Chapter One

      “You should have stayed at home, Sam. Everyone is whispering.”

      Lady Samantha Bloodworth glanced around the crowded ballroom, then to her sister, Addison. “They are going to squeeze every drop of gossip out of this, no matter what I do.”

      “True,” Addison agreed. “But though they may have never met your husband, and for all the sympathy they lent you when he wed you and left you five years ago—they would not expect you to attend some grand ball, when the whole of England knows Craven Bloodworth and his brother are expected home tonight, having sailed with Lord Ramsey, Viscount Raddenhurst from—”

      “—Do spare the whole recital, Addison. I read it in the Times the same as everyone else in London,” Samantha said this through her teeth as she grit smiles toward those turned eyes and heads. “How enlightening it was, to finally discover where the bloody hell my husband went ten days after the wedding.”

      Addison snorted. “That anger ill suits you, Sam. You will recall that I was there from the beginning, and you were heartily relieved to see the last of that… what did you call him? Viking?”

      Samantha touched her sister’s arm, turning so that they could walk a bit away from the dancers and crowds. Fiddling with her fan as she did so, she felt so tense that the combs in her caramel hair itched. “I called him a barbarian,” she corrected.

      There was little use in rehashing the whole of it, since Addison had been there, was in essence, the only person who knew the whole story of how Lady Audrey and Baron Beniot LeHay’s daughters rose from obscurity to near infamy in a short month, some five years ago.

      She and Addison were only one year apart in age, and she had been then, a very young eighteen, having spent from the age of twelve nursing her widowed mother though various illnesses. Their home had been a nice cottage in a quiet neighborhood in east England, and though Addison was the book head, the bluestocking, and she the more restless and curious one, they had no grand dreams of much more than that, as the daughters of a Baron’s widow. They had enjoyed, when their mother was well, all the quaint social amusements that local landed gentry partook of in the country.

      Lady Audrey apparently had other aspirations.

      Neither girl knew nor suspected that their mother was so afraid of dying and leaving them alone in the world, so terrified of the truth—which was that other than a small nest egg, they had nothing, not even the cottage, and that she had been, for years, applying to every person of import- from her days in society and beyond, to help her find a particular husband for one of them.

      It was not until the funeral that a black clad, slim but nondescript man had met them at the gravesite. He had said, “Miss Samantha Lehay. I have been sent from Bloodworth Castle to collect you for your wedding to Craven Bloodworth, who will also expect your sister, Addison, to accompany you—for he has secured her dowry and an income.”

      And whilst she did not know to laugh at him or blink, for it had been a long and exhausting week—years actually, watching her mother’s health decline and then fail, Samantha was prevented from either as he thrust a letter in her hands, one with her mother’s own writing on the flap.

      “She has been corresponding with Bloodworth for nearly two years, as you will discover. I have been in town myself for a week and have spoken to the new owner of Lehay Cottage. You will have time to pack and I have two coaches and a wagon for your use. The license for your marriage to Bloodworth was acquired some time ago—but it was your mother’s wish that he be landed…That is, he… all Bloodworth’s, have had wealth, and there is an ancient castle which is their seat, but the generations were known more for their adventuring than for settling, and…”

      At some point, she had blocked out his voice and read the letter, feeling Addison reading over her shoulder. Somewhat in a daze, Samantha learned things she had never guessed about her mother. That Audrey herself had wed up, the daughter of a widowed captain; she had wed Beniot, whom she met in France, hopping to make a grand marriage. It was no love match and no grand marriage, and Beniot had very little family, all who died before him. He had his title and a small income, which did not last long while he lived and was reduced for a widow’s pension afterwards.

      Knowing her health began to decline with the birth of Addison, she had set about, even then, trying to do better for her daughters. She had made the most of it whenever she was in London and kept in close contact via letter with everyone who was anyone.

      Craven Bloodworth—a name that sounded as fierce as what her mother wrote of them—Bloodworth and his brother, Drakon. They lived in the north, were of good bloodlines and wealth, apparently Craven the elder by two years was to come into the title of Baron, but already possessed the castle. Her introduction to him came by way of a Countess who was a neighbor and who had nephews, Lord Ramsey Martin, Viscount Raddenhurst and his brother Keegan, who knew the Bloodworth’s well.

      Here Sam began to feel her breath leave and her stomach tense. For though she knew her mother to be somewhat of a romantic and a dreamer, she had no such dreamy reactions as her mother wrote, the Bloodworth’s are an ancient family, my dear. Where there was a war or rebellion, you find their name in the lists with distinction. They are a proud and brave lot, while not perhaps ranked gentlemen, because society worships the polished and perfumed rather than the bravest of men… they are all that should be respected. Pay no heed to tales of them as wild rogues, for that is mere snobbery because they do no toad eating in society and their generations have produced explorers, warriors and men of import. All the gossip and tales of rakes and gamblers are exaggerated.

      Now stepping toward the open garden doors, Sam looked at her sister again, seeing that Addison was likely thinking back to those days also. At least Addison had only the benefits of the match, and not the burdens. If, she could define her marriage as such.

      Five years with some sense of freedom and independence had given her prospective—different from a frightened and in shock eighteen year old who was packed off to an Imposing Baroque castle in the north. Still, it did not lessen the speed of her heart nor relax her cinched stomach since reading of Bloodworth’s impending return this morning. 

      Her mother should have written, he is a dark and wild-looking warrior, standing nearly six feet and six and those nephews of the Countess were not gentlemen of the sort she viewed in the present ball room either. They were nearly as brawny and large as the Bloodworth’s and certainly had the same dangerous rep.

      Even then, at the age of twenty and eight, Craven had been imposing and frightening. From the moment she had stepped out of the coach and seen him standing with his brother in the inner courtyard, that imposing castle sprawled and soaring behind him, she had wished she had the courage to pick up her skirts and run away.

      But from somewhere, the shock likely, and Addison reaching her side and muttering that they were there and may as well get the thing over with—Addison being a whole seventeen years at the time. She had walked toward him, looking up into a swarthy face with longish raven hair and hard as stone jade eyes, a man with powerful shoulders, thick muscled and long legs, and introduced herself and her sister in as much a calm manner as she could muster.

      At the time his brother Drakon, rather suited his name, (Dragon) because though slimmer built, still broad shouldered and long legged, and topping six feet, his light green eyes shone from a face as exotic as his brother’s was fierce, and while she would observe him to be graceful and polite, there was a dangerous and watchful air about him.

      Craven had introduced himself, and then his brother and the doors had opened behind him showing servants who were ready to receive them. Footmen went for their trunks and bags, but it was as much a blur as the breathtaking interior of the castle—because she was informed that they would be wed that very night and exchange vows in the ancient Bloodworth chapel.

      “Don’t get yourself in a nervous fit,” Addison said and motioned to the gardens. “Let’s go out where we can breathe.”

      She went out, but Sam could not breathe deep enough to relax. “Why now?”

      She murmured reaching out to take Addison’s hand perhaps for courage. “Why does he return now?”

      When they arrive at the benches, Addison loosed their hands and motioned so that they were sitting, their gazes taking in the profuse roses nearby. “I have been thinking back to that day, when he left. You were so very young, Sam, and it was not as if mother prepared you for the intimacies of marriage. And you admitted that you said terrible things to him…”

      “He frightened me.” Sam reminded her, “I didn’t expect to marry the day of my arrival. That he was stranger was bad enough, but you saw him…”

      “Yes, dear. But there was ten days before…”

      “Before he left? Yes. Nevertheless, you have no idea what the nights were like. He fully expected me to grow used to…it.”

      Addison said dryly, “Well, you did know a husband would—”

      “He said that he did,” Sam cut in reflecting. “I told him he’d hurt me. I may have called him names. I likely did, because I thought him insensitive and rough and he scared the bloody hell out of me. He is a massive man and even though he doused the candles I could not relax and forget what he looked like.”

      Addison regarded her a moment. “You have been in society a long time. We have both been educated well beyond our country naivety. I do not blame you for being frightened. I was scared for you, and too young to offer any sort of comfort. But perhaps it will be different now. You’ve witnessed intimacies, even had a mild flirtation or two.”

      Sam ignored that part since it was an experiment of sorts, to assure herself she was not frigid. “I suppose he will expect time has stood still. I wonder if he knows—”

      “He knows,” her sister said. “I have a feeling that he knows everything that has occurred in your life, and mine, in those five years. I believe, Sam, he left because he knew that you were afraid and intimidated by him.”

      Samantha was pretty sure of that herself. Though she doubtless had displayed her reaction to his bedroom attentions in tears and babblings and whatever else an eighteen year old desperate to escape such would do. She remembered that tenth day when he had stood in her bedroom—where she had locked herself in mortification and shame, in too much shock to even answer Addison’s scratches on the door. He had been dressed in snug black trousers, high supple boots, a white shirt and cravat, long ankle-length caped coat. His longish hair lay on his shoulders and his fierce face harder than granite.

      “I am leaving England for a spell. You have a fortune at your disposal, this castle and a mansion in London. I shall expect that you attend my Secretary Mr. Peterson’s advice when you arrange your sister’s come out. My steward is a capable man and will see to my business and properties.” His hard eyes had gone over her, and if she recalled rightly, she had been at the window seat, knees drawn up and much lighter blond hair then, down around her shoulders. Her face was raw from crying and though she dressed in a cream muslin gown for the day, she had on neither shoes nor stockings.

      He had added in cold tones, “There were legal reasons for the marriage to have been consummated. Anything beyond that was my obvious poor attempt to soothe your fears of intimacy—during which the opposite was achieved. I am not ignorant that my appearance is imposing. No Bloodworth is. I had no knowledge however, until speaking with your sister this evening that your mother did not tell you of my offer two years ago, or myself, until after death. Had I known, perhaps things would have progressed differently.

      I was given to understand that you were a consenting party and a woman appraised of marital duties. There is nothing I can do to change that, Madam. You have the decision however, to take up the role of martyr—or lady wife, in my absence. I do possess the titles and lands to use such. I trust you are intelligent enough to make the most of the situation as there is no question of undoing it...” He had bowed stiffly and left.

      Images floated through Sam’s mind, some of the weeks afterward when she cried on Addison’s shoulder until she noticed the utter coolness toward her of the castle staff. They obviously expected her to act the lady of the castle, and they apparently blamed her for the absence of both master and his brother.

      She had come about of course. Because Addison was not only a practical minded girl who expected her to buck up, but because she realized his parting truth, there was no going back. It took time to get the butler Rennel and house keeper Mrs. Frost to soften toward her. She had also listened to Peterson, who was a tall and lean man of intelligent eyes, and calm manner.

      He came by nearly daily and they toured the castle and grounds. She and Addison rode and met tenants and her natural humor returned.

      Samantha saw those generations of giants and warriors, and paintings of their wives, who looked every bit as brave and in control as their husbands. None seemed as young as she, however. She had heard the tales, good and bad about the Bloodworth’s—the wild tales and the famous ones—from the neighbors and village.

      The Countess, who insisted they call her Camille, had an estate bordering, and in that home she had seen portraits of the Bloodworth’s friends, a curly mane and dark eyed viscount Raddenhurst, and his brother Keegan with wine hair and brandy eyes. They were rakes and rogues even by Camille’s accounts, and every bit as restless and worldly as the Bloodworth’s. Both families made their fortunes though the East India Company—but it was the four brothers who volunteered for dangerous missions and found themselves in one adventure after another.

      Both she and Addison had listen to scarce believed tales of these adventures, battles, ransoms and daring do in exotic lands, with skepticism. But every evening when she returned to the castle and eyed the paintings, all doubts left her. She knew that even at twenty and eight her husband had a worldly and seasoned face. His hard jade eyes held memories of things beyond her young mind and experience.

      Even in that dark bedroom, which she could bring herself to linger in, she remembered whisperings, husked words and explicit things he had said—but they were nothing then but more frightening promises. Her first time had hurt, and the next three times, and because she was scared she had cried and cringed through every kiss and touch, resistant to any attempts to soothe her.

      Before they removed to London and Addison had her debut, they had made friends with Lady Lindy and Lord Justin Marshall, a brother and sister who were in their early twenties. With their help, Sam had grown and made it through the intricacies of the ton.

      Even though Addison was not the least bit enthusiastic about balls and routs. Addison enjoyed London for the arts and the libraries. She had, after an initial attempt to find some attraction, given up on the notion of marriage. Given her own situation, Sam did not argue. Addison was only with her tonight because the Marshall’s were abroad on holiday—and because she knew, Sam impulsively decided to attend one of the biggest balls of the season, in order to avoid her husband’s homecoming.

      Sam looked up at the heavens and sighed. She unhooked her fan from her wrist and opened it absently. There was a painting of her done that 18^th year sitting in Bloodworth Castle. Then, she had longer hair that was fading from the toe head white it had been since childhood. Now it was a mellowed caramel. In that painting she had wide aqua eyes that appeared haunted, and too white skin from staying by her mother’s bedside. She was thinner too, and nearly boyish in shape. That had changed at twenty and three. She had been a late bloomer, and though five foot and six still, she had rounded curves to go with it. Her face, she was often told, was handsome.

      She still thought Addison the beauty, her sister’s hair being the brown/gold of a lion’s pelt and her eyes a light sherry. Addison had never played up her looks, never hid her brains, and taken on pretences, which was counted against her in the ton. She did not give a fig for fashion and had stopped trembling in the presences of the fiercest of dragons a long time ago. The friendships Addison made were with those who enjoyed both her dry humor and her intelligence. Sam envied her that confidence and firmness of mind.

      Samantha, from the time she entered society, was known as Bloodworth’s bride. That title carried with it a kind of stigma that she could have guessed from the countess’s hints. People either admired the Bloodworth’s or feared them, and most who believed them some sort of barbarians living in the North Country, feared them.

      One part of her mother’s warnings were true, there were rumors of duels and gambling, all supposed to happen in Spain, Italy, or some exotic lands. Exploits of the more sexual and sinister nature were hinted at, but it all boiled down to the fact that no one really knew those men—except for a few who never bothered to correct rumor, if it was that. The women, including Bloodworth’s deceased mother, whom his father had wed in Madrid, were said to be sophisticated, highly intelligent--the best horsewomen, the most generous and charitable… impossible to live up to.

      Samantha suspected that society viewed her at first with sympathy because she doubtless looked like a half grown child bride when she entered it, and her nature then had been unexplored and undeveloped, as she had hardly had time to do so. In the years since, she came to London for the season, and avoided all questions of Bloodworth’s whereabouts, she had never said more than, he is out of England, to answer the probing anyway. With the help of the Marshall’s she had become quite venerated socially and made her own schedule to suit herself rather than impress. She built a life, one here in London and one at the castle, and she had successfully ignored the reactions to the name Bloodworth to do it.

      “There is a stir in the ballroom.” Addison stood up and tried to see the French doors. “You don’t think—”

      “Yes.” Samantha stood and smoothed the silk of her turquoise gown. “I think he would.” She wet her lips and met her sister’s gaze. “I suppose it was bound to happen, sooner or later.”

      Addison’s eyes twinkled. “You are older, wiser now. He is just a man, Sam. Flesh and blood and all that.”

      “Um.” Sam reached up patting where her shoulder length locks were held in a twist by those combs. “Let’s go then. And get this bloody over with.”