Industry and nobility do not mix. Or do they? Perhaps so, when there is a killer on the loose and the ducal heir needs to solve the mystery for a most unusual woman.
Charles Mountford, Marquis of Tonbridge, haslong felt the weight of responsibility. He knowshe must do his duty and take a wife. But whenhe’s left snowbound with the unconventional MissHonor Meredith Draycott, he finds that his innerrogue wants to come out to play....
Merry doesn’t need a man—no matter howhandsome he is! Sadly, society takes a differentview. Charlie is more than happy to make hersocially acceptable, but only if she acts publicly ashis betrothed and privately as his mistress!
Excerpt
Only a man dedicated to duty travelled to Yorkshire in January. Hunkered against the cold, high on his curricle, Charles Henry Beltane Mountford, Marquis of Tonbridge couldn’t miss the irony in his father’s proud words. What choice was there for Charlie, other than duty, if Robert was to be accepted back into the family? If he was found. No. Not if. When he was found.
Face stinging and ears buffeted by the wind, he lifted his gaze from the road to the leaden sky and bleak stretch of moors ahead. Two years and not one word from his wayward twin. While on some deep level, he knew his brother hadn’t come to physical harm, every time he recalled Robert’s face as he left, Charlie’s gut twisted with guilt.
He should not have said what he did, imposed his own sense of duty on his brother. They might look alike, but there the similarities ended. Their lives followed different paths and each had their own roles to play.
Finally, after two years of arguing and pleading, he had sold his soul to bring his brother home. He would visit Lady Allison and begin the courtship his father demanded. The weight of duty settled more heavily on his shoulders. The chill in his chest spread outwards.
Damnation, what in Hades was the matter with him? Lady Allison was a modestly behaved, perfectly acceptable, young woman of good family. She’d make a fine Duchess. Marriage was a small sacrifice to bring Robert home and banish the sadness from his mother’s face. Sadness he’d help cause.
He urged his tired team over the brow of the hill, eager to reach the inn at Skepton before dark.
What the hell? A phaeton. Sideways on. Blocking the road. Its wheels hung over the left-hand ditch. Its horses rearing and out of control. Coolly, Charlie pulled his ribbons hard right. The team plunged. The curricle tilted on one wheel, dropped and swung parallel to the obstruction. It halted inches from catastrophe.
Inches from slight young man in a caped driving coat bent over the traces of the panicked animals of the other equipage unaware of the danger.
Damn. What a mess. Charlie leaped down. Nowhere to tie his horses. He clenched the bridle in his fist. “Need help?” he yelled against the wind.
The young man spun around. “By gum, you scared me.”
Not a man. A woman. Charlie stared, felt his jaw drop and could do nothing to stop it. Her eyes were bright blue, all the more startling beneath jet brows. Her cheeks were pink from the wind and black ropes of hair flew around her oval face in disgraceful disorder.
A voice in his head said, perfect.
Her arched brows drew together, creasing the white high forehead. “Don’t just stand there, you gormless lump. If you’ve a knife, help me cut the bloody traces.” She hopped over the poles and began sawing at the leathers on the other side with what looked like little more than a pen knife.
Charlie snapped his mouth shut, pulled the dagger from the top of his boot and slashed the traces on his side. “Here, use this.” He passed her his knife, handle first.
She grabbed it, cut the last strap and proceeded to untangle the horse’s legs with very little care for life and limb.
Charlie grabbed the bridle of her horses while hanging on to his own.
The young woman straightened. She was tall, he realized, her bright sapphire eyes level with his mouth. “Thank you.” She dragged strands of hair back from her face and grinned. “The damned axle snapped. I must have been going to fast.”
Another Letty Lade, with her coachman-style language. “You were lucky I managed to stop.” He glanced around. “Where is your groom?” No gently-bred female travelled alone.
“Pshaw.” She waived a dismissive hand. “I only went to Skepton. I don’t need a groom for such a short journey.”
Mack's friends suggested he visit a quaint town in Washington State called Leavenworth, but they had an ulterior motive—a motive that resulted him agreeing to help one of their friends track down her missing sister. That led him to the remote small t
