Chapter One
Lake District, England
December 1817
“You can’t marryhim, Suzannah! Bertie must marry me!” Lady Letitia Beresford knew she’d made a terrible mistake the moment the words left her mouth. All seventy guests packed in Woodburne Manor’s elegant dining hall to celebrate her best friend’s betrothal now sat in stunned silence, gaping at her as she stood on an elegant, yellow silk chair wishing she could somehow disappear before their very eyes. “That is… er,…”
“Can’t marry him?” Her father, the present Earl of Beresford, slapped his hands on the polished oak table with a resoundingthwackand slowly rose to his impressive height.
“Must marry Bert?” Suzannah’s brother, Brynne, who was seated at the head table beside her father, rose to his even more impressive height and turned toward Albert Summersby, his sister’s betrothed. Albert would become the next Viscount Rossbridge assuming he survived beyond this evening, which didn’t appear likely if Brynne’s expression was any indication.
Poor Albert’s face turned as white as the snow piles covering the countryside since last week’s blizzard.
“No, no!” Lettie cried, realizing Brynne’s hands were now curled into fists as he took a step toward Albert, the look of murder in his eyes. “He hasn’t done anything.” She glanced around the room in desperation, but no one was going to rescue her from this scrape. “He’s the only Bert I know. That’s all I meant by it. And if he isn’t my Bert, then who–”
“Hell, not that again,” Brynne muttered as he shifted direction and started toward her with dark eyes blazing. “Don’t say another word, Lettie.”
She ought to have listened, but she was overset and Brynne was now far too close for her comfort. He always did have the most dangerously appealing eyes and the handsomest face. One she’d missed terribly these past two years. And now he was back home and fiery blazes angry with her. “It isn’t my fault. It’s these clues that Jere– ack!”
Brynne threw her over his shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes and silently carried her out of the dining hall without so much as breaking his stride. Being hauled off as though one were a root vegetable was embarrassing enough, but the rounds of hearty laughter that followed her out of the hall completed her humiliation.
She tried to squirm out of Brynne’s indelicate grasp as he flung open the door and marched outside toward the enormous willow tree that stood in the middle of Woodburne’s elegant park. She heard the crunch of his boots upon the snow with each long stride. “Put me down, you lummox! It’s cold outside.”
Not to mention that she was wearing her finest gown, a delightful blue silk confection designed by Madame de Bressard, one of London’s most popular modistes, the fabric so elegantly soft and thin that it couldn’t keep a flea warm on this wintery day.
Brynne turned toward her intending to respond, but his face met with her daintyderriereand his lips accidentally planted on her hip bone since she was still slung over his shoulder. He muttered an oath as he hastily faced forward, refusing to say anything more until he’d set her down. She was struck mute for a moment as well, for the unexpectedly scorching sensation of his lips on her body could have melted the snow around them.
Her delicate slippers immediately sank into the snow when he put her down, returning her thoughts to the cold present. “We can’t stay out here. My feet will freeze.”
He ran a hand roughly through his dark hair and glowered at her. “Will you never grow up, Lettie? Are you still talking about your imaginary childhood friend, Jeremiah?”
She returned his glower with one of her own. “He isn’t imaginary. He’s my guardian angel, and he’s the one who told me that I had to do something right away or I’d lose my Bertie forever.”
“Your Bertie?” He shook his head in obvious frustration. “Suzannah and Albert have loved each other since they were babes in swaddling cloths. And you decide today of all days, on the night of their betrothal, to stake your claim on him?”
“It isn’t my claim,” she insisted, gazing up at the full moon as it cast a silver glow upon the snow. Moonbeams illuminated Brynne’s face, although she didn’t need light to see his rugged contours. She’d long ago memorized each curve and angle of his face as well as his big, muscular body. “You know I’ve never felt that way about Bert Summersby.”
“Which makes it all the worse.” He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, swallowing her up in it as she began to shiver. “They’ve been waiting for this day all of their lives and you just ruined it for them. Suzannah will be sobbing for days. You really hurt her feelings, Lettie. How could you do it? You’re her best friend.”
Lettie’s eyes began to well with tears of her own. “I know. I’ll never forgive myself. She’s the last person I’d ever wish to hurt.”
“But you did hurt her,” he said, gently running his thumb along her cheek to wipe away the tears now falling upon it. “Why are you still mentioning Jeremiah? You don’t really see him, do you? People will think you’re… hell, you scare people when you talk about your ghostly visions.”
“He’s an angel, not a ghost. And for years now, I’ve been very careful not to talk about him to anyone… until now. But you knew I was going to mention him and hauled me off before anyone else realized what I was about to say. I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me from my own stupidity.”
“I’m sorry if I was a bit heavy handed.” His lips curved upward in the slightest smile.
She sighed. “You were right to do what you did. But you’ve always protected me, your little sister’s friend.” She began to hop from one foot to the other to ward off the cold. “I’m not completely hopeless. Truly, I haven’t spoken about Jeremiah in ages. Only my parents and sister know that I still do. And now you know, too.”
He stared at her a long moment, saying nothing.
“I’m not mad as a hatter, Brynne. I haven’t changed that much in the two years you’ve been away.”
A gleam sprang into his eyes and he laughed softly. “Oh, Lettie. You sure have.”
By his tone, she sensed he was not at all displeased with her changes.
“And yet you’re stillyou,” he continued a little more sternly so that she was certain he hadn’t meant it as a compliment even though they’d always been good friends.
