Secret Love

By Cathryn de Bourgh

Angelyn de Poitiers is the heir to an ancient lineage, and after her father dies, she knows all that's left in this life is to fulfill his last will. For that reason she travels to the castle of Saint Auxerre in northern France, with the purpose of marrying the younger brother of the distinguished marquis de Ferbes.

The innocent young woman arrives after a troubled trip, only to discover her betrothed is absent and her hosts are cold and mysterious people, save for a certain gentleman's gaze, that keeps folowing her everywhere and wanting her in silence...

Secret Love, a French love story filled with intrigue, mystery, and passion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781071574485

Cathryn de Bourgh

Cathryn de Bourgh es autora de novelas de Romance Erótico contemporáneo e histórico. Historias de amor, pasión, erotismo y aventuras. Entre sus novelas más vendidas se encuentran: En la cama con el diablo, El amante italiano, Obsesión, Deseo sombrío, Un amor en Nueva York y la saga doncellas cautivas romance erótico medieval. Todas sus novelas pueden encontrarse en las principales plataformas de ventas de ebook y en papel desde la editorial createspace.com. Encuentra todas las novedades en su blog:cathryndebourgh.blogspot.com.uy, siguela en Twitter  o en su página de facebook www.facebook.com/CathrynDeBourgh

Book preview

Secret love

Cathryn de Bourgh

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Abeville

France

1873

Angelyn released a deep sigh while contemplating the thick foliage around her. Forests, lakes and little towns from afar through her carriage’s window. She had the feeling it had been a thousand years since she’d left her home at Lille to head for her new one on the coasts of the English Channel in Abbeville. The journey would last days, maybe a whole week, as the diligence had driven them near the Amiens County, and from there they had to make a stop and spend several nights in different inns.

Her old wet nurse’s voice woke her from her apathy and unrest.

Don’t fret, young lady. We’ll get there soon.

Angelyn gave her a puzzled look. Again? How many times had she heard that same phrase in the past few days? That ‘we’ll get there soon’ coated with other words.

She looked away from the wet nurse. The trip had been long and exhausting, so much that she could not wait for it to finish. Again, forests and more forests, hidden and miserable towns, people starving or with lost, evil looks. The young lady disliked the way they gazed at the carriage, and even though her wet nurse and two sturdy servants escorted her, she did not feel safe inside this vehicle. Not after a group of bandits had tried to steal her coin purse when her party stopped on that seedy inn to rest. Angelyn was horrified to remember.

It was a dreadful moment.

They were descending from the carriage when a group of dirty, toothless bandits appeared. Ugly as demons, they tried to steal her scarce jewels with gun and knife. Had it not been for the intervention of her servants and some inn helpers, they would have stolen everything from her. What was worse, one of them approached her with what her wet nurse later called ‘wicked intentions’. She didn’t understand what those wicked intentions were, but she did not like the way that cretin looked at her one bit, his crooked grin or what he said when they all surrounded her. They were ugly boys of vulgar manners, like the rascals she had seen stealing purses in Paris some time ago.

Here’s the most precious thing in the loot... I know a gentleman who would pay to have a lady as sweet and beautiful as this one, he said, and wanted to kiss her. Only tried, for his friends would not allow him. They could neither steal from nor hurt her, as her servants pulled out sticks and knives and held them against the first man’s neck in a few minutes.

The bastard laughed, showing his black, chipped teeth.

That night at the inn, she could not fall asleep. She had been so nervous she feared she would have died if that man had kissed or harmed her. She felt restless. If those bandits returned, if one of them did something to her, she would want to die, for she knew that meant she would not be able to marry that young man who awaited her in the castle. Even if the marriage had been arranged and they did not know one another, despite the fact that everything was arranged by her father’s executor, her young lord would spurn her if she were not pure in their wedding night. Her wet nurse had told her as much with full bluntness that day.

That bandit could have done great harm to you today, mademoiselle, but the Lord would not allow it. Praised may He be. Because if that man had fulfilled his wicked intentions, you would not be able to marry the marquis of Ferbes’ brother.

Angelyn looked at her, stunned. What was she talking about?

The wet nurse told her the shameless bandit meant to take her virginity, without which she could not wed. The crude manner in which she said it left Angelyn horrified, for again she understood this journey put her in danger, more danger than she could have ever imagined. Even now, on the road to the castle of Saint Auxerre, the young lady felt unsafe watching the thickness of the forest. What if those bandits returned and attacked her? Her future depended on her arriving to her new home safe and sound, for her mother had explained that in her father’s will there was a clause that ensured she married the son of one of her late father’s friends. Without that wedding, she had no prospects. Her father had only left her a dowry and the engagement to a gentleman. The mansion and lands would go to her brother Pierre, so all she had was a husband who hoped to give her a new home. As a daughter of an ancient lineage she knew the wedding would prove beneficial to that marquis’ brother. Everyone knew her father, Eugene de Poitiers, was part of a proud family related to old French royalty. Such things were considered less important these days, after the sad revolution of the populace, but some believed it vital to restore the old ways. Arranged marriages between nobles grew more important than ever, for many great French families had survived despite the terror, and they now hoped to regain their place and revive their traditions. Her wet nurse had told her horrible stories about those times, stories told by her mother and grandmother about the fear of a latent rebellion between nobles.

Angelyn returned to the present and wondered why her mother refused to tell her if he was handsome. Mother always grew impatient when asked questions she did not wish to answer. Angelyn ignored why. Any lady her age would feel curious to know how the man she was to marry looked like. She had never even seen a portrait of his. All she knew was that his name was Etienne and he was twenty-three years old. Her wet nurse had assured her he was a courteous young man, as if that was all she needed to know.

The young lady gazed out the window, absent-minded. It was odd not to know how her future husband’s face looked like. Or his voice... His looks bothered her little, in truth. She doubted he’d be too ugly. What worried her was that he may be cruel or that he would ignore her. Her greatest fear was that he would be displeased by the wedding, and then reject her, as it had happened to a lady from a novel she’d read not long ago.

Nana, please, tell me if young Etienne is handsome, she asked, impatient.

Her wet nurse looked at her as if she’d said something wrong, but her expression soon softened. I already told you, mademoiselle, he’s warm and kind... Why insist so much on knowing how he looks? You’ll have to marry him regardless. What does beauty matter? The outside withers and what is left is the soul of a person, their good actions and pure heart.

Again, with that. The wet nurse was the perfect old maid who only read essays on morals and good customs, and always claimed exterior beauty was nothing more than a shell. Though she also enjoyed reading about the lives of the old kings of France, perhaps because she was so prim. Mademoiselle Rose Gauvine had a somewhat sad story. Her father had left both her and her sister in ruin. At least the sister managed to wed and settle, but poor Rose never shared her luck. Maybe she was never interested in marriage. In truth, her hair had grayed and her austere expressions had filled her face with wrinkles; it was difficult to imagine she had ever been beautiful enough to charm a gentleman.

The young lady sighed as the speech on the beauty of the soul droned on and on. Just when she was about to yawn, the wet nurse said, At any rate, you are a very beautiful lady, and I don’t doubt your lord will be pleased with the wedding. Gentlemen prefer them pretty. Even if beauty is not a virtue, but a coincidence. If they looked into the heart rather than the shell, things would go much better in this world. It’s what I’ve always thought. But sin...

Oh, no. Now the sin speech. She had to stand the monologue on lies and appearances, the sins of the flesh and whatnot... All the way to the castle. Stoic, she could not wait to arrive, to not have to live in the shadow of some old wet nurse. She’d stood her for far too long. She was tired of her stiffness and reprimands; she was bored of her talks and edifying lectures. She favored the company of Miss Elise, her governess, who possessed an open mind and offered more interesting conversation. Unfortunately, Elise was gone. She had left the manor the year prior. Now Angelyn’s life would change. She’d live in an old castle with her husband, his brother the marquis, and the marquis’ wife, her new family. She wondered if they would accept her. If she would be happy in that castle. She began to miss her home and could not stop tears welling in her eyes when admiring the landscape. On top of that, she still felt restless after the incident with the bandits. It was still such a long way to the castle.

Then she saw it in the distance. The huge gray mass that stood on a hill, a dark and somber building hidden by the bushy forest. The castle of Normandy, ancestral home to the marquises of Ferbes, a huge and evil fortress, so cold... It looked nothing like her home, and as the carriage rode through the steep road, her terror rose. An unspeakable rejection claimed her soul when they finally arrived at their destination.

Here we are, young lady, her wet nurse’s deep voice said. Safe and sound, which is most important, even if a bit late. It’ll grow dark soon. Her voice sounded relieved.

Angelyn peered at the fortress with growing dejection. A grey and ancient building, surrounded by valleys and shadows, was not what she had expected. In her town there were prettier and happier castles, but this one was pointy and crenellated like old medieval castles, and something about it frightened her.

Three servants came to welcome them, one old and two young, but the lord of castle was conspicuous by his absence, as was her intended. It was a rather cold reception.

Are you mademoiselle de Poitiers? asked the man who must have been the butler. A tall, thin man, not very handsome, with a calm look.

She nodded, and the group of servants escorted her inside, taking her belongings with energy.

Right as she entered a cold wind enveloped her like a shroud and clung to her body, making her shiver until her teeth chattered. From the inside the castle looked even more terrifying and odd, filled with shadows and at times empty and bleak. Intrigued, she looked over the medieval tapestry and portraits in the foyer. She wondered why her hosts had been so lacking in manners, so absent. Were they not expecting her? Or did they not wish her to be here?  She’d hoped they were more attentive. Discouraged, she walked silent.

Over here, mademoiselle de Poitiers, said a tall maid with a dark look and white mob cap. She seemed to hold a high position in the manor. Angelyn wondered if she was the housekeeper, since it looked like no one else had the intention of introducing themselves.

She advanced with hesitating steps until reaching a room with red curtains, a dark and coppery tone, where a group of ladies and gentlemen awaited. In the center, a tall man with a vicious gaze scowled at her. Who could that be? Everyone’s eyes were on her. She hated when that happened, to attract attention in that way. It became worse when the maid who’d brought her here whispered that the lord of the castle would welcome her immediately.

So, the actual marquis of Ferbes stood amongst this group of nobles of flashy attires and unpleasant eyes?

She approached with her gaze down, striving to tame her nerves about having all those eyes on her.

Then she heard his voice and had to look up. He was welcoming her to the castle with gentle words, while his eyes looked over hers, explored her with certain curiosity and surprise. Odd moment, even more disturbing than walking into this room crowded with elegant nobles who all stared at her.

It was a bit disconcerting, really, because she was certain he’d never seen her before, and yet the intensity of his dark gaze captured her in full, making her feel true terror, much worse than the serpentine shadows that ran across the antiquated castle or the thick black forest surrounding it. Those eyes seemed to keep her there. Captivated and frightened, incapable of stepping forward or uttering a word. Her cheeks burned at the same time he noticed her anxiousness and decided to approach, a rather mocking smile on his lips.

My apologies, Mademoiselle Angelyn. I did not mean to frighten you. I am the marquis Maurice de Ferbes, brother to your future husband.

He was a tall gentleman, of sure and agile moves, and