The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca Winters

and restful tones of one who seldom panicked.

      A family that would be there for each other when the times got tough. A group of people joined by blood and love. He kissed his wife’s cold forehead as he strode up the steps of St Auburn and the startled servants came running.

      * * *

      He found his grandfather in the library an hour later, sitting and looking out of the window with a heavy bandage around his head.

      ‘William.’ Today the word did not sit upon his tongue with the ease that it always had. ‘Grandfather,’ he amended and saw the old man turn.

      ‘Is your wife recovered?’

      ‘She is having a hot bath. The maids are with her and the warmth will stop the chills.’

      ‘And Hanley?’

      ‘Hawk has taken him back to London where he will be dealt with.’

      ‘I would kill him if it were left to me.’

      The sentiment made Nat smile. ‘In that we are alike.’

      ‘Are we?’

      This time Nathaniel knew it was something else entirely of which William spoke. ‘You never wanted my mother and father anywhere near you. You sent them from St Auburn and refused to ever see them again.’

      ‘My Margaret had just died. I was not thinking straight and afterwards...’ He hesitated. ‘Afterwards it was too late. But now I see what I have missed.’

      ‘You saved Cassandra. Without your bravery Hanley might have drowned her without a whisper.’

      The earl shook his head. ‘I hit him as hard as I could and it barely touched him.’

      ‘But the noise when you fell alerted us. I owe you everything.’

      His grandfather used his cane and came to stand next to Nat. ‘We are both hard-headed and stubborn, Nathaniel, and we both love our wives with all our hearts.’ The old eyes were watery as he placed his hand forward palm up. ‘And our children.’

      Pleading lay in the gesture. For family, it said, and for forgiveness, it asked.

      Stepping forward, Nat brought his grandfather into his arms, tightly wrapped in an emotion that he had thought would be impossible.

      ‘Thank you for saving her, Grandfather.’

      ‘It was my pleasure, Nathaniel. And thank you, too, for saving me.’

       Chapter Fourteen

      She was wrapped in the warmth of wool and settled onto the generous blue sofa in the downstairs parlour.

      Cassandra had had her hair washed and her body powdered and her feet were swathed in slippers of the finest lambswool, a present from William and one he had bought for his wife just before she had died.

      She felt blessed. Jamie was cuddled into her side, and Nathaniel sat on a leather chair only a few feet away.

      ‘If you had not been there, Grandfather, this could have all turned out far differently.’ Her husband’s words held a reverence and respect that was heartwarming.

      ‘Which just goes to show that there is life in the old boy yet.’ She saw William’s hand rest lightly on Nathaniel’s shoulder. They had spoken privately, she knew, before coming downstairs and the feud that had parted them seemed all but gone.

      Reginald also had turned out to be a surprise. He had offered Cassandra a more than generous amount to be put into the coffers of the Daughters of the Poor plus the free use of a property that he owned in Aldwych as a place to set up further employment. Compensation for his poor choice of friends, he had told everyone. He had also decided to leave the Venus Club.

      When Cassie glanced over at Nathaniel she saw that he was watching her closely.

      ‘Good things come out of bad,’ he said and smiled, though when his eyes settled on the marks at her throat an edge of anger was still visible.

      Protection. It was so very relaxing. She closed her eyes and slept.

      * * *

      Much later when she awoke she found that she was back in their own chamber, but Nathaniel was not in bed with her. He stood at the window, looking over the land of the Lindsays, a moon hanging in the sky. The calmness that was so much a part of him made her smile and she simply watched.

      ‘You cannot sleep, Nathaniel?’

      The effects of the toddy the housekeeper had made for her had almost worn off now, and Cassie felt as if the shadows and mirrors she had lived with all her life had been thrown away somehow, the strong lines of hope exposed by love instead.

      ‘I could not live if you left me, Sandrine. I could not find a way to keep on going. Today when I thought...’ His voice broke, and he turned away, but not before she saw the moisture on his cheeks and the terror in his eyes. ‘I never slept with another woman after Perpignan. It has always been just you.’

      Pushing back the covers, she joined him at the window, winding her arms about his coldness and infusing warmth.

      ‘Love holds no barriers, my darling. Time. Distance. Space. They are just words against love. We will always be together because we will always love.’

      ‘Do you promise?’

      ‘Come to bed and I will show you how I know,’ she whispered, the heat of ardour rising. ‘Let me take you to a place that is only ours.’

      ‘Like the memory of the high baths above Bagnères-de-Bigorre?’

      She nodded and, taking his arm, led him back to the warm nest of their bed.

      As often thro’ the purple night,

      Below the starry clusters bright,

      Some bearded meteor trailing light,

      Moves over still Shalott.

      * * * * *

       Rebellious Rakes

       Rake Most Likely to Rebel

       Rake Most Likely to Thrill

       Bronwyn Scott

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Rake Most Likely to Rebel

      Bronwyn Scott

      For Monsieur Rouse, high school French

       teacher extraordinaire: Votre ardeur pour la langue insuffle mon fil. Merci. (Je regrette, I have not conjugated ‘to inspire’ for some time. I hope the form is correct on insuffle!)

      And for Ro and Brony—we will see the City of

       Light (La Ville Lumière) together soon

       Chapter One

      Dover docks—March 1835

      There were no pleasures left in London. One could only hope Paris would do better. Haviland North turned up the collar of his greatcoat against the damp of the early March morning and paced the Dover docks, anxious to be away with the tide.

      All of his hopes were pinned on France now and its