The Reluctant Countess: Rockhaven Trilogy, #3

By Cali Moore

            Jade Rockford was in the throes of grief when she learned she was now the countess of a place called Rockhaven. A place that had been in Rockford hands for over seven hundred years. She was the last. She was also an American and knew nothing of the family's ancient history. She took it lightly and wanted to refuse, but Peter wouldn't allow it. He wanted her to go, if only for the diversion from grief.

            Before she even sets eyes on Rockhaven, she is confronted by Ryse Norman. It's obvious he doesn't like her and she learns there are many reasons for that. Not the least of which is that he disapproves of her plans. But initial impressions are often misleading and passion can take many forms. The early battle lines start to blur and disappear. But the one thing neither of them can ignore is that Jade and Rockhaven are inseparable. Ryse must decide which is more important and Jade must decide if she can trust that decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: Apr 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393103929

Book preview

Chapter One

Northern California , 1985.

Peter Harris walked through the back door and frowned at Jade. You look like hell.

Considering I feel like I’ve been beaten from the inside out, I’ll take that as a compliment. She took a long pull of her vodka tonic and set the glass down heavily on the table.

You saw Lance, Peter guessed. Did he know you?

Yes. Jade nodded toward the fridge. Get some wine and sit down.

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. He had tried to see Lance that afternoon, but he had been asleep. Or drugged to the gills. There was little difference in the way he slept anymore. It was hard to tell. He poured a glass of chardonnay and sat across from Jade. Lance’s vacant seat screamed of his life. And impending death. Peter wasn’t sure who it was harder on, him or Jade. What happened? He finally asked after a bracing sip.

Jade glanced around the cheery kitchen. Lance had redecorated it five years ago, taking all of their likes into consideration. It was an eclectic mix that people either loved or loathed. The bright yellow Jade favored was present in the accents; the cabinet handles, picture mattes, towels, and more. The signs of the gourmet cook Peter was were evident in the baker’s rack and hanging copper-bottomed pots over the butcher-block island. Lance’s love of the sea was reflected in the variety of blues and greens that made up the rest of the color scheme and the colorful sail that billowed down from the ceiling. It was a bold, busy room that reflected their lives and the courage they all brought to their work.

Lance hadn’t worked in a long time. Peter had done nothing more innovative than shoots of naked women for mild pornography. Jade hadn’t written a melody in over a year. To the world that didn’t matter. She wasn’t known as a composer. She was a diva. Not known for voice, but for instruments. Any instrument. From bluegrass to classical, if a bit of magic was required, she was called.

Jade Rockford could deliver magic.

On any instrument you could name and a number you couldn’t, as archaic as they were. And with her voice, though there were few artists who wanted competition on that level and she preferred instrumental works so rarely sang in public. Still, her voice alone could make a grown man weep. And had, many times.

It was hard having three artists living in the same house. Even one as large as theirs. Jade required two rooms for herself. One for her instruments and one for her bed and clothes. Peter and Lance, between the two of them, had needed three. One bedroom, a darkroom, and a light-filled studio in which Lance put people’s dreams on paper. And his own. Buildings he had designed now stood coast to coast and in a few foreign countries. He had designed this house the same way he had redone the kitchen. With the three of them in mind, even taking into account that one day Jade might actually marry a man who would want to live there with them and bring children into their lives.

It was a beautiful house on the northern coast of California, overlooking the sea Lance loved with the passion of their parents. The fickle sea that had claimed them while Jade was still an adolescent and Lance had become mother and father as well as brother.

He had been well suited to the task and thrived on it. Already firmly attached to Peter, the two men had provided her with everything a young girl could ever want and more love than most ever knew.

Oh, there had been a few dicey moments in the early years when Jade had started dating and her escorts figured out that she was living with two gay men. Several of them had never been able to see beyond that to the men they were and she quickly learned it was a good test of a man’s character.

She could handle uncomfortable, after all, there were a lot of people who were ignorant strictly from lack of exposure. But intolerance would have her sending them packing within five minutes. She loved and adored both her brother and his partner.

Jade finally answered Peter’s question. He remembered my birthday was yesterday.

Peter frowned. So?

I’m thirty.

He scowled. Same question.

He wanted to know if I was ever going to get married and start a family.

Peter smiled sadly. He knew long ago it would be up to you to do so. What did you tell him?

First, I want to ask you something.

Peter took another sip of his wine. Shoot.

How did your day go?

He leaned back in his chair and wondered where the hell she was going with this. As always. I spent seven hours shooting a naked woman who thought she could convert me.

They all tried to convert him, Jade knew. Peter Harris was gorgeous, with a body to match and he dressed to show it off. Not out of conceit, but because he believed all things should be presented as well as possible. Was she pretty?

He shrugged. Well-formed, nice hair, big boobs, you know, the usual.

Did you feel anything?

He grinned. Jade had never asked such a thing. I felt a lot of things. Frustration at her lack of professionalism. Gorgeous is, unfortunately, rarely professional. Amusement at her blatant innuendo. Worry for Lance, concern for you, and frankly, quite sick of it all. He drained his wine. Now, tell me why you look like hell.

He wants us to have a child.

Peter dropped his glass. It shattered on the ceramic floor tile. Neither of them commented on it. No.

You wouldn’t have to touch me. The doctors could do it.

Peter stood up and strode to the window to look at the flower garden Jade so lovingly nurtured and tended when she was home. His hands clenched the edge of the counter. He thought of Jade as the daughter he would never have. He loved her every bit as much as he loved Lance, but in a very different way. You would do this for him?

I would do anything for him, she said quietly, but firmly. Or you.

Peter didn’t look at her. It’s not possible, Jade. Even if I wanted to do it, I couldn’t.

We wouldn’t have to actually sleep together...

No! He bellowed and whirled around to face her. I could kill you!

Pain.

Pain even stronger than she had felt when Lance had admitted he had AIDS. A gay disease. A disease some felt was God’s penalty for their immorality. She felt like laughing at that absurd thought. Lance was the most moral person she knew. He and Peter had been together for over twenty years and neither had ever slept with anyone else, male or female. Lance was dying because of tainted blood he’d been given in the hospital after a car accident, not for loving Peter.

What was supposed to have saved his life was what was killing him.

You’re positive, aren’t you? She whispered shakily. You’re going to die.

Peter crossed the floor and pulled her into his arms. It’s not AIDS yet.

It will be, she sniffed into his shoulder. I’m going to lose you, too, she whispered brokenly.

What could he say? Jade knew everything about the disease a layman could, and more. She had made a point of it in her fight to help her brother. A lie would make neither of them feel better. Yes. Eventually.

I can’t take anymore, she vowed, pulling out of his embrace. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted rage. Pure, unadulterated, blazing rage. Jade grabbed her keys from the peg on the wall and Peter immediately snatched them from her.

Go. But walk, he said firmly. We’ll talk later.

She glared at him and ran from the house as if she could run from life itself. She couldn’t and she knew that, but for a while, she could pretend.

Peter watched her race toward the beach through the kitchen window. He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this. And they weren’t done. Lance didn’t know and he’d be damned if he’d allow him to find out. It was a guilt Lance didn’t need to die with and Jade was going to hold her tongue if he had to lock her up.

It was odd how little he cared for himself. Lance would be gone in a few weeks at the most. He was now so wasted he didn’t even look like himself. The doctors said pneumonia would probably be what took him. Peter had seen his own future as he watched Lance waste away. AIDS was so new and little was known about it except that it meant death.

He thought of the fear it was causing in the populace. Jade had never shown them any of that. At first, she had been optimistic in a Pollyanna sort of way. Then she had become grimly determined. The worse her brother got, the harder she fought. By learning and loving. She had never stepped away from a touch from either of them. She had not increased the level of cleanliness in the house. The only way she had changed was in her social life. She had closed out everyone in her effort to spend as much time with her brother as possible.

While they had the time.

Lance and Peter had both known when she had accepted her brother’s premature death. That was when she’d stopped composing. They had both spoken to her, together and separately. She had told them the same thing. She would write again when she could write what she wanted to.

They had both interpreted that as meaning after Lance had gone.

They had all learned that the death couldn’t possibly be as bad as the dying.

And she would have to go through it all again. With him. Peter wanted more than anything to spare her that. But how?

Three weeks later, Devrock, Wales

If she hadn’t been ready for him it would have been what amounted to a brutal rape. As it was, Caryn took Ryse easily. Just looking at the man made her ready. Ryse Norman was everything a girl could want in a man. Gorgeous, strong, smart, rough in his passion and tender afterward.

Until now. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Ryse was in a rage. The question was, why?

Ryse rolled off the woman who had been his lover for over two years and rose. Without a word, he donned his pants and walked to the window to stare out at the flocks of sheep covering the land, the buildings that refined their fleece. It was all his.

Rockhaven was not.

Ryse? Caryn asked carefully. What’s wrong?

Ryse shifted his gaze to the small bit of land visible across the sea. So close, yet so very far away. Lance Rockford is dead.

Caryn was really confused now. That bit of news should make him ecstatic. That leaves you everything!

He has a sister.

Caryn sat up. What? I didn’t know that!

He turned back to her, his blue eyes shuttered and unreadable. Either did I. Until today. Ryse had resigned himself to never holding Rockhaven. Hell, he had never really expected to hold Devrock, though he’d known for more than a dozen years that Marcus planned on leaving it to him. He’d been raised from birth to run the huge estate, but even Marcus’ promise of ownership upon his death had seemed empty. Then his son had died and Ryse began to believe that Devrock might really be his. Maybe even Rockhaven.

But Jade Rockford, as the last of the illustrious family that had spanned seven hundred years, now held Rockhaven. She even held the title. Even in these modern times of apathy toward the nobility, the Rockhaven title meant something. Hell, it meant everything, and not just to him.

The Rock of Hope. The Rock of Honesty. The Rock of Dreams. A measly rock off the Welsh coast that had become legendary with very good reason. It had spawned greatness in more meaningful ways than just wealth.

Ryse had reconciled himself to an American architect inheriting the Rock. The man was reasonably wealthy and, as an architect, probably would have respected the place enough to leave it alone.

He was not prepared to see it all go to a woman.

What do you know about her? Caryn asked.

Not a bloody thing, he admitted. Other than she’s an American. His voice held a note of derision and Caryn smiled to herself. Ryse didn’t like Americans. At least not the ones he’d met. He wasn’t completely unfair and capable of acknowledging that he’d known relatively few, most of them businessmen who thought to take advantage of Devrock. And his ex-wife, who’d thought to take advantage of him.

Ryse Norman was not that easily fooled. 

Caryn frowned, fully aware that the night was not going to be filled with passion and laughter. Why do you care so bloody much? She demanded. It’s a rock, for God’s sake. The money is here, on Devrock. Marcus left you that. She laughed suddenly, remembering the taxes Ryse was going to have to pay. Maybe she can’t afford to keep it.

Ryse thought about that. It was a possibility. After Marcus had lost his only legitimate son he had hired investigators to find out what had happened to the branch of the family that had immigrated to America over a hundred years ago. Marcus was not a foolish man, but he was a sentimental one. Ryse had been aware, even before Marcus had started the search for a legitimate living Rockford, that Rockhaven would never be his if one was found. Ryse had given Devrock his life and Marcus had been pleased with his performance as its steward. He should have been, he’d seen Ryse trained to the job from birth though he hadn’t been expected to own it back then, just run it. Marcus was not about to leave Devrock to an unknown quantity. As Caryn pointed out, Devrock was the money that supported Rockhaven.

Nor could the Rockhaven title go to any but a true Rockford and Marcus did not want to be the last of his line. Not a line such as his. Hell, it was the oldest direct line in England and not a bad one in the lot.

Of course, they had all been natives of the British Isles.

Jade Rockford was an American. Fourth generation American.

Ryse presumed she was a flighty woman who cared only for money. That she lived in California only reinforced that assumption. And her brother had died of AIDS. If he had been gay, she could well be a lesbian, and the line was dead anyway. 

Ryse?

He sighed. If she can’t afford the Rock, it’s mine. Never the title, but the island? Aye, he would find a way to hold onto that.

Not ours?

Don’t push, Caryn.

She pouted prettily. She really was lovely with all that wild red hair and hips that wouldn’t quit, though in reality he preferred more chest than hips. She could capsize a boat by simply walking on it with those swaying hips. Will you ever commit?

Ryse shrugged. Don’t count on it.

The practiced pout turned into a real scowl. You don’t love anything, do you?

I love Devrock.

And Rockhaven? She prodded, nastily.

And Rockhaven, he agreed, uncaring of her irritation.

Peter answered the door. Jade didn’t move. She didn’t even look up. There was no rage anymore. Where once there had been feelings, there was nothing but emptiness. She had survived her parents’ death because of Lance. She would survive Lance’s because Peter wouldn’t allow anything else. Next she would have to deal with his. Alone.

Completely.

For the first time in her life, she would be truly alone. She knew that. She could even accept it. As far as she was concerned, she was preparing for that. Mentally. Emotionally. She had learned with Lance that it was easier to start letting go before you had to.

In the end, Lance’s death had been a relief, though she had admitted that to no one. He hadn’t been her brother anymore. Not the brother she wanted to remember. He hadn’t been Peter’s mate. His lover. Jade knew for a fact they hadn’t been intimate since Lance had found out what was wrong with him. Lance wouldn’t allow it. It had been too late. For over two years, they had suffered needlessly.

She thought that the greatest atrocity of all.

Especially since she knew Peter would never seek anyone else. His illness prevented it practically, but she suspected even without that, he wouldn’t. Their bond had been a rare thing. A thing of beauty.

A once in a lifetime type of thing.

They would fight as quickly as they would laugh. They would rant, rave, joke, and smile secretly. They never touched in public and rarely in front of her. They didn’t have to. Neither of them were stereotypical. Lance had been a big man. Huge, actually. He had been a shade under six foot five. His hair was a golden blonde, his shoulders massive enough that buying shirts was a real problem. If they fit there, they were too large around his hard stomach. Jade spent a lot of time taking them in for him. His jeans hadn’t been quite as bad, but he never found size 36W by 38L on sale. He had not been particularly handsome. Lance’s face was too sharply drawn for that.

Peter was very attractive. His dark, wavy hair framed a face that, at forty, was showing the signs of the wrinkles of smiles. Jade had thought for years that there couldn’t possibly be a man who smiled as much as Peter. He could still smile, despite the pain of loss and thoughts of death. And his build. He was six feet of lean, cat-like agility and grace.

Had he not been gay and totally uninterested in her sexually, he could have had her virginity at the tender age of fifteen.

But two men women would have fought over, from the moment they met, had had eyes only for each other.

Peter escorted an average looking man into the kitchen. For the first time in days Jade felt amusement as the suited man surveyed the room. You hate it, she said with a small grin.

He cocked a brow. I don’t believe I said that.

You’re English! She exclaimed.

Very observant, he said dryly.

Jade laughed. Quite, she teased. He scowled and she sobered. All right. What is an Englishman doing in our kitchen?

Are you Jade Rockford?

Last I looked. Peter?

Don’t be obnoxious, brat, he scolded gently.

She shrugged. He’s pompous.

Beside the point, he muttered.

And what is the point? She inquired sweetly.

The strange man cleared his throat. He didn’t like this. Any of it. He had tried to convince Marcus to give it up and leave it all to Ryse. Ryse deserved it. Ryse would take care of it, title or no. He didn’t think the woman grinning at him would take care of anything, much less the Rock. She had buried her brother a week ago and she was laughing.

Dear God, she was the Countess of Rockhaven. Even more, she was The Lady of the Rock.

I need proof.

Jade frowned, the false mirth vanishing as quickly as it had arisen. Peter, who is this man?

Alexander Matthews, the man replied. Solicitor of Marcus Rockford, late earl of Rockhaven.

Jade stared at him. Late what?

Earl of Rockhaven.

It was all Peter could do to not burst out laughing. An earl? He asked as seriously as he could manage. Like Jade, the absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. The Rockfords were peerage?

Lance might have been an earl?

He was getting ahead of himself, he scolded. He should just listen to what the man has to say. He couldn’t help but wish Lance were here. He would have loved this, whatever the hell it was.

What does this Rockhaven have to do with me? Jade inquired. And what exactly is it?

Alex sighed. May I sit down?

Peter rushed to pull out a chair for the man, appalled at his lack of manners. Drink?

Scotch?

Dewars.

The man smiled. That will do. Just rocks. Alex waited until his Scotch was before him. Rockhaven, my lady, is an island....

My what? Jade asked incredulously.

My lady.

She blinked at him. You’re serious.

Alex grinned. Quite.

Oh God, she sighed. Peter, I need a drink.

On the way. He got up again to make her a vodka tonic with a twist of lime. While he was at it, he poured himself some wine.

May I continue? Alex asked, rapidly revamping his views. Jade Rockford, now that he took the time to notice, was the spitting image of her long dead ancestor, Teal. And she had the eyes of the even more distant Shara. It was almost frightening. He recalled everything Marcus had ever told him about Teal Rockford and wondered if he wasn’t looking at that woman instead of a descendant a hundred and seventy years later. Had Marcus known? He frowned. This may sound odd, my lady, but do you play the harp?

Peter snorted, She plays everything.

Everything?

From a lute to a marimba to a synthesizer to any horn you care to name.

Alex was persistent, if nothing else. The harp?

Peter, Jade said quietly. My lap harp. She and Alex sipped their drinks and regarded each other warily while Peter was gone, neither of them saying a word. Jade didn’t have a clue what was going on, but she sensed that the man needed assurance somehow. If he needed it in music, she could provide it.

Alex felt one thing as he stared back at Jade. Strength. This woman before him had more than most men hoped for. He shuddered internally, recalling Marcus’ words on his deathbed, just after hearing of Lance’s death.

If she’s a true Rockford, you’ll know it.

He already did. She was.

Peter returned with the small, ancient lap harp and handed it to Jade. Her hands didn’t take it, they cradled it, lovingly. She looked at Alex. This particular harp is over five hundred years old. I beggared myself for it years ago when I was still poor in my own right. I was never really poor. I had my parents and then my brother and Peter. All wealthy, all generous. I wanted to make my own way.  Look at it, Mr. Matthews. She held it up with reverence, the gold inlay in the frame glistened. I had to replace the strings, she confessed as if to a mortal sin. They were shot. I’ve been assured I duplicated the original as closely as possible. She plucked a few strings and made some adjustments. Request?

Do you play by ear?

Yes.

He hummed a tune she had never heard. Jade tilted her head and listened before saying, A ballad. An old minstrel’s tune. Medieval period, probably early Middle Ages.

Alex nodded, stunned. How could she tell that from such a poor sample and no words? Seven hundred years old.

She smiled. And it’s still known?

Only by those of the Rock.

The Rock. Jade shook her head and played the melody perfectly on the beautiful harp in her hands. Are there words? She asked after she was done.

Yes.

Well?

Not yet, Alex said, watching her hands again pluck the strings with a beauty he’d rarely encountered. In any form. He didn’t know the melody, which wasn’t surprising. He recognized it as sad.

Peter’s eyes grew wide. Jade?

She nodded, acknowledging it was new. It was for Lance. Brother, mother, father, friend, and so much more. He was gone now and she could finally remember. She could begin to forget the wasted man she had seen the last countless months and remember the one who had loved her without restraint. Even when he had been yelling at her for doing something incredibly stupid, she’d known she was loved.

And how she had loved him.

Men like Lance Rockford were rare and Jade had not been ignorant for her thirty years. She knew that.

Words? Peter echoed her question to Alex.

For reply, she added her voice to the sounds of the harp.

Like the coals burning in the hearth

Life flames hotly then burns with slow desire

Like the moon that dictates the tides

Life burns wildly and then subsides

But constants remain, the foundation

For when all is stripped way

Love is all that matters, our salvation

Many roles we have, many parts we play

It is still ourselves we put to bed at the end of the day

Oh, tell me a story of a daring knight

Sing to me softly while the stars burn bright

A legend of time, you’re a legend of mine

My weary soul knows you’ll see me through the night

The embers flutter and a life goes out

The dawn that’s breaking greets one less soul

But life goes, on one step at a time

Each minute, each hour, make up the whole

And the memories we hold will honor you

For your time on earth was not misspent

God knows how you cared and how you loved

And how much we hate the haste

With which your life came and went

Oh tell me a story of a daring knight

Sing to me softly while the stars burn bright

A legend of time, you’re a legend of mine

My weary soul knows you’ll see me through the night.

My aching heart knows you’ll see me through my life.

Peter left the kitchen.

Jade closed her eyes. "Damn! He wasn’t ready for that."

Alex wondered if anyone ever would