Ruined by a Lady (Spirited Storms #3) (The Spirited Storms) Read online

  RUINED BY A LADY

  JANE CHARLES

  NIGHT SHIFT PUBLISHING

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About Jane Charles

  Historical Romance by Jane Charles

  New Adult Romance by Jane Charles

  Dedication

  For my favorite makeup artist, Kieth, whom I’ve learned so much from and who I count as a dear friend. And for Larry. I think the world of you. Thanks for lending me Kieth when I need him.

  Love you both,

  Jane

  CHAPTER 1

  Nathaniel,

  You and Samuel must return home immediately. The most horrendous circumstance has occurred and I am so beside myself that I do not know what to do. It is far too distressing to even write in a letter. Suffice it to say, nothing this horrific has happened to our family in a very long time, and your presence is needed most urgently.

  Mother

  April 18, 1817, London

  Samuel Storm sucked in a breath the moment those familiar blues eyes met his. It had to be her. But how was it even possible?

  He took a step in her direction but Nathaniel, his twin brother, put a hand on his arm and handed him the missive that had been delivered as soon as they stepped out of St. Paul’s. Sam took it without removing his eyes from her. The late afternoon sun shone on her head, making it appear as if her blonde locks were laced with gold, and for a moment she glanced back. Her haunting Caribbean blue eyes met his before she was assisted into a carriage displaying the Duke of Eldridge’s coat of arms. An older man stood waiting. By his regal bearing, no doubt he was Eldridge.

  Either the duke’s daughter at one time sat for a rather scandalous portrait, or a woman who looked exactly like her had. That very portrait hung in his home in Barbados, and he needed to know if the two were one and the same.

  With reluctance, Sam tore his eyes away from the duke’s carriage and glanced at the missive. The one thing that had not changed in the five years he’d been gone was the habit of his mother to succumb to hysterics.

  “What could be so blasted important that she thought it appropriate to pull us from a wedding?” Nate demanded.

  Sam handed the summons back to his brother who promptly crushed it in his fist.

  “At least the footman ignored her dictate and waited until we exited the church or you might have missed the wedding you stood to witness for Roxburg,” Nate grumbled.

  Sam and Mark Easton, the Duke of Roxburg, had been friends for a number of years. The last five of which they’d lived in Barbados, each managing their own sugar plantations. Life had been good living on an island of beautiful women when one was wealthy and a bachelor. Roxburg’s sudden change in title was what brought them back to London. Not that Sam needed to return, but Roxburg had wanted the one gentleman he trusted by his side when facing society once again. Not that he needed Sam. In the month that Sam was away visiting his family, Roxburg had met his wife, and the two had married just a short time ago.

  “Let’s make it quick,” Sam was resigned to deal with their mother, but waste no more time than necessary on whatever crisis had arisen. He and Nate had planned on going to their club until it was time for the ball. Roxburg managed to obtain a Special License so that he could be married at the earliest time the church was available, which happened to be today at five. He had also decided to forgo the wedding breakfast in lieu of a ball, which he insisted would begin in a few hours and not late in the evening as was tradition.

  “If Mother starts going on and on about torn flounces, stained gloves, or spilled tea at the al fresco, I swear I’ll send her right back home and let Ben deal with our sisters.” Benjamin, the Earl of Kenley, their older brother, could see to their three younger sisters attending the Season.

  “I’d hate to see her reaction if something actually horrific occurred,” Sam grumbled after he followed his brother into the carriage and relaxed against the squabs. As he glanced out the window, the duke’s carriage passed and his eyes met those all too familiar blue eyes.

  Could it really be her?

  He’d first spied the painting in a gallery in New Orleans and knew instantly that he must have it. Not so much because of the lush body that lay in repose upon a fainting coach, a long leg extended and uncovered, though white gossamer shielded the rest of her body, or because of the delicious breasts practically spilled from a fitted corset, or the full, red lips beckoning for a kiss. Not only did he want that woman on his own couch, clad similarly, but he wanted to know her too. Those blue eyes conveyed innocence, seduction, spirit, vulnerability, rebellion, and sadness and pulled him in. He longed to ask why sadness lurked in the deep recesses of her blue irises. Why her mouth may tip at the corner when there was no happiness? Why was she haunted?

  It was ridiculous, of course. The girl was a model and the artist was simply excellent at his craft. Yet, when Sam spied the lady in St. Paul’s Church, not only did the same emotion lurk in her eyes, but the sadness seemed deeper.

  Yes, she smiled, but it was forced. The tension in her jaw betrayed what she was trying not to show.

  Did nobody else realize she wasn’t happy?

  He needed to know her.

  Just because the lady in the painting bore a striking resemblance to Eldridge’s daughter, it was impossible that it was her. A duke’s daughter did not pose for erotic paintings, yet Sam felt the same pull towards Eldridge’s daughter as he had experienced when he first viewed the painting, and he had every intention of gaining an introduction.

  The carriage pulled up before their townhouse and the gentlemen jumped out and hurried to the door. Not because Sam believed distressing news awaited them, but because he wanted to be done with whatever had fluffed mother’s feathers this time.

  They found their mother, the Dowager Countess of Kenley, in the sitting room with three of their younger sisters. Hannah was pacing as if she were too agitated to sit. Tabitha was stitching, which he learned she often did when there was little else to occupy her time, and Deborah simply sat in a chair by the window, watching the others as if in deep contemplation.

  His oldest brother, Benjamin, relaxed with his lovely and enchanting wife, Mary, sipping tea. It certainly didn’t appear as if there was anything urgent that required his or Nate’s attention, which he already suspected would be the case.

  “What happened?” Nate demanded, his tone laced with the irritation Sam felt.

  “We were at Lady Emma Heathfield’s al fresco when we saw him.”

  “Who?” Sam asked. He had not been back in England all that long, but nobody had uttered a word about any gentleman his mother feared.

  “I didn’t know what to do, so of course, we left immediately.” His mother waived a handkerchief in front of her face. “Oh, I do hope he didn’t see us. Though it was highly rude to leave so quickly without paying our respects to Lady Heathfield, but it was necessary given the circumstances. I must send her a note of apology right away.”

  “Stop!” Nate yelled. “Who did you see that has you so upset?”

  Her eyes widened and she
looked at them. “His Grace! The Duke of Danby.”

  “I don’t understand why this is important.” He was a duke. Wasn’t he required to be here with Parliament in session, and what the blazes did his great-uncle being in London have to do with them? “You do realize I was at the wedding of my closest friend. I stood as a witness.”

  His mother’s eyes grew wide. “But, it is the Duke of Danby.”

  “I don’t care if it’s the Crown Prince,” Samuel yelled as he turned for the door. Of all the ridiculous nonsense. He needed a drink and only in a place where reasonable gentlemen were allowed.

  “But, you don’t understand,” their mother cried.

  “What the blazes is there to understand?” Nate demanded.

  “He’s going to ruin everything.”

  Sam turned just in time to see his mother’s eyes fill with tears.

  “He’ll ruin my family.”

  Ben stood and assisted Mary to her feet. “My wife and I are going for a drive in the park.”

  “But, but, but….” their mother sputtered.

  Ben didn’t look back and stopped before his brothers. “As I need to deal with this all of the time because neither one of you can be bothered to remain in England, you now have the pleasure of calming her while I enjoy the afternoon with my wife, which was ruined by her early return.”

  “F orget him,” the Duke of Eldridge ordered his daughter.

  Lady Jillian Simpson blinked at her father hoping her face conveyed innocence. “Who?”

  “That gentleman you kept looking at in the church.” Her father frowned. “He’s beneath you.”

  She knew better than to argue or question him further. Father had very specific ideas about who he believed was worthy of her, not that she’d managed to marry any of them. Save one, but as nobody knew of the marriage, they weren’t aware of the annulment either. It’s as if it never happened.

  “It’s bad enough that those Valentines are marrying titles while you remain unwed, but I will not tolerate them marrying better than you.”

  They’d just left the wedding of the Duke of Roxburg and Miss Bianca Valentine, which meant Jillian had better set her cap on a duke. She no longer gave a wit of what title a gentleman may or may not have, but even her father must realize that finding an eligible duke to marry might be rather difficult. It wasn’t as if they grew on trees, waiting to be picked.

  “That man you were watching is Mr. Samuel Storm.” The mister was said with disgust. “His older brother is the Earl of Kenley and there is another brother between Mr. Storm and the title.”

  Heaven forbid she marry a mister. Her father would have an apoplexy. As much as the idea of acting in such a rebellious manner would give her great pleasure, Jillian did not have the nerve to face the inevitable consequences and thus accepted her lot in life. As the daughter of a powerful duke, she would marry the highest title she could attain, and settle into her role as lady, wife, and eventual mother. All she could hope for was that she at least liked her husband, instead of any of the lesser emotions like love. Father hadn’t loved her mother, the daughter of an influential marquess, nor did he believe in its existence.

  Jillian glanced out the window. Of course she thought she’d been in love once. She’d been a fool. Young and naïve. Never would she love again.

  “You know who you are to charm, Jillian. You are two and twenty, and I will see you married to an acceptable title before this Season is done.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jillian straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, shut down all emotions. The cloak of superiority she’d fought in her youth had since become her most comfortable persona and the strongest of armor. As long as she let no one in, she would be safe. And, she must put Mr. Samuel Storm from her mind, if that were possible. There had been something arresting in his clear emerald eyes when they met hers. Almost a recognition, then delight and something else she could not understand. Her breath had caught and her pulse sped. It wasn’t a reaction she was familiar with, and she wished she knew what it meant.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I’ll come out and ask,” Sam said as they were granted entrance to Roxburg’s mansion. It had taken them hours to calm mother, or so it seemed, but he and Nate finally insisted on leaving when it was time for the ball to begin. “Why is Mother so concerned with Danby being in London?”

  “She’s afraid our dear, old, great uncle will find husbands for our sisters.”

  “I gathered that, but isn’t that the point of having a Season?” Sam asked.

  “Mother is afraid if they marry they’ll move too far away to visit. I believe she’d prefer they marry a tenant farmer and live close to home, or be put on a shelf, rather than risk them marrying a gentlemen and moving far away.”

  Sam rolled his eyes as they stepped into the ballroom. “As I understand it, Danby only interferes during Christmas.”

  “Yes. He’s been quite busy over the last few years.” Nate grinned. “Embracing the spirit of St. Stephen’s Day, but instead of boxes for servants and gifts to the poor, he delivers brides and grooms to those in need.”

  “At least I will be safe.” As he had no intention of being in England this winter, Sam was certain Danby would not bother with him. It wasn’t as if he’d even seen his great uncle in over five years. Danby had probably forgotten Sam’s existence all together.

  “I’m sure Danby has much more pressing matters than to worry about whether everyone is marrying as they should.”

  As Danby had shown no interest in him as of yet, Sam wanted to keep it that way. “I fully intend to avoid the old bugger in the meantime. I’ve no intention of letting Danby settle anyone on me at Christmas or during the Season.”

  They stepped into the grand ballroom already practically overflowing with guests. How was he to find anyone in this crush? Nathaniel disappeared almost immediately with an excuse that he needed to find someone, leaving Sam to find the lady he sought. He pushed his way through the throng, seeking out one face. She had to be here. If she attended the wedding, she would have been invited to the ball.

  Sam had nearly walked the entire perimeter when he finally spotted her standing next to her father. Samuel lifted a glass of wine as a footman passed with a tray and remained where he was so that he could study her more. She could be the identical twin to the woman in the portrait.

  She smiled and laughed, but there was no happiness in her eyes. She may charm those around her, but from where he stood, her actions appeared to be more calculated than warm. It didn’t set well with him.

  Of course, as ridiculous as it may seem, he’d built in his mind who the lady in the portrait was. Sensitive, warm, lost, and in need of love. Many times he’d wondered if she were real, and if he ever was graced with the pleasure of finding her, he’d erase the pain from her eyes.

  “What is your fascination with Lady Jillian Simpson?” Mr. David Thorn asked as he came to stand beside Sam.

  “She reminds me of someone.” It was all he would say on the matter. Thorn, nor anyone, needed to know of his obsession with the lady in the painting and now Lady Jillian Simpson. He played the name over in his head, liking the sound.

  “Are you still with us?” Thorn chuckled and Sam glanced to his friend.

  Thorn nodded to her group. “Her father would never approve.”

  “Why?” His father had been an earl and even though the title would never be his, he was still a gentlemen of means.

  “You don’t have a title, and now that your older brother has married, no doubt an heir will be born, pushing you further away from the earldom.”

  He didn’t give a bloody damn about the title and was rather grateful he didn’t have to deal with it at all, which included a hysterical mother who would live on the estate forever. “I just wish an introduction.”

  “She is lovely,” Anna, Thorn’s wife said. “Beautiful bone structure. It would be a privilege for any artist to paint her.”

  Had that artist felt as privileged? Had he taken adv
antage of the young woman? Was that why she remained unwed? Not that such a circumstance would make a difference to Samuel.

  Stop, he ordered himself. It was impossible that Lady Jillian and the model in the painting were the same, even if he wished it were so.

  Lady Jillian slipped her hand into the crook of the arm of Marquess Broadridge, which Sam knew to be her older brother. He and Broadridge had been acquaintances at one time, but until now he’d forgotten Broadridge had a younger sister.

  As the two began walking the room, there was a slight change in Lady Jillian’s composure. She relaxed and the smile upon her lips was finally genuine.

  “I need an introduction,” Samuel announced as he watched her glide around the perimeter, nodding to apparent acquaintances until they stopped to speak with Lord and Lady Felding just a few steps away from where he stood.

  O f all the people in the grand ballroom, Felding and Rosalind were probably the last people who would wish to speak with her, yet her brother insisted past disagreements were forgiven. It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who tried to blackmail Felding into marriage.

  However, this was much preferable to standing with her father as he introduced her to the various bachelors he deemed suitable to be her husband. Not that he came out and said so, of course. Many of them Jillian had met before, but his tone changed to respect for those he approved or to cold and dismissive for those he did not. It really didn’t matter if she found them suitable or not, so why should she even participate in his matchmaking schemes?

  “Lord and Lady Felding,” Jillian greeted and waited for the cool reception. Instead, she saw kindness in Rosalind’s eyes, and warmth. Yes, it had been two and a half years since that horrible house party, but Jillian assumed they still hated her.

  If only she could take back the threats and blackmail. If only she would have sought out friendship with her cousins instead of hating them. Jillian had learned much in the two years since that Christmas. Mostly that a person’s worth had nothing to do with titles, yet her father would never see people differently. Even if the Valentines forgave her, he’d never allow them to be friends.