Chapter One

 

The rainstorms that had been plaguing the county for the last few weeks had given way to snow, and Samara Haughton was going mad. It snowed through the day and overnight, for a solid week, until it nearly blocked the entrance to the castle and she could not even step out to get fresh air. One could barely distinguish the Malvern Hills through the windows of the castle towers, and Samara began to despair of ever seeing sunlight and grass again. Being cooped indoors made her irritable, for she was not one who was able to sit idly, for hours on end. She wasn’t like her sisters – Josephine, who kept herself busy in the library reading their father’s books, even though she had read them hundreds of times before; or Gemma, who was only twelve and still young enough to be able to escape into a myriad of childish fantasies. Samara needed to be free, to be able to gallop a horse across a field, to plunge herself into an icy lake, to sit beneath a tree and just stare at the sky above her. But while a blizzard was raging outside, she could not do any of those things. It was making her crazy.

She burst into the Great Hall, where Josephine sat in a chair reading and Gemma was on the floor before a crackling fire, playing with their spaniel puppy, Lucy.

“I am bored,” Samara announced dramatically, and dropped to the floor beside Gemma.

Josephine raised her head and looked at Samara, amused.

“Go and ask Mrs. Howell to teach you to cook,” she suggested.

Samara snorted and reached out to tickle Lucy’s belly.

“What for?” she asked. “I have no reason to learn to cook. Mrs. Howell will live forever. Why, she was the cook here when Papa was a boy. And even if she does not, her daughter will be here to take her place. Why in the world must I know how to cook?”

“How will you plan the meals in your husband’s household if you know nothing about cooking?” Josephine asked.

“What husband?” Samara snapped. “I have no betrothed. I have no dowry with which to gain a betrothed. Papa has allowed himself to wallow in his misery over Mama’s death for so long that he has forgotten the three of us. No, Josie, I’m afraid I’ll never have to worry about planning my husband’s menu. None of us will. It will be pointless to plan meals for a husband that does not exist.”

“Papa will arrange matches for us,” Josephine said, although she did not sound very sure. “He has simply let time get away from him. He does not realize that we are at the age where we should be betrothed. You, Samara, should be wed by now. You’re seventeen, after all.”

“Do you think I don’t know it?” Samara grumbled, watching as Lucy chomped playfully down on Gemma’s fingers. Gemma squealed and pulled her hand away, and Lucy flopped onto her back with her small paws in the air, tiny tail wagging.  “The three of us should have an army of suitors storming this castle. Not only are we the earl of Bolingbroke’s daughters, but we are beautiful, and I don’t think it’s being vain to say so.”

Gemma finally looked up from the wriggling puppy on the floor.

“You two are beautiful,” she said forlornly. “If there were any men about the castle to marry, they would have you just for your beauty. I’m afraid Papa will have to dower me generously, though. There is nothing special about me.”

Samara took in her youngest sister’s silvery blond curls and deep, blue-black eyes. Gemma’s face was a perfect heart, her cheekbones high and her chin pointed. She still had the flat, shapeless body of a twelve-year-old, but that would not last forever. Gemma was delicate, a fairy child, and once she was old enough, Samara knew her sister would have no shortage of suitors.

“What does it matter?” Samara asked. “We do not know any eligible men, anyway. So we should have gone to court to find husbands, but Papa would not send us.”

“Can you understand why?” asked Josephine, the gentlest of the three. “The court has not been a happy place since Mary became queen. We are Catholic, so we would have been safe, but I much rather would have been here at Bolingbroke Hall than in the midst of the Inquisition. Besides, Samara, you know Papa has never recovered from Mama’s death. We are all he has left of her. He does not want to let us go, for if he does, Mama will be gone.”

“Mama is gone,” Samara said harshly. “Keeping us cloistered like nuns is not going to bring her back.”

Josephine’s warm brown eyes, complemented so perfectly by her gleaming golden brown hair, grew wet and she opened her mouth to issue a tearful rebuke. But she was interrupted by a heavy pounding on the door, which suddenly flew open to admit a whirling cyclone of snow, and two large, obviously cold men.

“God’s blood!” Samara swore, and in a flash, grabbed the metal poker from beside the fireplace. She bravely brandished it at the men, while Lucy emitted a sharp but non-threatening puppy bark, and Josephine and Gemma cowered behind her in terror.

“How dare you!” Samara raged. “Who are you? What business do you have here? How did you get past the castle guard? Where is Howell?” she shouted. The men, still covered in snow and obviously too chilled to answer, did not respond to her barrage of questions. “It does not matter. I can kill you both myself.” She took a menacing step closer to the intruders, lashing out with the poker. Josephine shrieked.

The smaller of the two men lurched back to avoid her blow, but the larger shook the snow from his clothing and burst out laughing. He reached out and easily, with one big hand, disarmed Samara and threw the poker behind him, out of her reach. She looked around wildly for another weapon, but found none, so she lunged carelessly at the man, her nails clawing at his face.

“Samara, no!” Gemma cried.

The man was much bigger than Samara and subdued her easily, pinning her small wrists behind her back with one hand. She struggled against him, but he did not let go.

“Get Papa!” Samara screamed at her sisters, and they turned and fled.

“Christ’s bones, you little hellion,” the man said, rubbing at his cheek with his free hand. “I think you’ve bloodied me!”

“Good!” Samara cried boldly.

The other man, beginning to recover from his shock, stepped closer and carefully scrutinized his partner’s face.

“She’s broken the skin, but there’s no blood,” he announced with a grin. “Just a minor scratch.”

“I could do better if you would just give me back my poker,” Samara snarled.

“I don’t think so,” Samara’s captor said grimly.

Just then, Samara’s father exploded into the room, Josephine, Gemma and several men-at-arms at his heels.

“What in hell – “ Lord Haughton began, surveying the scene in front of him.

“I do apologize, my lord,” Samara’s captor said. “I’m afraid we’ve taken your daughters by surprise. These are your daughters, I presume.”

“Yes,” Lord Haughton answered, looking confused. “And you are?”

The man released Samara, and she stumbled toward her father. Josephine reached out and pulled her behind him to stand with herself and Gemma.

“Cade Badgley,” the man said, reaching out to clasp Lord Haughton’s hand. “The earl of Easton.”

“He lies!” Samara cried. “We know the earl of Easton, Papa. The earl of Easton is an old man. This is an impostor!”

“The old earl of Easton, Patrick Badgley, was my father,” Cade said.

“I thought Patrick Badgley had but one son, who died in an accident a few years back,” Lord Haughton said slowly.

Cade’s face twisted into something between a grimace and an ironic smile.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “I am his younger son, the only child of his second wife. I’ve been away these past few years, but my father summoned me about a month ago. He was very sick, and he died these three weeks past. The title is now mine. I do not lie,” he said pointedly to Samara. “I apologize for the way my cousin and I burst in, but we have been traveling for nearly a full day and the snow only got thicker as we approached Bolingbroke Hall. We were very nearly blinded when we found the entrance to your home. We did not mean to frighten you.”

“Your cousin?” Lord Haughton inquired.

Cade gestured the other man forward.

“Hayden Welles, the Viscount Beddingfield,” the other man said genially, also extending his hand to Lord Haughton for a hearty shake.

Lord Haughton’s three daughters looked askance at the two men standing in their hall. The heat from the fire was beginning to melt the snow that covered them, and Samara could see that they were both very handsome. Lord Welles was golden-haired and golden-eyed. His hair fell in careless waves over his high forehead, and his face looked as if it were incapable of making any expression other than a happy one. He was very agreeable, Samara thought to herself. Lord Badgley, on the other hand, could only be described as menacing. He seemed enormously tall – Samara was tall for a woman, and he towered over her. His hair was coal-black, also wavy but longer than his cousin’s, and curled over his collar. His eyes were icy blue, framed in sooty lashes and shadowed by thick black brows. His face was chiseled, his mouth set in a long, hard line. Samara shivered involuntarily as she appraised him. He did not look nice. Suddenly those cold blue eyes swung to meet hers, and he caught her staring at him. Embarrassed, a hot blush suffused her cheeks, but she did not look away, instead glaring unflinchingly back at him. To her surprise, he suddenly grinned, and his face was transformed into the most beautiful thing Samara thought she had ever seen. She could not move for a moment, so transfixed was she by him. Then, not willing to reveal that he had shaken her, she instead tossed her curls and turned away, storming from the Great Hall with her sisters at her heels, leaving her father alone to deal with the infuriating earl of Easton.

Cade watched her go, her fiery dark red curls bouncing as she stomped away. He hadn’t missed the look in her forest green eyes, either, as they glittered at him. She was a wild one. What kind of girl would take up an iron poker and threaten to murder two intruders? Any other girl would have gone shrieking for her father, not fearlessly fenced with them. And she’d scratched at his face! Grimacing, he reached up to finger the tender, broken skin, and could tell that it was indeed superficial. But she had tried.

He wondered why she wasn’t wed. She had to be at least sixteen, she was beautiful, and she was an earl’s daughter. She should have been in high demand, if she hadn’t been betrothed as a child like so many of their station. Maybe she was ruined, he contemplated. Perhaps she had given in to a moment’s temptation with a stable boy, and now no one would have her. Well, if that were the case, perhaps he’d take advantage of it while he was here. The earl of Bolingbroke would not send him home tonight, he knew. Not in a blizzard. Maybe the fierce little redhead could keep him warm that night.

The earl of Bolingbroke had sent Howell, the majordomo, who had appeared about five minutes too late, to get some wine for his guests. He now returned with a carafe and three pewter goblets, filling them and handing them to the men. Then he bowed from their presence, and Lord Haughton bid the men to sit.

“Allow me to offer my regrets on the death of your father,” Lord Haughton said. “I had not seen him in some time, but we were peers growing up. We even spent some time together as pages at King Henry’s court. He married before I did. He married his second wife – your mother, I presume – about six years before I married my own Anne, God rest her good soul.” At the mention of his wife’s name, the older earl’s eyes filled with tears.

Uncomfortable, Cade glanced at Hayden before speaking.

“I – yes,” he stammered.

“My Anne’s been gone these twelve years now,” Lord Haughton said with a faraway look in his eyes. “The girls are all I’ve got left of her.” Cade and Hayden watched as a single tear slid down Lord Haughton’s worn cheek. He did not seem to notice, and it dripped from his cheek onto the collar of his linen shirt, forming a small wet circle. After a moment of staring into space, he turned back to them. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Nonplussed, Cade was unsure of what to say. He decided just to leap right in.

“Did you receive my message, my lord?” he asked.

Lord Haughton looked confused. “Message?”

“Yes, sir. Immediately after we buried my father, I wrote a letter and sent it off to you with one of my messengers. He returned and told me it had been delivered.”

“I never received a message,” Lord Haughton said slowly.

Cade was beginning to wonder if the earl of Bolingbroke had all his wits about him.

“Well, I apologize then, for dropping in so unexpectedly,” he said. “I will tell you what my message said. First, I explained about my father’s death and that I was the new earl of Easton. As I’ve been away for nearly twelve years, I am unfamiliar with the area and the people who live in it. I wanted to come and introduce myself, and get to know my new neighbors.”

Lord Haughton nodded, but didn’t say anything, so Cade continued.

“Also, my father’s castle is in grave disrepair. It is in no condition for me to live in, and I believe the dampness and the drafts helped my father’s illness progress so quickly. The servants’ quarters are on the ground floor and are warm and secure, but the rest of the castle needs serious work. In his final years my father neglected his staff, and because of this, I have very few able-bodied men to help me make the repairs. I would ask, my lord, if you have any men that you are able to spare to help me restore my castle. I would pay them generously, and I would be in your debt as well.”

Lord Haughton nodded again as he absorbed Cade’s words.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, my boy, I do believe I could spare some of my men. When do you expect to begin the work?”

“As soon as the snow stops,” Cade said honestly. “I cannot afford to wait until spring.”

Lord Haughton nodded a third time.

“Allow me to speak to them,” he said, his voice stronger now than it had been at the beginning of the conversation. “You will stay the night, of course. Going back out into this weather at this hour would be a death sentence. I will tell the cook to prepare for two extra guests at the evening meal, and Howell will show you to the guest bedchamber. In the morning when you depart, my men will go with you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Cade said gratefully. “Your kindness and generosity is appreciated.”

Lord Haughton stood, therefore ending the discussion. The majordomo, a small man with wispy gray hair and a very pronounced overbite, reappeared as if by magic and led the two men to their chambers.

Hayden, who hadn’t said a word throughout the entire discussion, turned to his cousin once the majordomo was out of earshot.

“Do you think he’ll remember in the morning?” he asked mischeviously.

Cade groaned.

“I suppose we’ll see,” he said. “If I’d known the earl of Bolingbroke was dotty, I might have looked in another direction for aid.”

“He doesn’t seem a bad fellow,” Hayden considered. “Just a bit detached. Those daughters of his are a right pretty bunch, eh?”

Cade rubbed his face again with a rueful grin.

“I’ll say,” he replied. “The redhead’s got some sharp claws on her.”

At that very moment, the sharp-clawed Samara and her sisters were huddled together in Gemma’s chamber, which, though the smallest, was the warmest.

“What do you think they want?” Josephine asked curiously.

“Who knows?” Samara asked in what she hoped was a careless tone. She would never admit it before her sisters, but she was embarrassed by the way she had reacted to their guests. Gemma, being the youngest, possessed the adorable innocence of one so young, and could get away with anything. Josephine was the sweet, calm one, and probably would have sat the intruders down and tried to talk them out of whatever sinister plans they may have had. Samara was and always had been the wild one. She was headstrong, impulsive, and rarely thought about consequences until they were staring her in the face. “They are the most obnoxious men, and hopefully Papa will send them on their way as soon as possible,” she said, in an attempt to conceal her exasperation with herself.

“I think they are very handsome,” Gemma said, and giggled.

“Oh, Gemma, hush,” Samara said irritably. The earl of Easton had annoyed her, and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Perhaps it was his air of superiority, or the easy way in which he had taken her weapon away, all the while keeping her pinned helplessly in his arms. Maybe his attitude, combined with her restlessness at being cooped up indoors, had combined to form a most infuriating situation. Now, thanks to him, she was snapping at her sisters. Suddenly she wanted to be by herself.

“I am going to sleep for a bit before the evening meal,” she announced, and stood, brushing the wool skirt of her dark gray gown and leaving her sisters alone in Gemma’s chamber.

She went to her own bedchamber and lay down on the bed, but did not sleep. She felt edgy, and confused. How dare the earl and his lapdog cousin make her so uneasy in her own home? She could not even explain why she felt so ill at ease, but her nerves were raw and her mind rambled restlessly. All she knew was that the sooner Cade Badgley was gone, the sooner she would be back to her normal self.