Loving A Lost Lord. Mary Jo Putney

      IF ADAM WAS DOOMED TO BE A MAN WITHOUT A PAST, HE WAS HERS

      She had met more than her share of men both eligible and ineligible, and Adam was the only one she wanted for herself. He was kind and funny and intelligent—just what she wanted in a husband. If he never recalled his identity…well, he could find a new one here.

      Together they could run Hartley Manor in peace and prosperity—though she would arrange for a proper marriage ceremony. She would tell Adam that since he was in so many ways a new man, they needed to renew their vows.

      Embarrassed once more by the deftness of her lying, she said, “The past shapes us, but what matters is the present and the future. You still have those, and they will be what you make of them.”

      “You are as wise as you are beautiful.” His gaze holding hers, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his lips yearning. She responded intensely, the near darkness making it easier to express her feelings. Her man from the sea was so dear, so kind and fascinating and male.

      LOVING A LOST LORD

      THE LOST LORDS

      MARY JO PUTNEY

      ZEBRA BOOKS

       Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       119 West 40th Street

       New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2009 by Mary Jo Putney, Inc.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      ISBN: 978-1-4201-3167-3

      First Printing: July 2009

      To all those teachers who helped me

       learn to love books and education.

       Thanks for your patience!

      Acknowledgments

      My special thanks to Shobhan Bantwal, author and expert on all things Hindu. Any mistakes are my own.

      As always, thanks to the Cauldron members for the brainstorming and support. And a special thanks to Kate Duffy, an editor who knows how to make authors purr.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Chapter Thirty-Five

      Chapter Thirty-Six

      Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Chapter Thirty-Eight

      Chapter One

      Kent, 1812

      Late-night visitors were never good news. Lady Agnes Westerfield woke to banging on the door of her private wing of sprawling Westerfield Manor. Since her servants slept two floors above and she wanted to stop the racket before it woke her students, she slid into her slippers and wrapped herself in a warm robe.

      Her candle cast unsettling shadows as she made her way to the door. Soft, steady rain hissed against the windows, punctuated by two deep gongs from the hall clock.

      Among the quiet hills of Kent, robbers were unlikely to knock on her front door, but she still called, “Who’s there?”

      “Randall.” Recognizing the familiar voice, she swung the door open. Her heart sank when she saw the three tall young men on her front steps.

      Randall, Kirkland, and Masterson had been part of her first class of students—her “lost lords” who needed special care and education. There had been six boys in that class, and they had become closer than brothers. One had been lost in the chaos of France; another was in Portugal. Having three of the others show up with anguish in their eyes did not bode well.

      She gestured them inside. “Is it Ballard?” she asked, voicing a worry she’d had for months. “Portugal is a dangerous place with the French army running amok.”

      “Not Ballard.” Alex Randall stepped inside and removed his rain-soaked cloak. He limped from a wound he’d received on the Peninsula, but he was still ridiculously handsome in his scarlet army uniform. “It’s…it’s Ashton.”

      Ashton was the sixth of their class, the most enigmatic, and perhaps dearest of them all. She braced herself. “Dead?”

      “Yes,” James Kirkland answered flatly. “We learned the news at our club and immediately rode down here to tell you.”

      She closed her eyes, despairing. It wasn’t fair for the young to die when their elders lived on. But she had learned early that life wasn’t fair.

      An arm went around her shoulders comfortingly. She opened her eyes and saw that it was Will Masterson, solid and quiet but always knowing the right thing to do. “Did you come together to support me if I went into shrieking hysterics?” she asked, trying to be the calm headmistress they had known for so many years.

      Masterson smiled wryly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we wanted comfort from you rather than vice versa.”

      That was the underlying truth, she guessed. None of her young gentlemen had had decent mothers, so she’d taken that role in their lives.

      A yawning maid appeared and Lady Agnes ordered food for her guests. Young males always needed feeding, especially after a long ride from London. When they’d hung their dripping cloaks, she led them to the salon. They all knew the way, for they had been frequent visitors even after finishing their schooling. “We all need some brandy, I think. Randall, will you pour?” Lady Agnes said.

      Silently Randall opened the cabinet and drew out four glasses, the lamplight shining on his blond hair. He was taut to the point of shattering.