‘I don’t know what burns between us, Mrs St Harlow, but there will come a time when we shall not have the will to stop it. I can promise you that.’
There—the words were said, falling against lies and covering them with a softer edge, like snow across the jagged sharpness of rocks.
The lump in her throat made her swallow as she tried to find an answer but what indeed could she say? If she agreed then only ruin would follow, and if she didn’t…
She could not speak, even with everything held in the balance, and Lord Hawkhurst let her hand go and took a pace backwards.
AUTHOR NOTE
Three homeless and parentless boys are sent to Eton, where they forge a bond of friendship that can never be broken.
Now powerful lords, they need to marry, but the complex and intriguing women they choose mean that the road to happiness is not going to be an easy one.
Lucas Clairmont’s story appeared in MISTLETOE MAGIC, Stephen Hawkhurst is the hero of MISTRESS AT MIDNIGHT and Nathaniel Lindsay’s story will be coming next.
About the Author
SOPHIA JAMES lives in Chelsea Bay on Auckland, New Zealand’s North Shore, with her husband, who is an artist. She has a degree in English and History from Auckland University and believes her love of writing was formed reading Georgette Heyer in the holidays at her grandmother’s house.
Sophia enjoys getting feedback at www.sophiajames.net
Previous novels by the same author:
FALLEN ANGEL
ASHBLANE’S LADY
HIGH SEAS TO HIGH SOCIETY
MASQUERADING MISTRESS
KNIGHT OF GRACE
(published as THE BORDER LORD in North America)
MISTLETOE MAGIC
(part of Christmas Betrothals)
ONE UNASHAMED NIGHT
ONE ILLICIT NIGHT
CHRISTMAS AT BELHAVEN CASTLE
(part of Gift-Wrapped Governesses)
LADY WITH THE DEVIL’S SCAR
THE DISSOLUTE DUKE
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Mistress at Midnight
Sophia James
MILLS & BOON
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This one’s for you, Nina. I really appreciate your support.
Chapter One
June 1855—England
Stephen Hawkhurst, Lord of Atherton, felt the wind rise up from the bottom of Taylor’s Gap, salt on its edge. He frowned as he breathed in, a smooth wooden railing all that held him between this world and the next one.
So very easy to end it, to simply let go and fall into oblivion. Pushing harder, he felt the barrier give and a few stones, dislodged by the movement, hurled down the incline to disappear into nothingness.
‘If you jump, you would need to land exactly between that rock and the cliff,’ a voice said, one small gloved hand pointing downwards. ‘If you veer to the left, you will be caught on those bushes, you see, and such a fall could leave you merely crippled. To the right is a better option as the shale would be more forgiving before it threw you over the edge into the sea. However, if you excel at the art of swimming…?’ She stopped, the implication understood.
Stiffening, Hawk turned to see a woman standing near, a black veil hiding every feature of her face. Her clothes were heavy and practical. A lady of commerce, perhaps? Or the daughter of a merchant? God, what luck was there in that? Miles from anywhere and The voice of reason close by.
‘I may, of course, merely be taking in the view.’ The irritation in his words was unbecoming and he was a man who was seldom rude to women. But this one was far from cowed.
‘One would generally look to the horizon if that was the case, sir. The sun is setting, you see, and it would be this vista your eyes would be drawn towards.’
‘Then perhaps I am tired?’
‘Fatigue would show itself in a leaning gait and great exertion would be seen in dust upon your boots.’ Her head tipped down to look. Stephen imagined her satisfaction when she saw his shiny new black Hessians. He wished she would turn and leave, but she stood silent and waiting, breath even and unhurried.
Surveying the nearby paths, he realised that she was alone. Unusual for a lady not to be chaperoned. He wondered how she had got here and where she would go to next.
There was a hole in the thumb of her right-hand glove and an unbuffed nail was bitten to the quick. The hat she wore hid her hair completely, though an errant curl of vibrant red had escaped from its clutches and lay across the darkness of her clothes like rubies in a coal seam. Beneath the notes of a heavier perfume he smelt the light freshness of violets.
‘I came here often as a young girl with my mother and she would stand just where I am and speak of what was over the seas in all the directions that I might name.’ This was said suddenly after a good few moments of silence. He liked how she did not feel the need to fill in every space with chatter. ‘France lies that way, and Denmark, there. A thousand miles to the north-east a boat could founder against the rocky coast of the Kingdom of Norway.’
She
