If only Olivia was not so enthralling to make him long for her sinful touch…
As Olivia and Alexander fight their fierce attraction, they realise that the devil’s bargain may just turn out to be a match made in heaven. Still, they refuse to surrender to their feelings, even if their bodies shiver in each other’s presence. Will the arrogant captain and the spoiled lady manage to turn a business deal into love, and let their passion conquer them? Or will they be separated by dark storms and empty promises once and for all?
Prologue
Essington Manor, Kent, England, 1797
The organ blared a mournful tune as the two coffins were carried down the aisle of the chapel. The sound of subdued sobbing filled the air as well. Reginald Oakley, the Earl of Weaver, watched stony-faced as the coffins went by. His heart felt as tight as a drum. He had not shed a single tear yet.
The mourners followed the coffins in single, silent file. Reginald watched a tall, willowy lady dressed entirely in black silk shuffle past. His daughter-in-law, Henrietta. Always a pale woman, her face was the shade of ivory now, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping. Henrietta clutched a white lace handkerchief, pressing it against her eyes, her face a rictus of sorrow.
Reginald’s heart constricted again. Two coffins, one long, one small. The first contained the last earthly remains of his last son, Charles. The heir to the Weaver Earldom and estate was gone, carried away quickly, by a strain of influenza that had swept through the countryside. A tragedy. Charles had only been two and thirty. Still such a young man, with so much left to do.
But the second coffin—the smaller one—was almost more heartbreaking to witness, if that was indeed possible. For it contained Reginald’s only grandson, William. Only seven years old and he had been carried away by the same sudden illness that felled his father.
Now, father and son were making their last journey to the small graveyard at the top of the hill, where they would be laid to eternal rest side by side in the family plot. Beside each other in death as they had been in life.
Reginald joined the procession. He could barely place one foot in front of the other. He had never felt so wretched and devastated in his life, and he had suffered much before. The deaths of his two elder sons, when they had just been lads, in a carriage accident. The loss of his beloved wife, Isabel, only two years ago. Reginald was used to sorrow and grief. But seeing these two coffins was too much even for a stoic, strong man like him.
It was too much to bear. Far too much.
In the graveyard overlooking Essington Manor, his ancestral home, he watched as the two coffins were lowered into the ground. The vicar was intoning a prayer. Suddenly, his daughter-in-law swayed, looking like she was about to collapse. Looking like she might want to leap into the grave to join her husband and son.
Quick as a flash, Reginald was by her side, his arm around her. Henrietta clung to him, in a desperate way, burying her face into his chest and sobbing piteously.
“I cannot go on,” she moaned softly. “It is too much.”
Reginald’s heart twisted. “You must go on, Hetty,” he whispered. “You must. For the small girl who is lying in the bed yonder.” He looked up, gazing at Essington Manor as he spoke, thinking of that girl.
Henrietta took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know. I shall go to her as soon as I have said farewell to her father and brother.” Her face contorted. “She is the only thing I have to live for now. If she… if she…”
“Hush,” whispered Reginald, feeling sick at the thought. “She is a strong girl. She will pull through. God would not be so cruel.”
Henrietta shuddered again, not saying anything. The prayers ended. Charles and William were in their graves. The mourners each picked up a clod of earth, throwing it into the grave, before walking slowly back down the hill.
Reginald supported his daughter-in-law as they slowly walked to the grave, staring down. Then Henrietta bent down, picking up some earth, before tossing it into the grave.
“Farewell, my loves,” she whispered. “Until we meet again.”
Reginald stared into the grave for a moment, before turning and walking away, one arm around his daughter-in-law. They got into the carriage and then they were away. He closed his eyes, offering up a silent, desperate prayer, that the small girl in the bed at home fighting for her life would survive. That she would not join her father and twin brother in that grave. God could not be so cruel, could He?
For she was all there was left now. The last remains of his family. His heirs were all gone. As a girl, she could never inherit the title or estate, but Essington Manor and the great Weaver lineage still flowed in her blood just the same. If she did live, she would someday marry and live elsewhere, and this estate would perhaps be sold off, passed into the hands of strangers. The earldom would die with him.
If only she had been born a boy. If only.
His heart constricted. Fate had been cruel to him. But he loved his granddaughter and he would do everything he could to ensure she had the best life possible. She could not save the earldom, but she was all he had left, as well. The only thing he had to live for.
If she lived. As the carriage turned down the long, circular driveway to the front of Essington Manor, Reginald sent up a silent, desperate prayer for the girl, lying burning and shivering in her small bed upstairs. The last of the line. Forever.
And finally, Reginald felt the tears slide down his face.
Chapter 1
Santander, northern Spain, 12 years later
“Oh,Capitana!” The woman shuddered with delight. Her dark eyes gleamed in the half light of the cabin. “Oh, what you do to me!”
Alexander Fletcher grinned lazily at the raven-haired beauty lying beneath him on his small bed. He knew that her first name was Rosa, but he did not know much else about her at all. Rosa did not speak very much English, but Alexander had never let that stand in his way where women were concerned.