Chapter Three
Eight Years Earlier…
May 1888
Lucien froze, gazing through a copse of trees at a girl sitting on a rock above a burbling brook. Her pale hair glinted in the sunlight; her lovely voice lifted in song. For a moment, he wondered if he’d stumbled upon a woodland nymph. A fanciful thought, but he couldn’t find any other words to describe her. Her faded green dress hinted that she was probably not truly of the fae, but her delicate features and ethereal voice had certainly enchanted him.
He hesitated to make himself known, not wanting to startle her, and selfishly wanting to enjoy her song for a little longer. She obviously thought herself alone, and the pleasure she took with the haunting melody of “Greensleeves” seemed something very personal.
He couldn’t imagine what she was doing here, at his ancestral seat; the main house on the property had burned down nearly a decade ago. The old gamekeeper’s cottage was still occupied, but even that lay almost a mile away. Here, in the heart of the property, he’d expected to find nothing except the ghosts of a better, happier time.
Unable to help himself, he joined his voice with hers on the final chorus. He’d been told he had a passable tenor, and he’d always enjoyed singing. Singing with her, however, seemed something more. She turned at the first sound of his voice, but her own lovely soprano did not falter. Instead, she held his gaze, a slight smile upon her lips as the last of the song faded away.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head, pulling her bare feet from the brook and tucking them up under her skirts. “Do you know that you’re on the Earl of Hawkesmere’s land?”
“Do you?” he fired back, amused.
She flushed, a becoming pink staining her pale skin. “Oh, aye, I know it. You needn’t worry, though. The earl hasn’t been here since the big house burned down a decade ago.” Though her tone remained friendly and casual, he noticed she reached into her pocket and curved her hand around something, a pistol by the shape of it.
His interest and admiration for her grew. She wasn’t as vulnerable as she looked, a fact that was becoming more evident by the moment.
“I was hoping to talk to the gamekeeper, Mr. Pratt,” he told her, moving toward her slowly, hoping not to get a bullet in his chest on his own land. “His home is around here somewhere if my memory serves me right.”
“What’s your name?” she asked, sounding suddenly suspicious.
“Luke,” he answered easily, which wasn’t exactly a lie. His brothers and a few close friends had always called him that.
“Hello, Luke,” she replied. “I’m Serenity Pratt. I’m afraid my father is not available.” A catch in her voice as she spoke alerted him to the fact that all was not as it should be in the Pratt household. He’d known Pratt nearly all his life. Why hadn’t he known his gamekeeper had a daughter?
“Well, I’ve come all this way,” he said with a smile, sitting down on the rock a few feet away from her. “I suppose I’ll just have to sit here and soak my feet with you until he returns.” The prospect was quite tempting, and he began stripping off his boots. The ride up from London had been long and dusty. Once he’d arrived, he’d situated his horse and bag in the dilapidated stables and taken this long route to the old gamekeeper’s cottage. He’d hoped to reacquaint himself with the property, wanting to relive the days he’d spent playing along the river with his younger brothers.
She scooted back a bit, obviously unprepared for that answer. She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, then dropped her gaze. “My father is a drunk and a wastrel,” she told him in a low voice. “He took off about six weeks ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“That’s somewhat troubling,” he muttered, confusion washing over him. “Especially since he wrote to me just last week, assuring me everything was fine here.”
She shot him a sharp look, then suddenly scrambled to her feet. “Luke? Lucien Strathmore? Lord Hawkesmere?”
He grinned lazily. “I’m afraid so.”
She shook her head, still backing away. “You’ve… grown up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“No!” she said sharply. “I mean to say… I used to see you and your brothers sometimes around the estate. Before… you moved away.”
A memory niggled in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, where he kept most of the things that happened during the time when the flames had taken not only his home and his father but life as he’d known it.
He pinned her with his gaze. “Who wrote the letter if it wasn’t your father?”
She flushed and slowly sank back down. “I’m afraid that was from me, Lord Hawkesmere.”
“Luke, please,” he said, trying to put her at ease.
A wan smile curved her full lips. “I couldn’t possibly.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I insist. Besides, we’re old acquaintances, aren’t we? I thought Mr. Pratt’s handwriting was exceptionally fine. You’ve been corresponding with me all along, haven’t you?”
She nodded miserably. “My father… well, he’s been in his cups more and more lately, and I knew he wasn’t doing what he should. I didn’t want you to fire him… we had nowhere else to go.” She squared her thin shoulders. “So, I’ve been taking on his duties myself. I know that was wrong, but I didn’t know what else to do. And now… He’s never been gone this long. Either something has happened to him… or he’s left me.”
“Good Lord, Miss Pratt. You’ve been surviving out here all by yourself for more than a month? How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” She hadn’t pulled her hand away, and he sensed her loneliness.
She lifted her chin. “I just turned eighteen, sir. And if you insist that I must call you Luke, then you certainly must call me Serenity.”
“Serenity,” he murmured. The name suited her. He couldn’t think of a better word to describe the way he’d felt when he’d first come upon her.
The memory he’d tried to suppress came to him then. The day he’d run away from all his responsibilities and expectations, only to find himself at the ruins of Hawkesmere House. Serenity Pratt was the little girl who had comforted him. The one person in the world he’d let see him weak and defenseless. Her concern for a stranger had humbled him; her kindness had given him the strength he’d needed to get through the most difficult time of his life.
He’d convinced himself that he’d dreamed her, but here she stood, that wide-eyed waif grown to a lovely, ethereal woman.
She’d had so much thrust upon her slim shoulders, but she’d handled it admirably. He wanted more than anything to put her at ease, to give her just a fraction of the comfort she’d given him all those years ago. “Your correspondence gave me all the pertinent information. In fact, I had no idea my gamekeeper was an eighteen-year-old girl.”
He would have gotten rid of her father years ago, but he’d always known the man couldn’t hold down a job anywhere else and it did no harm to let him live on the property, for no other reason than to hopefully keep the poachers away. Since there hadn’t been any hunts on the land since before his father died, there really wasn’t a whole lot for him to do, but according to her letters, she’d kept a few breeding pairs of birds and some hounds. She’d also done her best to keep away the foxes and fed the deer, which was more than he’d expected.
A soft laugh of relief escaped her. “I’m glad. I did my best.” She finally pulled her hand back and drew her knees up to her chest, looking bereft. “I know you’ll have to fire my father now, but I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep doing his job and making excuses for him.”
He finished taking off his boots and stuck his feet in the river, wincing a bit at first at the coldness, then giving a sigh of relief as the water soothed away his heat and exhaustion. “First, I will help you find him, and then we’ll see what he has to say for himself.”
“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “I’ve been so afraid. I know he’s probably just run off with some woman or is so drunk he’s forgotten all about me, but he’s never left me for so long. I have a really bad feeling that something’s happened to him.”
Lucien remembered the bruise on her cheek all those years ago, and a surge of hatred for her father consumed him. He could think of a lot of things he’d like to say to the man who’d been taking his money for years while he’d obviously been letting her earn it, all while drinking himself to death and abusing and abandoning her. For her sake, he said none of them, and instead sighed as he realized the next problem.
“I’d planned to stay in the gamekeeper’s cottage with your father for the next few months while I supervise the work crews that are coming to rebuild the manor house,” he said tentatively. “Now that I know it’s just you living there, I suppose that’s not appropriate. Is there anywhere else on the property that’s livable?”
She shook her head, and he saw the fear in her eyes, but he didn’t know if she was afraid that he’d force her to let him stay with her, or that he’d make her leave. “The old gatehouse could probably be made habitable with a couple of days of hard work, but right now it’s a mess. I will, of course, vacate your cottage. I’m very sorry that I’ve stayed there under false pretenses as long as I have.”
“Nonsense,” he told her sharply. She’d been there for him at perhaps the lowest moment of his life. He couldn’t bear to think of hurting her in any way. “I didn’t come here to drive you out of your home. I’ll stay at an inn until the gatehouse can be made ready. I’d planned to refurbish it anyway.”
She glanced at the setting sun. “It’s almost twilight. You’d have a rough time of it, traveling in the dark.”
He said nothing, wondering if she was suggesting what he thought she was. If so, should he agree to stay with her at the cottage? He knew she didn’t mean to give him anything other than a place to lay his head. However, if anyone found out, her reputation would be ruined, and his position had made him wary of being trapped into marriage.
“You can stay at the cottage,” she said quietly, her face flushing even redder, if such a thing was possible. “It belongs to you anyway. There’s plenty of room, and it would be nice not to be… alone.”
Anger filled him at the thought of how frightened she had to have been. Her father had let her down in every way possible. He promised himself he would not do the same.
“I will stay at the cottage,” he agreed. “Thank you, Serenity.”
She nodded abruptly. “We’d better head that way, or we’ll be caught out here in the dark.”
* * *
Serenity moved down the faint path that led from the stream to the cottage, her heart thundering in her chest, every fiber of her being aware of the man who followed silently behind her. She couldn’t believe she’d encountered the Earl of Hawkesmere in the woods. When she’d first glimpsed the incredibly handsome man, who wasn’t more than a couple years older than herself, she’d thought him a groom or a footman, someone she might have been able to flirt with and talk to a bit.
In fact, when he’d joined his voice with hers, and she looked up to find him standing there, she’d thought she was dreaming. For so long, she’d been so isolated, and she’d imagined what it would be like to have a friend, a confidante, someone to love. Then this beautiful, broad-shouldered, inky-haired blue-eyed man had appeared through the trees, and he’d briefly seemed the answer to her prayers.
Instead, he was her landlord, her father’s employer, the man who had the power to throw her out of the cottage. If he did… she had nowhere else to go. Somehow, she had to convince him to let her stay.
For some reason, he didn’t frighten her. In fact, she’d felt an instant affinity to him, and talking to him had been nothing like she’d imagined talking to the earl would be. He had a sense of humor and seemed kind…
When he’d first told her who he was, all she could think about was that long-ago day she’d found him crying in the ruins. She’d been very young, ten perhaps? Her mother had recently died, and her father had started drinking, turning his loss and fury upon her one moment, only to beg her forgiveness the next. She’d been feeling so lost and alone. Her father had been on a three-day drinking binge, and there had been no food in the house.
She’d gone out to look for some berries, then found herself drawn to the ruins in hope that perhaps something was growing wild in the old gardens. Then she’d heard his low, choking sobs. She’d rounded a crumbling wall and found him there, on his knees. His inky hair falling across his cheek could not hide the terrible bruises, and the pain she’d seen in those blue eyes of his when he’d looked up at her had broken her heart.
Without even thinking, she’d tried to offer him comfort, only to find herself crying as well.
It had been a strange moment, and she’d thought about it often over the years. He’d never said a word to her, and though she’d suspected he was one of the old earl’s children, given the fact he’d been in the ruins, she’d never been sure. But something had passed between them, something pure and sweet, and she thought he’d felt it, too.
Naïve of her, perhaps, to let that strange shared experience influence her, but somehow it did. She didn’t think he was the type to take advantage of her. Why would he need to? He was one of the most eligible men in England. Women—beautiful, rich women—probably threw themselves at him wherever he went.
Still, she drew a little comfort from the pistol in her pocket. Once they arrived at the cottage, she’d see him settled and then lock herself in her room for the night. She doubted he’d try to force his way in, but if he did, she thought she could take care of herself. For the moment, all she could think about was that tonight she would not be alone in the creepy old house, jumping at every sound.
Within ten minutes, they’d arrived at the gabled cottage she called home, and she let him in, a little embarrassed by how shabby the place was, though she supposed since he was the landlord it was his fault the cottage had fallen into disrepair. But even though the paint was peeling and the roof leaked like a sieve when it rained, it was clean and homey and she’d lived here since she was a child. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
“I’ll start a fire,” he murmured, once she’d shut the door behind them.
“No, please,” she protested. “I can do it. You’re my guest.”
“Nonsense,” he told her. “I don’t expect you to wait on me. I’m the one who is invading your home.”
She laughed nervously. “It’s your house. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”
“Let’s not worry about any of that tonight,” he suggested. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m famished.”
“Of course,” she said, scrambling to think what she could make him that wouldn’t seem too pathetic. Her cupboards were running precariously low. If not for her chickens and garden, she would have run out of food weeks ago. Her father had taken every cent they had with him, and her situation grew direr by the day.
As he knelt before the large fireplace, she fumbled around in the cupboards, at last piecing together a cheese sandwich with some day-old bread and the last of the cheddar she’d bargained eggs for in town. She sliced a few apples and poured them both some cherry wine her father had always kept on hand.
By the time she took their plates to the table, he had a fire burning merrily and when he sat across from her, he didn’t show any sign that he found the meal lacking.
“Thank you,” he told her with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”
For a few minutes, silence fell between them as they ate, but then she finally asked the question she’d been wondering since he’d first identified himself. “Why are you here? Are you really going to rebuild the manor?” Had her letters alerted him that there might be trouble? Had she brought about her own destruction?
He sighed, and then reached into his coat pocket. “I’ve been wanting to rebuild for years. I studied architecture when I was at the University.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to her. “Here is a rough sketch of my plans.”
She spread the crumpled paper on the table in front of her, then glanced up at him in surprise. “You designed this?”
He nodded, a charming blush on his high cheekbones. “Yes. The first workmen should be here in a few days. I want what’s left of the old house completely razed. Too many bad memories there.”
She knew his father had been killed in the fire that had destroyed the old manor. One of his younger brothers had also been badly burned. No wonder he wanted it gone.
“Then you plan to make this your home again?” she asked softly, surprised he was sharing this with her.
“Yes, I think it’s time.” He ran a hand through his inky black hair, mussing it in a charming way. “For so long, I’ve avoided this place like the plague. My inheritance came with three other estates, and a London house as well. So, rebuilding the manor was never a priority. But Hawkesmere is my birthright, and I think my father would have wanted me to rebuild it. To start utilizing the land, taking on new tenants. This place once sustained a whole village. Now everyone is gone.” He gave her a half smile. “Everyone except you.”
She bit her lip, still staring at the sketch. “That’s very admirable. I’m glad you want to breathe new life into this place.”
“Thank you.” He sighed and dug into the food she’d made him. The sight thrilled her in some deep way. She liked taking care of him.
“This has been difficult for you,” she said, suddenly sensing that he’d given her a very intimate glimpse of what drove him. “You’ve struggled with coming back here because it’s where your life fell apart.”
He glanced up at her, his blue eyes intense. Then, just as quickly, he looked away. “My mother remarried very soon after my father’s death. Even though I was the earl, Winters controlled my inheritance. For years, he wouldn’t let me do anything, and he drained the estates of everything he could. By the time he… died, the earldom was in ruins, and I was overwhelmed. It took me a long time to rebuild my other estates so that they were profitable again.”
“You’re not much over twenty years old,” she told him softly. “If you’ve done all that already, you’ve accomplished a great deal. I think you’re probably too hard on yourself.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what it’s like, to have such a heavy burden dropped upon your shoulders at such a young age. Everybody looks to me for answers, and I don’t have any.”
“It must be very difficult.” She gave a cynical laugh. “But I do know a little bit about how it feels to have no one you can turn to, no one to depend upon but yourself.”
He gave her an abashed look. “I didn’t mean to try and make you feel sorry for me.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t. That would be silly, wouldn’t it? For someone like me to feel sorry for an earl?”
He laughed. “What do you mean, someone like you? I think you’re quite wonderful, Serenity.”
Her heart warmed at his words. “You’re not too bad yourself, my lord.”
He grinned and playfully smacked her hand. “Now, none of that. You promised.”
She gave him an answering grin and then cleared their plates. He went to sit on the sofa, and she refilled her wine glass and joined him. For a while, they sat in silence, simply staring into the flames, but then he turned to her, and she had a feeling that very few people had ever seen him looking this shy and embarrassed.
“Serenity, I must ask you something…” He took a deep breath. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
Heat rose in her cheeks as she met his gaze. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”
“How could I ever forget?” He glanced down, shaking his head. “You must think me—”
She pressed her fingertip against his lips, silencing him. “You needn’t apologize or explain. I have a pretty good idea what happened to you because it happened to me as well. I think, perhaps, that we were meant to find each other that day. That we both needed a little comfort?”
His lips were warm and firm, incredibly soft and supple. When she realized how very much she wanted to feel those lips against her own, she hastily snatched her hand away.
He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “Perhaps you are right, and if so, I hope you received as much comfort from me that I did from you. Did you know that I thought you were an angel or a ghost? Something my mind had conjured up to help me cope?”
She smiled a bit and lowered her gaze. She liked the thought of that. She liked it very much.
Instead of turning in early, as she’d planned, she sat up with him, talking and laughing until the fire burned low. He detailed his plans for the new house, and how he wanted to build a conservatory and grow exotic plants from around the world.
She mentioned her own love of gardening, and they passed at least an hour talking about that. The conversation flowed so easily between them, no awkwardness, no uncomfortable silences. The experience was entirely new for her, and she sensed it was new for him as well.
As the night wore on, they drifted to deeper topics, and she surprised him by opening up even further about her fears that something truly had happened to her father, her loneliness, and her lack of options. Within the next few days, her life was going to change drastically, in one way or another, and her lack of control over her own circumstances terrified her.
In return, he told her of his stepfather’s abuse, of his younger brother Adrian’s disfigurement in the fire, and how much he still worried about him. He also shared his mother’s unwillingness to believe that her new husband was harming them, and how he and his brothers had made up a masked vigilante named Prometheus to survive it.
At last, he leaned forward and took her hands in his. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this evening, Serenity. For some reason, I feel like I can trust you, and I think you know enough about me now to know I don’t give my trust easily.”
His large hands were so warm and comforting. She smiled at him tremulously. “I feel the same way.”
He sighed and looked around the little house. “I have a proposition for you, but please feel free to say no if it makes you uncomfortable in any way.”
A sick feeling bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She’d known he was too good to be true. “What kind of proposition?”
He sighed. “Stay on and help me rebuild the estate. I know it’s highly unusual, but I think that together, we can really make this place special again and, of course, I’ll pay you a wage. We’ll plan the gardens, and you can help me decorate, and in the evenings, we can drink wine and talk the night away.”
Her fear that he was going to say something else entirely left in a whoosh that nearly made her dizzy. “Why don’t we continue to let people believe that my father still lives here, that he’s still your gamekeeper? That way, there won’t be any gossip. No one will be surprised when they don’t see him around. Everyone knows he’s a drunk.”
“Yes, I think that’s a wonderful plan.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hands tightly. “Are you ready to have the best summer of your life?”
She nodded, hope blossoming within her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am.”