The Marquess' Angel_Hart and Arrow_A Regency Romance Book Read online

  Regency Romance : The Marquess' Angel

  Hart and Arrow

  A Regency Romance Book

  Julia Sinclair

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Act 01

  .

  1

  Chapter One

  .

  2

  Chapter Two

  .

  3

  Chapter Three

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  4

  Chapter Four

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  5

  Chapter Five

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  6

  Chapter Six

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  7

  Chapter Seven

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  8

  Chapter Eight

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  9

  Chapter Nine

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  10

  Chapter Ten

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  11

  Chapter Eleven

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  12

  Chapter Twelve

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  13

  Chapter Thirteen

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  14

  Chapter Fourteen

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  15

  Chapter Fifteen

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  16

  Chapter Sixteen

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  17

  Chapter Seventeen

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  18

  Chapter Eighteen

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  19

  Chapter Nineteen

  .

  20

  Chapter Twenty

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  21

  Chapter Twenty-one

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  22

  Chapter Twenty-two

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  23

  Chapter Twenty-three

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  24

  Chapter Twenty-four

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  25

  Chapter Twenty-five

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  26

  Chapter Twenty-six

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  27

  Chapter Twenty-seven

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  28

  Chapter Twenty-eight

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  29

  Chapter Twenty-nine

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  30

  Chapter Thirty

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  31

  Chapter Thirty-one

  .

  Epilogue

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  Act 02

  .

  1

  Chapter One

  .

  2

  Chapter Two

  .

  3

  Chapter Three

  .

  4

  Chapter Four

  .

  5

  Chapter Five

  .

  6

  Chapter Six

  .

  7

  Chapter Seven

  .

  8

  Chapter Eight

  .

  9

  Chapter Nine

  .

  10

  Chapter Ten

  .

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  .

  12

  Chapter Twelve

  .

  Epilogue

  .

  Join NOW

  ORDER OF BOOKS LIST . Also By

  Publishers Notes

  Copyright © 2018 by

  Julia Sinclair

  All Rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Sanja Gombar www.bookcoverforyou.com

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  d E D I C A T I O N

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  Dear Reader,

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  “ In England, they say that it is more likely for lions to lie down with wolves than it is for Carrows and Martins to come to an accord. The two ancient houses have been at each others' throats since the Renaissance, and though the cause of the quarrel has been lost to time, the enmity certainly hasn’t.”

  .

  - HART AND ARROW SERIES -

  Part Series 01 :

  Marrowly Grange

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  .

  The Marquess' Angel

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  "Thomas. Take me as your mistress."

  "What?"

  "I mean it. You want me, don't you? If you make me your mistress, Tristan won't be able to marry me off to anyone. He'll cast me out as a fallen woman, and..."

  "Blythe, are you listening to yourself? Are you mad? You're a Carrow, the cousin of the Duke of Parrington. You cannot think that you should be my mistress. You've listened to the tales of all of the women you have helped, and somehow, you still think this is an acceptable idea? Society would turn its back on you. You'll never be able to hold your head up in public."

  "Do you think I care about any of that? Do you think I would rather have my pride than my freedom? Why won't you agree to this, Thomas? Your reputation would be intact. And I want you. And you want me. Beyond that, what else matters?"

  Thomas was struck silent by that. …

  * * *

  1

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  .

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  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  .

  London,

  1795

  Somewhere in the foggy night, the clock struck three. Blythe clung tighter to the umbrella she carried rolled up in her hands. Her cousin Ned had given it to her years ago, brought back from some campaign on the Continent. It was large and elegant, if a little unwieldy for a young girl because of the hefty stone handle.

  In her gray dress and shabby brown shawl, Blythe blended into the shadows. Her brown hair and brown eyes made her unremarkable among the people who were still sporadically walking along the streets, carousers who were still on a tear, and tired women only now coming home from whatever work they could find. No one looked at her, and she returned the favor, keeping her eyes on the hired coach in front of the tall, narrow boarding house.

  If I am unlucky, he may be here until dawn. Oh, blazes, they may not hold my place until then...

  As if in response to her uneasy thoughts, a tall man in rough clothes, his face covered by a hat pulled low over his eyes, came down the stairs. Blythe tried to see if there was any way to recognize him, but he stepped quickly in the carriage and was whisked away. As much as she would have liked the man's identity, she breathed a sigh of relief when the coach pulled down the street.

  She pulled
her own hat a little lower and dashed across the street. Most reputable boarding houses had policies regarding when visitors could be in and out, but this was not that type of place. She went up the stairs to the top floor, took a deep breath, and knocked gently on the door.

  "Honey? Honey, are you there? It's me."

  The door creaked open, revealing a bright blue eye and a face streaked with tears. When Honey saw that it was Blythe, she pulled her into the room rapidly.

  The room was lit with a single candle, but Blythe could see the rumpled bed, the shabby wallpaper, and the strangely sad pictures pinned up of roses, fat babies, and Society women.

  "Are you ready? Have you packed a bag? Here, I can help you get dressed," Blythe told her.

  "I don't know, Miss..."

  "I told you, just call me Blythe. There's no need to stand on ceremony. Honey, where are your things?"

  "They're in the closet, but Miss Blythe, he threatened me again."

  At that moment, Blythe would have traded every meager cent of her living to have Honey's so-called protector in front of her. No need for a judge or a constable, she would simply wring the man's neck herself.

  "What did he say?"

  Honey swallowed hard. Blythe could see dark bruises on the younger girl's shoulders, inky and insulting on her fair skin.

  "He said he would cut me if I tried to leave him, Miss Blythe. He said he could do it, and no one would care on account of I was a... a..."

  Blythe knew that time was of the essence, but she couldn't stop herself from pulling Honey into a hard hug. Blythe was twenty-two, and Honey was barely seventeen. When she was seventeen, she'd still been in the schoolroom, being taught to write beautifully, play the pianoforte, and properly address her betters. The idea of some man threatening the younger girl was enough to make her see red, and the terrible part was that she was right. As far as the world was concerned, Honey was a fallen woman, and whatever she got, she likely had coming.

  "I would care," Blythe said fiercely. "My friends that I am taking you to will care. So will everyone worth a good tinker's damn."

  Honey giggled. It was a wet sound, but Blythe thanked God for some sign of life from the sad girl.

  "I didn't think you were the swearing sort, Miss Blythe."

  "I am when the situation calls for it. Believe me, Honey. I know there is a risk, but my friends are very good. I promise, if you leave this place, we will do everything we can to protect you. If you stay here, it will be more of the same, and when it changes, it will get worse and not better."

  Honey drew a shaky breath, but she nodded. London was beautiful, bright, the jewel of the world, but for those at the bottom, it was a shining hell. Honey’s hands were ice-cold when she grasped Blythe's, but her grip was steady.

  "Yes. I'll leave with you, Miss Blythe."

  Blythe grinned, but there was no time to hesitate. Honey's protector, who she only knew as John, sent men to watch her sometimes, to make sure she was being 'good.' The best time to move Honey, to help her escape, was when John was freshly gone.

  Honey's only dress was a mauve monstrosity John had bought her, barely covering her shoulders or her arms. Blythe winced at the idea of trying to get her through the worst part of the London stews in something that revealing.

  "Here, take this." She wrapped her brown shawl around Honey's shoulders. It helped a little, and she wasn't very cold without it. "All right, have you got your bag, can you carry it? Then we're away."

  Honey and Blythe came down the stairs and out into the London night. Blythe shivered a little, but the cold would drop away once they were walking.

  "You've done this before, Miss Blythe?"

  "A few times, Honey. Don't worry, my friends are much more experienced with this kind of thing than I am."

  They ducked into doorways twice to avoid packs of reeling drunks, but the third set, a pair of men wearing naval whites, surprised them.

  "Oh, what pretty girls," one said, seizing hold of Honey's wrist.

  "Come with us, show us the sights. We're only back in London for another day or so," the other said cheerfully.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, we can't..." stuttered Honey. She had been in London for less than eight hours before John had found her, and Blythe could see she still had the sweet country manners that bad men looked for.

  "We're expected elsewhere," Blythe said coldly, summoning up all the martial reserve she had learned from growing up in the Carrow household. "Let us pass."

  Sometimes it worked, and the men might let her go by with just a muttered curse. Tonight was not her lucky night, apparently. The sailors scowled.

  "That one ain't got any tits anyway, but this one looks warmer, don't she?" said the one holding Honey’s arm.

  Honey went silent with terror as the men started to pull her away from Blythe's side, and all of the anger that Blythe had been holding back about Honey's situation exploded.

  "You let her go this instant!' she shouted, and that was all the warning she gave before she waded in between the men, swinging her umbrella by the cloth end. The length of hardwood coupled with the stone weight at the end was a formidable weapon, and she cracked the wrist of the man holding Honey's arm, making him let go with a yowl of pain.

  The second man turned toward her, and good God, he had a knife in his hand, but Blythe was running too hot to let fear into her mind. Instead, she swept the parasol low and somehow landed a perfect shot right between the sailor's legs, making him fall to the ground with a gurgling scream.

  "Come on!" she yelled.

  One of the sailors was still on his feet, but she had gotten in two lucky blows. She didn't want to test her luck for a third, so she grabbed Honey by the wrist and started running.

  They ran for three blocks, until they could tell they weren't being pursued, and then they ducked into the deep alcove between two butchers shops. The smell of blood and offal made Blythe's stomach turn, but she needed to breathe and calm her heart down from its fast beat.

  "They always said that hitting a man there would make him angry enough to kill me," Honey panted, eyes wide.

  "If it was a man who told you that, now you know why. My cousin Ned taught me that. God love him. Tristan told him that was an inappropriate thing to teach a fourteen-year-old girl, but damned if it hasn't been handy more often than Ned ever thought it would be. Remember, if you have to do that yourself, hit as hard as you can. If you have to, grab him there, close your hand hard, and pull with all your strength."

  Between gasps for breath, Honey was watching her as if she were some kind of monster, or perhaps a miracle.

  "Are you sure you're a lady, Miss Blythe? Because, begging your pardon, I have never met a lady who talked like you."

  Blythe supposed she should have been insulted, but instead, she grinned. "I am, in fact, a very good lady most of the time, Honey. And really, Blythe is fine. Now if you've got your breath back, we need to keep going. My friends are waiting for us, and if we do not get there soon, they will worry."

  As they walked, Blythe felt that old strangeness settling over her. Back at the house off of Grosvenor Square, she would never be allowed to run or swear or fight. Here, in the dark streets less than five miles away, she had to do all of those things. Honey had come from the country after her parents died, to look for a living wage, and she had found a far darker world than Blythe had ever traversed. How many worlds could one city contain? Who was lucky enough to only live in comfort in one, ignoring the plight of the rest?

  Blythe handed her umbrella to Honey, taking the bag from the girl when Honey looked as if she were flagging.

  "We're not so very far away now," Blythe said. "They're good people. They'll give you food and a bed, and they'll talk with you and figure out what you want to do next."

  "I just don't want to see John ever again."

  "And you won't. They'll keep you safe. Just another few turns, and we'll be there..."

  Blythe was just beginning to hope that they would make it to her frie
nds without further incident when a young man, his jacket carelessly hanging off his shoulder and his hat utterly missing, came out of one of the brightly lit buildings to one side of the walk. He looked as if he were just beginning to think of how he would find his way home when three large men came out of the shadows, two laying hold of him, and the third hissing something about demons.