To Love and Protect Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Excerpt - A Traitorous Heart

  Excerpt - A Thin Line

  Excerpt - Taming the Wicked Wulfe

  Excerpt - Seducing the Ruthless Rogue

  To Loveand Protect

  The Reluctant Lords, Book 3

  By

  Tammy Jo Burns

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  To Love and Protect, The Reluctant Lords, Book 3

  ©2014 by Tammy Jo Burns

  Excerpt of A Traitorous Heart, The Reluctant Lords, Book 1

  ©2013 by Tammy Jo Burns

  Excerpt of A Thin Line, The Reluctant Lords, Book 2

  ©2013 by Tammy Jo Burns

  Excerpt of Taming the Wicked Wulfe, The Rogue Agents, Book 1

  ©2014 by Tammy Jo Burns

  Excerpt of Seducing the Ruthless Rogue, The Rogue Agents, Book 2

  ©2014 by Tammy Jo Burns

  Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.

  Chapter 1

  “Lady Clarissa, I am so glad you could join us,” Lady Chester cooed as she greeted Clarissa Blackerby.

  “Thank you for inviting me, Lady Chester,” Clarissa nodded with a polite smile, wishing she were home instead. He had been gone for very close to a month and no word had yet arrived letting her know that Papa had arrived safely in Liverpool. She now lived in a constant state of anxiety.

  “The other ladies are in the orangery, if you would care to join them?”

  “Of course.”

  Clarissa knew the ladies of the ton considered it a social coup to get her to attend any event, and that Lady Chester would be crowing quite some time about it to anyone that would listen. The thought of spending the afternoon with her step-mother and the slimy Franklin had been the determining factor of leaving the house today. Part of her wanted to call her step-mother ‘mummy’ in a taunting manner, but she couldn’t bring herself to let the words escape her mouth. Franklin, her step-mother’s brother, made her skin crawl. He constantly cornered her, attempting to cause them to be caught in compromising positions. Thank goodness most of the staff were originally hired by her father and loyal to her, willing to put their jobs on the line to protect her. She could not hide the shiver that ran up her spine when thinking of him.

  “Cold, Lady Clarissa?” one of the other misses asked her snobbishly.

  “Just caught a slight breeze. How is everyone today?” she politely asked the group before going around and greeting each person individually. Contrary to popular thought, Clarissa much preferred staying at home and events such as this were one of the many reasons why. They came together as a group to do something good, but instead, the meetings turned into social events. The young misses of the group watched her as if to find a weakness to exploit in hopes of turning the interest of the men away from her and to themselves. Their mamas did the same thing, just with less subterfuge and more directness. The funniest thing about the entire situation was Clarissa could not care less about finding a husband.

  Before Lorraine, her step-mother, had come along, she just wanted to retire to the country and take care of her father. She pondered that thought a moment. Did her declaration of her intentions push her father into that woman’s arms? Clarissa worried her bottom lip at the thought and her stomach churned slightly. She did not know what she would do if she were to blame for having that woman and man in their house. Wanting to stamp her foot in agitation, a voice at her elbow brought her out of her recriminations.

  “Lady Clarissa, did you hear my question?” a rotund matron asked sharply.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, my mind was somewhere else. What were you saying?”

  “What is your idea for the annual fundraiser?”

  “Oh, well,” she thought for a moment looking at the group of women and attempting to ascertain what group they were actually meeting for. So many of them were on the same boards of charitable organizations that it made it difficult to recall which meeting she currently attended. She looked around the group and saw the quiet widow, Lady Oliver, sitting under a tree and knew immediately what group they supported. She and Lady Oliver were on only one board together—The London Orphanage Committee.

  “Yes?” the woman prompted once more.

  “Well, I thought a fair would be nice,” she looked at Lady Oliver for assistance. “Lady Oliver, wouldn’t your own children enjoy attending a fair?”

  “Oh, indeed they would,” she replied, looking surprised that Clarissa would call on her for support.

  “I don’t know,” the other woman huffed just as Lady Chester entered the orangery with one more lady in tow.

  “You don’t know what, Hester?”

  “Having a fair for the fundraiser.”

  “A fair? Like a country fair?”

  “Exactly,” the lady snipped. “See, it just seems so, well, countrified. I mean, really, who would want to attend a fair in the city. We all have attended fairs before. Tell me Lady Clarissa, who would enjoy themselves at a fair in the city?”

  “The orphans and their caretakers,” Clarissa replied calmly, her smooth tone hiding the anger she felt rising within. She found herself counting to reign in her temper and hoped her cheeks were not flushed, betraying her true thoughts of the lady in front of her. All in the room fell silent. Almost an entire minute passed when Lady Oliver spoke up in Clarissa’s defense.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea. The children would enjoy it so.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Chester added. “Perhaps we can receive permission to have it held in Hyde Park and end the night with fireworks.”

  The circle of women began chattering once more, and the awkward moment passed. The snippy woman and her daughter glared at Clarissa as if they wished her gone forever. Finally, someone called to the woman forcing her to terminate her eye contact with Clarissa. Refusing to show any physical sign of relief that the woman had moved on, Clarissa felt herself wilting inside with it. She hated confrontation and avoided it whenever possible.

  The mother and daughter had their sites on the Duke of Hawkescliffe, and he had been courting Clarissa for much of the Little Season. Recently, the duke had wed his best friend’s sister, a young woman with no title, in a very quiet ceremony. Clarissa felt both relief and happiness for the couple. She had become friends with Mikala, Hawkescliffe’s new wife, and felt the woman had tried to hide her feelings for Hawkescliffe. Perhaps now the two might discover their true feelings for each other. Clarissa had only gone around with him because of the power he wielded and she felt he could protect her from her lecherous step-uncle when in public.

  She felt a hand at her shoulder and looked to her side to see Lady Oliver standing next to her. “Don’t let her get to you
, Lady Clarissa. She is a bitter woman who enjoys trying to make other people’s lives miserable as well.”

  “At least I won’t lose any sleep over her tonight, thank you, Lady Oliver.”

  “Please, call me Henriette.”

  “Then you must call me Clarissa. Why don’t we retire to the bench you just left, and you can tell me all about your two precious children.” The woman’s face lit up as she talked about her children. She had Clarissa chuckling over their antics in no time at all.

  The meeting ended without any more arguments, and Clarissa’s coach came to pick her up.

  “John Coachman, please take me to Hyde Park. I would like to go for a stroll before retiring for the evening.”

  “My lady, is that wise? It is getting rather late and there is frost in the air.”

  “Please,” she pleaded to the old man who had been more friend than employee many times.

  “All right, miss,” he reluctantly agreed slipping into a more familiar address. He shut the door and the carriage swayed as he took his spot on top. They drove through the city before arriving at the nearly deserted Hyde Park. The coach came to a stop, and the old man opened the door. “Are you sure, miss?”

  “Absolutely. Who could miss walking on an afternoon like this? The sky is positively clear. How often does that feat occur in London, especially on a winter’s day?”

  “I’ll be following behind you,” he said.

  “No, you stay with the horses and carriage. I’ll be fine. I just want to take a stroll.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Everything will be fine. Wait here.” Clarissa took off at a brisk pace toward the flower gardens. The groundskeepers for the park made certain that there were several types of flowers that bloomed every season. The trees had only just lost their leaves due to a rather warm Autumn and there were still a few flowers brave enough to peek their colorful petals out for all to see.

  She found a bench and sat down to think and be by herself. She used to be able to do this in her gardens at home, but now feared Franklin too much. Since Papa had been gone, she often took her meal in her rooms, never leaving her door unlocked for any reason. Sometimes she would spend the evening with Aunt Gertie, but she did not dare do it too often for fear of worrying the dear woman.

  How she wished for the peace of the country once more. She also wished her father had never met that woman. Woman! Hah! She acted and dressed more like a harlot than a lady of the ton. The thought of that woman pretending to be her mother and act so much wiser was laughable. Lost in her thoughts, Clarissa failed to hear the footsteps that fell behind her. A gloved hand covered her mouth and a beefy arm pinned both of hers to her side. She struggled to break free, but could barely move at all.

  “Hold still and it will go much easier for you,” the coarse voice teased. “You really are lovely, my dear,” dry lips caressed her ear, “he said you were.” She stiffened and shivered, attempting to pull away from the man. Her mind raced. Who was it? What did they want? Where was John Coachman? Could he even see her from the carriage? Why had she refused his company?

  “Now, we are going to leave here quietly. Do you understand?” She nodded her head slowly. She knew she had to get away now, otherwise who knew what would happen to her? Clarissa held out her reticule as if a peace offering to the beast behind her. “Nice touch, lovey, but I have other plans for you before I deliver you. Yes, indeed. Something sweeter than whatever is in that fine li’l bag of yours.”

  Clarissa’s eyes widened in fear at the meaning behind his words. Innocent she may be, but she heard the change in his voice, felt the change in a certain part of his anatomy behind her. No! She cried silently. He stood her up and dragged her to the side of the bench. Not knowing what else to do she slammed her foot down on his and kicked his knee. He loosened his hand enough that she screamed for help.

  “You little bitch!” he roared.

  Clarissa turned and ran up the path towards the carriage. Too much land lay between her and safety. She saw John approaching them and recognized the worry on his face.

  “Duck!” She heard him yell and she instinctively dove into a hedge before she heard the pop of a gun. Prickly branches scratched her face, chest, and arms. Another crash followed by an oath sounded only a few feet behind her. She scrambled out of the bushes, gaining her footing and ran for the coach. Her dress caught in underbrush ripping loudly and slowing her escape. The gloved hand felt like a manacle as it closed around her ankle.

  He pulled her down, but she fought and clawed, trying to pull herself away from the thug. Her fingers left trenches in the damp London soil. “Help me!” she cried at the top of her lungs.

  “Shut up,” he whispered as he tried to drag her close.

  “Help! Please!” The sound of pounding footsteps came closer and closer. Clarissa felt her energy running out as she fought the large man. “Help!” Even her voice sounded weaker, fainter.

  “Hell, this ain’t worth it. I don’t care what the bloke said.” All of a sudden her foot came free, she attempted to scramble free, but huge, strong hands lifted her. “But you’re my way out of here.” The man carried her to the far entrance of the park, while she continued to pummel and kick him. She heard people chasing after them. They were close enough to the entrance that the man could get away easily. “Another time, m’lady,” the man turned her head and roughly kissed her mouth bringing blood. “That’s a lil’ somethin’ to remember me’s by,” then he flung her towards a copse of trees. Disoriented and unable to catch her balance, she slammed into a huge old tree headfirst. She felt the bark scrape down her cheek, tearing her flesh. Clarissa saw beautiful stars light the blue sky before all went dark.

  ***

  She awakened in the carriage, her head pounding and her body torn and bruised. She knocked on the wall of the coach to get John Coachman’s attention. The carriage lurched to a stop and she felt the sway of someone getting down. She squinted against the last light of day as John opened the carriage door.

  “Miss, I should have gone with you. I’ll ne’er forgive myself.”

  “John, I’ll be fine,” she croaked out as she pulled herself up in the seat. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “No. Take me to Aunt Gertie’s, please.”

  “But...”

  “No, John. Please, do this for me.”

  “Yes, miss.” She watched as John closed the door and felt the sway of the carriage as he once more got the horses moving. Clarissa remained stoic and composed during the entire ride to her aunt’s house. Despite the pounding in her head, she made certain that she had replayed the incident enough in her mind that she could recall the details exactly. The bumping and swaying of the coach in combination with her head made her nauseous, and she could not wait for the torturous ride to be over with. She knew John took his time in reverence to her, but on the cobbled streets of London, it would almost be better to speed to their destination and get it over with.

  When they pulled up in front of the Gertie’s house, John jumped down and lifted her out of the carriage just as the housekeeper opened the door.

  “Oh, dear,” she heard the old woman say before she yelled, “Lady Heathrow, we need you immediately.”

  “John, do I look that bad?” Clarissa did not argue against him carrying her because her legs felt like a holiday pudding. When she heard Aunt Gertie say, “Oh, my sweet baby, what happened to you?” She knew she looked horrid. She felt the tears gather behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She did, however, let the older woman wrap her up in her arms for no other reason but to let her aunt feel better about the situation.

  ***

  Justin Southerby, Viscount Southerby, sat in his father’s study and poured over the report he had to deliver in the next few days to the Director of the Foreign Office. This had only been his third assignment since volunteering to work in the office. His career had begun by coming across a group of Fre
nchmen attempting to enter Scotland near his grandfather’s land. Justin had quickly run to get clansmen to help capture the intruders. Ever since then, he felt it his duty, no, his calling, to help the government keep Napoleon out of Scotland and England alike.

  Before that time, he had done what most younger sons of the ton did, played hard. Then his older brother had felt the need to fight against Napoleon and had been one of the few British soldiers killed in the Invasion of Naples, leaving him to inherit. His father had shown him how to run the estates, but Justin found it a boring process. Not that he would neglect them upon inheriting the land, it just currently did not hold his interest. His visits to Scotland every summer always held some adventure and he enjoyed escaping the hustle and bustle of London for a while.

  His mother had been on him to begin looking for a wife this season. He thought he had found one in Mikala Simmons. She was fiery and independent, just what his grandfather and grandmother would approve of. Circumstances beyond anyone’s control, however, found her married to the Duke of Hawkescliffe. A pounding on the front door interrupted his thoughts, and soon the butler appeared at the open study door.

  “You have a message, my lord.” Justin took the message that his parent’s butler, Dickson, carried on a silver salver.

  “Thank you,” Justin said on a sigh. He had tried to tell Dickson they had no need to stand on formality, but the man refused to change his ways. Justin took the note, and the man turned stiffly and walked out the door. He ripped open the seal, not paying attention to the mark in the wax, and quickly read the note.

  Dearest Justin,

  I need your assistance. Please, come at once.

  Love,

  Gertie

  “Uhhh, what has she gone and done now?” Justin asked the empty room, letting his head fall backwards against the high back of the chair. Deciding to get the crisis over with, he locked his report in the safe hidden in the bookshelf and called for his horse. Justin left his parent’s townhouse, which was located in an older but respectable area of Mayfair and made his way to Grosvenor Square to his godmother’s house. He never knew what to expect when visiting his mother’s best friend, which is why he tried to keep the visits to a minimum.