A Hero and A Gentleman Read online

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2015 JoMarie DeGioia

  Exclusive cover © 2015 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2015 Joanna D’Angelo

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 978-1-927555-62-0

  A catalogue record for the Ebook is available

  from the National Library of Canada

  Ebooks are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 978-1-927555-61-3

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copyeditor: Sarah Corsie

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  As always I’m grateful to my family for their unending support. To my husband Jay and daughters Julianne and Jamie, for understanding the challenges a writer’s path presents. Thank you to my mother Barbara, for being my biggest fan and cheerleader. I also thank my agent Michelle Grajkowski for her encouragement and my editor Joanna D’Angelo for helping me bring this first story in a new series to life!

  Dedication

  To my late, great friend Judie Aitken, who dubbed this hero “Blake, Blake, the Regency Rake.”

  Also Available

  Dashing Nobles Series

  More than Passion – Book 1

  Pride and Fire – Book 2

  Just Perfect – (Novella) Book 2.5

  More than Charming – Book 3

  A HERO AND A GENTLEMAN

  Chapter 1

  Middlesex, England 1822

  Taylor Shelby stared up at the faded sign hanging outside the public house. The Hideaway. A fitting name. She let out a tired laugh. After her long ride from Sussex she didn’t care where she spent the night.

  The windows were dark; silence shrouded the pub. Compared to the other establishments fighting for space on the narrow street, The Hideaway appeared to be the largest. Perhaps that made sense, given the identity of the man who owned it.

  She knew what awaited her within, but she would plead her case to the owner for a place to hide. She looked down the deserted cobblestone street, her eyes following the hired hack until it was long gone.

  Fear suddenly gripped her. Had Trevor followed her? She gingerly touched the tender spot high on her left cheek. No, he couldn’t have. She’d been careful tonight. She’d waited until he’d gone out for the evening before making good her escape. She’d never truly trusted the toad when they’d been children, but given his behavior over the past fortnight she realized she knew little of his true character.

  For weeks she’d tried to ignore the whispers in the village about his wild behavior, the tales from shopkeepers of gaming and carousing with those unsavory London friends of his. After all, he was the only family she had at present. Cousin Trevor. She was ashamed they were related. When he crawled into her bed the night before and struck her after she’d refused him, it was more than she could bear. Thank goodness the drink had made him clumsy. She’d managed to avoid the full brunt of his blow.

  Peering through one mullioned window of the pub, she saw a few candles were still lit. She could just make out the shapes of chairs and tables.

  Shifting her valise to her other hand, she adjusted her cloak. The spring evening was chilly and damp, and her clothes were wrinkled from travel. She ran a hand over her blond hair, curled from the fog, and feared it looked even worse than it felt. No matter. At nineteen she was no longer a child, but a woman with a keen mind. She’d plead her case to Blake and refuse to take no for an answer. She wouldn’t let her brother’s best friend turn her away.

  Taylor thought back to a time when she had nothing to worry about but keeping her dress clean and her needlework straight. It seemed like only yesterday. Her brother was without a care, taking for granted that their father would live for a good long time. Robert had been more interested in going on adventures rather than settling down and managing the estate with their father. Despite their mother’s death nearly seven years ago, or perhaps because of it, Robert kept himself from spending much time at Shelby Manor. If he left his sister behind with his defection, he hadn’t seemed too concerned. As for his best friend Blake? The two of them were thick as thieves, and Blake had also stayed away from Sussex for the past few years. When had she seen Blake last? Perhaps at his engagement party. That would have been four years ago. Pushing the memory and the echo of pain it caused aside, she raised her fist and rapped on the rough wooden door.

  No answer came, so she raised her hand to knock again. Then she heard a shuffling noise from deep inside the building. Something, a chair perhaps, scraped on the floor and a deep voice muttered a curse. The latch was thrown and the door opened wide before her. A dark figure filled the doorway, the lone candle he held illuminating him.

  It was Baron Blake Thompson. Robert’s best friend. The only man who could help her now.

  Long legs clad in dark breeches were braced apart as his hand raked through his midnight-black hair. His white shirt was open at the throat. He’d grown taller, his shoulders wider. What had he been doing since leaving Sussex? Living the same mysterious life her brother did, no doubt. Her gaze reached his face. His finely-chiseled cheeks were dark with stubble, his blue eyes red-rimmed. She’d never found him more handsome. When she’d been a little girl she used to follow Robert and Blake around like a little puppy. They usually treated her with affectionate indifference, but they always came to her rescue when she got herself into one silly scrape or another. Whether it was snatching Cook’s freshly baked biscuits, which she gladly shared with them, or the time she begged them to help her hide the baby fox she’d ‘‘rescued’’ from the thicket so she could have a pet. She smiled at the memories. Oh, that was so long ago when everything was right, and now, everything was so wrong. She certainly needed Blake to rescue her now.

  “Hello, Blake,” she whispered.

  He blinked, thick lashes momentarily hiding his eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice rough.

  How could he not recognize her? Taylor shifted her feet, feeling her slippers pinch after the long night’s journey. Of course he didn’t recognize her. He’d been away from Sussex for four long years. She’d been a plump fifteen-year-old girl when she’d seen him last, that was true. She was a woman now. A woman with a serious problem that only he could solve. She had to put aside her fears, her worry, and fatigue. She had to tell him precisely who she was and why she’d come to him.

  She took a breath. “I’m Taylor Shelby. From Sussex.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed, then shook his head. He raised a hand to his brow and winced. “Robert’s sister.” Dragging his fingers through his hair again, he groaned softly. “Little Taylor.”

  Her lips thinned at his use of the blasted nickname. “Yes.” She flashed a smile she suspected was too bright for either the hour or circumstance. “I need your help.”

  “My help?” He ran those eyes over her again, no doubt taking in the rumpled cloak, her wild hair. “Has someone hurt you?”

  Yes. She dipped her head. She wouldn’t lay this at his feet as well. “No, I assure you.”

  �
�Then what can I do for you?”

  Taylor peered down the deserted street before facing him again.

  He followed her gaze. “No carriage stands on the cobblestones waiting for you, then. Are you alone?”

  She managed to keep her lips from trembling. “Yes.”

  Blessedly, he stepped back to let her in. She walked inside, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed at the stale air. The smell of burnt wood from a fire long extinguished and the ripe scent of ale, along with a sourness she couldn’t name.

  Blake placed the candle on the nearest table and shut the door. Crossing his arms, he leaned back on the door and regarded her more closely. “It’s late to be about these streets alone, Little Taylor.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with one hand. True, she scarcely reached five foot, three inches, but she was a woman full grown, no longer the ‘Little Taylor’ from back home.

  “I’m sorry.” She set down her valise and let out a sigh, brushing at the tangled golden strands tickling her face. “I’ve spent the past few hours in travel and I’m a bit tired.”

  “Forgive me, Taylor.” He bowed his head. “You’re no longer a child. Though I can’t imagine what you want from me.”

  “I need your help to find Robert.”

  Blake visibly stiffened. “I’ve been trying to find Robert. For the past month since he’s been missing. You . . . you have no place in this dark business.”

  “I have nowhere else to go,” she murmured as she removed her gloves. “I need to stay here at The Hideaway—I can work to pay my way.”

  “You need to stay here?” He straightened away from the door. “And work? Why?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of my father’s passing a fortnight ago,” Taylor said, wringing her hands. “A fall, of all things.” She swallowed, choking back tears.

  “No, I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

  She gave a shaky nod and sucked in a breath. “And with my brother missing for four weeks now . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “My cousin Trevor has taken up residence at Shelby Manor.” She couldn’t tell him of the strange goings-on in and around the manor, nor about Trevor’s behavior toward her. Not tonight. It was too distasteful to recount. Once they found Robert, Trevor would be removed and all would be well. “I couldn’t stay.”

  He fixed his gaze on her. “There’s more to what you’re not saying, I’d wager.” He cocked his head. “What has Trevor Shelby to do with this?”

  She opened her mouth, then shook her head. Her eyes stung with tears she couldn’t indulge at present.

  He cleared his throat. “Never mind that now,” he said. “You may stay here tonight. We’ll find you a vacant room abovestairs. The Hideaway’s patrons seldom pass the night.”

  Taylor nodded, her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you, Blake.”

  Picking up her bag, she walked toward the stairs set to the left of the doorway. She climbed first one, then two steps, fatigue slowing her pace.

  He took up the candle and joined her at the staircase. “Here, let me help you.”

  She turned and found herself face to face with him.

  His eyes went round. “My God, who struck you?”

  The blue of his eyes was more startling this close and she blinked in response. “It’s nothing.”

  “There is a bruise below your left eye.”

  “I . . . I was jostled about in the hack.”

  His eyes narrowed. “This is a bump from a rough carriage ride?”

  Taylor nodded. She needed Blake’s attention focused on finding Robert, not preoccupied with the distasteful subject of Trevor and his predilections.

  “Yes.”

  He stared at her cheek a moment longer, then took the bag from her hand. The brush of his fingers against hers sent a tingle up her arm.

  “Thank you.” She turned and continued up the stairs, very aware of him so close behind her. Her heart began to race and her skin prickled. She must be even more tired than she’d imagined.

  He showed her to a room halfway down the hallway. “Good. Clean and unoccupied.”

  Was that unusual? Taylor set her cloak and gloves on the small chair beside the door and in a few steps crossed the room to put the bed between them. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and out of sorts. After Trevor’s deplorable behavior, surely that was to be expected. Blake was a much larger man, to be sure. Though he’d made no threatening movements, her response to his appearance, his nearness, gave her more worry than she’d like to admit.

  He stood there for a moment, as if hesitant to leave, then placed her bag on the floor. He lit the candles on the bedstand before turning to go at last.

  “Blake?”

  He faced her. “Yes?”

  “You’ll let me stay here, won’t you? And give me a position? I won’t be a burden. I only want to find Robert.”

  He hesitated. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night.”

  She let out a sigh and gave a reluctant nod. He stood at her door for a moment and she gripped the bed frame to help her remain upright. She was so very tired.

  “You’ll tell me everything tomorrow, Taylor.”

  She gave him a practiced blank expression, one that apparently didn’t appease him as easily as it had her dear father over the years.

  “As stubborn as your bloody brother,” he grumbled.

  She said nothing to that as he closed the door behind him. She waited until Blake’s footsteps faded down the hallway before she sank down upon the iron bed, settling her chin in her hands. She’d nearly wept in relief when he’d said she could stay tonight. But it would take more than words to prove to him that she had to stay longer. Surely he was as tenacious as Robert when he got a notion in his head. How much would she have to divulge tomorrow to convince him?

  She stripped off her clothes and, clad in only her chemise, climbed beneath the covers on the narrow bed. She blew out the candles and curled under the linens. At least the sheets smelled clean, even if they were scratchy against her cheek.

  He would help her. He had to. “Thank you, Blake,” she yawned. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.

  * * *

  When Taylor awoke the next morning, her troubles came back to her in a rush. First Trevor’s disturbing behavior, then his quick show of violence when she’d refused him. She’d had no choice but to leave Shelby Manor while he was out for the evening. She hadn’t wanted to be home when he returned lest he come to her bed again.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms toward the low ceiling. She gazed about the small chamber. The carpet on the wood floor was worn, the curtains on the tiny window yellowed. A bedstand sat near the bed, and in the corner stood a plain privacy screen with a simple washstand beside it. A scratched wardrobe awaited the few clothes she’d brought. A sparse room, but for some reason, she felt at home here. It was warm and safe, and that was the important thing. From beyond the closed door Taylor heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor, accompanied by feminine voices.

  “How late that gentleman keep ya’ busy last night, Annie?” Taylor heard one ask.

  “He wasn’t up ta keepin’ me busy too late,” the other laughed. “But his pound notes’ll keep me for a while.”

  The first one murmured something Taylor couldn’t hear. “Last evenin’ only a few rooms were used. Makes our work easy this morn.”

  They must be the maids who kept the rooms, then. Did they pass the night here as well? One had entertained a gentleman, though Taylor didn’t know entirely what that meant. Where had Blake passed the evening? No. It was none of her business. Even though she’d worshipped him since she was a little girl. A foolish girl, really. He’d only ever seen her as Robert’s little sister. Then he fell for that horrid Pamela. Not that he’d married her in the end. And as much as she’d needled her brother, Robert had told her nothing about their break-up. So yes, she would keep her n
ose out of his personal affairs and get him to find her brother before all was lost.

  She would dress and seek him out this morning. She was more dependent on him than she admitted last night, and today she’d lay her problems at his feet. Would he be as generous with employment as he was with accommodations?

  She needed to work despite her station or Blake’s protestations. Work would keep her at The Hideaway. And close to London, the last place Robert had been seen.

  The bowl on the washstand was filled with tepid water, but the sooner she got used to a simple life here at The Hideaway, the better. She had no choice, did she?

  She washed herself and donned a fresh, if wrinkled, chemise and petticoats. The door opened and the two women framed within the doorway stared at her. Their simple brown muslin gowns, unadorned except for aprons, confirmed Taylor’s assumption that they were maids in the public house.

  She grabbed the towel off the washstand and held it to her chest. “Good morning.”

  The tall dark-haired maid eyed Taylor, shifting her pile of rumpled linens to one arm. “Who you be?”

  Taylor blinked at her forwardness.

  “Thompson’s tastes don’t run to little girls,” the shorter maid said. “Don’t fret, Polly.”

  Polly sniffed and ran her gaze over Taylor. She put her free hand on one hip and thrust out her bosom. “Aye.”

  Taylor bristled. Who was Polly to Blake? “I’m Taylor.”

  “Taylor?” Polly cut in. “What sorta name is that?”

  Taylor thought of her sweet mother then, of the woman’s family name she was proud to bear. Saying nothing, she just glared at her. The girl, Polly, flinched in surprise.

  “She ain’t the mouse she seems,” the second girl said, chuckling as her red curls bounced in response.

  The redhead, Annie who’d entertained a gentleman last night, sauntered down the corridor. Without another word to Taylor, Polly turned and followed Annie.

  Taylor took in a breath and crossed the room to shut the door. “What a pleasant way to start the morning.”