Lady Bryn

By Julie L. York

Copyright © 2011, Julie L. York

Kindle Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, emailing, blogging, recording, or by any digital information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

Dedication…To Jeff

Our roadblocks along the way give me food for thought…

and some great storylines.

And Thanks…

To my beta readers on this journey, my daughters: Shelby, Arianna, and Kendra. Remember where your creativity comes from and know I’ll always be proud of you. And Barbara: no matter how weird I am, next to you I’m normal!

To my favorite high school English teacher, Roy Hagar: you suffered 2 ½ years of me with a smile and a challenge. You allowed me to find my voice and experiment with stories, settings, rhymes and characters: all while guiding and critiquing. I may have gotten A’s from you, but you made sure that I earned every one of them because you made sure it was truly my best, and allowed me the freedom to push myself - even if the curriculum didn’t. You are forever the standard of teaching to which I hold myself. My children’s teachers would curse you if they knew your name, because I hold them to your standard too.

Please stick around afterword for a glimpse of an upcoming novel, Solomon Aleph.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he said, turning to see if the person behind him was unhurt. He’d been pushed into someone standing behind him, quite rudely, by a young buck in a hurry. He noticed several other men, and every dowager within earshot, glaring after the same young man, who was obviously smitten and being beckoned across the room by an imperious looking girl.

After recognizing that his glare would not be noticed, he realized that he was going to have to look down to continue his apology, as was only fitting his station - he must apologize even if it wasn’t his fault - though, to be sure, no one here would know him. Indeed, no one knew anyone else. Was there any other reason for a masked ball than to hide yourself and enjoy speaking freely to anyone you pleased? He knew that many masked balls required superfluous costumes, where the wearers were always known, but as in every Season, the Hamilton’s masked balls required absolute unrecognizability.

His eyes widened at the vision in front of him. This was no underfed slip of a girl, nor some overfed heifer, oh no, the female before him, who was furiously rubbing her foot, was a fully formed woman, in all her curvaceous elegance. As she leaned over to make certain her toes would still continue to hold her up, he was silently pleased that her beautiful green dress was not in any danger of spilling out their voluptuous contents. He found well-dressed, virtuous looking women to be the most desirable, especially if their tailor knew how to show off their curves and advantages in their best lights. He knew that many of his friends, both older and younger than he, often prayed that a woman’s dress would spontaneously burst and show forth all their bound treasures. Not that he would avert his eyes should that happen, but he also made certain that his eyes were not bulging from their sockets, nor his tongue hanging out, as a few of her companions were, in that vain hope that a female’s dress was on the verge of bursting.

As she stood and righted herself, he was remarkably surprised and pleased that she did not have the lack of decorum to yank on her neckline to pull it higher while in mixed company. With a slight well-placed shrug of her shoulders, the dress re-adjusted itself. As she raised her eyes to look at him, he noticed that, though indeed a woman, she was neither short, nor petite. She was, perhaps, only a hand shorter than he, and that with slippers. He could imagine that with a decent pair of riding boots, her nose could easily touch his chin without movement on either of their parts. Oh, he knew that he did not tower above all his peers, nor did he wish to. Nor was he the shortest within his circle. He enjoyed being able to walk amongst other men, taller men, or shorter men, and be in the middle. In his business dealings, it was always helpful that the taller men mistook his height for signifying a lack of backbone for their cutthroat ways; and that shorter men were not so intimidated that they became unapproachable during negotiations. All who did not know him were always surprised that this average looking man was something to be reckoned with.

His eyes took in the mask adorning the vision of womanhood. The blasted thing that was stopping him from being able to identify this goddess. It was in the current style, at least it was current for this dance, though by the next masked ball it would no longer be acceptable to have on in public. It matched her dark green dress, showed her nose, but had long black fringe that covered her cheeks, with black feathers angling back over her hair, doing a proper job of hiding the natural color. He frowned at that. He couldn’t even tell if she was a brunette or a blond. In fact, if her coloring was just right, those abominable feathers could be hiding a ginger. He watched her mouth quirk to one side in a vain attempt at concealing a smile. She didn’t have the pouty, small bow lips, nor the straight, thin nose described in the far too many ridiculous romance novels that his wife read. Her lips were even and full, but built more for being utilized properly in speaking well, as opposed to being insatiably kissable. Though, if he did admit to himself, he did want to kiss them, even if they weren’t bright red, but instead were the color he imagined her cheeks would turn if he somehow managed to create in her a need to blush feverishly. Her nose was straight, with the end being a bit on the larger side.

The most noticeable feature were her eyes, which sparkled mischievously through the mask - as deep, dark green as her dress. A perfect match. For all that he was worth, he couldn’t remember ever seeing such a deep green as an eye color; it was a color that reminded him of the primeval forests that were on his lands. Before he could again forget himself, he bowed deeply, took her hand in his and gave it a lingering kiss. He smiled broadly as her eyes widened and he registered a brief glimmer of shock run across the forested depths before regaining their twinkling. “Indeed, my lady, I would apologize again for the immeasurable folly of youth, but, alas, I cannot be much upset since I am now speaking to a goddess,” he said, releasing her hand, but stepping closer.

“I am grateful for your concern, good sir, but I hardly think that, without knowing my person, you could know that I was a lady. And I assure that I am no goddess,” she teased, holding her hands behind her back and swaying slightly from side to side, her hips leading the way. He wasn’t certain, but he didn’t believe that she knew just how alluring those movements were to all red-blooded men in the vicinity.

“My dear, I can assure with all possible guarantees I possess, that you are indeed a lady,” he teased back, fingering the neckline of her dress lightly. He watched in fascination as the blush, indeed the same color as her lips, crept from said neckline up her neck, only ending when it reached her hair. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Although I am in no doubt of your gender, based on the striking display of womanhood I see before me, I can assure you that if you are not a Lady of the peerage by birth, you are married to a Lord, or related to one, as you would not be here otherwise. I will have to refrain from asking you to prove that you are goddess. Most goddesses would find that rather offensive and presumptuous of a mere mortal.”

She tilted her head to the side, catching his ear. “You assume too much about my lineage, sir. How do you know that I am not a simple servant who absconded with my mistress’s invitation? As far as my own entrance is concerned, no one unmasked me or,” she gasped in mock horror, “asked me to raise my skirts to prove that my footwear is indeed gentle, and not coarse. But of course for you, my lord, I shall prove my station,” she teased. As the hem of her skirt lifted on the side closest to the wall, thereby protecting her from roving eyes – smart woman indeed – he felt his heart rate increase exponentially to the amount of ankle she showed him. “Have I proved myself, my lord?” She asked, lowering her skirt slowly.

“Indubitably,” he breathed. He took her hand, and securely tucked it into his elbow, which had the intended effect of pulling her close enough so that his arm brushed upon the side of her breast as they walked. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do; for years, he hadn’t been in the habit of going to any parties where dancing would be involved, unless there was known to be other recreation available to him, indeed at most functions he would conduct his salutations quickly and immediately go to the gaming room to watch his friends lose their fortunes. He would play a few harmless hands, but then sit back, talk and watch. Even his memberships to gentlemen’s clubs were more for business purposes than for entertainment.

Even before his marriage, he wasn’t one to randomly or unexpectedly entice any woman. All his enticements had been purposeful and fully planned in advance of any efforts on his part. There was no room in his life for silly misunderstandings with even sillier women whose claws had invariably already been attached to someone he knew. With the coming and aging of his marriage over the last decade, he’d had even less desire to ever entice a woman and not because he was overly enamored of his wife; quite to the contrary, he wanted nothing to do with any of the female persuasion for the rest of his life. Between his mother and wife, he had plenty of experience with females, and wanted no more. He shuddered internally just remembering the obscene amounts of money, stress and stealth his friends exerted to maintain mistresses after they were wedded. Who wanted that kind of aggravation?

But now, with such a creature...

“My lady?”

“Yes, my lord?” She whispered, not trusting her voice to remain strong. This is not what she had in mind when she’d pulled the invitation out of her husband’s coat pocket before he left a week ago. Not that she minded the outcome in the slightest. A man, whose vividly light, moss green eyes had radiated desirous flames at her through his mask, was teasing and talking with her. No on had paid her so much notice in years. If ever. In the dim light she couldn’t tell just what shade his blond hair was. Golden wheat? Spun gold? His mask covered the top part of his head and his cheeks, as hers did, so the shade was even more difficult to distinguish. She was certain that whatever shade it was, it matched his eyes flawlessly. His lightly tanned skin, what she could see of his from his chin and neck, offset the shading of his eyes and hair to perfection. His mouth was neither full, nor thin, with the bottom lip slightly larger than the top. He was – thank the Good Lord – clean shaven, with a nose that had a small crook, reminding her of the Roman sculptures she’d seen in the museums of London. Her heart was having a hard time slowing. She shouldn’t be having such a reaction, especially to an unknown man. She was married, and had no intention of breaking in a new colt, or was it maturing stallion? She was uncertain of his age, though she guessed he was more closely aligned with the maturing stallion than the new colt - though from the fire in his eyes, he was definitely not a gelding. She smiled. She missed her horses. A shipment of palominos and mustangs were on their way to her home. Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she caught her breath. He held himself too confidently to be a young buck out on his first season, but she was certain he was not used to this size gala, his grace in moving wasn’t hiding his nervousness.

She didn’t bother to glance at his hand, knowing that most of the English gentry and aristocracy thought it unnecessary for the man to wear a wedding band. She had always been bothered by that. In her home world of America, most men wore them, dually binding themselves to their wives, as their wives were bound to them. Even the most poverty bent married couples both had bands, with some women having a horseshoe nail, prairie diamond, instead of gold. She really couldn’t fault the men in this country, not anymore anyway. With her marriage, like so many others of the aristocracy, being arranged, she hadn’t worn her ring in years and had never once seen her husband wear the one she’d given him. Wives were still property, especially those bound in arranged marriages, like hers. So much for the Industrial age, as some were beginning to call it. With steam engines now ruling the world and factories building it, someone had found the term appropriate. Before she’d married and moved here, she’d always thought that her father’s home country would be more progressive with a Queen running the country. Before her thoughts could transfer to her face and eyes, as she knew they often did, she reigned in her mind, returning them to the politely insipid look she had perfected. She then realized that the Adonis next to her was speaking.

“I’m sorry, my lord, what did you say?” She apologized, looking into his beguiling eyes.

His eyes and mouth smiled uniformly, and somewhat roguishly. “Am I that much of a distraction to you, my lady? Are you going to swoon?”

“Not at all, my lord, just looking over my other options, should I find you dull and boring,” she said with an air of indifference.

He stopped and turned her to face him, his eyes inflamed with astonishment.

He was certain that she was as intrigued as he was. He looked deeply into those jewels and then, looking down her lovely face, noticed that her lips were quivering, once again in a vain attempt to hide their mirth. “My lady, I am afraid that we men have been unfairly put upon with the term, flirt,” he said, kissing her hand and tucking it carefully under his elbow again.

“Oh, not so, my lord. There are far more rogues, rakes, and flirts of the male species than there are of females,” she smiled, fanning herself.

“In that you are incorrect,” he chuckled. “It is simply that refined ladies, such as yourself, would not be acquainted with, nor travel in the circles of females of the uh, rakish, distinction. Whereas we men, the true rakes, rogues and flirts, are commonplace in situations such as these.”

“I’ve often wondered why,” she mused.

“Why what?”

“Why men are allowed to be rogues, rakes and flirts in public, and cuckold other men in private, and rarely suffer for it. Well, apart from a heart break or two among the first season’s childish flock of chicks, whose match-making mothers are certainly trying their hardest to keep them from the rakes, rogues, and flirts,” she smiled. “Yet, should a woman decide that she too wishes to keep fortune-hunting bores, and their match-making mothers, at arms length by flirting shamelessly with a plethora of willing men, then she is castigated for it.” She turned her face to him. “Is that fair, my lord?”

“Indeed it is not,” he smiled back at her. “But I would hope for your sake that that is not what you intend for me. I must confess that I am neither a bore, nor seeking a fortune, nor have a match-making mother.”

“That is indeed a relief to my mind,” she said, biting her lip to keep from confessing that she did want to become a flirt. Just with him. She sighed deeply. “I suppose then I will have to find someone else with whom to practice my arts.”

“Oh, my lady, you have no need of practice. I can tell you that you are most seasoned at the art of flirtatious banter and wicked conniving learned for the only purpose of driving a man insane with your lips that quiver in amusement at the slightest jest,” he said, pulling her arm even tighter to his side.

She had no response for that, and allowed him to lead her to center of the floor, where a waltz was about to begin. She was most definitely not a seasoned flirt, never having even tried it on her husband. Her father had kept a strict eye on her as she grew up in the “wilds” of the American west coast, and with her marriage being arranged, rather forcibly through her late father’s will, she’d never been allowed to learn to flirt, let alone needed to practice it. She didn’t think she’d ever spoken like this to her husband, but then, even if she had, would he have noticed it? Probably not.

He pulled her closer than was normally allowed, but being a masked ball, every other man was doing the same with his partner, simply because he could do so without censure; and so could the woman. He was certain that a few of the couples actually knew with whom they were dancing, but in eyeing those around him as they floated across the floor like long time lovers, he could see in the eyes of many men, the true, unadulterated affection for their partners that only anonymity could provide. He turned his eyes to his own companion and caught her looking at his profile from the corners of her eyes. In the more well-lit center of the ballroom, her eyes sparkled in delight as the yellow lights bounced playfully and seductively off the depths of her forested eyes. He hoped that she was as smitten as he was and that, like him, as she was married, that she would take the memory of this unsullied night with her forever.

She reveled in the intimate touch that this stranger was holding her, and her thoughts, in. Her husband’s hands had never felt so tender, nor had his look been as heated as the man holding her in this moment. As much as she gloried in the anonymity provided by this ball, which was allowing her to feel feminine and beloved for the first time since her father died, her body and soul wept knowing that she would return home to an empty and aloof union. She looked into his eyes, and for a heartbeat there was a glimmer of pain that mirrored her own. Was he, like her, in an arranged union where there was no love, nor consideration? She slid a timid smile on her face, and gave his hand a squeeze. His answer was to pull her even closer. Her body had never been so near to another man before – at least, one who was not her husband.

For the next three hours they scandalously danced every dance and every set with each other. They laughed, and bantered and teased the entire time. When they both had decided to retire to the shadows to enjoy copious amounts of punch and the cool breezes from the open doors, they made a game of trying to name the other masked participants. To both of their amusement, they found that they knew many of the same people, though their information on each known masked creature varied wildly, for women and men always knew different confidences. Women gossiped unceasingly during luncheons and at homes, while men swapped stories over brandy at White’s and other clubs. They were glared at by many of the well-known grouchy dowagers for their spontaneous bursts of giggles when one or the other of them came too close to imitating some poor soul they had unmasked.

When the object of their sport would move out of the range of their eyes, their conversations were surprisingly filled with banter about politics, favored books and authors, musicians and ballets and plays. Though she had not seen as many theatre productions as he had, she had read them all and they found a comfortable camaraderie in realizing that they enjoyed almost everything in common. Except politics. He was staunchly conservative, though he did see merit in allowing women to vote. Most women he knew were much smarter and more up to date on worldly happenings than nearly every man he was even acquainted with. That being said, however, he also knew that too many women would simply vote the way their husbands said, and the party he was opposed to had more married men registered in it than his favored party. His party would be vastly outnumbered if they ever got the vote for their women, and he could see the British Empire going down in the flames of Hell because of it. Surprisingly his goddess - as he was calling her - didn’t align herself with any particular party, but rather had likes and dislikes of each party and followed her own mind on how she thought things should be. Interestingly, his wife was very similar in that respect. As she spoke, he heard a reserved accent, one that seemed to house spoken variations from several different counties. He wondered how often she traveled and if that were the cause of her unusual dialect.

“My lord, if you don’t mind, the copious amounts of punch I have consumed is making my back teeth float,” she smiled, trying in vain to push through the crowd. After barking loudly in unexpected laughter, he walked ahead of her, holding her hand in his. He kissed the palm of her hand, with slightly more passion than he should have, before letting her go down the hallway to where an obscenely large gaggle of women were standing.

He sighed. It would take some time, so he wandered over to where the men could relieve themselves, fixed and straightened his cravat and coat and slowly walked back to where he last saw her. He noticed that many of the same women who had been there before, were, for reasons unknown to man’s thinking, still there.

A small hand grabbed his and turned him around. He smiled at his goddess, then frowned, seeing a slightly panicked look in her eyes.

“My lord, I am so sorry, but I am afraid that I must leave,” she said, pleadingly.

“Not so,” he argued, taking both of her hands in his and leading her into the shadows. He looked at their intertwined fingers, noticing for the first time, that though thinner, her fingers were nearly as long as his were; he couldn’t exactly boast of his own in their length, but thought that hers were most definitely unusual. Her palms were smaller, and more delicate than his, but her fingers seemed to callused in places that were odd, even for an instrument playing, needle-working Lady. He was certain that if he removed her fingerless gloves that he’d find rough and callused palms, and though that belied a rough and coarse existence, everything else about his goddess was well-bred, well-educated, gentle and aristocratic. He knew that many of the aristocracy were having to work for the first time in history, the incomes of their properties no longer able to sustain their lavish lifestyles. Indeed, his own existence was just that, but he’d found investing and building business ventures to be more lucrative than manual labor. What if her own family had not been fortunate enough to have anything left to invest? Would any husband put such a creature to work to support his lifestyle?

He looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to depart yet, my lady, surely you know that these events end only at dawn, and there are many hours to that point,” he said, kissing the palms of her hands. He felt the shudder of pleasure run through him, coming straight from her fingertips.

“Truly, I am so very sorry for needing to do this to you, and to myself,” she finished quietly. “Tonight has been one perfect night, one that I will treasure always. But I am speaking truly. I must go. I have no choice.”

“Very well, may I call for your carriage?”

“No!” She squeaked. “I mean, no thank you, my lord.”

That answer made him suspicious and he raised his eyebrow, and though she couldn’t see it through his mask, he must have conveyed it well enough for she understood perfectly.

“My lord, I,” she hesitated, “I am not supposed to be here. My conveyance is close by, and so is my driver, but neither can be seen, or I will be in more trouble than even this one perfect night is worth.” She put her hand to his lips to quiet the question she saw there. “Please ask nothing more about my family, for I will not jeopardize our station in life by admitting to anyone why I was not allowed here. I did nothing wrong, nor do I feel the slightest amount of remorse because I met you and learned that perhaps I am not as horrid or unloved a person as I have been led to believe for the better part of the past decade.”

“What kind of fool would not love you, or believe you to be anything other than a goddess?” He asked, truly stunned. Her quick wit, learned and educated answers to everything should make her a treasured jewel worthy of showing off in the best houses, with the costliest seats in the theatres, not something to be hidden away.

She laughed, but it was full of pain. “With the exception of my father, I have obviously been surrounded by fools since you and he are the only ones who thought me to be anything beyond arduous, disobedient, and wild,” she took his hands, giving his palms the same kisses that he had just bestowed on hers. She felt his heart rate race into her fingers as she held his wrists tightly. She looked up into eyes that she could gaze into forever and cleared her throat. “Thank you, my lord, I do believe that I was fated to meet you here. I believe that God had finally listened to me and has given me the answer I have sought for many years on the kind of woman I should be, not what is simply expected of me.”

“My lady,” he began, her hand, with her rough fingertips, was once again on his lips. He held her hand steady as his lips kissed each fingertip in turn. “I understand, and as much as I would beg to see you again, I will not. Perhaps this one meeting was in a way a reminder for both of us of the kind of people we truly are, not just who and what we pretend to be.”

She nodded, immensely relieved that he did understand. She could see the knowledge in his eyes, along with pain that mirrored her own. She leaned up, lifted his mask slightly and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. The lingering scent of bay rum made her eyes tear up in memories of her father and husband. Of course all wealthy men used it, but he had mixed that scent with a light splash of sandalwood, an even more expensive fragrance. She was certain she’d smelled this particular blend before, and was briefly horrified that what had transpired this night had been with one of her husband’s close friends, who always accompanied him home. She backed away quickly, not sure if she could stand to look him in the eyes anymore for fear that she might now recognize who he was. She turned and ran quickly out the front door and down the steps, through the gate of the London mansion and turned to left, hoping that Charlie was still there. She’d had to beg, plead, threaten and then cry for hours to get him to do as she wanted for this night, and not snitch on her to her husband.

Her husband would be furious that she’d come to this gala, especially after explicitly forbidding her. Was it so wrong, after so many years of marriage, to want to go to one Town social? He’d kept her isolated from the rest of his peers by handing to her the running of all of their country estates, not that that was a bad thing in and of itself. Oh, she hated the dirty city, where gossip, the unfortunate and the weak were what were dined on. But to have never once taken her to the theatre, even though she knew they had the best boxes? At least, she’d been told that they were one of the best by a friend of his that had accompanied him home one time, and without having ever been taken, she’d had to take his word for it. The few social pleasures she’d had had been before her marriage, when a dowdy companion had accompanied her.

She turned the third corner, seeing her coach ahead of her, sighing so deeply in relief, that, forgetting that the mask had a purpose, she pulled it off so she could breathe without the fringe going up her nose anymore. She purposefully made Charlie take the inconspicuous coach, though she hadn’t much of a choice as her husband had the one with their colors and mark on it. But this coach was less than even the ones used for the post conveyances. Long ago her father-in-law had bedded every woman he could and had needed a non-descript coach. Her husband hated the thing, and though she found much use for it, for going around in their estates unnoticed, he resented its very existence.

“Hi, Charlie,” she said happily, giving him her hand to help her into the coach. She flung the mask into the coach and gathered her skirts to climb in.

“You look like you had fun, my Lady,” he said caustically.

“I did, Charlie, you old curmudgeon,” she laughed, holding to the top of the coach, so she could see over it. She looked down at him. “If I wasn’t so afraid of being noticed, I’d yell at the top of my lungs and until I ran out of breath that this has been the greatest night of my life.”

“Don’t think his Lordship would like that much,” Charlie groused, trying to get her into the coach without actually shoving her in. “Your wedding night, and the birth of his Lordship’s sons should be the greatest.”

“Oh, Charlie, you’re splitting hairs, and you know it,” she grumbled, upset that he’d reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to have any fond memories outside of her marriage and children. “I got what I wanted, one night, away from everyone, including Kelly Caldwell and our sons, where no one knew me, no one could judge me based on my birth place, or based on my father-law’s lifestyle, or make snide comments about what my husband does while he’s here and I’m not. No one there knew any of the stories that Kelly’s father told about me, and no one was able to rub my nose in the fact that not once has Kelly defended me against them. No one was present to see the indifference in my husband’s eyes as he looks at me. I had a man, Charlie, a highborn Lord, I swear, look at me like he wanted to devour me whole, and not just my body, but my mind. He thought I was smart and knowledgeable and witty and…”

“Now, my Lady,” Charlie started.

“Don’t, just please don’t, Charlie,” she pled. “Let me have my memories at least, without your interference. I know my duty, I know who I am, and I know that I can’t change any of it. I danced, and talked, and laughed, and teased, and bantered, and flirted with an amazing man who knew nothing of me, and I nothing of him. It felt like I was back at home, when I was 17, before my father died, and I had friends, my friends, to whom I could utter anything. I was comfortable as myself, and happy to be me, for once in years. Let this night alone. Let me have it. It’s all I will ever have, and you know it.” He couldn’t argue, and she was grateful. She climbed into the coach, but just before he shut the door, she held out her hand to stop it, and knelt on the floor of the doorway, looking out longingly at the lit up block in front of her. “At least I have this night to remember what love is like,” she whispered sadly, as tears streamed down her face.

She sat back, snuggled into her cloak that she’d left on the seat. She closed her eyes, reliving every moment with her Adonis. She smiled at their easy companionship before pain struck through her heart. If only Kelly was like him. She shook her head, trying to will away the hurt that her husband had caused her, but it didn’t work. She hadn’t meant to make him that mad, in fact, until their row, she’d never thought him truly capable of fury, but she could no longer pretend to something that she wasn’t just to satisfy his view of women. No one on any of their estates knew her insipidly dull and helplessly feminine side, except her husband. She’d perfected the act just for him and when he’d left her over the years to attend to family business, the façade was dropped in favor of pulling their estates out of financial bondage by working from the ground up; the people needed to be re-taught how to manage things and learn the new way of the nobility. No one could remain living as if nothing had changed, but with the world being brought so close together with the rise of machinery, everyone was either having to adjust or die, and she did not want any of their tenants to die.

As soon as Kelly had given her free reign over the running of the estates, she had abandoned her act of stupidity for the sake of being strong for the people, and had put her well-worn denims right back on. Along with her Stetson and duster. Her dresses and courtly mannerisms were solely reserved for the rare times when her husband made his appearances on their properties and given just how many properties their were, it was not odd for them to go months without seeing each other in person. Their separate duties over their lands and businesses made for schedules that were never coordinated to each other. And she had worked hard to make it so. Better an absent husband than an uncaring one. With Kelly gone, she could pretend she had love in her marriage.

Up until last week, it had worked marvelously; but now, with her knowing that there was at least one man who believed her mind to be a stunning abode, and her years long peace with who she was without her husband, she wasn’t sure that their marriage, though a farce, would survive his determination to be together more often as a proper couple, the bruise on her forehead, or the angry cries of her sons.

Just over a week ago.

Bryn reigned her horse in and brought him to an abrupt halt just as she passed through the gated entry to her house, well, one of her houses. She took off her Stetson and wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her work shirt then, slapping her hat on her denim clad thighs, and began to try and figure out a way to calm the brewing storm she saw in the eyes of her scowling husband. It was uncommon for them to be in the same house at the same time. Being the wife of a Lord, she ran all of the households on all of their estates, though for most other gentle bred women that meant occasionally reading letters written by their housekeepers, gardeners, stockmen, butlers or ladies-in-waiting. She, however, had been bred and raised in the American West, where women often worked side by side with their men, and often ran large businesses and ranches while their husbands traveled great distances. She was determined to be on hand as often as was needed to make sure that all the changes she required of her staff and tenants were being put into place. Her country was still mending the rift that had been made during the war; she fiercely believed in the cause that all men were equals and treated her tenants and the villagers as such.

Her husband, the current Viscount, on the other hand, and his staunchly aristocratic upbringing believed in classes; he had been pushed into learning about business ventures and making money by working at it, only because of having a deeply-in-debt father and older brother. She swore that her in-laws had purposefully timed their deaths to coincide with the second son’s happy day, so that they could have one last intrusion, once last chance to ruin Kelly’s life. The shock of just how much was owed, and the businesses he had to sell and tend to, had forced her husband from her side a week after the birth of their first child, a son, on their first anniversary. His businesses often kept him away for long periods of time and he only recently had been showing any inclination to remember that he had a wife, sons or properties outside of London.

She sighed deeply. She couldn’t really fault Kelly for taking his role seriously - he was the only Caldwell who had in over a century. His father had groomed his second son well; to be serious, well-behaved, thrifty, and sober. Having the unimportant second son whipped into cleaning up their messes, she knew just how much trouble her father-in-law and brother-in-law had caused. She’d read the letters. She thanked God every day that her brother-in-law had never had issue. With love and good training she hoped that her sons would take after her side of the family instead, though she believed firmly that her own independent, American ideas would help them the most. Life and times were changing and though many of the English aristocracy were fighting it, foolishly, she knew that her sons would both need to be strong-minded and able bodied for whatever changes lay ahead of them.

She pushed her horse forward with her knees, keeping her hat in one hand and the reins in the other, watching her husband warily to see if he would create the beginning of what she knew would be a terrific row, in the public eye of their tenants, or if he would do so in private. Everyone in the surrounding communities, and those who lived and farmed their land were used to seeing their Lady in denim pants, and tailored man’s shirt, cowboy boots and Stetson hat, with her dark blond hair pulled into a single braid falling down her back. In bad weather, she had her leather duster to keep the rain off. If her husband’s dark glower was any indication, he most certainly was not informed that this was his wife’s everyday appearance. If it was possible, the storm clouds hanging in her husband’s eyes grew darker and more startling as he noticed the large war-bred charger she sat on. Granted, he was an enormous breed, related, she was almost certain to the Clydesdales of Kentucky, and though definitively bred as cavalry for a British General, he had been badly injured and Bryn had rescued him from being destroyed. Titus would let no one else near him, their bond being solidified through her tender attentions while he healed. His imposing size and temperamental nature kept her safe from unsavories that sometimes crossed their lands.

Her husband, Lord Kelly Caldwell, was not amused. He folded his arms across his chest tightly as he watched, no, glared at his wife’s figure perched on top of, what could only be described as a monster. He had come to this particular property not knowing that his wife was currently in residence, for had he known, he would have gone somewhere else. His mood was not suited to being in anyone’s company, but after the news he’d received, he’d needed to flee to London to find calm and this property was only four hours out. He had little in common with his wife, apart from being foisted upon each other at the death of her father and their sons. Her father had been a cousin to his mother. The estate’s American lawyer letter to him declared that he’d been promised to a child he’d not seen since her 5th birthday. Kelly had not known the engagement had existed until the letter. He remembered meeting her and her father in New York while he traveled after finishing at Eton. He’d met up with his mother and they had gone up and down the Eastern seaboard in style. He’d been nearly 18, and though she was a pretty child, he’d paid no mind to his mother’s and her father’s whisperings at the time. He should have.

He’d ransacked his lawyers office, finding his mother’s original copy of the agreement buried deeply. He’d been enraged, who could blame him, who would want to try an unseasoned American chit on the ton? Good Lord, she’d been shipped from the Wild West, at that! After realizing that he was to inherit a large business fortune, with ventures across the world, and knowing the kind of debt his father and brother were bound to leave him with, he’d readily agreed to the arranged marriage. Some of his closest friends had done similar, and though there wasn’t love, at least most of them enjoyed a certain comfortable level of companionship. He knew no one who’d married for love, so having a secure future, one not reliant upon, or connected to, his father and brother had been too much to pass up. When his bride-to-be had finally arrived from the wilds of the California coast, or mud holes as he believed them to be, she’d just turned 18 to his easily past 30. She was wild and untamed, and though many of his closest friends and relations had expressed great interest in relieving him of such a fascinating burden, he found no enjoyment in her utter lack of civilized refinement. Her mother had been Spanish gentry, or so the letters and she, had claimed, but he could see nothing Spanish in her; only the uncanny fair colored, Celtic resemblance to her father, who, like his own mother, was London born Scottish nobility. Minor nobles, to be sure, and not incredibly wealthy, but with solid pedigrees.

But Bryn’s father, much to the outrage of her grandfather, had abandoned the aristocratic life, opting instead to do as Walden had suggested later, and live life by sucking the marrow out of it. Bryn’s father, Brian, was the only son and upon his abandonment, the titles and properties handed down for over a century had been placed upon a cousin. Though now with Bryn having sons, the lands were once again theirs to run, and entailed to the boys, hence the multiple properties located all over Britain that one household was now in charge of.

From his first glimpse of his future wife all those years ago, he’d come to the conclusion that they’d succeeded in sucking the marrow from life, but only because of the necessity of poverty, not from purposeful intention. She always wore trousers, denims she called them, and a simple braid down her back. And though pleasant to look at, he was horrified to find that she cared nothing for fashionable wear or female undergarments. He’d groaned at the necessity of marrying such a heathen, however he’d soon realized that he’d never been so wrong about appearances as he had then. Within a year of diligent tutoring by his housekeeper and an aging dowager aunt, his wife’s manners and appearance had changed into everything he’d believed a proper Lady should have, though she often let her tongue get the better of her, for she never did tame it properly enough to keep her decidedly un-English opinions to herself. Up until a week after his son’s birth, Kelly had had hope that love could blossom between them; at his ascension to Viscount, all hope had been shattered.

His late father-in-law’s established business ventures had ranged from China, to India, to South Africa, to the Caribbean, to the East Coast of the United States across the plains to the West Coast. Indeed, because of the immensely talented lawyer who had chaperoned both Bryn and her dowdy maid across the Great Plains, he’d learned more about worldwide business when they’d arrived in England than he’d ever wanted to. Eventually many of the companies had been sold, at great profit, simply because between his own ventures and her father’s, there simply was not enough daylight in the century for him to keep up. Bryn’s dowry had indeed been monetarily impressive enough to catch the eye of several of the royal family and nearly all the English aristocracy combined, and that sizeable amount, more than anything else, had convinced him to continue with the marriage that had been planned by his mother without his knowledge.

With new tax levies, wars to pay for and land no longer making the kind of money it used to, and thanks to the ease and availability of goods grown and machine made elsewhere, many of the aristocracy were now scrambling to find income wherever it could be found. Kelly had not been so sure whether he’d been lucky or not, having a father who had sunk their family into immense debt, but he’d become adept at making money and picking the most lucrative ventures long before others followed in his wake. It had become necessity, even without his father’s insistence, for his own personal inheritance, entailed to him from his mother’s family, had been raided for years by both his father and elder brother. With a magistrate’s order in hand, he’d stopped the pilfering as soon as he reached his majority, and then not wanting any more of his ancestral homes and lands to have to be auctioned off by their wantonness, he’d proceeded to dive into ventures by the dozen to pay off debts and keep what was theirs. Ungrateful bastards as they were, both his father and brother had maintained their opulent gaming and lascivious lifestyles, while insisting that Kelly live in bachelor’s quarters with four other bachelors while in London. As second son, with no real rights to the money he’d been investing, he hadn’t had much of a choice. All that was left of his own entail were run-down properties with no cash income. It hadn’t been the worst thing to happen to him, many connections that had been made then, still served him well.

Even with her enhanced mannerisms, he’d realized that he would never be able to introduce his wife into polite society, never mind aristocratic society because of her quickening shortly after their marriage. He’d wondered how he was going to be able to coddle a somewhat reformed heathen and attend his businesses while maintaining his sanity. It was a boon for him when he found out that she despised London with all it clamor, and dirt and filth. Their agreement, made just after the death of his father and birth of his firstborn, was that she would maintain their outlying estates, going from one to another as needed, and he would continue in Town and across the seas with his various businesses in order to pay off the debts so massively accrued by his family, and build up their own holdings and reputation so that their children would have something to be proud of.

It had worked, but their separation had worked its wonders too. He now stood at the door of his property, arms still crossed, watching as his wife groomed her horse, instead of coming to greet him; he glowered even more. Where she might fail as a proper aristocratic wife, at least she had succeeded in child bearing, having given him two healthy sons in short order. Having no affinity for his father in any way, he followed his mother’s lead in naming his sons after their Scots heritage; Duncan and Ewan would certainly not have to contend with being remembered like so many Johns, Edwards and Georges. He had been as present as the mid-wife had allowed for the birth of both of his sons, unlike his father who hadn’t even been in the country, by choice, when he had been born. In revenge for his father’s abandonment, his mother had given her second son her family name, Kelly. His father’s fury at such a Gaelic name had no effect, however, as his son had been properly christened and his name recorded, indeed Kelly had been nearly a year old before his father had seen fit to come home to see him.

Kelly threw the front doors open, rattling the windows on the same wall several feet away and stalked into the entryway, standing there waiting with arms crossed, hip cocked and foot tapping as if it could will his wayward wife to move faster from its beat. He watched as she slowed her approach into the house, never once having the decency to look chagrined at being caught in a less than Lady-like position. Is this how she always was when he was not around? He continued to glare at her as she walked, back straight, chin up, into the house, never making eye contact. “My Lady,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Kelly, I did not know you were coming,” she said simply, hanging her hat and turning to return his glare.

“Or,” he pursued.

“Or what?” She answered, knowing what it was he wanted her to say, but she wouldn’t.

“If you had known, would you have dressed accordingly?” He groused.

“Perhaps if you had brought company, but as I see only you here, most likely not,” she said flippantly. He sighed deeply. “I’m not sure why you’re upset, Kelly.”

“Firstly, you should be showing more deference to me, my Lady,” he began.

“Do not start that aging argument again, I told you in the beginning of this farce that I have but one Lord, and you are not He,” she said, crossing into a sitting room and signaling to the staff to bring her something to drink.

He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “I will not be ignored, wife,” he hissed.

“I am not ignoring you, husband, I did not expect you to be here and I have things that need to be done before the sun goes down today,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I am hot and tired and need to rest for a few minutes and cool off before I continue with my duties.”

“Duties that will include changing into something more appropriate, I presume,” he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the stairs.

“Indeed you presume too much, Kelly,” she said pulling her arm away again. “I will not be dictated to in my own home, even by you. Husband.”

He was stunned. This was not his wife but a nasty usurper. His wife had long ago shed her wild and unpredictable nature, not to mention her manner of dress and scathing tongue; at least he thought she had.

“Your home? I gave you your home, actually homes. All of them,” he stammered angrily, still in shock.

“No, Kelly, you didn’t,” she argued, taking her drink from a cowering servant. Rarely did any of the staff see them together and even more rare was seeing them speak to each other. It must have seemed like the end of the world to see them arguing. “The sale of my businesses saved this estate so that you could magnanimously give it to me. All the properties came from my father because the sale of his businesses paid their debts. What you gave me was supervision over them, not ownership. You have never once paid attention to what happens in and around these estates of ours,” she spat the last word out. “When you can give me details about what I do and how, then I might listen to what you consider my duties to be and just how I am to dress accordingly.”

He was completely speechless. He had long believed that she was just as settled and satisfied as he in their arrangements, she certainly had never once complained or uttered an unkind word about the entire situation before. He felt his rage returning, but it was too late to leave to let it calm.

“I see in your face that you are completely at a loss,” she sighed, slapping her legs with her hands to try to remove some of the dust. She was enraged and was trying very hard not to explode at him. Ten years of marriage and he was surprised that she was unhappy? She counted to twenty, slowly, breathing deeply the entire time. She couldn’t exactly fault him entirely, how was an absent husband supposed to know that his hidden wife was not pleased with her life? As much as he’d known about his father and brother, even he’d been unprepared for the sheer magnitude of debt he’d acquired upon their deaths, and she knew that he’d worked long and hard to pay it all off. She really couldn’t fault his drive or honor, but she could fault his lack of caring. She opened her eyes to see her husband still looking at her, wrath blazing, only this time it was paired with confusion. “Kelly, you and I are never together, not ever. Do you even know me at all?”

“Of course I do,” he belligerently replied.

“Oh, really? What is my favorite book?” She sighed.

“Pick any one of the ridiculous romances you leave all over the houses,” he sniped, flailing his arms to encompass the house.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, feeling so much older than her eight and twenty years. She felt much closer to his forty, if she allowed herself the truth. “Very well, how about an easier question, what is my favorite color?”

“That is easy, red,” he gloated. She sighed as she shook her head. “It’s not?”

“No it’s not, I will fully admit that it is a good color for my eyes and complexion, but it most definitely not my favorite color,” she said wearily. “Actually, what color are my eyes?” She almost cried when he appeared even more stumped by that question than any of the others. “I am so glad that you notice me,” she whispered, heading toward the stairs.

“Where are you going? We are not finished with this discussion,” he said, his voice rising with every word. “We need to decide how you are to present yourself as my Lady and wife.”

She grunted. “Indeed, ten years too late for this particular discussion, Kelly. I have things to do. I will make sure that Cook knows you are here and that a place is set for you and your favorite wine is served with dinner,” she stated, heading to the stairs again.

“Bryn, stop,” he barked. He smirked, at the very least that got her attention. He watched in consternation as she turned around a little too slowly. He strode forward, grabbing at her arms again. “You are my wife,” he began, barely able to say the words through the heat building.

“Am I?” She said, trying to will the tears back. “Am I really? I do realize that there is a piece of paper stating that fact, and you have given me two perfect sons, but am I truly your wife?”

“What kind of absurd question is that?” He bit out heatedly.

She snorted, a sharp laugh full of pain and derision. “That question tells me so much, Kelly,” she said sadly, wiping furiously at her tears. “Tell me, my husband, when was the last time you shared my bed? Indeed, when was the last time you even deigned to hold my hand or kiss it? Or kiss my lips? Have to ever touched me with loving tenderness?”

“Good Lord, is that what those silly books are filling your head with?” He barked in contempt.

“No, Kelly, not the books, but from the people around me, the poor peasants and tenants and merchants that I associate with on a daily basis,” she said, voice quivering. “How easy do you think it is for me to be surrounded by married men and women who show each other tenderness and love in every glance and every touch and yet I remain alone and untouched, something to be hidden and scorned?”

“This is the most inane nonsense I have ever heard in my life,” he said, starting to loose his control. He did not need this on top of everything else.

“Is it? So I am inane and what I feel is nonsense? I have worked for ten years to give you homes and lands to be proud of, giving you sons to carry on an unpolluted name, and not once do you notice me. You don’t know the color of my eyes, Kelly,” she took a shaky breath, “have you ever looked in my eyes during the rare moments that you spend in my bed, though I must admit that you might not remember any more seeing as it’s been almost five years? You have not noticed that I have removed my band and have not worn it in years. You haven’t noticed that the tenants on our land are happier, the land doing better, the crops and animals more varied and yielding better than our neighbors because of the ideas that I have found from reading. Yes, Kelly, I can read.” She turned to walk off, knowing that at any moment the boys would be back from their trip into town, a reward for listening to their governess, and she did not want them to see this. They almost never saw their father anyway, and it would do no one any good to have this be one of their few memories.

“You don’t wear your band?” He yelled, grabbing her hand and glaring at it.

“Really, all of that, and that is all that you heard?” She yelled back. She began laughing and couldn’t stop even as the tears flowed more freely.

“It is amusing to you, is it?” He yanked on her wrist, twisting it and pushing her back to the wall, nose to nose with her. “How amusing will you find it if I divorce you for adultery and take the boys from you?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she shouted, now suddenly afraid of how he had made that leap. “How did you make that assumption? I don’t wear a band, well neither do you, in fact, you have never worn one, so maybe you are the one who is guilty of adultery and are now trying to sully my name to make yourself feel better for your deception.”

“How dare you!” He roared, releasing her hand. He would go on to wonder for the rest of his life just how it had all happened for his memory would always be fuzzy, but the only thing he knew for certain is that his hand snapped her head around so hard that her forehead slammed into the wall bringing an instant large swelling to it. Before he could clear his head enough to realize what he’d done, he found himself several feet away, having been pushed easily to the ground by two whirlwinds that he soon realized were his sons, both of whom now stood over him, one with fists doubled and the other with the fireplace poker raised like he was playing stickball and waiting for the perfect lob.

At that moment, seeing his wife’s swelling and tear-filled face, he was hard pressed to know which son was which. They had both grown enough and were close enough in age that with their bodies hunched over, like tigers ready to spring, they seemed to be identical in size and, to his shame, he couldn’t remember if either of them had anything to distinguish them from the other.

“Boys, don’t,” Bryn croaked. This was exactly what she had not wanted. She slowly and carefully stood up, trying desperately to prevent her head from spinning off her shoulders. She hadn’t seen it coming, indeed she’d never heard Kelly raise his voice once, but then wasn’t she just expounding upon how little he knew of her? How much did she not know about him? His father had been a distempered brute, as had his brother, but he’d always appeared so different and his declaration of not wanting to be anything like either of them is what had secured her agreement to their marriage and, so far, he’d lived up to that standard. She walked to her boys and wrapped her hands around their shoulders and kissed the tops of their heads.

“Boys, don’t do anything that you will regret,” she said softly, tears still streaming. Part of her was perversely pleased to see the pain filled looked that her husband was shooting at her.

“Mum, who is he and why did he hit you and why can’t I hit him with the poker?”

“Duncan, put the poker down, Ewan unclench your fists,” she said louder. “As for why you can’t, he is on the ground and you do not hit anyone once they are on the ground and no longer a threat. You see his face, how white it is, and how his eyes are large and frightened? That means he has no fight left in him, and you will not hit a man once he’s down as long as he will not fight back,” she answered as both of her sons nodded and took her outstretched hands.

“Mum, you didn’t answer Duncan,” said Ewan, now past 7, and her logical younger son. Ever pragmatic, just like his father. At least, like what she thought his father had been until a few moments ago.

“I know I didn’t, Ewan,” she said sadly. “And right now I don’t think I want to tell you who he is. But he won’t be staying long,” she said looking at him pointedly. “Now, both of you go upstairs and get cleaned up for dinner and I will follow you shortly.” She watched, tears streaming, as they slowly walked upstairs, waiting and watching to make sure that she was fine. With one last look and a nod from her, they disappeared around the corner.

“Oh my God, they didn’t know me Bryn!” He croaked.

“And you truly believed that they would? And would you truly want them to recognize you right now?” She said, getting angry again. He’d just flattened her forehead into the plaster and he was worried about not being known to sons he never saw, even at Christmas?

He sat up, arms wrapping around his knees and buried his face into the safety it provided. Good God what had he done? He’d never hit anyone in his life, not even his brother and father. How had he gone from hating his father for his enjoyment of making his mother bruise to now bruising his own wife? Granted, the enormous load he’d carried into the house today was caused by his late family but he’d not realized that it had affected him so deeply. Had he known his temper was that close to the surface, he’d have left once realizing she was here. He’d done it before. Better an absent husband than an angry one. His problems were not because of her.

He looked up at his wife’s tear-streaked face, her forehead sporting the largest knot he’d seen. He stood up, tears forming in own eyes, and tried to reach to her. His voice and heart broke as she backed away from him. “Bryn…”

“Leave, Kelly, now,” she said softly, no malice in her voice. “I will not have you staying here now. If you are lucky, the next time you see the boys they will not remember that you were the one who struck me, but I will not have you near us. Not now.”

“Bryn…”

“Stop…”

“No, I need to…”

“To what, Kelly, accuse me of adultery again? Hit me again to assuage your own guilt?”

“Stop, Bryn, I’ve not…”

“Oh, so the stories I hear all the time, year after year are untrue?”

“I have no idea what stories you’ve been told…”

“Of course you wouldn’t, you’re not here to refute them and set me straight, are you?”

“Bryn, for God’s sake, you wanted it this way.”

“Are you beside yourself? I wanted to have an absent husband? That is ridiculous!”

“You hate London…”

“Of course I hate London, who doesn’t?”

“Then you agree with me…”

“What are talking about, Kelly? How on earth does my dislike of London have to do with not having a husband?”

“I have business to attend to in London…”

“Please just use their names, Kelly, mistresses and whores aren’t business, don’t keep up this farce and insult my intelligence any more than you already do.”

“I am not even going to dignify that with a comment,” he groused, “since you didn’t want to come with me to live in London all the time and leave the lands to others, and you agreed to this living arrangement over ten years ago, I don’t understand why you are now upset by it.”

“Because, Kelly, when I agreed to not live in London, I did not agree to lose my husband to clawing tarts and whores and business ventures for the rest of my life,” she yelled.

“I do not have clawing tarts and whores, Bryn,” he said loudly. “But you…”

“Don’t presume, Kelly, how could I possibly have time for someone else’s affections when I have at least six estates to run and two rambunctious boys to keep out of trouble!” She yelled. “I have houses full of servants who are loyal to you, you, not me! Do you think for one moment that I could do anything amiss without instantly being tattled on?”

He had no answer for that. “I suppose that is true, then why remove your band?”

“For the same reason you do not wear one, Kelly, there is no love, affection or respect, indeed I don’t truly have a husband and once upon a time I had hoped that by removing it that you might notice and ask me what was wrong,” she laughed sardonically. “The problem with that plan was that, at some time, my husband was supposed to have noticed me, which never happened. And after a few months it just became habit to leave it off. And now, here we are, with nothing accomplished but headaches to rival Vulcan’s smiths and neither of us being any happier with each other than before we started this.”

“Bryn, I have never strayed,” he said quietly.

“That actually makes me feel even more hopeless than before, Kelly,” she said, tears beginning again.

“How so? Most women would be thrilled to hear that?”

“Well, I think that we have established that I am not most women, and never will be,” she said, wiping the tears off on her sleeve. “I would almost prefer to know that I had lost you to whores, or the bottle, or gaming tables to the truth.”

“And what, pray tell, do you believe the truth to be?” He asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

“The truth is that I have lost my husband, indeed if I ever had him to begin with, for no reason at all,” she said, heading up the stairs eyes looking down. “Please leave Kelly, and try to avoid us for awhile.”

He could do nothing more than slowly walk out the front door, call for his phaeton and head home to London. He wanted to avoid thinking and was achingly grateful that one of his closest friends would be hosting a masked ball in a week; a perfect setting to let himself loose and flirt shamelessly with as many women as he could. His wife might believe that he had nothing to offer, but he’d be damned to take her word for it. Though just past his 40th birthday, he still got winks from young beauties. He sat back in the seat, a forced smile on his lips. He’d have flocks of young beauties surround him and maturely bored and willing matrons ask to warm his bed; he’d show her. He frowned, realizing that he’d previously forbidden her to go, knowing that he didn’t want anyone else paying attention to her. She wouldn’t be there, so he wouldn’t be able to show her. Maybe she did have a point about their arrangement after all.

Presently.

After Charlie shut the door to the coach and she’d taken one last aching look at the house that had held her magical night in its hand, had she looked out the uncurtained window of the coach at the moment it departed, she would have seen a sight that would have drained the blood from her face. The unknown man, with whom she had spent hours in glorious companionship, was staring, mask in hand, open mouthed at her as the coach rolled away, slowly gaining speed.

Had his thoughts been faster, he would have pounded on the side until the driver stopped and hauled his unknown lady out into the middle of the street, begged her forgiveness and kissed her senseless. But his thinking hadn’t been fast enough. He’d heard the entire conversation between the driver and his goddess, and it was frantically running through his mind, side by side with newly made memories of an evening spent with a perfect woman. He’d not been able to keep his promise to let the night be one of exquisite memories and he’d followed her out the door. He wanted to know who she was, and if she was in any way available. Though he’d never once contemplated breaking his marital vows, some desperate part of him wondered if he was brave, or reckless, or idiotic enough to approach her.

He’d followed his goddess out the door discreetly, following her around several corners until he saw the plain, unrefined coach. It had looked familiar at first, but once the driver and the Lady had spoken, all thoughts had fled. At first anger had flared, unbidden, through his breast as he saw the face behind the mask. But then he’d heard her anguished words to her driver, to his knowledge ones she’d never before uttered out loud, and they had stopped him cold.

He slowly sat on a low wall on the other side of the street, he leaned his elbows on his knees, mask dangling in his hands. He looked in the direction of the coach, silently willing Charlie to turn around and bring her back. But to do what, he wasn’t sure. He was angry, and had every right, for her deception ran deeply and cut him bitterly. But he was also stunned and just a bit contrite. He’d also been deceptive with her, flirting shamelessly and entertaining keeping a mistress. How had he gone through over ten years of his married life and known so little of his wife?

He hadn’t recognized the color of her eyes, the wonderful build of her womanly body, or even the scent of her skin with its delicate perfume. He wanted to be angry that she hadn’t recognized him, either. But if he had been so caught off guard, he, who prided himself on noticing the details of everything, indeed he’d reprimanded her on more than one occasion for things being out of place, even if it had been months since he’d been home, then how was he to put any blame upon her for not knowing him?

He put his face into his hands. Lord, how could he possibly know his wife when he willingly spent so much time away from her? He had no idea she was so well-read, even though he’d given her permission years ago to purchase anything she wanted. He smirked, and all he ever noticed were those God awful romance books and she probably had those lying around for him to notice because that’s what he assumed all Ladies read because his mother and aunts had all read them. And nothing else.

He sat up straight, wondering just who it was he’d married. When she’d shown up from the American west, little more than a child, she’d been wild, something she couldn’t even argue with. But within a year she had turned into the model of gentle propriety, and now he was left wondering if it had all been an act to appease him? His mind replayed the scene between them from the previous week, had that been her true form? Had tonight? Had she ever truly been the height of aristocracy she’d portrayed to him and his companions?

He sighed deeply, stood up and, with hands clasped behind him, walked slowly back to gather his cloak and then call his phaeton to take him back to his empty London townhouse in Hyde Park. He walked, head bent, wondering how to go forward. He could not forget this night, even if he’d never learned his goddess was already his.

His.

Bryn.

His wife.

Lady Caldwell.

But now that he did know, and knew that she did not, could he continue this obvious farce of a marriage still pretending to be blind? No. He shook his head. Death would be preferable to having to lie any more. But isn’t that what she’d been doing for over ten years? He stopped and tilted his head to the sky and took a deep breath of the dirty air he knew she hated so much. She’d told him of her hatred of the stink and dirt of London, which is why he’d never brought her to Town every time he was here, and that was quite often as his business interests were varied and housed all over Britain, and a few in America in deference to his American wife. London was simply the easiest place to meet up with everyone involved. But had he made a mistake in assuming that she never wanted anything to do with the city forever? For all he knew, she’d never even had her coming out for they’d been engaged within a few days of her arrival, and then married within three months. But did that mean that he was right in keeping her from society? Or was he keeping society from her? Somewhere in his own mind, did he know just how wonderful and charming she would be if he introduced her to their social circle and thereby was trying to keep her to himself? If that was the case, then he was still a failure since he’d not been around her in order to have her to himself.

What a jumble he’d unwittingly created. And, unfortunately, in this, he could not lay blame anywhere else but at his own feet, his young wife was not British and came to him knowing nothing, and he’d pretended that she was made of deformed glass, something easily broken and not strong, a foreign object to be hidden away. The face she had presented to him and his friends, she had learned on her own, and not from him.

As he gathered his things and climbed into the phaeton, and morosely headed to a lonely bed, he wondered just how things had gone so wrong. He’d made a life solely based upon a strict adherence to organization, lists, and his calendar. He wasn’t supposed to be Lord, he was the second son, but with his father’s and brother’s complete inability to manage anything outside of their pants, he’d long ago been tapped to learned how to turn the family finances around. His father, not caring what his second son did as long as he made them enough money for scotch and whores, had been fine with the whelp being in charge. The heir hadn’t cared any more than the Lord. As long as debts were being paid, and their purses were full, they cared very little for how the second son had done it. Unfortunately for both of them, their lifestyles had brought an abrupt end to their lives in a boating accident that shouldn’t have happened in the first place, had they not been marinated in Scotland’s best barrels.

He walked slowly up to his front door where his dour butler and quiet, but observant, valet waited for his instructions. He didn’t say anything, he really couldn’t, not yet. He had a lot of thinking to do. His vow to be different from his father, following the example of his best friend’s father instead, had somehow collapsed. He didn’t whore around, didn’t drink to excess, and yet it seemed that his wife was just as hurt, just as lonely and in just as much pain as his own mother had been. From when his first memories began, his mother never smiled. She hadn’t lived to meet Bryn, though he was positive they would have been close friends. He frowned deeply as he recklessly threw his clothing around. Is that what his sons saw? That their mother was unhappy and abandoned? Did they see pain in her eyes like he’d seen in his mother’s? Did they know that their father had unintentionally hurt their mother?

He sat down heavily on his bed and flopped backward, rubbing his hands in his face. He dismissed his valet, needing to be alone. As alone as his wife? Not likely. She was right, he always had friends around, how had he not noticed that she had no one? She seemed to always be surrounded by people. He ruefully had to remember that everyone who was around her lived on their land and needed her attention because she was the Lady. Not because she was Bryn.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed on top of the covers. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew he had to fix things somehow. His wife was not really who she showed, and he liked the hidden her much better than the one he knew, and he’d be willing to bet all their money and lands that so did she. As he drifted off to sleep, wondering just how upset she still was with him because of their last clamorous and violent moments together as husband and wife.

Lord Kelly Michael Caldwell was at an impasse. Lady Bryn Maria Wellington Caldwell was a stranger and ten years after their marriage he needed to make her believe it was honest, and not simply because he was trying to lessen the row.

How do you woo your own wife?

“Hurry, Mary, help me,” she said, desperate to get her dress back on and looking unrumpled. She was just finishing up her rounds on this property before getting ready to leave in the next day or two when her chambermaid, Mary, came flying into the stable announcing the arrival of a fine looking gentleman, a friend of Lord Caldwell’s, she thought. Bryn had snuck up to her rooms using the kitchen entrance and was now hurrying to get herself together enough to look as if she’d been simply retiring in an upstairs parlor all afternoon.

“M’lady, your hair!” Mary wailed, pulling and tugging on the single braid her Lady was wearing.

“It’s fine,” Bryn hissed, pulling her boots off and putting dainty slippers on.

“Aye, if you’re outside rolling in the mud,” Mary said, combing through the long tresses to get the leaves out.

“Oh, stop complaining, Mary. If I didn’t do what I did, then no one on any of estates would have anything to roll around in,” Bryn said, pulling clumps of dirt out of her hair, along with not a few strands. Her naturally light brown hair had been lightened in many places to a light honey color by the wholly inappropriate single braid she always wore everyday she was outside tending to her lands and her people.

“I know that, m’lady, it’s just that the Lord caught you outside, and it would put all your efforts to shame if someone not wedded to you to see you in the same manner,” Mary answered through teeth full of pins. She deftly wove a simple, effective and completely appropriate series of plaits and curls about her mistress’ head, pinning with brutal efficiency. “Will that work?” She asked, putting a large hand held mirror behind her mistress who now stood in front of the mirror fastened to the wall.

“It’s perfect, Mary,” Bryn squealed, pulling her maid into a tight hug. “What would I do without you helping me in this ruse?” Her face and neck had been washed, and her hair looked as if it was slightly mussed from lounging and not because she had been on and off the back of a horse all day long.

“’Tis not a ruse to keep the lands producing and the people honest and healthy,” Mary groused.

“Yes it is, if I have to do it looking like a man and acting like a devilish whirlwind to accomplish it, then so be it,” Bryn said sadly. With a great sigh, she turned and looked at Mary, her accomplice in all that she did. Mary was the one servant that was hers and hers alone. She knew for a fact that the other servants sent updates to her husband, many of which she was certain showed her in an unfairly scandalous light. Why else would he have been so angry? Her being in such close proximity to the lower classes that worked and live on their lands, and in men’s clothing all the time? As shocked as she had been that he’d struck her, Bryn could actually understand his anger at how she was dressed and how she was behaving. She’d been very careful for years, leaving the house with her trusted servants and then changing into men’s clothing once she knew she would not be spied upon. In the past year, however, she had tired of the secrecy and the amount of effort it took to contain her secret. She was certain that the discovery that his wife was not what she had appeared to be for all these years was part of what had set Kelly off on her in his words and actions.

As she went downstairs, to find out which of her husband’s friends would show up without him being present, she wondered if there was any way for her to truly be who he thought she was - a proper lady. At the door of the downstairs parlor, she stopped and snorted at the thought of actually becoming the mindlessly insipid woman he thought her to be. She straightened, or she tried to, damnable corset, before she walked in the door. No, it was better this way for Kelly to no longer be under any misconceptions about who she was, for without that neither of them would have any lands to be comfortable with.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she pasted a smile on herself. Henry Chatham was a very close friend of Kelly’s and was often around when he was, but Kelly was not at home and though they’d had a few interesting conversations, she was still uncomfortably surprised to see him in her home without an escort. Like Kelly, he wasn’t an elder son, but unlike her husband, Henry’s two older brothers were very much alive. Even still, Henry’s father was wealthy enough that he hadn’t had to take orders for the Church or buy a commission into the military, and was just a comfortable in his bachelorhood living as Kelly had been before his brother had died.

“Mr. Chatham, this is indeed a surprise. Lord Caldwell isn’t here,” she said, giving him her hand and pulling it back quickly before he could linger. With Kelly’s belief in her inappropriate behavior, she most certainly did not need to give him a real reason to be more upset.

“I know he isn’t, my Lady,” he said smoothly.

“You do? Then why are you here?” She blurted, coloring a bright red instantly. She could feel her face heating even more at his light laughter. His voice was a higher timber than Kelly’s was, and though equally decent looking, she did not truly care for dark hair or dark eyes and his face held in it a road map of his delicate upbringing and his hair was beginning to have a smattering of silver running through it.

“I am here for you, not for Caldwell,” he smiled.

“You are? Why?” She stumbled, coloring red again.

He took her hand and kissed it again. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “I have come, purposefully without Caldwell, for one reason,” he began, then looking over his shoulder, “is there any way for us to have more privacy?” He asked, indicating the open parlor door.

“Indeed not, Mr. Chatham. I don’t think it would be appropriate,” she said, now even more nervous.

“Very well,” he said, sitting down and pulling her next to him. “I will be blunt with you, since I know that you are not trained in the ways of intrigue and flattery. I know that you are not happy, and have not been for some time, and I know that Caldwell is only in your presence for a handful of weeks in the year. You must be lonely and bored…”

“I am neither bored, nor lonely, Mr. Chatham. Indeed I am very busy with my lands and the raising of my sons,” she said, trying in vain to stand up. He had such a strong grip on her hands, and, when had his arm wrapped around her? Uh oh. “Please…”

“Please let me finish, Bryn,” he said quickly, moving in closer. “I want to be your lover.”

“Oh. My. God!” Bryn yelled as she pulled herself away, stood up and crossed the room in less than a second. “I…you…I.” She couldn’t even think straight. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to help her racing heart and the feeling of humiliation that was surrounding her. “Have I ever done or said anything that would lead you to believe that I wanted that? And with you?”

“No, you have not,” he answered, no trace of remorse in his face.

“Then why,” she stopped. “I think you should leave. Now. Before I have a mind to tell Kelly.”

He laughed. Laughed!!

“My dearest Lady Bryn, your husband would believe my statement of denial over your female protestations of impropriety, and you know it,” he said smugly. “You are not being treated the way you should.”

“And you cuckolding my husband would be treating me appropriately?” She asked in shock.

“It would be if I pleased you,” he said earnestly. “Bryn, he ignores you, has not taken you to Town and shown you off, you gave him two sons, for God’s sake. When he does speak of you, it is not in favorable terms. He does not know the prize that he has, and so deserves to have it taken away.”

“Shows what you know about me, sir,” she laughed with a snort. “I care nothing for being shown off, nor for going into Town, and I could really care less what he tells his friends. I do not have to be around them, you, often. I am no man’s prize, and if I was, his attention to me would most certainly be because I wanted his attentions, and not because he wanted me.” She walked to the front door and opened it. “Please leave and do not come back.”

He walked to the door, but didn’t immediately walk through. Instead he trailed his fingers down her cheek tenderly. “I only want to make you happy, Bryn.”

“How could you, when you don’t know me?” She answered, trying to back away but was unable to leave the intriguing sensation his fingertips were causing.

“I doesn’t take knowledge of someone’s person to be able to make that person blush with passion,” he said into her ear. At her gasp of shock, he chuckled and pulled back to look into her eyes. “Kelly has never showed you passion, has he?” At her unspoken answer he leaned in. “Has anyone ever showed you passion, Bryn?”

Before she could steel her mind, the unbidden memory of her night in the arms of a passionate man at the masked ball forced its way into her face. True, he hadn’t taken her to his bed, but the passion between them had been undeniable.

“You have known passion,” he said in awe. “I wonder if Caldwell knows.”

She gasped in horror and before her mind caught up with her body, his face was sporting a hand sized red mark across most of his cheek. Trying to reign in her own shock, she pulled away from him and stood up straighter. She decided to only glower at him, knowing that there was no way she could possibly speak without yelling or bursting into tears of anger and rage, neither option was what a proper lady should do, so she simply glared until he left. She slammed the door as soon as his foot cleared the threshold.

Sliding down the door and crumpling into a quivering heap, the tears that she had not wanted to show him began pouring down her cheeks. She felt several of her servants quickly surrounding her, orders for tea and toast and a hearty fire in her rooms, but nothing could get her to drop her hands from her mortified face. How could he presume so much? Did more of Kelly’s friends believe her to be available as their mistress? How could anyone who claimed to be a friend of his consider cuckolding him? Kelly was a good man, an upstanding one even, and a fervent and loyal friend to whomever was able to be fortunate enough to be such. With her chin quivering, she now wondered just exactly what he’d been saying to his friends about her throughout the years.

She allowed herself to be led back upstairs, tugged and pulled out of her clothing and arranged into bed with far too many pillows surrounding her, however this time she let them all fuss. As much as most of the servants were at Kelly’s behest first, she knew that all of them, to the last, were fiercely loyal to the family and would protect her from as much as they possibly could and not betray him. Unfortunately, they couldn’t protect her from her own husband and until she was able to speak to him in person, all she could do was imagine what he was saying that inspired such unwanted advances and feelings in his friends toward her.

The next day she sat numbly in the study as the foreman went over the ledgers and plans from the first of the harvesting. After years of wrangling, brow beating, haranguing, and then finally dressing like a man, Bryn had gotten all of the foremen to listen to her and follow her lead. Too many of the properties had been allowed to make up their own minds about what to plant, grow and raise. Once Bryn had married into the family, she’d brought her no-nonsense Western United States attitude to the forefront. Thanks to her father’s many business dealings and the friends that she’d known, she knew that some places were better for certain crops than others, with the same going for animals. Unfortunately in England it seemed that tradition outweighed common sense especially if everyone else in the entire area was doing the same thing. She’d quickly put a stop to their mindless planting and breeding schedules. It had taken years to browbeat the lands into submission and turn around. As she listened to the vastly improved reports she shook her head slightly, silently thanking her husband for the one thing right he’d done, other than providing her with children. Rather early on in their marriage, he’d laid down the law stating unequivocally that she had full run of all their properties and that everyone was to do as she said.

She smirked. It wasn’t all good, to have that much responsibility, especially when the first few years had not been good ones as she tried out different crops and animals. The men had dug in their heels often not following her explicit instructions but had been more than willing to allow her to take full blame during those lean years. Thankfully her dowry and inheritance from the sale of some of her father’s businesses had more than made up for the shortcomings and with only a glower at her, Kelly had willingly paid for the necessary supplies for all their workers and tenants during those winters.

Now with just over eight years of reading, listening, management and guessing under her belt, Bryn took satisfaction in the fact that at the end of most years her accounts regularly did better than Kelly’s, though she did allow for the fact that his ventures were held within other businesses and the latest machineries, which were always a hit and miss, and some of his ventures didn’t pay off for years. He’d gambled on a few inventions that had turned out to be very profitable, and a handful of others that had gone nowhere. Progressive businesses fascinated him, but were often risky. At least the foods, animals, machinery and mercantiles spread out amongst their lands were solid and steady, should one of his speculative tendencies fail.

She thanked the man for his reports and time as soon as she could. After what had happened yesterday, she really did not want to listen to anyone about anything at the moment. She had already sent her sons on a treasure hunt, with instructions to not come back until they had all the items on her list of hard to find and out of the way items. She sighed and smiled, knowing that they’d be gone for hours and if they couldn’t find some of the items, they’d figure out how to construct them.

She should be ready to leave this estate and go to another one by tomorrow. Though she preferred her southern estates for their more temperate weather, she knew that she had to head north to make final arrangements for the harsh northern winters that two of their properties were known to have. She wrapped her arms around her knees, placing her head sideways to gaze out the window. Though this northerly vantage was not the front of the house but the side, it was her favorite because of its clear and unobstructed view of the forested lands just past the small moors that surrounded part of the house. This estate was not a pleasant place in the summer, the moors being home to myriads of insects, but with fall in full swing, and the insect population down, the flowering moors surrounded by trees were truly lovely to behold.

Her eyes began to swim with tears that she refused to shed. She’d cried enough lately, for herself and for her marriage. It wouldn’t do to cry anymore, but her heart wasn’t listening. Slowly at first, then faster, her tears crawled down her cheeks, landing on her knees. It was bad enough that she had somehow earned Kelly’s disdain by simply being herself - how was she to know what he wanted or needed? But to know that his disparaging words had led one of his closest friends to offer for her on the side was almost more than her conscience could allow. Maybe after she settled the accounts with her northern estates she’d go home.

Her home.

America.

“She did what?” Kelly said, lowering his whiskey glass to glare in horror at one of his closest friends.

“You heard me, Caldwell,” Chatham answered, “do I really need to go into more detail?”

“No…no, you don’t,” Kelly stammered, hands shaking. He stood slowly, walking to look out the window of his London study. He leaned heavily on one lifted arm, bracing himself against the window pane, hoping that his friend couldn’t see how cleanly he had just cut his heart out. Could it possibly be true? Even after their terrific row, he’d never thought that Bryn was the type of woman to cuckold him, not that he would blame her at all, for he was certain that his behavior warranted some type of revenge on him. But to become the mistress of a bosom friend? To say that his friend had just rendered him speechless was a most profound understatement. Thunderstruck, actually. He didn’t know how to respond. He hid his face in the hand he was leaning on, desperately trying to keep his other hand limp, to maintain an air of disinterest. If Chatham did not know just how deeply his statement affected him, perhaps he would go away and let him fall and shatter in peace.

“Caldwell?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Indeed? And just how am I supposed to respond to allegations such as these, Chatham?” Kelly sighed. “I know that I have made no secret of the lack of companionship in my marriage, but I find it difficult to believe that my wife is even capable of what you claim, let alone be the one to instigate such an arrangement.”

“Are you doubting my word?” Chatham asked, pulling himself up to his full height, which was taller than his friend by a few inches.

Kelly sighed, bringing both hands to his face. “At this moment, yes, I am.” He held up his hand. “Just hear me out. It’s not because you have lied before, but neither has she,” he hesitated, knowing that she had not lied, but had willingly hidden many things from him. Though, perchance, he did deserve her duplicity due to his own unfamiliarity of her person and his inattentiveness to her in general. Had he paid more attention to her as his wife, would this be happening? Doubtful. He remained looking out the window, doing an admirable job at staring at nothing in particular. “Leave me be, Chatham, and let me think a bit.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Chatham bit out.

Kelly heard the door open and close, knowing that there was a chance that a friend of well over 20 years might just have walked out of his study for the last time. Still, he did not turn from his sightless perusal. He slowly lowered his head to the window, relishing the cold against his forehead. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to remember the night of the masked ball with his wife. He shook his head against the images as if he could will his unconscious thoughts to obey him; now in the forefront were images of his friend entertaining his wife in bed. He turned, stalking to his desk, wishing the Scots had invented something stronger than whiskey. He lifted a full glass to his lips, swallowing the entire glass in a massive gulp. Before his head could clear from the burn, glasses, decanters, books and papers flew around his study. In the aftermath of his temper, his study lay in ruins and resembled Bryn’s description of a tornado aftermath that she had witnessed on her journey from America.

He saw his valet peek in, take one look and quickly shut the door on him. Knowing his master for two decades, he knew that, though infrequent, the fits of temper were best left alone until objects ceased to fly. Kelly wasn’t sure he had it in him to do any more damage than had already been done. One benefit of aging, he smirked to himself, was that his hours long fits could no longer happen. As a young man he used to rail at the world quite often about the unfairness of his lot in life because of his father and brother. Not one servant who ever witnessed - or cleaned up after - his weakness ever blamed him for his rare bouts of temper, knowing just how much he’d been forced to shoulder for so long. Still, it had been many years since his last outburst. The deaths of his father and brother and the eventual straightening out of his family’s fortunes and finances had done much to quell any need for an angry release.

He sighed, sliding down the closest wall and sinking to the carpet. He’d just today formulated a way to bring his wife closer to him, both physically and hopefully emotionally, without ordering her to obey him, as was his due as a Lord and husband, but was not something he could do to her. Leaning his head over his bent knees, hands limp and dangling in his lap, he was beginning to think that his one night with his wife was all the happiness he would ever get in this life. He had no idea what to do now. He desperately wanted to send her gifts and trinkets, as his masked ball self, but had no idea how to accomplish it without making her nervous that her identity had been found out. He’d opted for caution instead, and was now thinking that not immediately going home and professing himself her masked companion had been the poorest gamble and mistake of his life. Had he gone home, Chatham would not have…what…propositioned his wife? Or been propositioned by his wife?

As he stood, brushing the broken glass off his pants - blast it - new ones too - he determined that the only course of action he had was to question the staff at that particular estate himself, and then his wife. He opened the door, allowing his valet and chambermaid in to put the devastation to rights, assisted by three other staff. Staff? Damnation! Why had no one come to his London home to report this outrage? Regardless of who propositioned whom, his staff should have been righteously outraged on his behalf and he should have been notified of the indiscretion. Or almost indiscretion, if Chatham were to be believed, and now with his temper faded, he was having even more of a difficult time believing that his wife was even capable of such insidious unfaithfulness. Hiding her outrageous clothing from him was one thing, many wives did that very thing even here in London, but hiding a desire to bed another man? No. Bryn did not have it in her. Besides, she was much too busy with the managements of so many estates spread out across Britain. Kelly paused, wondering just how much time she spent wrangling their sons.

A day after settling his temper by destroying a perfectly arranged study, he was sitting in the home where he’d last seen his wife unmasked. It had taken all of his resolve to walk into the home without shaking, knowing that not only had he assaulted her under its roof, but it was possible that another man had as well. As he waited for the steward to come in from tending to the ongoing harvesting, he tried to clear his mind of any residual anger or guilt. He needed to be able to read and gauge his steward’s reaction to the questions he was going to put forth.

Hearing the knock and allowing entry, he gestured for the steward to sit in front of the imposing desk. As the man sat and fidgeted, Kelly couldn’t quite decide how to proceed, so he opted for straightforward, as the lower classes were wont to do, and not try to drag out unnecessary aristocratic pleasantries. “Mr. Smith, I am here for one reason,” he began, “a friend, one I have known for most of my life, has leveled rather distressing charges of infidelity at my wife’s feet, and I need to know if he speaks the truth.”

The man sputtered, turning several alarming shades of red and purple.

“Calm yourself, man,” Kelly said, offering a shot of brandy to the man. The man swallowed it, coughed and sputtered again, trying vainly to compose himself. “Now take a few deep breaths, and answer the charges.”

“My Lord, there be, an’ never ha’ been any infidelity by yer wife as long as I ha’ knowd her,” he said, still bright red.

“You are sure?”

“Indeed, my Lord. Not only is she much loved by the staff, tenants and villagers, but she is rarely at rest when she be ‘ere,” he said. He paused. “Might this be ‘bout the louse what sniffed ‘round ‘ere a for’nigh’ ago?”

“What louse?” Kelly asked evenly, leaning forward.

“Don’ know his name, my Lord, but he always is wi’ you, fore now,” he answered. “He showed up alone and my Lady had him in the parlour, wi’ the door wide open. No one hear’ the words, alls I know is that my Lady were most upset wi’ him.”

“Indeed?” Kelly asked. The man nodded emphatically. “Just how upset was she?”

“I was summoned to the house and were just inside when she ordered him to leave, most insistently, too,” he said. “I dinna hear the words he said as my Lady opened the fron’ door, but it musta been something awful.”

“Why?”

“She lay a bloody red print across his face, my Lord,” he said with a grin.

“Did she?” Kelly mused. That part was missing from Chatham’s version of things, and the steward had personally witnessed his wife slapping the interloper.

“Oh, aye she did, my Lord. It were awful to see. When he left, she collapsed onto the floor. She were abed a day or more,” he said sadly.

“I can imagine. My wife, though passionate in her beliefs and defense of what’s hers, would most definitely be overcome with a fit should someone have proposed something unsavory to her, don’t you think?” Kelly knew that he was fishing, not all servants were open with their betters, but perhaps with that shot of brandy, this steward’s tongue would be loosened.

The man’s eyes grew big. “Di’ that louse tell you she was willin’?”

“No, in fact, he intimated that she was the one who proposed the affair,” Kelly said.

“No’ so!” The steward yelled, slapping the desk and standing up. “There be no thing on the earth to make the Lady e’en mention such a thing! Ne’er mind to do such an abomination!”

“It’s fine, sit back down…”

“’Tis no’ fine!”

“It is,” Kelly said forcefully. He waited for the steward to sit, still red and sputtering. “It’s fine because I don’t believe what I was told by Mr. Chatham. Indeed, even as absent as I am from my wife, I wasn’t convinced that what I was told could possibly be true, which is why I am here, asking you.” That seemed to appease the man. Kelly took a deep breath. “I am going to leave you with some instructions about future visitors for my wife. Unless accompanied by a woman, no man is to step foot into my home. I will be sending the same instructions to all of my properties, so that no one will be able to mistreat my wife like that again.” The steward nodded eagerly, taking the written orders in hand and bowing, left.

Kelly sat back in the chair. Now that that was taken care of, a letter to his former friend, telling him of the discovery of his deception would be in order. As he decided how to best yell at his friend through a letter, he wondered where his wife and sons were right now. Did she think him complacent in this debacle? He hoped not. She already had a mighty low opinion of him and Chatham’s attempted seduction would not aid his cause in fomenting a relationship with his wife. Before finishing the letter to his friend, he rifled through the papers buried in his desk. Though just a formality, not expecting him to actually peruse it, his wife always left a calendar of where she would be throughout the year. He knew that, at first, she had done it to entice him to find her and be with her more often, then as the years went on, he had stayed away, she became distant and had continued it as a warning to him as to which properties to avoid.

Good, she’d be coming back to the south in a month. That gave him enough time to settle the new debt from his father that had been foisted upon him. Not quite nine years dead and his father was still conspiring from hell to ruin his son’s life. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, wondering just how many more outstanding debts were left and if they also were written with accrued interest attached to the note. He’d tried every sleight of hand and trick his solicitor had come up with over the past six months in order to prove that this note, supposedly being held in trust for some non-existent heir to a poor merchant, was a forgery. Unfortunately for Kelly, with his father so long dead and only aging records showing his writing and signature, the oafish magistrate, whom his father had routinely cuckolded, upheld the validity of the note. Who in their right mind held onto a gaming note for ten years?

Kelly snorted. Someone more bloody brilliant than him, that’s who. He was thanking whatever gods were looking over him that the newest note-holder was a sweet old lady of some conscience. Not so much as to settle for the original amount, oh no, that wouldn’t be proper, would it? Must settle for the original debt, plus interest, since it took ten years for anyone to notice its existence. Kelly had been furious, but as there was no time limit on the note, he supposed that he should now be grateful for whatever attack of integrity had prompted the old lady to bring the note to him, and not for one of her grandchildren to attack his heir twenty years from now. He was positive that was the intent of the original note-holder, to wait the Caldwell’s out until the worth of the note outmatched their holdings, properties, cash and bank notes. As it was, he was going to have to liquidate more from his businesses than was safe to do in uncertain times; he might have to raid the household accounts he’d set up for Bryn in order to cover any sudden changes in his businesses for the next year or two. That was one conversation he wished he did not have to have with his wife.

Well, he’d have to find his wife first. He double-checked the list of estates. He’d meet her in the south in a month. They’d have a nice long conversation about the masked ball, Chatham and their future.

That was, if she let him in the door.

Bryn couldn’t help but laugh at the antics of her two bundles of lightening currently diving in and out of the waves as they came up to the shore. To his everlasting delight, Ewan had figured out how to use his body to float in to the shore on top of the waves before his older brother had even put a toe in the water. She couldn’t fault Duncan’s hesitancy to get into the water, he was used to the freezing shores of his native England. Her own memories of the icy waters of her native California made her sympathetic to her eldest son, but only for so long. The minute he’d started turning red and stomping off the beach, she’d picked him up and promptly threw his squirrely body as far into the waves as she could. As it happened, her timing was perfect and he landed in a swell about as high as his head so that he was drenched but able to stand on his feet by the time the wave passed and he came sputtering up for air. He’d not been pleased with her, his eyes looking frighteningly like his father’s in the moments before he and his brother had combined to attacked her in a merciless water fight. Having grown up near a shore, or been on a boat, for her entire childhood, she’d known better than to wear a dress to the beach having donned loose fitting men’s pants under her long shirt; making sure that she had dry feminine clothes for wearing home after their successful volley.

After hours of “Watch me, Mum!” she just couldn’t stay sitting upright anymore. She adjusted her blanket that was sprawled out under the tent she’d asked her neighbor’s servants to set up for her. Everyone within miles knew that she was here by herself, sans servants. What was the point of bringing her sons to her home country, the home of the free, if she hauled their aristocratic tendencies, and servants, with them? She was certain that her maid was slowly dying of apoplexy knowing that her mistress and the heirs were alone. Bryn had tried explaining to her maid, indeed every servant that had come to protest before she left, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and that unlike Britain, women in America were known to be rather forward and independent, especially women of the American frontier. She hadn’t succeeded in swaying their opinions and her sons had thought it great sport for them to sneak out - on foot! - in the middle of the night to catch the regular post, and not take a Caldwell carriage.

Bryn adjusted herself so that she was lounging on her side, still able to see her sons, but also able to stretch out her body more comfortably. She wasn’t lacking in funds, she had taken enough with them in cash and letters of credit; nor was she lacking in introductions wherever she went. Her father, and his businesses, had been extremely well known on any coast that had a port, including the area of Florida that they were currently in. Thankfully her Castilian Spanish was still as solid as it had been years ago. Her mother had been Spanish gentry and her father had made sure that his only child spoke with the correct accent; no matter the language and he had pushed many on her. Much of the Florida coasts had originally owned by the Spanish, and many people still spoke English with a Caribbean Spanish accent.

While maintaining her sight on her sons, she allowed her mind to drift into blessed nothingness for the few minutes that remained of their day. She knew that she’d made waves all the way down the coast, being a single woman traveling alone with children in the still not together South. Their gentle ways reminded her of England, which had sided with them, but fortunately for her, Floridian coasts had long been separate and independent, routinely controlled by pirates for years, so her independence didn’t raise many eyebrows here.

Pulling her head up sharply, realizing that she’d dozed, she frantically searched for her sons and breathed deeply when she found them still cavorting in the water like two selkies. She stood slowly, making sure her tired limbs would work. Who would have believed that she was only eight and twenty when she walked as if she needed a cane to keep her upright? “Boys, time to get out of the water,” she called, shading her eyes from the setting sun.

“Aw, Mum!” Chorused two unenthusiastic voices.

“Come on, now, I’ve told you about the danger and you agreed to my instructions, remember?” She sighed, walking into the ankle deep waves.

“But Mum, I don’t see anything,” Duncan whined.

“Of course you don’t, son, they’re predators, think they’re going to walk up to you and ask permission to bit your leg off?” She said with a grin.

“What?” Ewan squeaked, launching himself out of the water and clutching her legs.

“I didn’t mean for you to fly back to shore, Ewan,” she laughed. She had learned the hard way that when locals on all the coasts she’d ever been to had said to stay out of the water in the early mornings and early evenings, they meant it. Apparently those were the favored hunting times for sharks, just as it was with many predators. Most animals were not awake in the early dawn, and exhausted by evening to put up much of a fight, and predators know that. Running her fingers through their salt encrusted hair. “Hmm, your hair’s getting a bit long, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we’re just like pirates!” Duncan agreed, shaking the water out of his hair. His hair was longer than Ewan’s and was sporting waves like hers. She eyed him, knowing that if she allowed his hair to get much longer, the even older adolescent girls would start to take notice of him. With both of her sons now deeply tanned like she was, no longer pale in their complexions, and their dark blond heads now highlighted by hours in the sun, she sighed at the passing of their childhood. She could see the rough cut of manhood trying to gain a foothold in Duncan. His darkened skin, helped by her Spanish blood, with his lightened hair and his father’s chiseled features would no doubt make him very popular among the ladies. She couldn’t tell what nature had in store for Ewan, for though his hair and eye color were identical to Duncan, he only resembled his father in passing and childhood was still holding firmly to him.

Watching as Duncan led Ewan to the tent, she supposed that with no father present, he’d taken on the role of man of the house, despite her best efforts. As long as she could instill some of her father into her sons and ignore Kelly’s side of the family…

“Good day, lady,” a deep voice said from behind her tent.

She whirled in surprise, not because she hadn’t seen the man walk up, but because her sons hadn’t. They had become overly protective of her on this trip, having heard from many strangers just how unusual it was for a woman to be alone. She tried to plaster a smile on her face when she saw who it was, she most definitely did not want to encourage this man. He was not taking being ignored and rebuffed very well. “Mr. Grant,” she paused, not knowing what to say next. She wanted to accuse him of following her on purpose and ask him to leave her alone.

“Now, Bryn, I asked you to use my Christian name,” he playfully chided.

“Indeed, and I asked you to call me by my married name,” she replied, trying to get her sons’ attention. When they saw her motions, she started handing them the blankets and the basket of food, hoping that he would see their retreat as a good time to leave. Unfortunately it seemed to urge his intentions forward.

“Here, my dear, let me help,” he said, reaching for the basket she was holding.

“Thank you, no,” she started.

“I insist,” he answered, not letting go of the basket.

“Mr. Grant, please, we are fine, if you would just please,” she said, pulling the basket hard against her. He used the momentum to crowd into her, putting his hand on her upper arm in an uncomfortably intimate gesture. “Mr. Grant!” She said through clenched teeth, still trying to extricate her arm from his grasp.

“I do believe that the lady wants you to unhand her,” a soft male voice said from behind them.

“Kelly?” She breathed.

“Indeed, my Lady,” he said, inclining his head slightly. He frowned at the other man. “Mr. Grant, is it? If you do not unhand my wife, I do believe that this misunderstanding will become a physical altercation.” At the man’s confused look he turned to Bryn. “I did detect an accent I can’t account for, does this man actually understand what I just said?”

“Why I,” Mr. Grant sputtered, leaving his hand firmly attached to Bryn’s arm.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kelly muttered, grabbing the offending hand attached to his wife and twisting painfully. Once he’d placed himself firmly between the two of them, he turned an angry glare to his wife. “While I am pleased that you were trying to rebuff his attention, you really should not have traveled without someone. Even the aging James would have offered a modicum of protection against unsavory characters such as your Mr. Grant here.”

Bryn dropped the basket she was holding and folded her arms in defiance. “Really? James is nigh unto 70, think you that he’d be a decent distraction?” She looked at the other glowering man. “And he’s not my Mr. Grant. His advances are, and have been, unwanted.”

Kelly turned back to the man. “She has told you to leave her be before? I should wonder at the breeding that went into you to turn out a supposed gentleman who does not honors a Lady’s wishes.” Before he could turn back to Bryn, his head snapped around, turning him in a circle and dropping him to the ground. As his head stopped spinning, Kelly realized that the coward had struck him in the jaw without even a warning. He stood quickly, noticing that the man was reaching into his pocket, not taking the time to find his balance, he launched himself forward, throwing his shoulder into the man’s legs. He scrambled to find the gun he saw fly on impact, with Mr. Grant grunting behind him to catch up. Kelly lunged, grabbed it, cocked the hammer back on an impressively sized Colt revolved, turned and aimed it directly at the other man just as he’d gotten to his feet. Even though Kelly was seated firmly in the sand, the cocked and steadily aimed revolver seemed to melt the other man’s bluster. Keeping his arm steady, Kelly simply glared and raised an eyebrow. The man hurriedly backed up and walked quickly away.

“Kelly!” Bryn shouted, dropping to his side. “Your lip is cut.” She pulled her shirt up and placed a corner of it tenderly on his bottom lip.

Kelly chuckled. “You mean all I needed to do to get you to touch me was have someone bust my lip? I could have arranged that back home, you know.” He carefully uncocked the hammer and put the gun on an inside pocket of his great coat.

“Oh, for…dammit Kelly, what are you doing here?” She asked, trying to sound madder than she actually was. Kelly was not a man to harbor a grudge, so she was not afraid of him, but she was uncertain what he wanted. She had not anticipated that she’d be easily found, let alone that he would care enough to follow her.

“Uh huh, such language from my Lady, and in front of the children,” he grinned tightly, lip still bleeding. He looked over to his astonished sons. “Hello boys, you have done a fine job of keeping you mother well for me,” he said. They hurried over and helped Bryn get him standing. He gave a solid hug to each boy and tousled their hair. “My, my, are you both trying to reinstate the pirating trade in the Caribbean?”

“Mum thinks we need to cut our hair,” Duncan complained, “but everyone here has long hair.”

“Indeed,” Kelly answered.

“Papa, what are you doing here?” Ewan asked.

“Ever vigilant and questioning still, huh Ewan?” Kelly chuckled.

Bryn looked at Kelly’s clothing and started to laugh.

“What is so funny?” He asked.

“Kelly, only you would some to America, the heat of the Florida coast no less, and wear a woolen suit, your great coat, cravat and all,” she giggled. “And you haven’t answered Ewan.”

He straightened himself as much as he could without wincing, trying to regain the dignity that getting his jaw pummeled had lost. “I’m here for you, and the boys. And as for the clothing, when I began this journey I had no idea that your ultimate destiny would be somewhere so tropical or I would have most definitely packed lighter clothing. Now, if we could get off this bloody beach,” he said picking up the basket and letting Bryn take the lead.

As they walked back to the house that she was renting, her nerves started getting the better of her judgment. She still was not afraid of Kelly, but even with his declaration of wanting to be around his family, she was still uncertain as to his true motives. As they walked into the house, the local maid she hired to help her out with her errands and travel arrangements was immediately sent out to the market to find Kelly some tropically appropriate clothing. While she was gone, Bryn had the boys rinse off in a tub and had Kelly stripped down to the lease amount of clothing he felt comfortable with while standing in the parlour. For Kelly that meant that his great coat, waistcoat and cravat were off, his shirt unbuttoned, by only two, and his sleeves rolled up. She couldn’t get him to agree to take off his shoes and socks, not loosen more buttons. While the boys cleaned up and dressed, Kelly sat quietly in a chair.

Bryn sat in a chair opposite him.

“Bryn,” Kelly started. He sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about the truth of why you are here? Do not give me the same excuse you gave to Mr. Grant, we both know that you are not so sentimental to follow me across an ocean simply because you miss me. Indeed, you can’t miss what you never had,” she muttered.

His head snapped up. “Indeed, I will start with that because you are wrong in your assumption.” He took a deep breath. “A few months back, at a ball, I met someone…”

“Then why are you here!” Bryn screamed, jumping up from the chair and trying to walk out of the room but Kelly’s strong hand stopped her.

“You need to hear this,” he started.

“But…”

“Bryn,” he said severely, pulling her around to face him, his hands holding her arms tightly. He knew he wouldn’t get another chance and though she wouldn’t look him in the eyes, he forged ahead anyway. “I went to ball, a masked ball. The one I forbade you from going to, remember that?” He waited for her to acknowledge that before continuing. “I know that you went,” he said softly. She looked at him in horror. “Just nod your head, Bryn, I know that you were there.”

“How?” She squeaked. “How did you know?”

“Will you look at me while I explain my night to you?”

She inhaled deeply. She really didn’t want to hear about the night another woman had taken her husband into her bed, now realizing that the rumors of his infidelity were true, but she nodded, wanting to know how he found out she had attended as well.

“I met someone that night, someone I thought I’d not met before,” he said softly. “The entire point of Hamilton’s ball is to be completely anonymous, and it worked rather well. I didn’t know that you were there until later. This woman I met was the most perfect companion I could have asked for, it was like the gods had finally listened to me. No, don’t pull away. Hear me out, I assure you that you will be as surprised as I was.”

“Kelly I really don’t want to hear this,” she said, tears fell, chin quivering.

He lifted her chin up gently with a cupped hand, thumb sweeping across her chin to still it. “My dear, you must. Trust me. I know that I have not earned it, but I believe that I am a decent man, so please give me just a hint of faith.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Keeping his lips to her brow he continued. “I spoke the entire night with her, never once was there a lag, or stilted silence between us. We danced every dance with each other, in a most scandalous way. Every word between us opened my eyes, heart and mind all at once. I didn’t know that such a creature could possibly exist; so well read, so educated, so knowledgeable about so many things; a minx with a scathing sense of humor and a keen intelligence. I couldn’t see her face, as she couldn’t see mine, but her eyes were the most beautiful shade of deep green that matched seamlessly to her green ball gown.”

She gasped. “Green?” She whispered.

“Indeed, green as deep as the forests surrounding our northern estates,” he whispered. Her knees gave out and she plummeted to the ground. He followed her down, kneeling in front of her pale, shaking form. He pressed his forehead to hers and took a few deep breaths to steady his voice. “Bryn,” he whispered, lifting her head to look him in the eyes, “my goddess,” he heard a sharp intake of breath, “how is it that we have been married for so long, parents to two wonderful boys, and know so little about each other? How is it that after all the insanity following my father’s and brother’s deaths was settled, and our lives were finally our own, that we missed so much?”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she took his face in her hands and stared into the same moss green eyes that had so captivated her for an entire night. “Kelly? That was you?”

He kissed her cheeks, raised her hands and gave both palms lingering kisses, trying desperately to hold his own tears back. “I was so enthralled that night that I followed my goddess out of the ball, just like the Prince did to Cinder Ella, I couldn’t live with the thought that I might never see nor hold such perfection for the rest of my life.”

“You were going to take a mistress?” She asked sadly.

“No, I was going to see if my goddess was open to it. My own decision was wholly dependent upon a choice made by someone else, one word. To my everlasting shame, I was hoping that she would say yes,” he lifted her trembling chin and kissed her soundly on the lips. He pulled back and looked deeply into her eyes. “Imagine my shock when I heard the voice of my goddess coming from the mouth of my wife and saw my driver putting my wife into my carriage.”

She chuckled through her tears. “Are you certain that shock is the appropriate word, Kelly? Indeed, at the moment I am having a most decidedly difficult time of believing you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that, I was stunned speechless that night,” he smiled. He pulled her to standing and walked her over to the couch. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I was close enough to the carriage to slap the side and yell at Charlie to stop, but found myself completely unable to even squeak out a protest, let alone finish an entire sentence in a normal voice.”

“Tell me something that I said that night, before I actually believe this,” she whispered against his cheek, eyes closed, hoping beyond belief that it was true.

“You said that the Prince Regent was a stuffed toad,” he chuckled, “and I did an impression of him, a rather good one if I do say so myself. And we got into quite a lengthy discussion about Parliament verses Congress.”

“Oh, God, Kelly,” she said, beginning to cry in earnest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. She was having difficulty believing him, but everything he said matched her own memories of that night. As she clung to him, she felt his arms tighten around her, his lips constantly pressing to her forehead, hair and face.

“Mummy, why are you crying?” Ewan asked, both boys walking in staring at the strange sight before them.

“I am happy, dearest,” she answered, standing up and wiping her tears from her face. “Remember how we worked so hard to save that colt, and we all started crying?” Their heads nodded. “Well, that’s why I’m crying. Your father came all the way from England to be with us, and I’m happy that he’s here.”

“Are you?” Kelly asked quietly, kissing the palm of her hand.

She turned to him and put that hand to his face, running her thumb over his lips. “Indeed, I am.”

“Well, there is a first for everything, isn’t there?” He smiled.

“Indeed,” she smiled back. “Why don’t you go bathe the sand off of you. When Rosalita brings the clothing back, I’ll bring them to you.” He nodded and kissed her thoroughly before whistling his way to the tub.

Bryn allowed the boys to go outside to continue to play, for though she’d pulled them out of ocean she had no intention of terminating their adventures. As she sat looking out onto the grassy area where Duncan and Ewan were currently shirtless and trying to out pirate each other, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering through the masked ball trying to piece together the clues that should have shouted Kelly’s identity to her. She rested her chin on her bent knees realizing slowly that she knew her husband so little that nothing short of unmasking him would have revealed him to her. A fresh lines of tears slowly crept down her face as that realization crossed over to how he must have perceived her. She tried to not let it hurt her that he’d contemplated taking a mistress; she had no cause to be upset that he’d wanted what so many men before had done, especially when they were not in the same house often enough for him to pursue his husbandly rights. But hurt it did.

“My dear, are you still crying?” He sat beside her and turned her body so that he could look into his eyes. He saw pain in those green depths and knew that he’d put it there. Again. “Please tell me how to take away your pain, and I will do it.” She smiled weakly. “What is upsetting you the most?” He asked quietly, running his hands over hers as they were tucked under her chin.

“That you looked to have a mistress,” she answered quietly. She sniffed. “Kelly I know that I have no cause to hold you to your vows seeing that we haven’t shared a bed in years, but for some ridiculous reason that thought, of you desiring another woman, is what pains me most. Yet it is something that shouldn’t hurt.”

“And why shouldn’t it? I swear to you, on the grave of your beloved father, I have never once, ever, even entertained the idea,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

“Until that night,” she said, looking back out the window.

“Indeed, until that night, but Bryn,” he said, turning her head back to look into his eyes. “Does it not seem as if some sort of providence were looking out for us that of all people in that mad crush, you and I should meet as anonymous strangers and spend such a glorious night together? Do you think that any other woman would have so captured my attentions? Indeed, you were not the first woman I spoke with that night.”

“I…I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she mused, wiping her eyes. She looked closer at his cleanly shaven face, his hair still damp, with a lock falling into his eyes. Those eyes. The ones that had truly captured her heart. Was it possible that someone looking down on them had granted them a second chance at love? Love? Did she love her husband? Perhaps. At least now she was more willing to be open to the possibility than she had ever been. Still…

“Kelly?”

“Hmm?”

“When you came home last, why did you strike me? I know that I should fear you, or be so furious so as not to let you within miles of me, but I know that behavior to be so unlike you that once the pain went away, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done that was so wrong. The words I spoke, though ill timed, were not that incendiary,” she said quietly.

He carefully pulled back from her, fingers still entwined. “I have not told you much about my business dealings, preferring that the running of the estates and the running of the business ventures to be separate so that both Duncan and Ewan might inherit healthily.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“What you don’t know, what I have been fighting for nearly a year is another game marker that showed up,” he said.

“What? It’s been years? Surely it’d no longer valid,” she said heatedly.

“If only that were so,” he sighed. “I tried every trick my solicitor had, and a few from other magistrates as well, but the one assigned to this case was, unfortunately, one of the many husbands my father cuckolded and wanting nothing more than to see the Caldwell family ruined, summarily ruled against me at every turn. The morning I came home, I found out that not only was the marker good, but that my father had agreed to interest…”

“What! Even he was not that stupid!”

“Oh, I most heartily agree, but with all rulings going against me, there is not a thing to be done but pay it, and nearly ten years of interest along with it,” he said, looking down.

“Kelly, just how much did you have to pay?”

“Not me, we, dearest,” he sighed. “I had to liquidate all my net worth to pay it. And when I came home, I had just signed the papers to do so.”

“How much, Kelly?”

“Just over 100,000 pounds.”

“Are you insane? Was he insane!” She yelled, jumping from her seat. “You had to pay 100,000 pounds for your father’s mistakes? Are you quite certain that you could not do anything?”

He rose, ire starting to show in his eye. “Quite certain, dear wife. Believe me, if there was any way, legal or not, to avoid it, I would have,” he ran his hands down his face and sighed. “Good Lord Bryn, I tried. The only positive outcome of this is that this magistrate was forcibly retired, so should anyone else be stupid enough to try this same play, it won’t work. Bloody hell, any other magistrate would have ruled for me, not against me.”

“Any other magistrate would have paid attention to just how much not like your father you are,” she snorted. She walked up to him and put her arms around his waist. “Is that why my clothing and my horse upset you so much?”

“Oh Bryn, I was already at my wit’s end when I arrived. Once I knew that you were there, I should have just left, I wasn’t fit company for anyone, let alone my wife and children,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her softly. “The moment I saw your head snap around, I knew that I had done something unforgiveable, but I beg you to know that I’ll never let myself get into such a state while you’re around. Ever.” He sighed and put his forehead to hers. “I was betrayed by the law, and once again monetarily raped by my father, and I then come to my estates to calm myself, and see and hear my wife being something that I thought was long dead. Just the thought of men seeing your form in those clothes, servants, tenants, villagers, I was enraged. And then when I asked, poorly I will admit, what was going on, I found my wife to be suddenly willful and disobedient…”

“…and mouthy,” she said with a smile. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I had no idea, Kelly, truly I would not have said what I did had I known. I would not have pushed you so.”

“You couldn’t have known, Bryn, we don’t speak to each other,” he said. “I have since found out that your clothing that day is quite normal for you, as is riding that monstrosity of a horse, and that instead of engendering lust by wearing them, it has instilled an admiration among them for you treat them as equals. The horse…”

“Titus? He’s a kitten,” she said, playfully slapping his arm.

“Kitten?” He snorted. “If that brute is a kitten, then I’m a gorilla.” He pulled them back onto the couch, once again pulling her into his lap. “I do find that I like these loose tropical clothes much better,” he said with a wicked grin.

“Kelly!”

“Really, you object to knowing that I still desire you?” He said into her hair, nuzzling her neck.

“No,” she said breathlessly, “I don’t mind, it’s just…”

“Unexpected?”

“Yes.”

“Bryn, you did not say anything that awful day that did not need to be said. You were right about everything, and though the timing of your words still needs more careful consideration, it was all true,” he said. He trailed kisses along her neck and down to her collarbone. “As truly barbaric and unmanly my reaction, I needed to hear how my treatment of you was making you feel. You are raising my sons, and doing a remarkable job, by the way, and if you are feeling unloved and ignored, they will pick up on that and will resent me on your behalf. I never intended for us to grow so far apart and I am truly sorry that I never bothered to find out what was important to you.”

She pulled back from his lips, rather unwillingly, but could not let him be the only one to confess. “Kelly, you are not the only one who made mistakes that day. I knew better than to bait your temper. I do know that you have a limit and I knew as soon as I walked in the doorway that you were close to that limit, but I ignored my good sense and pushed anyway,” she paused. “I also knowingly led you astray for all these years, letting you believe that I had somehow miraculously become the perfect aristocratic wife that you deserved and needed instead of remaining true to myself in front of and behind you. I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite aware of that,” he smiled. He pulled her in for a lingering kiss. “I had the chance to speak with the stewards of all the estates while trying to locate you. They all agree on one thing, that had you remained dressing like a Lady, no one would have listened to a word to said, regardless of my instructions to them, but because you proved that you believed yourself no better than them, by dressing the part, you have everyone within 20 miles of each estate eating from the palms of your hands.”

“I do not,” she laughed.

“Oh, you most certainly do, and I even got an earful from all of them on my everlasting neglect of you,” he chuckled.

“They didn’t dare,” she said in shock.

“Oh, they did indeed dare,” he smiled. “But to be fair, I did ask them what they thought.”

“You did what? Kelly, are you quite certain that you are feeling well,” she asked, putting her hand to his forehead.

“Oh, stop,” he said, batting her hand away. “I’ve spent over ten years repairing what my father broke and building what your father left, only to discover that money and work is not what makes a husband and father.”

“I could have told you that,” she said, laughing.

“And you did,” he agreed, “but we men are sometimes a bit on the stubborn side and have to figure things out for ourselves, which is usually just after our wives kick us out of their lives.”

“I…”

“Bryn, stop, it is all good, honestly,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “I needed to hear what you needed from me, and I needed to realize that you do not need me, you want me, and in return you want to be wanted, and needed. Women are far more independent than we men like to believe. We run businesses and play cards, you run lives and play as the gods do, creating life and managing it as if it were nothing. It’s a bit emasculating to know that once our seed is firmly inside you, we really are not needed for much more than food and shelter. You have an innate sense of how things are supposed to be and you simply do it. Yet for us, we need you to cook for us, clean for us, we need to protect you, we need to provide for you, we need to be taken care of. It’s a daunting task, to be sure. And for everything you do for us, your own innate kindnesses, you simply ask to be noticed, to be held and loved. And I haven’t done that. I’ve been so busy building for us, for the boys, that I forgot about you,” he said. “I won’t let that happen again.” He paused and quirked his head to the side. “Good Lord, 40 years old and I think I’ve finally grown up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it so smugly, if I were you,” she said, linking her fingers behind his neck. “You have a bit more growing to do.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he laughed. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, kissing her soundly, arms wrapped tightly around her, tongue making her knees weak. “Bryn,” he said to her lips, “I cannot promise that all will be well, that there will be no more arguments, that I will always remember to hold your hand or kiss you or thank you, but I can promise that I will try.”

“I will take whatever step forward you can give,” she said, responding to his kisses with fire of her own. “You are a good man, Kelly, you just never saw what a good husband and father look like and have had to figure it out yourself. There is hope for you yet, especially since you seem to want to figure it out.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said. Pulling back slightly to look into her passion filled eyes. “I do believe that the first thing I will repair, is your desire for more children.”

“Really?”

“Really, Bryn, I mean it,” he said, walking her backward to their bedroom. “We are not poor by any means, and though my business ventures may require the assistance of the household accounts for a few years, they are all growing and will be fine. So,” he said pushing her to the bed. He crawled over her, kissing her along the way. “I am more than willing to indulge your need for a large family and am telling you that I whole-heartedly agree with anything you say that has to do with me being allowed into your bed.”

“I bet you are,” she smiled, pulling him down onto her.

Enjoy the free preview of my upcoming novel,

Solomon Aleph.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe! Don’t panic. Don’t panic! Don’t panic! It’s OK, it’s just a dream, she kept repeating in her mind over and over and over. For some reason her mouth wouldn’t work. Who knew you could get tongue tied while scared? It’d never happened before. Hell, this wasn’t the first stressful situation she’d ever encountered. OK, clear the mind, fall back on training and let instinct kick in.

She breathed deeply, shook her head to clear the cobwebs and confusion and felt drool fall from her lolling tongue…

lolling tongue? What the hell?

She looked down. The ground was way too close. Are those paws? She heard a noise. Is there a dog in here? What? Did I just whine?! She heard noise from outside the cave’s entrance, and the whining got louder. Shut up! Whatever the hell you are, those aren’t friends, so can it! She looked down at the paws, trying to will them to work properly enough to walk her to the back of the cave, where the beam from her flashlight would penetrate. Damn, four legs isn’t as easy as it seems, she thought as she stumbled and tripped her way behind an outcropping. Crap! My gear. No way can I leave it sitting out.

She stumbled back over to her pack, doing a face plant into the top of it. She reached out for it, and whined again when she saw the paw, and not four fingers and a thumb, trying to wrap around the shoulder strap. OK, OK, OK, um…teeth! They can drag the pack! I am so smart, she thought, whining again. Gotta cork the whine. Is there a shut off valve in this thing? She leaned over the strap and opened her mouth, chomped down, started to pull backwards and promptly fell, rolling onto her back. Damn, that pack is heavier than I thought. Wait, I’m not the same size, am I? She wiggled out from under the pack, deciding to bite the strap, and scoot sideways to the back of the cave. If there was a real dog here, I bet he’d be rolling with laughter. Huh, can dogs laugh? Hyenas can. Seems unfair that dogs can’t. Why am I talking to myself?

She went back two more times, for her M16 and flashlight. At least something in me realizes, kinda, how to walk this way. Yeah, bet Steven Tyler wasn’t talking about this when he wrote that song. She froze. This had better not be permanent, I’m not missing concerts for this. Oh, HELL no. I’d better wake up from this nightmare as a perfectly normal Marine or the Man upstairs and I are going to be meeting in person to discuss this.

The voices got louder, signaling their entry into the cave where she’d been looking for hidden Taliban or Al Qaeda munitions. She didn’t recognize the language being spoken and was desperately trying to figure out how to shut a flashlight off without a thumb. Damn modern technology and their thumb bias! She and her patrol had been led here, the local leader positive that there was someone up to no good in the hills beyond the village. Though she wasn’t in on the meeting, she was sure her CO wouldn’t just go randomly into caves at night without good intel. Stupid men, thinking women should be slaves, she grumbled, finally deciding to just lay herself across the flashlight to put the beam out. At least fur has one good use. Since the only other use is to see if I can cook myself in the desert heat. Seriously, a dog? In this heat? No, not an awesome falcon, or eagle. Noooo, nothing that could easily get me out of here. It had to be a large, noticeable dog, with an American military pack and M16 right next to it. Nothing suspicious at all. God, why do you hate me?

The voices didn’t get any closer, and seemed to be getting quieter. So she made herself as comfortable as possibly, with a Maglite digging into her stomach and ribs. She wriggled, trying to adjust her legs under her, closed her eyes, forcing down whatever instinct wanted her to yawn and stretch. What the hell is happening to me? I swear if Kevy paid one of my unit to drug my water, I’m going to kill him.

Nope, this is real.

She lurched up. Who’s there?

Been tryin’ to reach y’all. Her heart raced. Don’t be scared, sweet thing. I’m part of y’all.

Really? Y’all?

She felt a slight twinge of irritation. How in the hell can I be irritated with myself? That’s it. I’ve officially lost it. I’ve finally gone over the edge. Should I start counting personalities now? I’ve heard trauma can split the psyche. But I’m not traumatized. Yet. Am I? This may count.

She felt a great sigh, as if an adult was being put up by an unruly child and needed to talk down to it. In short sentences. You’ve not gone over the edge, sweet thing. I’ve always been here. Waiting until y’all noticed me. Y’all took your sweet time ‘bout it too.

She tried shaking her head quietly, but the voice wouldn’t shut up. Uh, that’s not gonna work. I can’t leave. Well, I can…

Do tell…she said, suddenly interested in her split personality.

If y’all die.

As if that’s going to happen, she groused. No, she had no intention of dying, but she sure wished she were alone.

Sweet thing, y’all never been alone. Who do you think gives y’all your night vision, hearing and strength. Y’all aren’t complete without me.

Uh, yeah, I’ve done just fine without you for, oh, 21 years now. Thanks, just leave. OK? She felt an overwhelming sadness wash over her like a San Francisco downpour. Hitting from the side. Taking her umbrella with it. How can I make myself sad? Maybe…Um, so, you’re real? So who’s in charge?

Y’all are, always.

Are there more, um, people, er, personalities, besides you?

No, just me. Why?

Can you stop saying y’all then? It makes me a bit freaked thinking that maybe more of you will pop out at any time. She felt laughter reverberate through her.

Yes, I can do that. It’s just the way I am.

Southern? Really? How’s that possible? I was born and raised in San Francisco? More laughter.

Sweet thing, it’s genetic. You and I are, simply because of our parents. They were like us. And one of them was from the South. Hmmm, Texas, I think.

She was stunned. How do you know that? I don’t even know that?

Instinct, sweet thing, instinct.

Is that what you are?

Yep. Among other things. I can see, hear, smell and sense things that y’all…that you can’t. But you make the decisions on whether or not to listen to me.

She thought for a moment. I’ve never heard you before now.

Yeah, that’s because you’ve never allowed this to happen before. I was that nagging gut feeling for years. The one you sometimes ignored. She shuddered, remembering some of those times.

OK, that makes sense. So what now? Are we always going to have conversations like this? You know my unit will notice. This time she heard the laughter. A deep feminine chuckle, followed by giggles. Good to know I can keep myself amused.

Sweet thing, since you’ve now at least acknowledged that I exist, we won’t need to talk, unless it’s really, really important. I’ll always been just below the surface, looking when you aren’t, noticing what you can’t and letting you know it all by feelings. Does that make sense?

She paused. Great, Jiminy Cricket lives inside my head.

She felt a snort. As if you’ve listened to your conscience. Ever.

Hey. She stopped, realizing she was arguing with herself, and then trying to lie to herself. Man, Jeff Dunham’s multiple personalities have nothing on this. Can you tell me more about my parents?

No. I only know what I told you by instinct. Really, you already knew it. Even if I’d kept my mouth shut, it would have floated to the surface eventually.

So now what?

We wait for Aleph, he’s close.

The voice went silent and no amount of cajoling, yelling or swearing would bring her back. So she settled down further into the dirt, realizing that the voices in the cave had turned into snores. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

What the hell is an Aleph?

She was rudely awoken by the sound of gunfire at close range. Bullets ricocheted around her as she tried to sink even lower into the dirt. When one grazed her shoulder, she yapped and jumped up. Yap? I just yapped? Like that’s going to scare anyone.

As she drunkenly stumbled to the front of the cave, surprised and frightened shouts stopped her in her tracks. The men, obviously local, shouted, wide-eyed at her and ran from the cave, not caring that they were running head long into bullets.

Well, hell, since I’m still in this dream, might as well live it up. I’ve always wanted to…she thought as she felt her fur rise from her back and her lips curl. A low, menacing growl echoed through the cave. The few men left at the entrance, trying to avoid getting hit by her unit, dropped their guns, fell to their knees, raising their hands to the air. As if any God is going to listen to your prayers, she thought, creeping closer, still growling.

“Hey!” She heard her CO let loose a whole barrage of true-to-Marine curses. As the rest of the patrol dragged the frightened men out, her CO, Davidson, looked her straight in the eye. “Uh, good doggie?” he said hesitantly.

Good doggie? she snarled, taking a step forward. He jumped back out into the open air, bringing his rifle up. Uh, oh. He really doesn’t recognize me. She looked down. Hell, I don’t think I recognize me. She backed up, not too well either, and sat down. At least sitting is easy.

Davidson motioned for the others. Everyone stopped in front of her, staring. “Uh, sir?” one began.

“I know, Private, it’s a dog,” Davidson said.

“Uh, sir, that’s not a dog,” the Private mumbled. That got her attention. If she wasn’t a dog, what else had paws, whined and yapped?

“Private,” Davidson began.

“Sir, I’m from Alaska. That’s no dog, that’s a pure wolf,” the Private stated loudly.

She dropped down to her belly. Wolf?

Davidson looked up sharply at the Private. “Are you absolutely sure?”

The Private shifted nervously, and she didn’t envy him right now. Davidson might be a decent CO, but he was not a nice man. “Yes, yes, sir. I’m sure. One hundred percent. That’s a wolf. She’s bigger than others I’ve seen, but she’s a wolf.”

“Bigger?” Davidson asked, rifle still aimed at her.

She snorted. He jumped a little. As if you could get one shot off before I ripped your throat out. Whoa! Where did that come from? She didn’t hear anything, but dug inside herself a bit deeper and realized the wolf instinct for self-preservation was sitting alarmingly close to the surface of her thinking. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing down the desire to hurt and flee.

“She doesn’t seem that dangerous to me,” Davidson said, putting his rifle on the ground.

Big, big mistake, I’ll show you doggie.

Before anyone could see, she had him pinned under her, front legs on his shoulders, teeth just inches from his face. She paused for a few seconds, and realized her senses were much more attuned than she remembered. She could hear the heartbeats of all six men in her patrol unit. She could hear their breathing like each was a bellows from an old-fashioned blacksmith she’d visited once. And their smell. A noxious blend of a week on patrol, fear and…

Curiosity. Really? She looked back at Davidson. Oddly, he wasn’t afraid. Why? She looked deeply into his eyes. She saw knowledge there. Did he know what was going on, when she didn’t?

He tried to sit up and she bared her teeth a growled. “Uh, sir?” The Private said, reaching for his side arm.

“Don’t,” Davidson said, lifting his hands up off the ground. “She’s not going to hurt me. She’s just afraid. Imagine being stuck all night in that cave with those men. What dog wouldn’t be wary?” He said, chuckling slightly.

A shout from the back of the cave took her attention away just long enough for him to push her off his chest, and wrap his hand in the fur of her neck. “Don’t be afraid,” he said smugly. “Everything’ll be just fine.”

She didn’t like the sound of his voice and her inner bitch agreed.

“Sir, all of Lew’s stuff is in the back, but there’s no sign of her anywhere,” two men said at the same time. They held up her pack, gun and flashlight. At least they turned it off. Lucky jerks. Thumbs are so underrated.

“Give me some of the line we have,” Davidson motioned, ignoring their worried looks.

Just figures, I’m missing, and he’s going to take a wolf in as a prize, she snarked, a great snort coming out of her. Wouldn’t he just piss himself if I could change back? Speaking of that…can I?

While she was imagining her CO with wet pants, he managed to get the line around her neck in a tight leash. Dammit, what an ass, it’s a choke collar.

Davidson stood up. “OK, doggie, can you take us to Lew?” he asked, shaking the line slightly.

She sat down and glared at him.

“Um, sir, wolves are not bloodhounds. They don’t really track for humans. They kinda only track for food,” the Private said, trying to hide his disgust. “They’re wild animals, and don’t really like being tied up.” She swung her head toward the Private, trying her best to give him a smile.

“She seems to like you,” Davidson said, throwing the line to the Private and walking away. “We need to get these men back so they can be questioned.”

The rest of her unit halted what they were doing. “Sir?”

“You heard me. Lew will be fine. If she’s resourceful enough to get out of that cave with men blocking it, then she’s resourceful enough to get the five miles back to base,” Davidson said, hefting his pack on. The other men didn’t move. He sighed. “We’re not leaving her, but she’s not here. We can’t wait for the allies of these men to find us resting on our laurels, now can we? If she’s not back at base, we’ll tell the Colonel she’s missing…”

“She IS missing, sir,” the Private said vehemently. Man, why didn’t she know his name? She thought that they all hated her because she was a woman.

“No,” Davidson started.

“With all due respect,” the Private began.

“We’re leaving with these men. Now. That’s an order, Private,” Davidson yelled.

She could feel the Private’s rage through the nylon line. She leaned into him and he gave her head a reassuring pat. At least I can be a nice doggie to him.

They walked back into the base camp, gathering stares from everyone they passed. She wasn’t sure if the four remaining prisoners were getting more stares, or her. She kept trying to talk herself into being invisible, but she’d soon realized that the Private was right, she was larger than a normal wolf. Hell, she figured she had to be larger than a normal Shetland pony. She estimated that the Private was about 6 feet, and her head cleared his waist easily while she was walking, and she didn’t walk like a pony or horse, her head seemed to be level with her shoulders. Kinda fits what I’ve seen of wolf pictures. She saw dark blonde and silver and white on her legs, but couldn’t see the rest of her long legged body. She didn’t think she weighed the same and she did when she was human.

When I’m human? That’s a sad thought. I’m beginning to think I’m stuck like this.

She couldn’t resist turning her head at every sight, sound and smell. What she could see like this made her “human” sight look like being under water with dirty goggles on. As she neared the center of camp, she smelled the mess tent, her stomach growled and she headed in the direction her nose was taking her.

“Hey, you can’t go in there,” the Private chuckled, trying desperately to get a full grown wolf to stop and listen. He pulled hard on the line, just as she was coming to the opening. She reared up on her back legs, her hind end trying to get into the tent anyway, while her neck was slowly being closed from the slip knot. She started choking and panted heavily.

“Private, stop!” She heard a growling masculine voice yell over everyone else.

He stopped pulling on her rope, but the knot didn’t loosen. She tried using her paws, but, dammit, without thumbs, getting the rope off her neck was proving to be impossible. OK, maybe thumbs aren’t overrated.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” a deep soothing voice crooned while strong, gentle hands wound around her neck, finding the knot and pulling it loose. “There, is that better?”

She coughed a few times. Lucky I’m not a cat, that’d be one nasty hairball coming out on those nice boots. She looked up, and blinked. She found herself looking into eyes that were the color of polished tiger’s eye, in all its golden and brown hues, constantly swirling and moving. His hair was the color of melted milk chocolate, with dark red highlights weaving through his too-long-for-the-Military-length hair cut. Damn the curls showing up, looking all kids of yummy. He was mesmerizing and downright eye catching.

She backed up to take in the whole of the man, who was squatting in front of her not moving. He had a look of deep wisdom, kindness and an elemental hardness all rolled into a chiseled marble, masculine package that could melt glacier ice in winter, except for the warm, generous smile on his lips. She cocked her head to side. His eyes looked older than his body. He didn’t even have lines in his face yet, but there’s no way anyone would mistake him for a youth. Hmm, maybe mid-30’s? But why do his eyes seem to know so much?

Her nose twitched, and the instinctual part of her wanted to shimmy into a happy dance all over the tables in the mess hall. She blinked again. OK, inner voice, just spit it out, who is he? And why is he smiling like he knows something? She listened, but her inner voice said nothing. She leaned forward, somehow knowing that taking a deep sniff of this man would answer lots of questions.

She heard a gun safety being taken off and could feel several handguns being aimed in her direction. Her lip started to curl and the growl started from her belly. Huh? Am I trying to protect him, or am I pissed that they’re aiming at me? She felt a thump on her nose.

“No,” he said with a smile that seemed to light up the mid-afternoon to a painful level. Did he just flick me on the nose? What am I, a spoiled poodle? He looked up to everyone standing around them, “At ease, everyone, she’s not a threat to me. She just wants a sniff. That’s how a wolf learns all the information she needs to know. She obviously has seen violence from guns and was growling at you. Put them away.”

“But,” Davidson started. When had he returned from glorying in his capture?

“Davidson, I might have known,” the man said, the threat in his tone noticeable to all. He stood up and turned to the on looking crowd. She heard several people inhale sharply. She sat down close to this new man, and noticed his uniform.

OH CRAP! God really does hate me! How did I manage to get in the way of a general? Wait, he looks too young to be a general. Nope, he smells like one though. Wait, he smells…She leaned toward him, and he held his hand out. Something in his scent triggered a deeply hidden part of her and she knew that she was safe. Like she was recognizing him as family, even though she’d never seen him before. She turned to look at her CO, now locked in a heated glaring contest with the general. And loosing.

“You’ll never learn, will you, Davidson,” he chuckled. But it wasn’t a pleasant sound. She heard more men show up, and turned and watched as several large men pushed through the crowd to stand behind the general. Her nose recognized them as…family? Her nose led her to walk over to them, sniffing each of their outstretched hands. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, sir?” One of them mumbled. She heard the other men mumble their approval, and then she went and sat down by the general.

“She’s mine,” Davidson said, reaching to her. She snapped and he barely pulled back in time to save his fingers. That wasn’t very nice, but damn that was fun! I wonder what fingers taste like. Ew, where did that come from? She felt a chuckle run through her. Damn, my inner animal likes blood. Barbarian.

“I don’t think she agrees with that statement, Davidson,” the general laughed. “You can’t have her.” He said simply. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, looking down at her, his hand running lovingly over her head and neck.

The Private from her unit rushed forward, grabbing the general’s arm. She decided not to growl, and instead stepped between them. “Thank you, but it’s not needed,” the general smiled, gently pushing her to the side. “I can handle him. What is it, Private?”

“Sir, where we found this wolf, well,” he stumbled. “We were on patrol, and the CO split us up to search caves at night.”

“Not a very bright strategy at all,” the general said, eyeing Davidson.

“No, sir, it wasn’t. See, we all had someone with us, except Lew,” the Private said.

“Lew?”

“Yes, sir. PFC Jameson Llewellyn. She went by herself,” the Private said.

The general stopped smiling and walked up to Davidson, nearly nose to nose. “You did what, Davidson?”

“She needed to be taught a lesson, sir,” Davidson sneered.

“And what lesson was that?” the general asked, hands curling into fists. Wow, a general, upset about me? Whoda thunk? He turned to look at her, fury and concern shimmering across his face before settling into a frighteningly calm mask. “Well?”

“She had a problem with small spaces,” Davidson began.

“I can just imagine,” the general said.

“It was my call, she’s in my unit,” Davidson argued.

“Not any more,” the general answered. He turned to the men in her unit. “Private, don’t worry, give me the coordinates and the boys and I will head out and find her.”

“Really sir? The Alphas are going after a PFC?” the Private asked, stunned.

“Private, some people are unique, that’s what makes the Alphas unique. I have a feeling the PFC Llewellyn is in that category,” he said, smiling at her, running his hand tenderly over her head again. What did he know? Did he know? No, he couldn’t, he wasn’t there. What the hell is going on?

“But, but,” Davidson sputtered. He stopped, not able to look the general in the eye.

“I thought not,” the general said quietly. Taking her pack and gun, he and his men walked away to a waiting Humvee. She thought it odd, but they were walking as a tight circle, with her in the middle. What is going on?

They drove for a half hour. Far enough away to be out of sight, but nowhere near where the cave was. Once they stopped and everyone got out of the Humvee, she tripped and stumbled out, landing on her face. The general took off his sunglasses and glared at her. “That’s enough, Llewellyn. Shift so I can yell at your face, then kick your ass for putting us all in danger,” he growled.

Wow, when I read that in sappy romance novels, I bet they don’t mean what he just did. How did he growl from his chest when the vocal chords are in his throat? Uh, oh, he’s not too happy. What did I do?

“I said shift!” he yelled. She jumped back, tail between her legs, shivering. She looked up at him, hoping she saw the question in her eyes. He stared at her in open amazement. “What the…” he said, squatting down on his heels. “Come here,” he said. She nervously crept toward him. How embarrassing, my belly is scraping the ground, but I can’t lift myself up higher. OK, so he knows who I am. What the hell is going on?!

He looked deeply into her eyes. She blinked, hoping that she didn’t look stupid, just lost. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “What in God’s name are you doing in the Corp?” He turned to one of his men. “Stevens! Get her file up for me. This does not make one bit of sense. Davidson knew, how could he know and we don’t?”

As the blond Adonis called Stevens typed away, he looked up from the keyboard, grinned at her and winked. “That’s an easy answer, Sir. Davidson’s been nosing around for years.”

Another man snorted. “Yeah, ever since the Commandant got the brilliant idea to let more ground leaders know about us.”

“Well, that’s stopped,” the general said. “Unfortunately, it’s idiots like Davidson that are still causing problems.

“Problems can be solved, sir,” a lieutenant said.

The general chuckled and shook his head. “Not like that, Alberts. Don’t worry, most of them have been scared straight once they realize just how easily they can become the hunted. Unfortunately, Davidson keeps opting to keep his nose in our business, but we can’t seem to teach him any manners,” he said. He looked at her and winked. “Yet.”

“Got it,” Stevens said, sliding off the Humvee seat. “OK, in a nut shell. She’s 20, well, 21 next month. Born and raised in San Francisco.”

“Hmm, so that’s how you hid from us,” the general said, giving her an appraising look. She raised her eyebrows at him. He smiled, running his hands through the fur on her neck. “There’s lots of smells in a large city. Finding you would be the needle in the haystack scenario. What was that about when she joined? Her file should have had a big fat A stamped across it.” She tilted her head and felt her ears perk up. “An A, for Alpha, that’s how we identify ourselves. There’s no way to hide your speed and strength in boot camp. You should have been found out then. Unless,” he paused, “unless you hid it on purpose. But why?” He stopped for a moment. “What else does it say?”

“Did better than average in boot camp, no history of illness, duh,” he chuckled. “It’s a pretty basic profile, sir, for a human. You sure you want to hear the rest of this? You won’t like it,” Stevens said, no longer smiling. The general just raised his eyebrows. Stevens took a deep breath. “No parents. One brother. Kevin Banks.”

“What!” the general yelled. “And he said nothing to her? Just wait until I get my teeth on his neck.”

She whined and pushed against him. How the hell do I change back? I need to talk to him. It’s not Kevy’s fault!

“Stop, stop, Llewellyn, dammit, stop!” he shouted, as she tipped him over. He landed hard on his hip. “Dammit!” He took a deep breath and stood up, brushing himself off. “It’s clear you have no idea what’s happened, or how to fix it, am I correct?” She wiggled all over the place. He sighed and covered his eyes with one hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just think human.”

There is no way it’s that simple. What, I just imagine thumbs instead of paws? I’ve been wanting my thumbs back for hours, it’s not like I haven’t missed being on two legs. No, I love drooling on myself, instead of being able to wipe my mouth with my hands…

“Holy crap, how’d I do that,” she yelled, finding herself sitting on her butt, hands frantically going all over her body, just to make sure it was there.

“Huh,” he said, eyeing her. “Beginner’s luck.” He took a long at the girl, no, woman sitting in front of him, obviously only seconds from having a nervous breakdown. She had dark blonde hair, and given how thick the military-appropriate tucked-in braid looked, he guessed that it probably was longer than shoulder length. She had dark green eyes that complemented her lightly tanned skin tone. He turned his head so that she couldn’t see him sizing up her shape. Tall, typical of a full-blooded Were, most likely 5’ 10” or close to that. He chuckled lighted, not that she was anywhere close to his 6’ 5’ but he doubted that she was shorter than most men and would be used to looking eye level at them. Hmm, not the best norm for her to be used to, he’d have to break that habit. Not good to stare a full-blooded Were in the eyes. Thanks to her uniform, he wasn’t sure about her overall shape, but he could see enough properly placed curves to suspect that, like most female Weres, she was well built. Well-suited to have pups.

She tried not to notice his perusal of her human form, so she decided to ignore it and asked about what was lucky about shifting without knowing what the hell was going on. “Huh? What are you talking about?” she asked, standing up shakily. She smiled at Stevens for handing her a canteen.

“Your clothes,” the general motioned. She looked down at her crumpled uniform, not understanding. He sighed. “Usually the first couple of times, the clothes, well, get lost in translation.”

“You mean I should have popped back into being human, naked?” She shuddered. Stevens smothered a grin. “That’s just wrong.”

“No, that’s just true, but you’re unusual,” the general said. He wiped his hands off on his pants and held his hand out tentatively. “I know who you are, but you don’t know me, and you need to. You are like us,” he began.

“And what are we?” she asked, not really wanting to hear it.

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Really, you didn’t figure that one out yourself? You really don’t know?”

“If I did know, you think I’d have let myself be caught like that, without knowing what to do to get back to this?” She said, motioning over her body.

He wiped his hands over his face. “Just great. Not only a female, but an untrained, unmated, unbonded female at that.”

“Hey,” she started, getting angry.

“It’s true, and don’t argue,” he said severely. “What happened in the past few hours puts us all at risk if anyone were to know.”

“Know what?”

“That werewolves are real,” he said, looking her in the eyes. He was really tall, easily clearing six feet. She wasn’t short herself, but he made her feel small. His shoulders were broad, but his waist was only narrower by a handful of inches. He’d pulled off his jacket before he’d started yelling and she could see nothing but a solid set of pecs and a washboard under the olive shirt. His arms were not enormous, but seemed to ripple with the movement of hardened muscles. She looked at all the rest of the men, noticing that they were equally built, tall, muscular; all broad shouldered and thick muscled, some of them stockier and others leaner. She took a closer look and saw the undercurrent of wildness in each of them. They’re all like me.

She stared off into the distance for a few minutes. “And I suppose,” she began slowly, shaking his hand, “that you’re going to tell me that you fight vampires, too, along with the Taliban. Hey, I know, the Taliban are vampires!”

He took his hand back, and look of loathing rolled over his face. “Despite popular movies, there are no such thing a vampires,” he said.

She burst into hysterical laughter. After all, who could have kept a straight face after that? “Right, OK, so there’s no such thing a vampires,” she guffawed, “says the werewolf!” She fell to the ground, holding her stomach and crying with laughter.

“She’s taking it very well,” Stevens said dryly.

“Obviously,” the general sighed. “Are you finished?”

“Oh, probably not,” she hiccupped. “But I can contain it a bit, if you have any more revelations. Bring it on. Like zombies, or witches. Or hey, fairies, they’re pretty,” she said snickering.

“OK, that’s enough,” he said, hauling her to her feet. “Crash course time. You are a werewolf. A very dangerous one because you have no idea what you can do, nor how to control yourself. A slip up from you can bring death to a lot of us, so you’re going to listen whether you believe me or not. Do you understand?” He yelled. She just nodded. “Good. Let me explain your world to you, and who I am,” he said quietly.

“As with regular wolves, we live in packs. Typically 50 members and under, so humans don’t start wondering. We are regulated and protected by Laws, written hundreds of years ago after the Renaissance. Even with all the learning and science happening, we were hunted to near extinction. These Laws set forth pack rule, as well as creating a Regional council. That council’s region typically covers a continent. For instance, since you’re American, you’re council covers North America. Each Region has an Alpha who is above the council. Following so far?”

She nodded again, and he let go of her arms.

“Good. Now, each pack has an alpha male who keeps the Laws and runs things. Packs in close physical proximity to each other are districts, and each district votes on a representative to the Council. The Council comes together to keep the peace and make decisions, like the US Congress does, but they don’t meet as often. All Weres within a region are subject to a Regional Alpha, kind of like a President, he’s a male offspring who has both inherited and earned the position.”

“Huh? How can it be both?”

“It’s not like the English aristocracy, where the oldest male child inherits. Any male offspring of the former Regional Alpha may be the inheritor, but he must earn the right to be Alpha,” he said. “And if there are no male offspring, or they are deemed to be inferior, any pack alpha has the right to challenge for the position.”

“Like in a normal wolf pack? The strongest is the alpha male?” she asked, drinking more water while trying to wrap her head around werewolves, world-wide.

“Yes, like that. Each region has its own rules on how the Alpha position is to be earned, but suffice to say, it ain’t easy,” he smiled grimly. “Now that you have a basic understanding, and yes, I will explain more, we need to come up with a cover story on what happened to you, and how we found you.”

“Please don’t make me the helpless, stupid female who got lost and sat and cried all night,” she begged. He laughed. “Oh, come on. I might have been a bit naïve…”

“A bit? Woman you didn’t know that you weren’t a normal human, that’s more than a bit naïve. That’s clueless,” he laughed.

She hit his arm as hard as she could, and everyone stopped laughing and glared. “What?” she said.

“You don’t touch him,” Alberts started.

“It’s OK, Alberts. It didn’t hurt, and she doesn’t know the rules, nor how to behave properly,” the general said. “You can’t hold her to the same expectations just yet.” She just glared at him. He looked straight at her, noticing that her green eyes looked lighter in her wolf form. As a human, no, an angry human, they were a livid emerald color. He smiled, which made her green eyes shook sparks. “Now, for your cover story.”

“No, now you tell me your name, since you know mine,” she said, still glaring. “I don’t care if it’s not Were polite, it’s human polite.”

“You’re right,” he smiled gallantly, bowing slightly. “My name is Solomon Aleph.”

To Be Continued

It takes hours of work; writing, editing, re-writing, finding people willing to critique an English teacher, and crying to write a good story. The cliché blood, sweat and tears isn’t too far off. Hopefully, the efforts made mean that this book has touched you. I’m hoping that your friends, neighbors, and co-workers may want to read it, also.

The information in this e-document is copyrighted. Please, please, please! Don’t share this book with others, in any way, shape or form. Yes, another cliché. You, and you alone, purchased this book, and you have a right to use it on your digital system (Kindle, iPad, iPod, Nook, Mac, PC…). Any one who has not purchased this book does not have the right to own it. The sales from my books make the continued publishing of my works possible. Time is Money - Yes, another cliché. If enough people disregard the copyright, I won’t be able to afford to continue to write. And I LOVE to write. If your friends think this story is interesting enough, they should purchase it on their own. Seriously, I’m not asking $12.99 for an ebook. I keep the prices low enough that just about anyone should be able to afford it.

It should go without saying that you cannot post this book or any of the chapters it contains on any electronic bulletin board, Web site, blog, newsgroup, FTP site, or ... well, I think you get my point. You also can’t email, push or attach any part of this book either. Many e-variations of this book can be purchased at Smashwords.com. The Kindle edition is also at Amazon.com, the Apple edition is also at iBooks. For purists like me, who love the feel of a book in their hands, printed editions will be available at blurb.com.

Julie was born in Oakland, CA and raised in the East Bay – more specifically a lost-in-the-burbs small city named Pleasant Hill. She went to college, married, had kids, and inherited two dogs along the way. While not battling hormones and meltdowns from her four daughters, or threatening to tie her son down so he’ll hold still, she enjoys freelancing in graphic design while indulging in her first passion – writing. OK, reading was the first passion, but writing followed quickly after. Now that daycare is a non-issue, she plans on going back to her third love, teaching. She can be found sweltering in the desert heat in Las Vegas, NV where there are indeed four seasons: winter, summer, more summer and still summer.