Treason

By Michelle Chambers

Lord Darby Manderville rescues an unfortunate beggar from certain death on the moors, but when he discovers a long lost family heirloom sewn within the hem of her dress resentment, prejudice, and contempt soon takes the place of his compassion.

Celeste Darwent comes to Teigne Hall a haunted woman; a woman without a past yet her presence will shatter Darby’s life as, unwittingly, she unlocks a secret best left alone. A secret that has already fated their lives, condemns them to commit Treason of the heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: After Hours Publications
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005371692

Michelle Chambers

(Interracial ) Romance Author - contemporary, historical, myth & fantasy - more than simply boy meets girl.~Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Book preview

TREASON; A BWWM Historical Romance

By, MICHELLE CHAMBERS

Published by After Hours Publications at Smashwords.

Distributed by Smashwords.

©2017 by After Hours Publications, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 17+

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Chapter One

November 1608

She trudged across the wide and desolate moor, her desperate sobs heard by none. Her body was numb and exhausted, and her limbs felt heavy, but she willed her feet forward step by agonizing step. She could neither turn back nor remain victim to the windswept wilds.

She drew the wet cloak tighter about her shoulders. It offered no more protection from the fierce winds than the sodden dress clinging to her shattered body. She’d escaped Scully’s ship and had survived the icy sea, but what would become of her now? She caught her ankle against the jagged edge of a rock and stumbled helplessly to the ground; her painful cry lost within the tumultuous surroundings. Her body shivered, but she’d long since given up fighting off the cold. She longed for sleep.

Get up!

Locked away in the recesses of her mind were the precious memories of a little boy that she would never know again. Her trembling fingers sought and found the small locket about her neck. She clasped it tightly to her breast and lay down on the frozen ground. She closed her eyes.

Get up!

A loud rumble traversed the ground, its sound resonating deep in her bones. Then, an intense flash of white light exploded behind her closed eyelids compelling her eyes open. The faint echo of a voice shattered the night air.

Go on, Mistral! Gee up!

Horses? She heard horses or was her mind playing tricks, giving her hope when there was none?

She struggled upright and caught sight of a shimmering white orb in the distance. It moved wildly through the darkness disappearing and reappearing as it loomed closer and dispersed the shadows around it.

A coach?

For a fleeting moment, joy swelled her heart before doubt bade caution. What if she was already discovered gone? Scully wouldn’t easily forgive Amos his treachery as he wouldn’t forgive her, her escape. Panic propelled her painfully to her feet, and she clambered backward into the shadows. Her heart throbbed ferociously against her ribs. She would rather die than go back to him.

The brightness drew nearer devouring the darkness before it in fantastic tempo. Its brilliance flashed across her face briefly blinding her, and the ground trembled in warning. Her eyes widened with dawning realization, and she stumbled backward in her haste to escape the galloping horses coming over the rise. Too late, she scrambled to her feet.

The horses stuttered to an abrupt halt and pawed the air in their alarm. A powerful hoof came down hard on her shoulder knocking her back to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. Startled hooves first raised in apprehension now trampled the ground about her in nervous excitement.

The driver’s voice boomed through the darkness. Whoa, Mistral! Whoa, whoa, lad!

He jumped down from his seat atop the coach and rushed to the lead horse. Easy boy! Easy now, lad!

The horse briefly struggled against the familiar handling and soothing tone. It snorted defiantly but soon calmed, its compliance quickly mirrored by the other horses.

The coach door swung open, and its passenger alighted braving the biting cold and lashing rain. He called out above the storm.

Davy, are you all, right? What happened?

I’m fine, my lord. Something spooked the horses.

What is it?

Some dead animal or other I think. It’s still there in the middle of the carriageway, my lord.

The Earl of Hawkridge reached for the lantern swinging on the front of the carriage and edged toward the sprawled, black mass.

Be careful, my lord!

The light scattered the darkness revealing the still figure of a woman lying on the narrow path. Lord Hawkridge swore and oath and dashed forward. He dropped to his knees and felt for signs of life. A low moan escaped the woman’s lips. She was barely alive.

He quickly removed his cloak and draped it over her. She moaned again as he scooped her into his arms, then stood and brushed past his coachman’s stunned countenance.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Davy exclaimed. It’s a woman.

The coachman hastened after Lord Hawkridge who put the woman into the warmth of his carriage. What’s she doing out here in the middle of nowhere and at this ungodly hour?

Lord Hawkridge stared down at the bruised face partially covered by dark tendrils of her hair. She was so slight he marveled how she’d managed to survive the bitter weather.

I don’t know, Davy, he said.

His hand instinctively recoiled from the woman’s hair as she groaned again and turned her amber colored gaze unexpectedly onto his. He pulled back further, puzzled by the depth of fear and hostility in her eyes as recognition dawned in their depths. She couldn’t possibly know him. There were none in his acquaintance with a complexion quite as bronzed as hers. And yet something stirred deep within him. For the first time in three years, he felt the powerful surge of his heartbeat, and it unnerved him.

The woman screamed. No!

She clawed at his face, her nails leaving their mark. She lunged past him to the coach door eliciting an oath in his surprise.

He pulled her back to him. You little fool, he ground out. Are you trying to kill yourself?

She struggled feverishly in his arms. Let me go, she cried.

Be still!

His terse command achieved the desired result shocking her into silence. She sank wearily against his chest the tiniest of pleas rising in her throat.

Let me be. Please… let me be.

****

The housekeeper was the first to hear the return of the horses as they passed through the lower gates at Teigne Hall. Lord Hawkridge had already alighted from the coach holding a bundle in his arms when she appeared in sleeping attire followed by Maud, the servant girl, carrying a lighted candle.

She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. My lord, she began in her surprise. We were not expecting you until tomorrow—

Her eyes widened at the still form in his arms. Heaven have mercy, she exclaimed. What happened?

Lord Hawkridge was uncharitable in his reply. The little fool was almost trampled to death. If Davy hadn’t reacted quickly, she would be dead now. God knows what she was doing on the moor at this hour.

The woman moved restlessly against him unaware of his words, in search of his strength and his warmth. His arms tightened instinctively about her making a mockery of his anger. Lord Hawkridge strode toward the doors leading up to the west wing.

I’ll put her in the Green Room, he called over his shoulders.

Mrs. Burton raised her eyebrows sharply. At Lord Hawkridge’s insistence, the rooms in the west wing hadn’t been used since his fiancée’s death. She rounded on the chambermaid at her side.

Boil some water, collect clean towels, linen and a fresh nightgown and bring them to the west wing. Quickly lass, she instructed. And fetch the liniment from the coach-house.

The girl hurried away repeating the list as she went.

Mrs. Burton turned on her heel and entered the west wing but was stopped in her tracks by Lady Hawkridge’s soft tone.

Hattie, what’s going on?

Mrs. Burton looked up. Lady Hawkridge stood at the top of the elegantly carved stairs that led to the north side of the house gazing down onto the large rectangular entrance hall.

I heard a disturbance, she said.

’Tis his lordship, my lady.

Lady Hawkridge paled. She steadied herself against the rosewood banister, fingers digging into the wood. Darby? Is he… all right?

Mrs. Burton took a calming breath. My lord is fine, but he has returned with a lass, my lady, she explained.

At the slight arching of her mistress’ brow, Mrs. Burton hurried on. She is injured.

Who is she? Do we know her family?

No, my lady. I believe she’s a poor, unfortunate beggar.

Lady Hawkridge frowned. A beggar? Where is she?

In the Green Room, my lady.

I see. Will you tell Darby I would like to speak with him?

Yes, my lady.

****

The