Historical Romance: The Son of a Solider A Duke's Game Regency Romance: Wardington Park, #15

By Eleanor Meyers

Can a woman be born a harlot?

 

Lady Nora Leverton was. At least, that was what the ton believed.

 

Born to a countess with an astonishing past, Nora never stood a chance when it came to the marriage market … until the day she is approached by a gentleman who sees her plight and offers her a way out.

 

In exchange for her help, he promises her marriage to a man with the power to silence the false rumors about her forever.

 

She wants her innocence more than anything else, but soon she wonders… at what price?

 

Before Nora realizes it, she finds herself in the middle of a conspiracy that would have burned her alive!

 

Literally.

 

If it weren't for the man who'd come out of the cold and carried her to safety. 

 

Sir Lucas Seton manages to save Nora from the flames of a burning palace just in time, but she doesn't know how they are connected.

And the one obstacle that keeps them apart is that Lucas can never give her what she wants most.

 

Freedom from the rumors. 

Will Nora ever be free of her mother's shame?

Will love be enough?

 

The book is a full-length regency romance in the historical romance genre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eleanor Meyers
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393918134

Eleanor Meyers

Eleanor Meyers is a hopeless romantic who believes that one should breathe and live on love. She is especially intrigued by the love tales of the Regency era due to the juxtaposition of tradition and love in a very stylistic fashion. At a young age, she is inspired by the works of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer.  There is a strong romantic appeal about that era and it is Eleanor’s desire that readers will take time to come away with her through her writings and immerse oneself in that time when love was so pure and intense. In Eleanor’s writings, there is a pragmatic display of human’s imperfections; hence characters who may be flawed in certain ways. In the midst of dealing with one’s imperfections, a couple found love, found hope in each other and in God. Eleanor incorporated messages of redemption, forgiveness and sometimes inner deliverances from the bondages that so held a character for so long. It is her belief that no matter how seemingly hopeless one’s situation might be, there will always be hope. They key is to wait and to believe and to hold on. So come away with her and be enthralled in the beautiful Regency era!

Book preview

prologue

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Order of the Second Sons

Four, then three, then two, then one

Count them marching from the sun

Soldiers running, quick they come

Order of the Second Sons

Oh, the gentry, oh, the Ton

Oh, for me and everyone

Soldiers running, quick they come

Order of the Second Sons

Cries of war don’t leave their lungs

Secrets never slip their tongues

Soldiers running, quick they come

Order of the Seconds Sons

See no weapons, hear no drums

Fighting for our dads and mums

Soldiers running, quick they come

Order of the Second Sons

— Unknown

October 1833

Outskirts of London

Creed moved slowly through the darkness, aware of the uneven ground and trees that blocked his path. Twigs gave underneath his feet, his steady steps crushing of the leaves. The wind ruffled the nearly empty trees overhead, adding to the noise of the night. The shuffle of feet could be heard all around him as other men traveled the same path as he did. The cool night was bearable underneath the thick black robe he wore. There were at least thirty men around him and no one spoke, their focus on the destination ahead.

In the distance, he could see a clearing with a lone tree sitting in the center, raised on a hill with a lantern hanging from it, swinging in the night. The moon highlighted the quiet mansion behind it just a few yards away. Not a single lamp illuminated the house. Overhead, stars glittered in the black sky. It reminded Creed of how small he was compared to the world... and how small others were compared to him. What he’d learned early in life was that the world was full of predators and the weak would not survive. In the last few months, he’d learned one more valuable lesson.

The best predators hunted in packs.

His plan was simple—to establish a monarch in England that he could control. So far, he’d taken control of every deviant pleasure one could hope for in London, running the gambling halls in the slums, filling the veins of both rich and poor with opium, and taking a profit from every brothel in the city that dared to do business. He was king of his own domain, but the plans to take over the kingdom had begun to unravel swiftly when he’d encountered a group of men sent to destroy him.

In less than a month, his Smithfield operations had fallen into the hands of others and though he tried as he might, there was no way to regain the control he’d lost of the far east of London. He had no clue who the newcomers that had taken over his territory were but fear gripped him when he received news that his enemies had no plans to stop there. They wanted to crush Creed’s operations completely.

He’d had his men hunt for them but all he’d received back were whispers of spies and alliances. He’d laughed when one of his men claimed that the Order of the Second Sons were in London, as though the fabled children’s tale had come to life to haunt him.

But whoever they were, they were quick, and Creed knew that to stop them, he had to be quicker, faster than them, and he needed a special army like no other.

He needed lords.

The men stopped and began to form a circle around the tree. Someone touched him and Creed held back his flinch as the man pushed him into the middle of the circle. Two other gentlemen were with him, their faces covered by the long hoods that had been pulled over their heads. Silk ropes were tied around their waists, black like his.

The one who they called the Great Divider began to speak, his voice so deep that Creed wondered if he put it on to further disguise himself. Brothers, we’ve gathered this night to welcome three new members into our fold. Two of them you know to be part of the aristocracy and one a man like we’ve never had before.

There were some who shuffled their feet. The fact that a man of low birth like Creed would be welcomed into a fraternity that had been around for more than a hundred years did not sit well with many of them. Creed knew who he was. He was filth. He’d been born of a whore, and he refused to recognize his father. Men like Creed made gentlemen run, made them wish to wash their bodies after a simple coin exchange. Creed was not a fool to believe that any of them truly welcomed him. He knew that many had outright refused to accept him, would always keep him at arm’s length... and those were the smartest of the lot of them. The men who saw him for what he was, a criminal mastermind, were the only ones with brains in the group, and that made them dangerous. He hoped to make many of them see things his way over time but for the time being, he ignored them and played games with them in his head.

He grinned to himself as he envisioned squeezing their throats until their limbs quieted and their eyes lost their lively glow. It was a clean way to go. He detested blood. He’d been cleaning it up since before he could remember, scrubbing guts and brains from floors, the bodies of men, women, and children. He never wished to see it again.

And, as if God wished to taunt him, one of the brothers from the circle broke from the rest and produced a knife. He stood before the three men, holding it as if it were a precious jewel. The dagger was lovely to behold. The metal shined in the lamp that glowed overhead. The handle looked ancient, carved from wood with more metal threaded through it.

This ground is where it first began, the Great Divider said. Here, the blood of brothers, past and present, was spilled. Release your blood now and join the realm of the gods.

The gods? Creed thought it a tad much but shrugged and reached for the blade before the other fools could. He refused to get anyone else’s blood on himself and thus planned to go first. He cut his palm swiftly, the stinging bite hurting worse than when he’d been cut anywhere else on his body in the past. Why the hand, he wondered?

The other two men cut themselves after him and all three opened their palms and let the blood fall onto the earth, the faint sound almost as gentle as the first drops of rain. The wind whistled again and Creed strained at the sound of voices. He shivered before taking his hand back, silently wondering if his mind were playing tricks on him or if the members of the past were truly around him. He detested things of this nature, believing that God was real and the devil’s demons even more so.

Remove your hoods, brothers.

Creed pulled his hood back and quickly looked at everyone around him, memorizing their faces before looking at the Great Divider. He laughed as he realized who the man in charge was.

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chapter 1

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October 16, 1834

London, England

Lady Nora Leverton kept her head low as she walked under the arch and into the courtyard of Westminster Palace, allowing her cape to shield her from the cold wind that seemed more severe within the last hour. She rushed up the stairs and entered the building. Heat engulfed her, and she took a breath as she marched further into the entryway.

Since the Season had long passed, the building was quiet, with only a few staff roaming the dark halls. The palace, which had been Parliament’s home for centuries, still held much of the design of the medieval ages and everyone loathed it. The lords always complained about the small rooms that left them with barely any space to move about and the gloom of the halls that lacked such necessities as light and air.

She imagined what the halls would look like when lords from all over England and Wales filled the space, undoubtedly standing shoulder to shoulder and grumbling just as much about the building as they would the newest bill.

She took one of those most loathed hallways and walked quickly to her destination. She tried the door she knew led to a small office and found it locked.

My lady.

She jumped, turned, and barely managed to make out Mr. Charles’ silhouette as he stood in the doorway of another room, only knowing it was him because of the deformity of his back that left him short and hunched over. When she’d first met him, he’d frightened her to no end but she’d grown used to his looks just as much as she had his briskness and determination to keep his distance, believing he’d chosen that way of being because he was afraid to let anyone hurt him.

She understood that sort of feeling more than he would ever know. 

A fire blazed behind him and he held out his hand,  his short blond hair glowing in the light. Did you bring the letter?

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the latest note she’d received. It’s frightfully cold outside.

Mr. Charles took the letter, opened it and began to read.

Would you mind if I stood by the fire for a moment? she asked when he didn’t offer it to her.

He looked up and moved into the room, leaving the door open as answer.

She followed him and closed the door behind her, quickly and silently moving toward the flames so as not to disturb him. The fire’s spitting and the sound of papers moving were the only sounds that filled the otherwise darkened room.

Do you live far from here, Mr. Charles? she asked.

No, why do you ask?

She smiled. The cold is bitter tonight. Perhaps I could give you a ride home when you are ready.

He shook his head and started to look over the papers on his desk. A lady such as you should never go near the place I live.

She watched him pull out a pen and new sheet of paper before he wrote. On many occasions, she’d noticed how beautiful his handwriting was, holding an art that begged to be read, but he never actually let her see what he wrote and she never looked at the letters she delivered to him. That was the agreement she’d struck in the beginning—her services in exchange for what she wanted most: respectability.

Mr. Charles closed the letter, walked around the small desk, and gave it to her. See that it gets to his lordship.

Of course. She stared at the note and wondered with a grin what latest bill she would aiding. The first set of notes she’d passed between the members of Parliament had helped the Ten-Hour Bill, which ensured that children were only allowed to work in factories for up to ten hours a day. Before, the young ones had been forced by factories to labor at night. Now, they could sleep. Many times, members of Parliament could never agree even within their own parties. Nora now helped arrange private meetings between men who were of like minds, men who cared about the lower classes.

She started for the door just as she heard the distant sound of something in the structure of the building giving way, a dull whine in the quiet of room before a crash vibrated the floor.

Mr. Charles went around her, flung the door open, and gasped before turning his dark eyes on her. We must leave quickly, my lady.

Nora quickly moved toward the door and her skin broke into gooseflesh at the fire that blazed down the hall, consuming the hallway with a most frightening speed.

Mr. Charles grabbed her hand and pulled her in the other direction, rushing her down the now hot hallway before coming to an abrupt stop. Another fire blocked them and a pillar crashed to the ground. The building was being eaten by the flames.

Mr. Charles opened the door next to them and pushed her in, closing the door behind them but Nora knew the door would not keep back the fire. She’d watched it move with a dark force. She backed away far from the door and Mr. Charles went to the window. He tried to open it but it wouldn’t move.

It must be frozen, he told her.

Frozen? In this heat? The room was warm and she cried out when she saw the smoke slip from under the door right before flames broke out in the corner.

Mr. Charles moved to a water basin. Empty those flower pots onto the walls. It will slow down the flames. When the window melts from the heat, we’ll escape.

Can’t you break it? she asked. Although she did as she was told, taking one pot and then another and splashing the wall, the flames ate through the roof, turning the wood to instant ash. They were trapped. She was going to die.

I’m barely strong enough to move a chair, much less fling it at a window.

The sound of glass breaking made her leap for joy; she saw a man climbing through. She noticed, even in her panic, how beautiful he was and how very large he looked standing in the small room.

She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were as they settled on Mr. Charles right before they moved to her. His first reaction was surprise then anger. What are you doing here?

She opened her mouth, sure she meant to answer, but she was stunned back into silence as he strolled across the room, bent, placed his shoulder in her stomach, and lifted her. Cold hit her immediately as they made it out of the building, the contrast of the two climates shocking to her system.

Without ceremony, he put her on the ground and proceeded to do the same to a coughing Mr. Charles, picking him up and carrying him out of the building. Once the little man was on the ground, he fell to his knees and continued to fight for air.

The stranger straightened his coat as he moved to her.

Are you all right?

She moved around him. We must see to Mr. Charles first. She knelt by the man she’d grown to care for during the last few months and touched his shoulder. Are you all right? She should have thought to break the window herself but had frozen in the moment. If the stranger hadn’t come, they’d be dead.

Between breaths, he waved her away. I’ll be fine.

Nora leaned back as the stranger wrapped an arm around Mr. Charles and pulled him up. We need to move further from the building. They left the courtyard and crossed the street. Nora turned around and stared at the palace. It now resembled a sun, its flames lighting up the night. There would be no saving it. When the flames died, she suspected it would be mostly gone. She hoped the few men and women who’d been inside had made it out all right and watched as the street filled up around her, men, women, and children looking toward the ever-growing flames as they waved from the very peaks of the building.

The fire would make history and leave its mark forever.

A hand on her shoulder startled her and she turned to look at her timely savior. What were you doing in there? With the glow of the fire, she noticed his eyes were different colors. One blue and the other green. She smiled.

Why are you smiling? he asked.

I have a close friend with eyes like yours, she whispered and she moved closer to him. How very odd.

He glared. If your friend is Miss Winifred Seton then that would make sense, since she is my sister.

Nora’s eyes widened and she studied the rest of his features. He was very handsome with strong lines that defined the muscles in his cheeks and jaw. His hair was a dark blond with strands of copper throughout it. Her friend Winifred, or Winnie, had two brothers and since she’d already met the other, she knew exactly who she was speaking to. Mr. Lucas Seton.

At your service. Now tell me why you are here?

Nora concentrated on his words and not the way his mouth managed to maintain its frown as he spoke. She imagined he was beautiful no matter what he did and feared the shock of his smile.

If he did smile at all. At the moment, he seemed angry and she didn’t understand why.

He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. You’re trembling. Are you cold? The smell of sandalwood settled around her and she fought the urge to press her nose to his collar.

No. She supposed she was trembling because she’d nearly lost her life. How easy it was to concentrate on him and not the fire that burned only yards away. Can we speak of something else, please?

She watched as his expression softened and he nodded. Of course.

She smiled. Winnie says you travel. In fact, she recalled Winnie saying how leisurely an existence Lucas had led as opposed to her father and brother, both men who’d served in the army for the Crown and returned as knights.

I do travel. Lucas’ eyes moved over her before settling on her face again. But before we get into what I do, you’ve not told me your name.

Nora licked her lips and looked down, very aware that she’d not shared that detail about herself and for very good reason. She lifted her eyes and confessed, I’m Lady Nora Leverton.

He nodded. You’re the Earl of Chasewood’s daughter.

Yes.

Your brothers are all very talented. Lord Marion is a painter, Lord Warren is a writer, and Mr. Ambrose is a composer. Do you hold any talents?

Nora frowned. What do you mean? She feared what sort of talents he was referring to.

Painting? he asked with a lifted brow. Embroidery? Sculpting? Perhaps you can sing. His eyes held not dark humor, only earnest inquisition.

Her lips fell apart. I can’t sing.

He seemed neither disappointed nor very interested at that and looked at the fire. I hope everyone got out all right.

Yes. She was still staring at him, waiting for him to stop being pleasant and to get to the point. Whenever she informed anyone of who she was, it was never her brothers or her father that came to mind but always her mother, Lady Chasewood, the woman who’d married a man and then slept with his cousin in order to become a countess. Her brother, Mr. Ambrose Leverton, was her half-brother and yet also her cousin, since her mother had been married to the earl’s brother. Then she’d become pregnant by the earl and, as luck would have it, Nora’s uncle died just in time for her mother to marry Lord Chasewood and give birth to Cole, or Lord Marion, as he was known, and then Nora’s brother Warren had been born before herself.

Yet, while the rest of her family was male, Nora’s reputation had been stained by the sins of her mother, the infidelity making it impossible for any man to see her for herself. She’d been born a harlot in the eyes of the ton and the only men who were ever nice to her only sought to make her their mistress. Never their wife. Some of them didn’t even bother to be kind.

She’d grown used to the ugliness of the beau monde