Georgie Lee Read online

  Hero’s Redemption

  By Georgie Lee

  London, 1817

  Devon, the Earl of Malton, is a hero for his deeds at the Battle of Waterloo. But he suffers terrible nightmares, and drinks himself to sleep most nights. A habit he vows to break when he awakes one morning to find a woman sharing his bed, no memory of how she got there, and her angry brother at his door.

  Cathleen is mortified when her wastrel brother and his greedy wife propose a blackmail scheme involving the earl, but as a penniless war widow she’s at their mercy. She goes along with the plan and sneaks into Devon’s bed one night, and ends up comforting him through a night terror.

  Charmed by her beauty and kindness, Devon determines that rather than pay the blackmail, he will offer his hand in marriage to Cathleen. Although she is deeply attracted to the stoic earl, Cathleen cannot understand why Devon would want to marry her. What she doesn’t know is that Devon owes her a debt that can never fully be repaid…

  34,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to our July lineup of books! If I’m not on the beach somewhere while you’re reading this, there’s something wrong with life (unless you’re reading this in December—in which case, I hope I’m by a fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa in my hand). But no matter where you are while you’re reading this, I can tell you one thing: you’re in for a treat. (Sure, I say that every month, but it’s always true!) This month brings a fun mix of returning authors and debut authors, with fun, contemporary beach reads, some troublesome dragons, a few steps back in time, and characters in a race against time and a fight for their lives.

  Let’s kick off with the perfect beach read. Make sure you pick up Christi Barth’s Love at High Tide. Beach reading doesn’t get much better than this. It starts with a beach rescue, continues with a beach romance, and has sun, sand, sexual tension and two characters you will love.

  Maybe the beach isn’t your thing in the summer, but baseball is. Take a peek at Alison Packard’s The Winning Season. After hitting rock bottom, bad-boy catcher Matt Scanlon is traded to the team he’s loathed since boyhood, and he must confront a painful incident in his past before he can rebuild his life and his career. Once you’ve fallen in love with Matt, go back and read Alison’s debut romance, Love in the Afternoon.

  Continuing in the contemporary romance genre, we have party planner Tess, who can’t believe that hotel manager Jeremy could possibly be interested in her. She’s everyone’s BFF, not friends-with-benefits material. But he’s got more than friendship on his mind in Kate Davies’s Life of the Party, book three in the Girls Most Likely to… series.

  Maybe you like your romance with a side of suspense? If so, check out Anne Marie Becker’s Deadly Bonds, and Betrayed by Trust from Ana Barrons. Two romantic suspense books, four characters in fights for their lives.

  Or maybe you like your romance with a large helping of sexy times? If so, Lynda Aicher’s Bonds of Desire is the book for you. Lawyer Allison English never planned to return to The Den—despite her naughty fantasies about being bound by owner Seth Matthews. But when club guest Tyler Wysong is injured in a scene, Seth turns to Allie for help. Aroused by both men, Allie should turn the case down. But she can’t…

  Joining Lynda in the erotic romance category this month are two male/male titles. First up is His Roommate’s Pleasure by Lana McGregor. Adam had no idea that his jock roommate was gay—and into leashes, paddles, and domination. And Adam, an inexperienced virgin who’s only ever kissed one guy, is surprised to find himself curious about submitting… Then Samantha Ann King returns with the follow-up to her debut romance, Sharing Hailey. In Waiting for Ty, too many beers and four long years of denying their feelings for each other thrust two men together in a lip-lock and a night of no-holds-barred sex that forces them to confront their greatest love and their deepest fears.

  In Sky Hunter, the third and final installment of Fae Sutherland’s male/male space opera romance series, Skybound, the Crux Ansata’s brash and rebellious ship mechanic, Jeret, finds himself face-to-face with a dangerous past he never thought to revisit—and the only man he has never been able to forget.

  Looking for more books in the paranormal category? Start with Ruth A. Casie’s The Guardian’s Witch and Desperate Magic by Rebecca York. And for fans of historical romance, in Georgie Lee’s Hero’s Redemption, a widow and a war hero brought together by a scheme must learn to trust one another and accept the tragedy that links them in order to find love. Meanwhile, historical romance author Susanna Fraser, who can always be counted on to deliver a unique and unusual historical romance, returns with A Dream Defiant, in which a black British soldier marries a beautiful English war widow, but he can’t believe she wants him for himself, and not merely as her bodyguard and protector.

  This month Carina Press is pleased to announce three debut authors. Mystery author Patricia Hale will grip you by the throat with her suspenseful story of retribution, In the Shadow of Revenge. As children they witnessed horror and created a pact, as women they planned their revenge and waited.

  Also debuting this month is Reese Ryan, with Making the First Move. When ambitious HR exec Melanie Gordon falls for sweet, sexy philanthropist Raine Mason, she discovers that his selflessness is driven by a dark and tragic secret that threatens to keep them apart.

  And joining Carina Press with her Golden Heart–winning paranormal romance is debut author Lorenda Christensen. Fans of Katie MacAlister’s Aisling Grey and Light Dragons series will want to check this one out, and so will any fans of fun paranormal romances featuring dragons and heroines with a bit of backbone. In Never Deal with Dragons, the first in a new series, a human mediator bites off more than she can chew when she agrees to partner with an ex-boyfriend to stop a war between two dragon monarchs.

  I hope you enjoy all of this month’s new releases. There’s certainly a variety to choose from, to keep you occupied no matter what your summer (or winter) activity.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To my critique partners Melissa and Jinhee. Thank you for pushing me to write out of my comfort zone.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Devon, Lord Malton, tossed in bed, the throbbing pain in his thigh pulling him from the oblivion of drunkenness into a semi-sleep that clung to him like tar.

  “No,” he moaned. The ghostlike images of old comrades and dead enemies drifted through his mind. Distant cannon fire rolled in the air, growing louder as light began to creep in along the edges of the sharpening visions. “No.”

  In a flash the world turned bright, the afternoon sun reflecting off the stone walls of Hougoumont Manor’s courtyard. Around him, British soldiers and trapped French soldiers fought, the metallic ring of sabers carrying over the shouts of dying men and the screams of frightened horses.

  “Cochon anglais!” A French soldier charged at Devon and he swung around to face him. “Je te tuerai.”

  They locked swords, the Frenchman’s wild eyes meeting De
von’s across the blade.

  “Maintenant—au diable!” Devon shoved the Frenchman back. The burly soldier staggered slightly but desperation gave him strength and he hurled himself forward.

  Devon was stepping back to parry when his boot rolled on the arm of a dead man and he fell, landing hard in the mud. The Frenchman lunged again. Devon swung his sword, deflecting the blow but the Frenchman’s blade slid down the length of Devon’s, impaling his thigh.

  “Bloody hell.” Devon dug the heel of his boot into the man’s chest and kicked hard. A searing pain nearly blinded him as the man’s blade tore free.

  The Frenchman pulled himself to his feet and advanced. Devon rose up on one knee, lifting his sword to defend himself when suddenly the flash of a red coat cut across his vision. Captain Selton stood between them, his sword clanging against the Frenchman’s.

  “Get back to the safety of the manor,” the young officer called, swinging to repel the enemy’s blade.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Devon stood, gritting his teeth against the pain. He limped forward, determined to fight when the sickening sound of metal slicing flesh drowned out the cannons. Captain Selton wavered a moment then slumped to the ground.

  “No!” Devon yelled.

  The Frenchman, his sword still lodged in Captain Selton’s chest, met Devon’s eyes, smug triumph dancing in their watery depths.

  “Bastard!” Devon hurled himself at the man, his pain forgotten in a rush of anger. The Frenchman’s triumph turned to fear as Devon impaled him, driving him backwards across the courtyard, forcing the sword in deeper and deeper until it drove itself through his body, lodging in a wooden door in the far wall. Devon pulled out the blade and the Frenchman dropped to the ground.

  Devon stepped back and his wounded leg buckled. He fell hard against the wall, his palm scraping over the rough stone as he slid down into the mud. When he pressed his hand over the wound, the blood stained his breeches and covered his fingers. Out across the courtyard, heavy clouds of black powder smoke drifted through the fighting men, passing over Captain Selton, who lay with the others, his lifeless eyes watching the sky.

  “No,” Devon cried in anguish. “No.”

  “It’s all right,” a soft female voice carried over the crack of gunfire. “You’re safe now.”

  “I couldn’t save him.” Devon choked, struggling to breathe through the acrid smoke. “I couldn’t help him.”

  “I know.” Gentle hands stroked his hair, his forehead and cheeks, their tenderness easing his tight chest and softening the pain coursing through him. “Sleep now.”

  “I can’t.” The cannons’ rampant booms began to fade. “I never can.”

  “You will tonight.” The bed creaked and through the haze of his semi-conscious mind, he felt her warmth next to him. She drew his head down into her lap. One hand continued to stroke his hair while the other rested lightly on his shoulder. Reaching up, he gripped the small hand, taking comfort in the way her fingers intertwined with his. Exhaustion crept in, replacing the tension tightening his muscles. The throbbing from the scar on his thigh dulled to a faint ache as the memories receded back into the darkness. Losing himself in her steady caress, he let her quiet presence envelop him as he fell into the first peaceful, dreamless sleep he’d enjoyed since before Waterloo.

  * * *

  The loud voices of a man and woman pulled Devon from the heaviness of sleep. Raising his head from the soft, raspberry scented pillow, he screwed his eyes shut at the pain arching between his temples.

  How could I have drunk so much? Opening his eyes, he focused on a narrow shaft of sunlight falling through a slit in the curtains. It illuminated the simple turned wood chair in the corner where his breeches hung. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor.

  Why didn’t James see to my clothes? Then the reality hit him. Where am I?

  He sat up, suddenly aware of his nakedness beneath the rough sheets.

  “You’re awake then?” a female voice questioned.

  He twisted around to face the woman next to him. She sat propped against the headboard, brown hair framing her oval face and tumbling over her shoulders. A plain chemise was pulled tight around her neck. She smiled at him, and her amber eyes, calm like a mill pond at sunset, quieted his confusion.

  “Who are you?” he asked, more curious than concerned.

  Before she could answer, the door swung open and Sir Lucien Wells stormed into the room, his boots thumping on the floor as he strode to the window and yanked open the curtains. What the devil was Wells doing here? He barely knew the man.

  “How dare you intrude,” Devon thundered, blinking hard against the harsh sun flooding the room.

  “How dare you seduce my sister under my roof,” Wells snapped, coming around to the foot of the bed.

  Devon pinned the woman with a hard look. Red crept over her white skin until she shifted her gaze to Wells and her eyes flashed with fiery anger.

  What the hell happened last night? It wasn’t Devon’s habit to tumble just any willing woman, no matter how beautiful, nor to drink himself into such a stupor he couldn’t remember anything. Disgust and shame swept through him but he shoved the feelings aside, not about to show weakness to any of these people.

  “Get up, Cathleen,” Lucien ordered. “Martha, come help Cathleen dress.”

  Another woman, who Devon assumed was Martha, hurried in from the hallway, snatched a pale blue wrapper from the foot of the bed and tossed it around Cathleen’s shoulders. “Here you go, my poor darling.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Cathleen pushed the woman’s hands away and the concern in Martha’s eyes turned into a hard glare, giving her the look of a Drury Lane bawd.

  Cathleen stood, and Devon caught a glimpse of one creamy thigh before the wrapper fell down to cover it. She marched up to Lucien, pinning him with a defiant stare before sweeping past him into the adjacent dressing room.

  “Please see to my dear sister,” Wells instructed through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll see to her, all right,” Martha grumbled, storming after her charge and slamming the door behind her.

  Lucien picked up Devon’s breeches and flung them across the bed.

  “Come downstairs when you’re presentable. The butler will wait outside to escort you. We have a great deal to discuss.” He turned on one dull boot and left, closing the door behind him.

  Devon flung back the covers then stood, cursing the pain and stiffness in his thigh while he collected his scattered clothes. How dare a baronet upbraid him, the Earl of Malton. Rubbing his aching forehead, he struggled to remember anything from last night.

  He’d recalled going to a gaming hell alone and Wells inviting him to a friendly game of Faro. Having no desire to return home to another long night of dreary memories, he’d taken a place at the table. After the first hand, everything grew hazy.

  Tugging up the breeches, he walked to the mirror on the wall and leaned over the little table in front of it to arrange his wrinkled shirt and cravat. He rubbed his hand along the dark stubble on his jaw, turning his head from side to side to examine the new creases about the corners of his tired, red-rimmed eyes.

  What have others sacrificed so I could come to London and end up like this? He slammed his fist on the small table, making the mortar and pestle on top jump.

  Devon buttoned up his waistcoat and thought of leaving. Let Wells come to him to discuss matters if he was so inclined. However, the image of the woman in bed, and the knowledge Wells could now make a public scandal kept Devon from walking out. Best to see what the damn brother wanted and get the whole sordid affair over with before it became fodder for society.

  * * *

  “You played your part well,” Martha congratulated.

  Cathleen met her sister-in-law’s mocking look in the dressing table mirror with one of hate.

  “Watch those eyes, woman.” Martha tugged hard on the lacing and Cathleen drew in a sharp breath. “You have no right to look down on me.”

/>   “How can you be proud of what you’ve done?”

  “Don’t forget, you’ve done it too.” Martha smirked, the lines around the corner of her mouth deepening. A buxom woman with full, dark hair, Martha had been striking once, but the redness creeping into her skin from long nights spent gambling with Lucien faded her bloom. “It’s a pity you didn’t indulge him. Might have got his bastard and an income for the child.”

  Cathleen’s hands tightened, her thin gold wedding band digging into her finger like the hard chair had dug into her back last night. Anger filled her at the memory of Lucien and Martha shaking her awake and dropping the unconscious earl in her bed. They’d demanded she pretend the earl had seduced her, and when she refused they threatened to throw her out. She knew they’d make good on the threat. She’d once seen Martha banish a thin and starving maid from the house after the girl spurned Lucien’s advances. Cathleen had tried to help, but the defiant girl refused and Cathleen found her a few months later living on the streets, too far gone on gin to be saved. The image of her gaunt body covered in rags still haunted Cathleen.

  She shivered. There would be little difference between her and the maid if Lucien and Martha tossed her out. With nowhere else to go, she’d reluctantly agreed to their plan and spent the better part of the night sitting in the spindly chair in the corner, cursing her nasty relations and the drunk man in her bed.

  Then the earl had cried out in his sleep. She’d watched him, hoping the dream would pass, but the way it gripped him, his body covered in sweat, his voice edged with an agony she recognized, called to her. She’d gone to him, comforting him like she used to comfort Thomas.

  Cathleen closed her eyes, remembering the weight of the earl’s head in her lap as she stroked his soft hair, his presence filling her with a strange sense of peace. It permeated the room like the steady rhythm of his breathing, lulling her to sleep and driving away the loneliness she’d felt every night for the last two years.

  Then this morning, when he’d first stirred and she’d lingered for a moment between sleep and awake, she’d almost imagined Thomas had returned. It was a cruel mistake, for no amount of wishing could bring him back from the dead, nor change her role in the present situation. Martha was right. Coerced or not, Cathleen was just as guilty as they were for what had happened to the earl. “Don’t ever ask me to participate in one of your schemes again.”