Innocence Lost Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Tiffany Green

  First published in 2010

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Praise for INNOCENCE LOST

  Innocence Lost

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  EPILOGUE

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing

  Other suspense-filled Roses to enjoy

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  He lowered his hands and took a step back.

  And as he turned and started to move away, Megan parted her lips. “Nicholas,” she groaned softly, torn at the thought of his leaving.

  He halted, his shoulders tensing. Then he slowly swiveled around.

  She wet her dry lips, realizing he was not going to return to her. She would have to go to him. He was leaving the decision solely up to her. Expelling a shaky breath, she took a step forward. Hope sparked in his eyes. And that was her undoing. With a squeak, she flew into his arms. “Oh, Nicholas,” she sighed, feeling him shudder. Then she lifted her head. “Kiss me,” she insisted, raising her hands to thread her fingers through his cool, soft hair.

  He closed his eyes and wagged his head from side to side, as though fighting some inward war. His jaw tightened, and Megan knew he was going to refuse her. Then he opened his eyes, eyes aflame with a fierce emotion she couldn't identify. And instead of pushing her away, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  She could not believe what she was doing. But somehow, being nestled in this man's arms, having his lips pressed against hers, felt right. With some inner certainty she new she belonged to Nicholas. Even as a child she knew. She had always belonged to Nicholas.

  Then an irate voice from the doorway startled her, making her gasp.

  "Get your bloody hands off of my sister."

  Praise for INNOCENCE LOST

  "The relationship between main characters Megan and Nicholas swings between tempestuous and tender, and their love scenes couldn't be hotter. With a splendid blend of romance, adventure, and drama this romance novel must be in the hands and on the shelves of the most discriminating romance reader."

  ~Camille Cline, former Tor/Forge editor

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  Innocence Lost

  by

  Tiffany Green

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  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 actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Innocence Lost

  COPYRIGHT (C) 2009 by Tiffany Green

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2009

  PRINT ISBN 1-60154-623-8

  Published in the United States of America

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  Dedication

  To Father. I couldn't have done it without you.

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  PROLOGUE

  Claremont Estate, England

  November 21, 1813

  On silent feet, drunk with giddiness, Lady Megan Westland padded across the room while the candle's flame danced from her candlestick. The thought of seeing him again shot strange lightning bolts up and down her body. Anticipation grew with each step. Her knees trembled. Thank goodness Julian wasn't here to see her. Her brother would box her ears.

  She halted a foot away from him and lifted the candle. Golden light poured over his face. She found him wearing the devil's own grin with his light-brown hair spilling past his collar—somewhat disheveled—and he looked every bit the rogue his mother claimed he was.

  With a pounding heart, Megan took a small step forward. Her eyes swept over him and heat flooded her cheeks. “Hello, Your Grace.” She glanced back up. My God! He was too handsome. “You're looking well today.” She paused and ran her tongue over dry lips, wondering how his mouth would feel against hers. Her breath caught. A girl of ten and three shouldn't think such thoughts, she knew, but she didn't care. She would do anything, anything, for a kiss from this man. This beautiful man. Why, she would even part with her beloved new pony, Aramis.

  Her thoughts returned to why he rarely visited Claremont. Megan knew her brother's presence seven short miles away had kept His Grace in London. “I wish you and Julian didn't hate each other so—” Megan halted when a noise sounded behind her. She spun around, aghast to find the door creeping open and light inching across the dark parquet floor, revealing the other portraits within the gallery. In a rush, she blew out her candle and darted behind the curtains covering the windows to her right.

  Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to ignore the smoke rising from the candlewick, Megan strained to hear over the pulse hammering in her ears.

  "What are you doing, Moll?"

  "I thought I heard someone, Ruth."

  Megan held her breath.

  "Heard someone? In here?” Ruth chuckled. “Not unless these portraits can talk, you didn't. Come on, we don't have time for such nonsense. We've got work to do."

  "I know I heard—” The door closed, muffling the last of the maid's sentence.

  Megan released her constricted breath and crept out from behind the damask fabric. Tiptoeing toward the door, she gave in to one last glimpse of him. Her steps faltered. A stream of pale November light had escaped the curtains she'd disturbed and illuminated his portrait.

  "Good bye, my love,” she whispered to his motionless face, then hurried from the room, hoping her mother and the dowager duchess hadn't been concerned with the length of her absence.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Claremont Estate, England

  March 3, 1818

  With a twinge of guilt, Lady Megan pulled on the riding breeches. She had taken the poor stable lad's pants. Again. But she'd had no choice. Her maid, Lucy, had found the pair she'd hidden in an old trunk in her dressing room, and there hadn't been time to bribe someone into purchasing another pair for her.

  Megan loved to ride above all else. Oh,
she knew it was quite unconventional for a duke's daughter to ride astride wearing breeches. According to her parents, society would think her mad. A raving loon ready for room and board at the asylum. But the exhilaration of racing across the meadow in the warm sun after a long winter was pure heaven.

  After she'd stuffed the large shirt into the borrowed pants, Megan pinned a wool cap over the chignon Lucy had constructed earlier. She had no wish to have anyone notice her long black hair and report those findings to her father. Megan shivered. Father would be none too pleased.

  Reaching for her horse, Aramis, Megan halted when a woeful nicker reached her ears. She turned to the last stall. “What is it, Titan?"

  Her brother's horse whinnied softly. She could swear the big brute was begging her. “All right.” She laughed, opening the stall. “I shall take you."

  Titan danced around as she located the saddle. “It's a terrible shame Julian doesn't come home and ride you more often.” The horse nodded his agreement.

  With a chuckle, she tightened the leather strap and scrambled into the saddle. After she patted the sleek, black neck, they flew from the stables toward the pink and gold sky, ready for an adventure.

  He leaned against a tree and watched her race away. She was wearing those deplorable clothes again. When she became his wife, he would make damn certain that never happened. His ring glistened as he opened his snuffbox and took a pinch. Why Lady Megan wanted to dress in breeches and ride astride a horse instead of wearing the finest silks, he would never know. She could damn well afford thousands of the finest gowns.

  The man reached for his handkerchief, his hand brushing against the note he would deliver. The first part of his plan was about to begin. The plan that would solve all his problems. The plan that would make him rich and make Megan his wife.

  Birds squawked overhead, then flew away. He gave the enormous estate of Kenbrook one last frown, then turned and walked further into the woods.

  "Your Grace, it is urgent I speak with you,” Higgins insisted, his words muted by the thick oak door.

  Nicholas frowned and cracked open an eye. His bed curtains hadn't even been tied back. “What time is it?” he croaked, his voice rusty with sleep.

  "Almost seven o'clock, Your Grace."

  "'S too bloody early. Go away.” He turned onto his side. Perhaps if he went right back to sleep, his dream would pick up where it had left—

  "It's your new stallion, Your Grace. It is missing."

  Nicholas popped open his eyes. “Missing?” He lifted his head. Throwing back the coverlet, he rose from the bed and swore when his feet connected with the cold floor. When he reached the door, he swung it open. “What in the bloody hell do you mean my new stallion is missing?” He'd had great pleasure in beating Huntington to the purchase, and now it was gone?

  "My apologies, Your Grace.” Higgins made a small bow. “The groom found the stall unlatched, and the horse gone just a few minutes ago. He has already assembled some men for the search."

  "I don't believe this.” It had taken Nicholas months to locate the animal and a great deal of blunt to secure it. And now some thief had ventured onto his estate and taken it right out from under him. His mood darkened. His mother was in residence. In fact, she resided here most of the time. If thieves had set their sights on the estate, she could be harmed. He turned toward his dressing room. “Summon my valet and prepare me a horse. I am going to find the stallion and catch this thief.” And the bloody scoundrel would wish he had never stepped one foot on Claremont.

  An hour later, Nicholas halted his horse within a copse of trees several feet from the stream's bank and glanced around. Damnation! He'd lost the trail. The horse must have gone into the stream.

  The sound of galloping hooves caught his attention. A black horse raced by, kicking up small clods of mud. A young lad, he deduced, espying the rider's shabby breeches and boots, was crouched over the horse's withers.

  The bloody scoundrel was making away with his missing stallion!

  Fortunately, the thief was speeding toward the main road. Nicholas knew he could overtake him by cutting through the woods.

  Without further consideration, he flanked his horse.

  Racing along the path, Megan watched the forest blur into streaks of brown, grey and green. The rising sun expunged the late winter air of its frosty bite and she closed her eyes, inhaling the spicy melange of pine, horseflesh, and rich, damp earth.

  Something darted into their path. Titan came to an unsettling halt and reared up. Her eyes flew open and she groped for something to hold on to, but she toppled head over bum from the saddle, and landed facedown in a puddle of cold, sticky sludge.

  Stunned, she lifted her head and forced air into her lungs.

  Flattening her palms against the bottom of the marshy pit, Megan hefted herself out. She cursed the snow for melting into these dreadful mud holes as she sat on a nearby tuft of brown winter grass. After wiping the muck from her eyes, she glanced about, wondering what had caused Titan's fright.

  The puddle lay to her left, and to her right stood two black Hessians, polished to a near blinding shine. Apprehension raced down her spine as a large hand descended and gripped her arm like a manacle.

  "Now I've caught you,” the man growled and hauled her to her feet.

  "Release me at once,” Megan demanded, tugging at her arm. Fear and anger swelled in equal measures. They stood midway between the seven-mile distance separating the Kenbrook and Claremont mansions. No one would hear if she screamed for help.

  Tipping her head up, Megan started to issue another demand for freedom when mud dripped into her eyes, blinding her. “Blast,” she hissed, blinking furiously. It burned like the devil. And wiping her eyes with her muddy hands would only make things worse. This thought came at the same time she realized the man hadn't let her go. She struggled.

  "Cease your squirming, scamp, and tell me where this horse came from."

  "I'll not tell you anything.” She continued to pull and twist, certain she'd have bruises for a month. “Now let me go.” Tears leaked from her stinging eyes.

  "You shall not be released until you tell me exactly where you got this horse.” His deep voice thundered with impatience.

  She opened her mouth to inform the blasted man that this was her brother's horse, and they were standing on her father's land, but she thought better of it. She had no idea who this man was or what his intentions were. What if he abducted her? Or worse? She swallowed hard. No one was around to stop him. With renewed determination, she fought even harder.

  "What the hell...? Cease your struggling at once,” the man barked. “You're getting mud everywhere.” As if to verify his statement, a glob of mud plopped right on those shiny boots.

  "You have no business with me.” A loud rip sounded in her coat's shoulder seam.

  "The hell I don't. You stole my horse."

  "What?” She squinted up at his blurry face in disbelief.

  "Don't act innocent, little thief, admit you—"

  "Thief? Thief?” she sputtered, then kicked the man square in his shin.

  He grunted in pain, then issued a nasty-sounding growl. Oh hell, now she'd done it. Before she realized it, he was dragging her away. “What do you think you're doing?” she squeaked, unable to mask her fear.

  He didn't answer. She blinked rapidly. The tears helped wash her eyes, and they didn't sting quite so bad. Her vision began to clear, and she could make out the stream ahead. Now, if she could just escape this madman.

  After several more steps, he halted. “All right, little thief, this is your last chance. Either you answer my questions, or I'll throw you in."

  She went rigid. He was insane!

  "Did you steal the horse alone, or had you assistance?"

  "I didn't steal—” The man took a step toward the stream. “All right,” she said, digging her heels into the marshy ground, “I shall tell what you wish to hear.” When he stopped and turned, she continued. “I run with a menacing b
and of cut-throats,” she lied. “Indeed, they wouldn't think twice about carving your liver out with a spoon and eating it for dinner.” She paused and turned toward the forest, pretending to scan the greenery. “They're surrounding us this very moment. You really ought to release me. Perhaps I can convince them to spare you.” She faced his tall, blurry form once again and prayed he would believe her.

  The man expelled a long sigh. “My patience is running thin, scamp. Just admit you stole the horse from my estate, and I might not send for the magistrate."

  Megan pulled at her arm, testing his hold. Blast! She might as well have been clapped in iron. “And where, pray, is your estate?"

  "Three miles from across the stream,” he said, nodding east.

  With an unmannerly snort, she shook her head. “Impossible, that estate belongs to the Duke of Claremont."

  Clamping his hands around her upper arms, the man leaned down and snarled, “It is not impossible since I am the Duke of Claremont.” While Megan's stunned brain absorbed those words, the blasted man lifted her off the ground and pitched her into the stream.

  And that was terribly unfortunate. She couldn't swim.

  Frigid water engulfed her and pulled her down. Thousands of icy needles pierced her skin. Unable to withhold her panic, Megan flung her arms about in a desperate attempt to rise to the surface. She kicked her legs, all the while thanking God she had swiped the stable lad's pants. A dress and petticoats would have pulled her straight down. Then again, she probably wouldn't be in this mess if she had worn a dress. Her head bobbed up once. She opened her mouth to scream, but swallowed water instead. Something pulled at her foot and down she went again. The more she struggled to rise, the lower she sank. Frantic, she peeled away her thick coat. But it didn't help.

  Oh, God, she was drowning. Her lungs burned.

  Then an arm slipped around her waist. She was lifted out of the water, choking and gasping, and set down on the coarse grass. The air she'd thought warm earlier sliced a frosty path through her skin and turned her bones to ice. Shivering, she wiped the wet strands of hair from her eyes, realizing her cap and hairpins were gone. She lifted her head. Her vision cleared, and she swallowed hard. Dear God, he was even more handsome than his portrait in the gallery at Claremont. Then it occurred to her that the duke might recognize her. She turned away. Oh, no, he mustn't recognize her, not looking like this!