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One Unashamed Night
Sophia James
The awakening of Beatrice… Living in a grey world of silhouette, Lord Taris Wellingham conceals his fading eyesight from Society. He has long protected himself from any intimate relationships. Plain, twenty-eight-year-old Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke does not expect to attract any man, especially not one as good-looking as her remote travelling companion.Forced by a snowstorm to spend the night together, these two lonely people seek solace in each other’s arms. The passion they unleash surprises them both. How will their lives change with the coming of the new day?
Praise for Sophia James
HIGH SEAS TO HIGH SOCIETY
‘James weaves her spell, captivating readers with wit and wisdom, and cleverly combining humour and poignancy with a master’s touch in this feel-good love story.’
—RT Book Reviews
MASQUERADING MISTRESS
‘Bold and tantalising, plotted like a mystery and slowly exposing each layer of the multi-dimensional plot and every character’s motivations, James’s novel is a page-turner.’
—RT Book Reviews
ASHBLANE’S LADY
‘An excellent tale of love, this book is more than a romance; it pulls at the heartstrings and makes you wish the story wouldn’t end.’
—RT Book Reviews
To lie with a man in a snow-filled night, safe after adversity.
A man with a man’s body, a man’s tastes, the smell of his skin woody and strong, his muscles even in the dimness defined and substantive. She was presented with a fine handsome man and a night that would hold no questions.
The ghost of a smile played around Bea’s lips before sense reined it in. Of course she could not take advantage of the situation. She was a lady and a widow. Besides, already she thought his body had relaxed into sleep, the even cadence of his breath confirming it. To him she was nothing more than a warm skin to survive against. When the tip of her finger reached out to the ridge of his shoulderblade and traced the muscle in air, she wished that she might have been braver and truly touched him.
So unwise, another voice cautioned, the knowledge of her plainness leading only to rejection that would be embarrassing to them both.
Sophia James lives in Chelsea Bay, on Auckland, New Zealand’s, North Shore, with her husband, who is an artist, and three children. She spends her morning teaching adults English at the local Migrant School, and writes in the afternoon. Sophia has a degree in English and History from Auckland University, and believes her love of writing was formed reading Georgette Heyer with her twin sister at her grandmother’s house.
Previous novels by the same author:
FALLEN ANGEL
ASHBLANE’S LADY
HIGH SEAS TO HIGH SOCIETY
MASQUERADING MISTRESS
KNIGHT OF GRACE
MISTLETOE MAGIC
(part of Christmas Betrothals)
ONE UNASHAMED NIGHT has characters you will have met in HIGH SEAS TO HIGH SOCIETY.
Look for Cristo’s story. Coming soon.
AUTHOR NOTE
ONE UNASHAMED NIGHT is the second book in a family trilogy about the three Wellingham brothers, Asher, Taris and Cristo. Asher, the Duke of Carisbrook, appeared in HIGH SEAS TO HIGH SOCIETY, and I received many letters from fans who were fascinated by his younger brother, Taris, and wanted to read his story.
Well, here he is! Lord Taris Wellingham is an intensely private man, and one who keeps the world at bay in order to preserve his greatest secret. Cristo’s book is yet to come. He has had only a vague mention so far, but as a spy for England in France he has his own demons and distance.
I’d like to dedicate this book to three wonderful women in my life. Pat Rendall, for her insight into the world of darkness, my mother Jewell Kivell, for enthusiastically reading the first draft, and Linda Fildew, my fantastic editor, for her patience with and belief in all of my books.
One Unashamed Night
Sophia James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua3154cb0-3ad8-5c7b-a09f-69714a8d9fca)
Praise (#u5d50ec04-f1b0-58ec-90d2-1a2afedd50ba)
Excerpt (#u049282c3-e144-5ca2-867c-e462c27537ce)
About the Author (#ud04fadcf-f696-525a-97d5-84b3984a5acc)
Other Books By (#u2a3505c0-8729-5097-b1ca-356234fc936a)
AUTHOR NOTE (#u6a11c853-9187-51e9-80c7-1142fb060898)
Title Page (#ua7639e0e-2d58-5c97-b07d-acaea2c2c82f)
Chapter One (#ue0979bc7-efef-5aad-9358-bb551e213a03)
Chapter Two (#uc14beaf5-b0e9-5e88-a263-5644a08d5ecc)
Chapter Three (#u5f331c61-75ba-5941-8492-723ca380b2dc)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Maldon, England—January 1826
The darkness was pulling him down even as he fought to escape it, his eyes widening to catch a tiny tendril of light, the flare of it making him shout out, wanting it, the last colour before complete blackness enveloped him…
‘Sir, sir. Wake up. It’s a dream you are having.’
The voice came from somewhere close and Lord Taris Wellingham slipped from sleep and returned to the warmth of the carriage travelling south to London with a jolt. A face blurred before him, but in the dusk he could not tell whether the woman was young or old. Her voice was soft, almost musical, the lisp on the letter V denoting perhaps a genteel upbringing in the north?
With care he turned away, fingers stiff against the silver ball on top of his ebony cane and all his defences raised.
‘I would ask for your forgiveness for my lapse in manners, madam.’
The small laugh surprised him. ‘Oh. You do indeed have it, sir.’
This time there was decided humour in her tone, and something more hidden. He wished he was able to see the hue of her eyes or the shade of her hair, but any form of colour had long since gone, leached now even in full sunlight and replaced by the grey sludge of silhouette.
A netherworld. His world. And the ability to hide his disability was all the dignity left to him.
Taking a breath he held it, seeking in silence a path to follow. He pretended to read the watch on the chain at his waist, hating such deceit, but in company it was what he had been reduced to—a man on the edge of his world and in danger of falling off.
‘Another hour and a half to reach our destination, I should imagine.’ The woman’s guess was like a gift for it gave him a timeframe, something to hang any suggestion of their whereabouts upon.
‘Unless the weather worsens.’ Outside he could hear a keening wind and the temperature had dropped sharply, even in the space of the moments he had been asleep. Tilting his head, he listened to the sound of the wheels beneath them and determined the snow to have deepened too.
Unexpectedly tension filled his body. Something was wrong. The whirr of the wheel on the right side was off, unbalanced, scraping against steel.
He shook away the concern and cursed his oversensitive hearing, deeming it far better to concentrate on other things. There were four other people in the carriage, he had counted them as they got in, this woman the only one on his side. One of the gentlemen was asleep, his snores soft through the night, and the other was speaking to an older woman about household tasks and the hiring of servants. His mother, perhaps, for there was a tone in his voice suggesting affection.
The wheel was worsening, the sound underlined by a tremor in the chassis. He felt it easily in the vibration where his palm lay open against the window. No longer able to ignore danger, Taris lifted his cane and banged hard on the roof.
But it was too late! The vehicle lurched to the right as the axle snapped, the scream of the driver eerie in the darkness, the splintering of wood, the quick crunch of the door on his side against earth, the rolling shock of impact as people tumbled over and over. When his head was thrown against metal, a sharp pain followed.
And then silence.
Bodies were everywhere, the groans of the older woman taking precedence, the sobs of her son muted and fearful. The other two occupants made no noise at all and Taris’s hands reached over.
The woman beside him still breathed—he could feel the warmth of air against his fingers—whilst the previously snoring gentleman had neither pulse nor breath, his neck arched at a strange angle.
Inky blackness now covered everything, the lamps gone and the moon tonight a slice of nothing.
His world! Easier than daylight. Throwing down his cane, he stood.
Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke could barely believe what had happened. Her head ached and her top lip was cut inside.
An accident. A terrible accident. The realisation made her shake and she clamped her mouth shut to try to hide the noise as her teeth chattered together.
In the slight beam of light the dark-haired stranger gently lifted the lifeless body of a man whom she could see was well and truly dead and laid him on the floor. The older woman opposite broke into peals of panicked terror as she too registered this fact and her younger companion tried fruitlessly to console her.
‘Enough, madam.’ The tall man’s voice brooked no argument and the woman fell silent, a greater problem now taking her attention.
‘It…it is f…freezing.’
‘At least we are still alive, Mama, and I am certain that this gentleman can repair things.’ Her grown son looked up, supplication written on his face. He made no effort at all to rise himself, but stayed with his arm around his mother’s shoulders in a vain attempt to keep her warm, for the whole side of the carriage lay buckled and twisted, the door that had been there before completely missing.
‘If you will give me a moment, I will try to cover the opening.’ The tall man’s cape was caught by the wind as he stepped out, the crumpled chassis of the coach making his exit more difficult than it would otherwise have been. Framed by snow, she saw his hair escape the confines of his queue and fall nightblack against the darkness of his clothes and she could barely wrench her eyes from his profile.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen! The thought hit her with all the force of surprise and she squashed down such ridiculousness.
Frankwell Bassingstoke had been a handsome man too, and look where that had got her. Swallowing, she turned back towards the woman and, rummaging in her reticule, pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over.
‘Where did the man go to? Why is he not back?’ The older woman’s voice held panic as she took the cloth and blew her nose soundly, the hysteria of fright heightened by a realisation that their lives depended on the one who had just left them to find the missing portal. Already the temperature had dropped further; the air was harder to breath. Lord, Bea thought, what must it be like outside in the snow and the wind and the icy tracks of road with only a slither of light?
Perhaps he had perished or was in need of a voice to call him back to the coach, lost as he was in the whiteness? Perhaps they sat here as he took his last breath in a noble but futile effort to save them?
Angry both at her imagination and immobility, she wrapped her cloak around her head so that only her eyes were visible and edged herself out into the weather, meaning to help.
He stood ten yards away, easing the driver from the base of a hedge, carefully holding his neck so that it was neither jarred nor bent. He wore no gloves and the cloak he had left the carriage with was now wrapped about the injured man, a small blanket of warmth against the bitter cold. Without thick wool upon him his own shirt was transparent, a useless barrier against such icy rain.
‘Can I help you?’ she shouted, her voice taken by the wind and his eyes caught hers as he turned, squinting against the hail.
‘Go back. You will freeze out here.’ She saw the strength in him as he hoisted the driver in his arms and came towards her. Scrambling for shelter, she turned to assist him once she was back in the relative warmth of the coach.
‘There is no room in here,’ the old lady grumbled as she refused to shift over even a little and Beatrice swept the reticule from her own seat and crouched, her breath forming white clouds in the darkness as she replied.
‘Put him here, sir. He can lie here.’
The tall man placed the other gently on the seat, though he made no effort to come in himself.
‘Look after him,’ he shouted and again was gone, the two other occupants silent in his wake.
