it. That was the only law England had where guns were concerned. The prices usually kept the lower class from obtaining them, which was all Parliament seemed to care for.

Yes, you could have gone to any ironworker, the stranger, who’d yet to introduce, himself said. His words and manner lacked the articulation of West London. But you came to me and you came to me for a reason. Be glad I don’t make your name and the reason why you need the gun the price of business.

Nora stilled. He couldn’t have threatened her better. She could never tell him her name. She’d gone to great lengths to hide this transaction for a reason. She swallowed and took a pull of the cold air. Do you have the one I asked for?

He turned and cleared his throat. I do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a double-barrel flintlock pistol. She reached for it, but he held it away.

She didn’t bother to ask why. She knew. He wanted his money. Where did you get it?

I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.

She said nothing else as she handed over her purse and her watch— glad it had no true value to her— and took the gun. He also handed her ammunition.

She pocketed the bullets and then focused on the weapon. It was heavy.

That isn’t a lady’s pistol, her purveyor said. You sure you know what you’re doing with it?

She did. This gun is more accurate.

If you can manage to aim it steady enough. He flashed his teeth in the dark as he stared at the watch. Then he looked up. We’re done here. Good night, my lady, and a safe journey home. Then he turned and disappeared from the light.

Nora quickly hid the gun in her skirts. She didn’t even know if it would work. Perhaps she’d never have to use it. Perhaps just the sight of it would scare him away. She turned and started back the way she’d come. She moved through the alley quickly now. She was ready to get home. She worried about Miriam even though she knew she had no reason to. Miriam was safe so long as she was in Lord Ganden’s residence.

In her haste, she wasn’t paying attention to the ground and tripped over something large. Her hands and knees hit the ground hard. Pain shot through her, and she grunted. The cold of the brick was beginning to slip through her gloves, so she made a move to rise.

It was only when a hand landed on her back that she realized what she’d tripped on had not been the discards of a passerby. It was not trash that made her fall but a person.

The best gifts are the ones that fall into your lap, are they not? The man gave a hard laugh as his hands traveled up and then back down her back, gripping her sides.

Nora scrambled away, getting her dress dirty in the process.

The man, who was using the wall to keep his upper body erect, didn’t bother coming after her. He simply laughed again. Where you going? Come sit with ol’ Saint Luke. That’s a fine cloak you have. Is it yours? You seem off in a rush. Where are you going? Mind if I come? He chuckled at his own joke.

Nora’s heart raced as she stared at the man. She wanted to rise but wasn’t sure how he’d react. Would he come for her then? Did she have enough time to pull out her gun? It wasn’t loaded and would take precious minutes she didn’t have to actually have it ready to fire, but again, she wondered if simply showing off the weapon would make this man leave her alone.

But he didn’t move. He simply kept grinning at her. His head leaned to the side, but she didn’t think he’d done it on purpose. He was likely drunk, unable to hold up his own head for long.

He didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but given their location, she knew it best to move slowly.

In a painfully slow move, she lifted her hands off the ground, grabbed her skirts, and then righted one leg after the other. She could not hold back the groan of pain in her knees. She was also certain that her palms were bruised.

I suppose you’re leaving me then, dear? the man asked quietly, a touch of true loneliness in his voice.

He wasn’t going to come after her.

Nora suddenly felt pity for him. He hadn’t hurt her necessarily, but that didn’t mean she planned to stay around any longer.

With a sigh, she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a few coins.

The man watched her movement.

She held the coin in her hands and said, Swear you won’t spend this in a tavern when I’m gone.

He placed his hand on his heart. If I do, it will be on a bowl of Miss Esther's stew. She makes the best in all of London. In fact... He turned and grinned.

It was then that Nora saw movement from another alley. The newcomer was large, and Nora realized just how foolish she’d been to stay around as long as she had. She should have left the moment she was standing again.

The larger man bent down toward ol’ Saint Luke and gave him something. A bowl.

Eat, the newest stranger said, demanded actually.

Luke chuckled. As his lordship commands. He lifted the spoon he’d been given with the bowl and began to eat. Then he moaned and turned to Nora. The best stew. You visit Miss Esther and find out for yourself.

The man who’d been called nothing more than ‘his lordship’ turned to her then and straightened.

He was well dressed, she realized. His suit could not have been stolen, as it fit his sinewy physique to perfection. His jacket cupped his shoulders and clung to his middle while his buckskins emphasized his slim waist and toned thighs. His boots reflected what little light fell into the alley. His hat covered his crown and hid his eyes from the light.

Luke pointed his spoon at her. She’s a lady, Rick. A real lady. Either that or an upstairs servant. She talks like one of them. She could be a lady’s maid.

Nora swallowed. A silly sense of betrayal stuck her chest. How dare Luke point her out? There had been a chance that the man would have left her alone if he hadn’t.

The stranger turned to Luke and in the light, Nora saw his profile. The definition of his nose and mouth gave her the strange sense of familiarity.

Then the man, Rick, turned back to her.

Luke spoke again. She doesn’t belong here, Rick. You got to get her home. Be the good gentleman that you are and see the lady on her way.

No! Nora took a step back. I... I mean, that isn’t necessary. I got here on my own. I can get home. Thank you, but I best be on my way.

She held out her fisted coin.

Luke dropped his spoon in its bowl and held up his hands.

Nora tossed the money and heard it land in his hands.

Good toss, my lady, Luke praised. Good aim, indeed.

Nora smiled. George had given her plenty of opportunities to practice her throw. Good night. She turned to leave.

Rick blocked her.

Her pulse rushed.

Rick will see you home, Luke said. Don’t you fear him. He’s a true gentleman. He’s the kindest man I know.

Nora backed away. She’d known kind men in the past as well, but one could never truly know anyone. No thank you. I must be on my way.

Rick tilted his head, and Nora pulled her hood down farther. Hackney, he murmured.

He’d see her to a hackney?

Is that what he’d meant?

If so, why was he speaking...

Panic squeezed her throat.

Rick. Garrick. The Viscount of Coalwater. She’d done the one thing tonight that she feared, running into someone she knew.

She couldn’t see him, but her face rose to her vision from memory. He was a man any woman would find impossible to forget. He was mute, but his eyes spoke far easier than any she’d seen before. Their blue was warm and shone like reflecting water. His face was strong with a chiseled jaw that she’d often fantasized her fingers stroking over.

She’d fantasized about stroking his mouth as well. It was full and sat below a broad nose. He was the only man who’d ever left her weakened by a glance.

Already she was feeling hot. This man always managed to wake needs that had long since been dormant. He made her have thoughts unsuitable for society and her evening dreams dirtier than the alley they stood in.

She shook her head wildly. She needed to get away. No. I can get my own hackney. Whatever was he doing in an alley at this time of night?

Let Rick get it for you, Luke pleaded. Come on, my lady. Do it for ol’ Saint Luke. I’d fear for your safety if you didn’t.

Nora sighed. She supposed she could take one to a house close to Lord and Lady Ganden’s and then walk from there. She’d do whatever would get her away fastest. All right. I’ll allow you to escort me to a hackney, but I will pay for it myself.

That’s good with us, isn’t it, Rick? Luke asked.

∫  ∫  ∫

0 2

*   *   *

Garrick Amdon, the Viscount of Coalwater, stared at the woman in the hood and had little doubt to her identity. Lady Honora Baxter. Her voice was more distinct than most. It had a breathiness to it that made her sound as though she were perpetually flushed.

Or perpetually being made love to. It was as though her every word came from the very depths of her being. Her moderate cadence and angelic intonation made it easy for Garrick to find her in a crowd.

And the more she talked tonight, the more he was certain it was her. Yet, another part of him fought against what he knew the be the truth. A portion of his mind wouldn’t allow him to place Nora here, amongst the ruffians and rakes like himself. He couldn’t understand why his nephew’s governess would be on this side of the city and at this late hour. Nothing respectable ever took place here.

Which meant she could be up to nothing respectable, with didn’t fit what he knew about her. Nora was of good character.

How often had Nora come to this side of town? Did Kent, George’s uncle, know? Did Lucy know? He doubted it. Otherwise, Garrick was certain the earl and countess would never leave George with the woman.

Did she come to meet a man? Offer him the use of her body for a few coins? Was the salary the earl provided for her not enough? He couldn’t see that being the case... unless Nora was in debt. Deep debt. Though he doubted the debt was her own. She didn’t gamble. Perhaps Miriam, her daughter, had fallen ill before she came to work for Ganden, and the medical expense was too high. Perhaps, the debt had originally belonged to her husband and his creditors were demanding the heavy sum.

There were few ways one could earn a sizable debt if they didn’t gamble.

Debt.

In the heart of London’s brothel and gambling hell district, it was the only plausible explanation he could come up with at the moment, because he was certain that whatever Nora was up to, she had not come to Covent Garden for her own pleasures.

He thought about his next words, concentrated, and said, My lady? He held out his arm to her, and she stiffened. But then her fingers stuck out of her cloak and wrapped around his forearm.

Thank you, she whispered. Her gloves were dirty. What had happened to her?

It frustrated him that he couldn’t ask her until he had a pen and paper nearby. It was always when he needed a pen that one could not be found. He had an assistant, Andreas, who followed him during the day, always at the ready to provide him with pen and ink and a journal to write if need be.

He’d hired Andreas over a year ago. At first, Garrick had pretended to not have a problem and allowed people to assume he was ignoring them, but after realizing just how accepted he was amongst his friends, he lost the feeling of shame that such a servant would bring and hired Andreas.

But Andreas had been in possession of greater talent. He knew the manual alphabet. He’d also read