Historical Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love A Lord's Passion Regency Romance: Fire and Smoke, #3

By Charlotte Stone

Book 03 in Fire and Smoke series - A Historical Romance Book

Will a terrible secret ruin the true love that blooms between best friends? 

 

Jane Watson cannot forget those long summer days with her best friend, John Christopherson.

But... everything changed on the day John left to make something of himself.

 

She never forget John's promise . . . that he will make something of himself and return for her.

When suddenly, two years later, at a ball, he appears...

Can she hold him to his promise? Most of all, does he still love her? 

 

While Jane wrestles with her feelings, it is clear that John's status is on the rise.

He is no longer a farmer's son but a viscount. 

 

Yet his rough upbringing means he may never be good enough for Jane, no matter how much he loves her, no matter what position he holds.

 

When John's father reveals a terrible secret of the most horrible nature, John must decide what to do.

If he shares this secret, it will affect not only John, but Jane.

It will also affect Jane's family... FAMILY, the one thing that matters to her most.

 

There is no way her family would ever approve of his marrying Jane now.

Not after what his father did. 

 

Will John be able to tell them all the truth?

If he does, is true forgiveness really possible?

Redemption is a powerful thing, but will John and Jane love and trust enough to experience it?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Stone
• Release date: Jul 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393443209

Charlotte Stone

In a near cynical world which we are currently living in, Charlotte finds comfort in the readings of Regency Romance writings, one of her favourite would be Laura Kinsale’s Flowers from the storm where the female character loves and saves the male lead character who is a stroke victim. It was such writings which inspired her to be an author herself. In Charlotte’s writings, the characters are able to see beyond the imperfections of each other and to accept and love one another, just the way one is. Isn’t this true of our inner self? To be able to find someone who is able to see the beauty in us, in spite of all imperfections we might have. Isn’t this true of what love really should be? Ever accepting, ever loving, ever seeking. May you find love and acceptance in Charlotte’s writings.

Book preview

prologue

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1821

Pritchford, Yorkshire

Jane Watson looked up into John Christopherson’s handsome face. Years ago, when his hands had been much smaller, when they’d been children, he had made a daisy chain for her, placing it gently on top of her head with a tenderness he still had as a man. He had proclaimed her Queen of the Fairies, making her giggle. She had never felt as beautiful as she did in the grove near the forest’s edge with so much innocence.

It still confounded her. How could someone so sweet and kind grow up in the situation that John had? She could not help but love him for that, for the way he had grown strong and true, like a tree around a nail. But she promised herself she loved him only as a friend and nothing more. She told herself that was the only way she could love him.

I cannot believe you are leaving, she said quietly, looking at the grass beneath their feet. The air smelled of the beginning of spring, of new life, which seemed so wrong under the circumstances.

You must see that I do not have a choice, Jane, John replied patiently, though if she was not mistaken, pain etched every word. The suit he wore was tight around his wrists and a bit short in the ankle. She knew that it was secondhand and that he hated that fact. He wore it only so he could support her today. She wondered where he had gotten it. This is a great chance for me. I thought... I thought you would be happy.

Glancing quickly at him, her blue eyes lit with determination. I am happy, she insisted, although the twisting in her gut indicated otherwise. She wanted to be happy for him. She just never imagined saying goodbye to John. He had been the anchor throughout her life. You are right. It is a great chance for you. And you must take it. I just... I just never expected... Oh, never mind.

He took a step nearer to her. His auburn hair, shades of red and brown and every color in between, shone in the sun, his gray eyes earnest. You never expected what, Jane? he asked, begging her to continue her train of thought. His heart beat thickly in his chest. Was it too much to hope that perhaps underneath the deep roots of friendship, she could feel something more?

Why was this so hard? John was her best friend. She never had to censor her words in front of him. She never had to think before she spoke with him. He laughed at her off-kilter humor and never made her feel stupid. But this conversation made it seem as if a chasm had opened between them. She was suddenly aware of why her sister had warned her about remaining friends with John, who was no longer a boy, but becoming a man. In the end, she shook her head vigorously, the tight pins her sister’s lady’s maid had fixed for her barely moving. She looked down at her dark gray dress. I cannot speak of it now. Not today. Not when Papa is gone.

You must know how sorry I am about your father, John murmured, taking a step closer to her. His hands, which he had scrubbed clean this morning, reached for Jane’s. His suit might be too small, but he would make himself as acceptable as possible for Jane and her family and for the funeral of the man who had always treated him with respect, no matter how awful John’s father had been to Mr. Watson. It was no secret that John was the son of the town drunk, but he did not have to look like it, not today. Is there anything you can do?

Jane’s eyes filled with tears. She thought of Julia, her own sister’s sister-in-law, and her ability to hide her feelings behind a mask. Jane did not have that ability yet, and she certainly did not have it with John, who knew her so well and for so long. She had never hidden her feelings from him. This boy was... the man she had cried in front of, who had gently wiped her tears from her cheek without making her feel awkward.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him. But you are leaving. And though I know you must go, I... She took a deep breath and grasped his hand tighter. Oh, John, she sighed. What am I to do once you are gone and I am without Papa, too?

Jane, John whispered. His eyelashes had always fascinated her, almost translucent but so long around his handsome gray eyes. You and I have never kept secrets from one another.

Yes, she confirmed, though she was perplexed. His thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her palm, almost as if he was unaware he was doing it. It felt intoxicating. I have never kept anything from you. But something nagged at her as they spoke, holding hands.

He swallowed, his throat moving over the cravat he wore. It was the first time she had seen him with anything but a shirt against his neck. She found she missed seeing the skin there and then blushed at the thought. Well, I must admit that I have kept something from you. Not purposefully, but because... I did not want things to change between us. I did not want you to feel obliged. And I did not want either of us to be embarrassed. But now that I am leaving—

You will come back though? You must! she interrupted, taking his hand in both of hers and stepping closer to him. She would be expected at the church soon, and had, in fact, snuck away to see John. But she’d had to. They had already said goodbye, but that had been before her father died and John had insisted on staying for the funeral. He had an incredible chance to work closely with a distant relative. A viscount! A viscount with an import-export business. With John’s head for figures, the figures she had taught him because he had no one else to learn from, she knew he would do well. Then, he could send money back to his brothers and they would not have to worry about his father and the farm falling to pieces.

John closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. I do not know that I will come back, Jane. You know my father. I do not know what it will be like once he knows that I am sending my wages home to my brothers. He will probably not have me, John explained.

Jane nodded and tried to swallow her tears. She did understand, but that did not make it easier. But you will write to me, will you not? And perhaps we can see each other in London? You did say the viscount has business there often? She was desperate that this would not be the end between them. He had been her friend all her life. She had taught him to read and then snuck him books. He protected her from a neighbor’s rabid dog and taught her how to climb trees.

John looked up at the sky. He removed his hand from Jane’s. You know... You must know that in London... Our friendship... You and I know nothing untoward has taken place, but there is no way that people would not talk about a friendship between someone like you and someone like me.

Someone like me? Who am I? she cried. I am no lady.

But you will be treated as such, John replied calmly, then bit his lip. Your guardians are an earl and a countess. And though I know it is not right to talk about such things, the size of the dowry I am sure Lord Wembley has settled on you will have men flocking to you. In all but name, you will be considered a lady, and one well sought after. There will be no room for a person like me. He hated to admit it, but it was the truth and they both needed to see the situation for what it was.

Her blue eyes filled with emotion. So then promise you will write to me.

For a moment, he stared into her eyes as if they were deep pools he could fall into. He found himself glancing at her lips, which was not appropriate, especially today. I cannot. He huffed out a breath and walked over to a tree, bending over slightly as if he had just run a long race.

You cannot? she asked indignantly as she walked over to him and touched his shoulder softly.

I cannot, he repeated. I cannot because I would like to more than write to you.

As he turned, her hand fell from his shoulder. Her eyes clouded with confusion. Whatever do you mean?

Jane, he murmured. I do not want anything ruined between the two of us.

But if you do not explain it to me, why you will not write to me, when you have explained we will probably never see one another again, then I must know. Because things will be ruined if we cannot even write to one another. Her lips quivered, and she bit down stubbornly on her bottom lip to stop it.

I cannot, he repeated with a great deal of agony. Because I would like to do more than write to you.

John? she questioned with confusion.

Jane, he whispered as he looked down at her. You are my best friend in all the world. And yet...

And yet...? she murmured.

And yet I think of you as more than a friend. Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut. He had promised he would not do this to her. He especially did not want to do this to her on the day of her father’s funeral. But was he wrong in considering that perhaps she wanted to hear these words from him? He took a step nearer to her, placing his palm against the smooth skin of her cheek. I want...

She wet her lips, feeling as if she was under a spell. You want...

To kiss you. John took a very deep breath as he lowered his forehead to hers. May I kiss you? It is something I have wanted to do for a very long time.

She nodded, and he slowly lowered his lips to hers. She had never been kissed before, so she tried to memorize everything from the feeling of his lips on hers, to his palm on her cheek, to his other hand falling to her waist. When she squeezed his shoulder, and tilted her head further because she found she liked the feeling of his mouth on her own, his lips parted against hers. She had to take a deep breath. As she did so, his lips descended again, this time taking her plump lower lip into his mouth.

She moaned.

She did not mean to. She truly did not mean to, but it felt so good. That sound seemed to change the kiss for them both. There was no time for embarrassment as he pulled her closer, and she wrapped both arms around his neck. His mouth was opening against hers and though she had no precedent for what they were doing, she had to be doing something right, because he moaned as well. Before either of them realized it, he had pressed her so her back was against the tree and they were kissing each other as if their very lives depended on it. In the farthest part of her brain, she thought that this must be wrong but how could it be when it was John? Actually, it felt completely right.

Jane, John panted against her neck where his lips had found some skin that made her breathe heavily, pressing her body to his, as he nestled her into the tree. She wanted to stay there forever. We cannot. This is not right.

John, she murmured as she looked up at him, dazed. Have you always wanted to do this with me? Kiss me?

He laughed, but it wasn’t his real laugh, not the one she loved to hear. He seemed to be laughing at himself. This is a little more than a kiss. Once again, he leaned his forehead against hers. She took a deep breath, inhaling his intoxicating scent. I want to do more than kiss you. I want to marry you. But I have always known that I cannot. He tried to let her go, but she only pulled him closer, frustrating him as he tried to do the right thing, even as she offered what he truly wanted. I have been in love with you for so long. I have dreamt of you being my wife.

Still in a daze, she kissed the corner of his mouth, drawing it out. She had always been a fast learner whenever Cat gave her lessons. She supposed that translated to the kissing lesson John had just inadvertently given her. I would marry you. She did not realize what she had said, nor the truth of it, until she realized he had stopped breathing. She dropped her arms from his neck, flushing. Oh, John. Her eyes filled with tears. We—

Cannot, he finished for her, looking sadder than she had ever seen him, sadder than even after an awful beating from his father. We cannot. And I have known this. My father is a drunk, and you are going to live at Pritchford Place. I should not have spoken of it, but I am going away and you will be given every opportunity in the world. I could not write to you. I could not keep some part of you to myself when you have a life to live.

But you kissed me, she murmured. She tried to fix her hair, but she knew she would not be able to, not after being pressed against that tree.

I should not have. And I should not have spoken of my desire to marry you, not when I know it is impossible. He loosened his grip on her and took a step back. His eyes were a stormy, ashamed gray. You cannot marry a man like me.

She closed her eyes. Jane wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that after kissing him she could not imagine marrying anyone but him. But then she thought of her sister and of Ben and everything they had done and would do for her. There was no way they could approve of the match. I cannot marry you, she agreed, wanting to weep. You are right.

You should go. You must be expected at the funeral, John told her, kicking at the dirt with the shoes he had spent an hour polishing. They still would not be fine enough to ever set foot in Pritchford Place.

She nodded, feeling like she was under a spell. So this is goodbye then?

He agreed and she began to walk toward the church, feeling both joyful and sorrowful at the same time. How could this be both the best day and the worst day of her life? Just as she neared the road, she heard him running up behind her.

He took her hand, his front against her back as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, I would never ask you to wait for me. I could never do that, and I would never want that. But I swear to you, Jane Watson, I will make something of myself. I will be good enough for you and if you are still free to marry, I will propose. I shall spend my life trying to be worthy of you.

Before she could turn and argue with him, he had run off. The last time she saw him was from the corner of her eye, at her father’s funeral, at the back of the church. So much for goodbyes.

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chapter 1

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1823

London

Jane did not believe in pouting. She supposed it had something to with the fact that she had grown up in a household with an older sister, Cat, who endured physical