Invitation to Passion
INVITATION TO PASSION
(Book 3 in the Invitation To… Series)
Consummate rake, the Honorable Richard Craven, has his heartbroken when the woman he loves is forced into an arranged marriage to a violent brute. To make matters worse, circumstances force him to marry the Lady Madeline Knight—a woman he views more like a sister-only for fate to play the cruelest of tricks. Shortly after his wedding his former lover is widowed, and Richard learns she could be pregnant with his child.
Madeline Knight had thought she was doing the right thing when she saved Richard Craven from his lover's irate husband. Now her silly schoolgirl crush has left her married to a man who's in love with another woman. Consumed with guilt over trapping Richard, she tries her best to be the perfect wife and win his heart. Failure is not an option. For if she fails she loses everything, but she loves him too much not to set him free…
While Richard and Madeline confront the reality of their marriage, Madeline’s life comes under threat. A family enemy is hell bent on revenge. Will Richard learn the truth of his heart, and what is truly precious to him, before the unknown enemy destroys their world?
I hope you enjoy reading the third book in my Invitation To… series as much as I loved writing them. Watch out for the third book in my new Disgraced Lords series, A TOUCH OF PASSION, coming December 2014...
For more of my stories try my USA Today Bestselling Disgraced Lords series, book #1
A KISS OF LIES
. Or perhaps try my Wicked Wager series,
To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield
, book #1 in the Wicked Wagers trilogy, was a FINALIST in the Kindle Book Review 2012 Indie Romance Book of the Year.
Happy Reading
Bronwen Evans
Read, Feel, Fall in Love
Late April, Hascombe, near Cambridge, England, 1804
“We can wait here all day for you to come down.”
Madeline sat in the fork of the tree petrified, contemplating just how alone and unprotected she felt, even when she did not venture off the Strathmore estate.
She wiped the dirt from her eyes, as her bottom lip quivered. She would not cry. No, she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.
Another clod of earth hit her shoulder. This form of artillery was surprisingly effective. Her tormentors were both mean
and
clever. They’d wrapped the earth around jagged stones, wishing to cause her as much pain as possible. How she loathed the Chesterton bullies.
She didn’t care about the pain—well, not much anyway. Her real concern was for the charcoals she’d left at the bottom of the tree. They had been a present from her brother, Rufus. He’d given them to her just yesterday, on her thirteenth birthday, during one of his rare visits home. She wished he could be at home more often. She missed him dreadfully. At least he had made the effort to come home for her birthday this time but, as usual, he had taken the opportunity to combine her special day with his need to authorize expenditures on the estate, before then heading back to France. Clearing their late father’s name of treason always took precedence over everything for him. Her brother didn’t realize that the living needed him too.
She
needed him.
Now she feared her tormentors might tread on her precious present. Already her sketches had been scattered over the grass and were being gently blown along the ground. Her afternoon’s work was ruined.
“We’ll keep throwing these until you come down,” Simon Chesterton yelled at her.
Madeline Knight wasn’t stupid. If she came down from her perch high in the oak tree where she’d been sketching, they’d likely pummel her mercilessly. The last time they’d caught her unawares, she’d been black and blue for weeks. No, the only thing keeping her safe was the fact none of the Chesterton bullies liked heights.
Her hands clenched the branch harder. She’d thought her awful neighbors had left for London. They were renowned for heading to London well in advance of the Season. She would never have ventured so far from Hascombe Court, her brother’s, the Viscount Strathmore, estate, if she’d known the Chesterton bullies had still been in residence.
The four children prowling around the bottom of the tree were as tenacious as rabid dogs, and ranged in age from just six to thirteen. She grimaced. At least it wasn’t all of them—there were two older Chesterton boys as well, Charles and Timothy. Charles was the eldest at twenty-two and was the same age as her brother, yet he would not have raised a finger to help her. Charles had been at school with Rufus, and he hated her brother. Over the years, Madeline had heard the story many times. Rufus had beaten Charles Chesterton for being stupid enough to call their late father a traitor.
Taking courage from Rufus’s previous victory, she leaned out and yelled down at them. “You’d better go away. You’re on Strathmore land and my brother, Viscount Strathmore, is in residence.” Madeline hoped she sounded braver than she felt.
The answer to her bravado was a palm sized dirt ball that hit her just above her eye, making her cry out in agony. She felt a trickle of blood. Her agonized yelp set the small gang below into frenzies of ill-natured mocking and laughter.
“Listen to the traitor’s daughter crying.”
“That’s what we do to traitors. She deserves it.”
“What the hell are you doing?” A voice deeper than the children’s, and saturated with authority, cut through the childish babble like a hot knife through butter.
Madeline looked up and the hostile world beneath her seemed to fade away. All she could see was a dashing knight on a huge, dapple-gray charger. The man seated upon the stallion looked like an avenging angel. While his face was set in a stern glower, his beauty made you think of heaven.
She recognized him instantly. He was Rufus’s friend, the Honorable Richard Craven. Mr. Craven and his twin brother, the Earl of Markham, had been at school with Rufus and were her brother’s closest friends. Richard, in particular, had spent most of his school breaks at Hascombe Court and was like a second brother to her. He’d helped Rufus teach her to ride when she was only six years old, much to mother’s dismay.
But she was no longer six years old, and she noted that he had a fine seat on his horse. His broad shoulders were relaxed in an arrogant pose, as if he were king of the world. His elegant, dark greatcoat made his hair appear paler than dried wheat as it curled around his aristocratic face. But, despite his serious expression, his eyes twinkled at her and she caught his wink.
The Chesterton bullies’ mouths hung open, as they stood frozen to the spot.
Madeline decided to have some fun. “Are you here to save me, my dashing knight?”
“Aye, I am. I love to rescue damsels in distress. Shall I unleash my sword, my lady, and teach these barbarians a lesson?”
Madeline wiped the tears from her face and haughtily replied. “They are not worth your bother.”
“In that case, Princess, I shall let them live. However, a good thrashing is probably advised.” As her savior made to dismount, the Chesterton statues unfroze and, with frightened wails, took to their heels.
Madeline let her relieved chuckle rise from the depths of her gut, and for the first time in a long while, she laughed. She laughed so heartily she almost fell out of the tree.
Her knight was laughing too. But when he moved closer to the tree and took in the state she was in, his laughter died away. She thought she heard him use very rude words. “I should have thrashed them.” He looked at the tree. “Can you get down?”
Madeline nodded, too choked with emotion to do more.
“Can you get to that lower branch, and then I’ll lift you from there.”
“Please, can you collect my charcoals for me, Mr. Craven?”
He nodded. “Anything for a Princess,” and he dismounted to collect her belongings.
As she made her way slowly down through the branches, her petticoats kept catching on the twigs. She reached the bottom branch and sat wondering how she was going to get onto his giant horse. Mr. Craven, who had remounted, simply reached up and plucked her from the tree as if she were nothing more than an apple.
She felt his strong arms wrap themselves around her as he lifted and settled her in front of him, engulfing her in his coat. She felt safe-safer than she’d felt in a long, long time. And as she turned to look into the bluest eyes she hadn’t had the opportunity to see in many months, she hoped Richard Craven would be staying at Hascombe for at least a week. “I’ve missed you. You’ve not been to see me for a very long time.”
“I’ve been off fighting dragons for my lady,” he teased.
“You have not,” she scoffed, but she loved that he’d saved her today.
He gently pushed her hair off her face and wiped the cut on her forehead with his thumb. She winced as it was very tender and wouldn’t stop bleeding.
“The skin’s too thin for stitches. You’re going to have to press my handkerchief firmly on the cut until it stops bleeding,” he said softly in her ear. “Does Rufus know what those bullies are doing?”
“No. And please don’t tell him. He has enough to worry about trying to clear father’s name. I can look after myself.”
She watched Richard’s lips form a thin line.
“What would you have done if I had not come along?”
She sighed and leaned back into the safety of his hard chest. “I would have waited for as long as I could, and if they hadn’t left, I suppose I would have had to come down.”
He raised an elegant eyebrow. “And?”
“And I would have been shown just how much they despise the Strathmores.
Everyone
despises the Strathmores.”
“They’d hit a young girl?” His voice was raw with indignation.
“They don’t consider me a girl. I’m merely the traitor’s daughter to them,” she answered, hunkering deeper into his coat.
“Well, now they’ll know you’re actually a princess,” he declared, hugging her tightly. “And what’s more, a princess who is under
my
protection. I shall pay them a visit before I leave and ensure they understand they're not to lay a finger on you again. I’ll put the fear of God into them and explain exactly what I’ll do if they ever hurt you again.”
Richard gently cupped her cheek and turned her head to face him. He smiled. “You will write to me and confirm that they are no longer tormenting you.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “You and I are friends, true?” She nodded eagerly. “Friends never lie to each other. So, do I have your word that you will write me if they continue in this vein?”
A friend! He was offering her his friendship and his protection. Being the traitor’s daughter, she had so few friends. Suddenly, she truly did feel like a princess. “I promise that I will write to you and always tell you the truth.”
“Good.” He hugged her tightly. “I’ll probably only need to defend you from a beating for a few more years yet. Then I’ll be more than likely having to fend the boys off for another reason altogether.”
At her confused frown, he merely burst out laughing again.
She loved the heart-warming sound of it.
She also loved the sound of his declaration. Her mood lightened, knowing that now she had a protector, someone who made her feel less insecure, and someone who actually liked her. Unfortunately, he was a protector who would only be here for her in spirit, just like her brother. Rufus was never around long enough to even understand that she needed protecting.
She looked into her rescuer’s handsome face and knew with certainty that Richard Craven would defend her for as long as she required it of him.
She’d found her knight in shining armor as well as a best friend and confidant. Suddenly, she was alone and unprotected no more.
At this moment, riding with him on his charger, with his strong arms around her, she felt secure, confident and the luckiest girl in the world...
The Honorable Mr. Craven (August, 1804)
As promised, a short note to inform you that your warning has worked. I’ve had no further encounters of the bruising kind with the Chesterton bullies.
Thank you!
Ever your grateful friend,
Madeline Knight.
PS.
Will you be coming to Hascombe for Christmas?
Newmarket, April 1810 – six years later