The Mystery of Miss Mason
The Lost Lords
Book Five
Chasity Bowlin
Copyright © 2018 by Chasity Bowlin
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Author Bio
Abducted, held captive by unknown men for unknown reasons, Mary Mason had to use all of her resourcefulness to escape what would surely have been a terrible fate. But in the course of her escape, she encounters new dangers in the form of a mysterious man. Is he friend or foe? Can he be trusted or will she prove to be just a pawn in whatever game he is playing?
Alexander Carnahan, Lord Wolverton, is a pariah in society, a known murderer. But as he carries the unconscious Mary Mason back to his crumbling estate to care for her, he recognizes that she is far more than just the key to the mystery he’s devoted himself to, the mystery of who murdered his late wife. She stirs something inside him he thought long dead… hope.
As Mary recovers from her ordeal in his home, the truth slowly emerges. Their pasts are intermingled, the intrigues and mysteries of their lives are connected and hide unspeakable horrors committed by common enemies. As they work together to reunite Mary with her brother and to prove Alex’s innocence, their feelings for one another only grow more complex and more undeniable. But the course of true love never does run smooth, and there are more obstacles and dangers ahead of them than behind…
Prologue
Near Bath, 1820
Fatigue was setting in for Lord Alexander Winston Carnahan, the Earl of Wolverton. He’d spent the better part of the night, as he had so many others, concealed in the shadows near the road—watching, waiting, hoping against hope that it would finally be the night when he discovered something useful. But it appeared his hopes had been futile. Dawn was approaching. Though still quite dark, the sky had begun to lighten, hinting at the morning to come.
If Harrelson had been out and about that night, committing whatever crimes and misdeeds it was that provided the man’s astronomical income, he was certainly coming home much later than usual. Alex had made it a point to become an expert on the comings and goings of the man who’d ruined him. Given that most of Alex’s own property now had been seized by the courts at the insistence of his late wife’s family and subsequently “gifted” to Harrelson, it left Alex with little enough else to do.
There had been much more activity of late with disreputable-looking men, little more than hired ruffians really, traveling to Harrelson’s estate in the dark of night. While he couldn’t be entirely certain, Alex felt, or perhaps foolishly hoped, that one of the man’s underhanded operations was on the verge of collapse. It would only take one chink in his armor to bring him down, of that he was certain.
A noise caught his attention, pulling him from his mildly self-pitying reverie and putting him instantly on alert. Sinking further into the shadows, Alex p
ut one hand on the butt of the pistol he wore strapped to his thigh, and waited for whatever danger might be lurking nearby to make itself known. He was well prepared to face whatever or whoever it might be. Oddly enough, whoever it was, they were not overly concerned with being quiet. They thrashed through the brush, twigs snapping under their feet as they barreled through the woods.
Nothing could have shocked him more than the small, pale form of a girl emerging from the trees. Woman, he corrected his assessment. Her small stature had fooled him at first. But with a moment to observe her, he quickly realized his error. Dressed as she was, in only a torn and dirty shift, there was no mistaking her figure for anything other than that of a woman fully grown. Her breasts were full beneath the thin fabric and he could see the flare of her hips skimmed by the simple garment.
She continued toward the road, her movements frantic. There was something quite desperate about her, almost mad, he realized. As she neared the single road that bisected the heavy woods, she paused at the very last moment, hesitating as if sensing danger. In the distance, he could hear the sound of rumbling wheels. Harrelson’s carriage approached. He thought to warn her, for whatever she feared and whatever she ran from, she would receive no aid from that source. But he need not have worried. Some instinct she possessed held her back. She ducked behind the thick cover of brush and stayed quiet. But he could see the wide-eyed fear, the sheer panic that raced through her.
Beyond the shadows of the trees, he heard the carriage braking, the horses’ hoofbeats slowing on the hard-packed earth as the wheels creaked to a stop. “Why have we stopped?”
Alex recognized Harrelson’s voice immediately, as well as the sharp tone he used on anyone he thought beneath him.
“I thought I saw somethin’, my lord… runnin’ alongside the road and into the trees!” The driver’s response was surprising. Surely the man would know better than to think his employer would offer aid to anyone!
“It was a deer, most likely. Drive on!” Harrelson snapped.
“What if she’s gotten out?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed at that telling statement. Not just a simple servant, but an accomplice, he thought. The driver was involved, an active and knowing participant, in Harrelson’s crimes. And so was the woman making her brave escape, albeit unwillingly.
Harrelson’s dismissive snort of laughter echoed toward him. “No one ever has, Jones. Drive on.”
The driver cracked a whip over the horses and they kicked up once more, the carriage lurching reluctantly into motion. All of his attention was focused on the woman. She’d held her breath the entire time, as if even an exhale might have been enough to give away her position. He saw her body sag as the air hissed out of her in a rush.
Emerging from the trees, just enough to let her see him, he asked the one question that had been burning in his mind since he’d watched her duck and hide from them. “How did you know?”
She peered toward him and he realized that given his shadowy position beneath the trees, he could see far more of her than she could see of him. He didn’t want to frighten her, but his face was not unknown to the world. His infamy might prove to be his downfall if she recognized him. Keeping back into the shadows, he watched her carefully. He saw her shoulders stiffen and her chin come up defiantly.
“I won’t go back. You may as well kill me now.”
Her vow was uttered quietly with desperate bravado, but beneath that was a steely resolve that impressed him. Regardless of his grudging respect of her, he had to insist. She was the break he’d been looking for, after all. This woman, the daring escapee, was the link that would lead him to whatever despicable dealings Harrelson was involved with. He needed her to help him find the truth once and for all.
“You will go back,” he said softly, but with complete conviction. He needed to know what they were doing, what part she had been expected to play in it, and how on earth Helena might have been involved.
He stepped closer, close enough that he could see the shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes in the remnants of silvery moonlight giving way to dawn. “What is your name?”
“Mary Benedict.”
It was a lie, of course. He couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across his lips as he recognized it for a blatant untruth and admired her for it. Tiny as she was, there was something very fierce about her. That fierceness should have given him some clue as to her intentions. Alex reached for her but before his hand even closed on her wrist, she’d brought her knee up hard. He dodged the blow at the last second, managing to avoid a direct hit. The more vulnerable parts of his anatomy were still grazed enough by it to leave him gasping. He watched, stunned, as she fled once more into the woods.
Shaking his head to clear it, he resisted the urge to reassure himself that all parts of him were still there and functional. Alex wondered how such a slip of a girl had managed to very nearly unman him.
After a moment, when the fear of casting up his accounts from that particular agony had passed, he rose to his feet. Drawing several deep breaths to fortify himself, he loped after her in pursuit. Despite her exhaustion and her bare feet, she managed to go a greater distance than he would have given her credit for. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and then veered off the path into the denser trees.
He knew the woods like the back of his hand, and the area she’d stepped into was treacherous. The trees there had grown tangled over time, their heavy roots protruding from the ground like the twisted fingers of an aged crone, almost as if they meant to rise up against man. Alex opened his mouth to call out a warning, but it was too late. He saw her stumble over the gnarled roots of an alder tree and fall. She did not rise, but continued to lie there, her pale form completely still in the shadows as the forest grew eerily silent about them.
Rushing forward, he stared down her in horror. He could see a dark stain spreading over the dirty neckline of her shift, the thick and viscous liquid trickling over her pale flesh. Alex turned her gently, examining the wound just above her temple. There was blood, and quite a bit of it. But he knew that head wounds bled very easily. What worried him far more was how warm she felt. It wasn’t the natural heat of exertion from her run. The girl was burning with fever. Cursing softly, he lifted her, carrying her in his arms to the edge of the woods where he’d left his horse tethered. He would return with her to Wolfhaven Hall and see her well, then he would find out precisely what she knew. He would have answers by fair means or foul. Too much was at stake for him to show more mercy than his circumstances would permit.
Chapter One
“Who are you?”
Seated at the bedside of the woman he’d rescued, if one could call it that since she’d only been injured in fleeing from him, Alex had been staring at the faded carpet beneath his feet and contemplating just how far he’d fallen. At that soft whisper, he looked up. Her voice was hoarse, pained, and her speech somewhat slurred. Given that she’d been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours, it was to be expected. He’d been correct in assuming her injury wasn’t so severe, but the fever that raged within her was more than adequate cause for concern.
Dirty, her feet torn and bleeding, and with faint bruises at her wrist where she had been bound, it was apparent that whoever had held her captive had not been inclined to see to her comfort or her health. When he’d picked her up from the forest floor, her skin had been hot to the touch, feverish, in spite of the dampness of her inadequate clothing. It was likely that chill, coupled with whatever horrors she’d been through, that had resulted in her illness. The deep cough that occasionally wracked her frail form was worrisome, indeed, especially as it was increasing in both frequency and intensity.
He surveyed her carefully. In the dim glow of the firelight which provided the only illumination in the room, her blonde hair gleamed like burnished gold. Mrs. Epson, his housekeeper, had assisted him in bathing her though she’d done it under great protest. In the hours since, he’d remained at her bedside. Whether it was guilt, curios
ity, or the strangely protective urges she stirred within him, he could not say. But in that time, he’d had many hours to study the loveliness of her face, to memorize the gentle curve of her jaw, the stubborn jut of a chin that revealed far more of her personality and character than she likely wished, the slight upward tilt of her nose, and the perfect bow of her full lips. But it was the first time since their encounter in the woods when it had been far too dark to see much of anything that he’d had a chance to see her eyes. Framed by thick lashes, shades darker than her golden hair, their color was still a mystery to him. They were deep, either brown or a midnight blue, so dark that their true shade would likely only be discernible in the brightest light of day. They were also haunted and frightened, and he accepted no small amount of responsibility for that.
“Ambrose.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue. It was simply the first name that had popped into his mind. It was the title of his trusted friend and while it lacked respectability, it wouldn’t strike fear in her heart as his own name would. If he admitted to the terrified girl that he was Wolverton, she’d likely fall into a dead faint again or worse. She was in no condition to run from him and if she heard that name, she would. Exhausted, battered and bruised, no doubt terrified, the last thing she needed was confirmation that she was at the mercy of a known murderer. Of course, it wasn’t entirely altruistic. He needed her trust. He needed her cooperation. It might make him a selfish bastard but, on a routine basis, he was accounted to be something far worse. Murderer. Wife killer. Fiend. He had been called all of those and so much more.
While his own ends certainly should take precedence, had to take precedence if he had any hope of salvaging his honor and his estates, he wasn’t without sympathy for her. She looked lost for lack of a better word. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and gently touched her cheek, testing the softness of her skin even as he measured whether or not her fever had waned. Touching her was like touching the finest of silk. Gently bathing her brow with a damp cloth, he offered. “You struck your head. But I fear you’ve developed a lung ailment from the damp.”