The Touch of a Storme (The Storme Brothers Book 5), page 1
The Touch of a Storme
The Storme Brothers
Book Five
Sandra Sookoo
© Copyright 2022 by Sandra Sookoo
Text by Sandra Sookoo
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 23
Moreno Valley, CA 92556
ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition March 2022
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Sandra Sookoo
The Storme Brother Series
The Soul of a Storme (Book 1)
The Heart of a Storme (Book 2)
The Look of a Storme (Book 3)
The Sting of a Storme (Book 4)
The Touch of a Storme (Book 5)
A Storme’s Christmas Legacy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Sandra Sookoo
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
About the Author
Stay in Touch
Chapter One
June 10, 1818
London, England
As the Honorable Isobel Storme wiped at the tears on her cheeks, the oval-shaped ruby ring sitting on the middle finger of her right hand winked in the early summer sunlight. Though cheerful, warm illumination streamed through the windows of her mother’s bedchamber, it brought anything but that emotion.
The truth of the matter was that her mother—Viscountess Doughton—was dying. It had been a slow, torturous road to arrive at this point, but the disease of her lungs had accelerated. All too soon, she’d leave this mortal coil, and that was an eventuality Isobel wasn’t prepared for, no matter how much time she’d had to acclimate.
“Don’t cry so, Isobel. You’ll ruin your looks,” her mother admonished in a whispered voice. At least there was a smile on her wan face. “I didn’t give you the ring to make you sad.”
“What else am I to think, Mother?” Again, she glanced at the ruby. The facets winked in the sunlight, as did the delicate silver filagree work that held the three-carat stone. “Father gave it to you upon your wedding.” And since that union had been fraught with problems and strife, the ring would forever remind Isobel that being wed didn’t necessarily mean being in love.
Which suited her mindset regarding matrimony just fine. She’d rather find fun and entertainment with men instead of a gilded cage and the end to her freedom.
“I’m ready to go,” her mother continued. “There will be no more pain, or struggle to breathe. Perhaps I can see your father again after all this time.” A sigh escaped her. “I only wish I could have lived long enough to see you and Caroline matched and cared for.”
From sheer willpower alone, Isobel tamped the urge to point her gaze at the ceiling. “I’m not a marriage-minded lady. You’ve known this for a long time.” As for her older sister Caroline. Well, she couldn’t say what her life held in store, for her sister had only just come back into her life from being locked away in an institution for the mentally deficient. “I rather doubt Caroline is looking for a husband either, for different reasons, of course.”
“You need someone to take care of you, Isobel.”
“I don’t.” What she needed was for someone to understand her, someone who would pay exclusive attention to her when all she’d ever wanted out of life was to gain the notice of the people she loved. Being the youngest member of the family had assured she’d fallen through the cracks and was ignored.
It was no secret the Storme family had been—and oftentimes still was—embroiled in scandal and upheaval. At times that reputation worked splendidly in her favor, for courting scandal was a favorite way of filling her days, but at others, it grated.
Would she ever have a life removed from the Stormes, to move away from that large and impressive—sometimes oppressive—shadow?
“You’re searching for love. I can see it deep down in your eyes,” her mother continued. When she coughed, the pristine white handkerchief she dabbed her lips with came away with flecks of blood. “We failed you in that, and I’m heartily sorry.” Her laugh was an exhausted sound. “Your father and I failed both you girls, and I fear we passed that trait on to William.”
Isobel snorted. “He is a tad overbearing, this is true, but ever since William married Fanny, he’s mellowed slightly.” Her older brother wed a few weeks ago to a woman nearly ten years his junior, and one of Isobel’s friends to boot. While it was exciting having Fanny in the family fold to exchange secrets with, it wasn’t the same as having William’s full attention any longer. “Every one of the Stormes has their own lives. I’m once again… lost.” The last was said on a whisper, and she glanced at the ruby ring her mother had given her.
“But that’s all to the good.” Her mother rested her tired gaze on Isobel. “Those boys were wild and scattered. Now they’re married, which provides a bit of peace for them. Being together last Christmas went a long way to repairing the rift between the Storme branches. I’d hoped it would have helped you as well.”
“It didn’t. Not truly.” In some agitation, Isobel stood up from the chair at her mother’s bedside. “I’m not seeking marriage, Mother. I don’t want my wings clipped.”
“Oh, Isobel.” A note of hopelessness lingered in her mother’s voice. “If the Storme brothers taught you anything it’s that the right man won’t stifle the lady they take to wife. Each of those boys has a wonderful helpmeet; they complement each other. There is nothing to say the same won’t happen for you.”
“I’ve seen enough men to know those three are an aberration.” She shrugged. “Besides, the Stormes are a unique bunch.”
“Of course they are, but please promise me you’ll consider letting someone court you. I’d like to know that during the time I have left you’re making inroads to settle your life.”
“Ah. You want me tamed.” How disappointing. “I enjoy creating sensations.”
“It’s scandalous, and if you keep on, no man will have you.” Censure had crept into her tones.
“Then I want none of them. If they can’t take me on as I am, they’re not worthy.” Isobel shook her head. At eight and twenty, she’d long been a hoyden and, as her cousin Andrew called her, a problem waiting to happen. There was a reason for that. She adored the control she maintained over her reputation and adored when tongues wagged or heads turned. A demure, proper life had never appealed to her. The attention that came along with aberrant behavior helped to distract her from the turbulence all around her.
“Isobel…”
Suddenly possessed of the need to put distance between her and the inevitable death of her remaining parent, she headed toward the open doorway. “Don’t worry, Mother. I won’t do anything as rash as you fear.”
Much.
No sooner had she stepped one foot into the corridor beyond than Hankins, their butler, entered at the end of the hall.
> “Miss Storme, the Earl of Hadleigh is here to see you,” the stately man announced in tones he no doubt thought were mysterious and thrilling. “He’s waiting in the drawing room, and he’s quite in a rush.”
What the devil is Cousin Andrew doing here? She sighed. “Very well.” As Isobel followed the butler down the stairs, she racked her brain over the events of the last few days to discover what the earl would have had issue with. Then she scrunched up her face. Ah, that bit of scandalous flirting at a ball two days ago. Or was it the handsome groom she stole a kiss from yesterday while visiting with a friend? Obviously, the on-dits had finally made the rounds.
Drat, drat, drat!
Anxiety put knots into her belly as she entered the drawing room. She drew her hands down the front of her jonquil cotton gown, wished she’d worn a color that gave her more of a calm disposition, and then approached her cousin—the Earl of Hadleigh and current head of the Storme family. He stared out one of the windows with his hands clasped behind his back, but from the rigid set of his broad shoulders and the way he held his head, he was already annoyed.
Drat.
“Hullo, Cousin Andrew. How wonderful to see you today.” Her attempt to infuse enthusiasm into her voice fell flat. “I assumed your schedule didn’t allow for visiting.” Two months ago, Andrew’s wife was delivered of a baby girl, and the earl’s life had been rather hectic since. To say nothing of his duties in Parliament coming to an end for this year’s session. According to family gossip, he’d argued a few times on the House of Lords floor but failed to win over older, more traditional peers to his way of thinking. “How does the babe fare?”
“Don’t think to distract me, Cousin Isobel.” Andrew turned to face her, and even though the afternoon sun backlit him, concern was evident on his face. For two seconds, though, his eyes softened, and he became an entirely different man than the cousin she’d come to know since last Christmastide. “Lady Penelope is a tiny little doll. I still can’t believe I have a daughter.”
“Yes, she is quite a charming thing.” Even though Isobel couldn’t imagine settling down enough to have children, her brand-new cousin would soon steal the hearts of everyone. “How is Sarah’s health?” It had taken nigh onto two days to bring the babe into the world. The countess had yet to leave the house, and Andrew guarded her health zealously. It was difficult to tell which one he loved more fiercely—his wife or his new child.
“She’s well and improving in strength with each passing day. Soon she’ll be back to her old self and ready to receive visitors.” Then he cleared his throat and the customary mask of irritation slid back into place. “I thank you for your inquiries, but I’m not here to discuss either of them.” He gestured to a low sofa. “Please, sit.”
Which meant what he had to say would come in the form of a lecture. With a small huff, Isobel marched over to the indicated piece of furniture and flounced onto it.
“Where’s William?”
“How should I know?” She shrugged. “I’m not his keeper, and his schedule is too difficult to sort.” Even more so since he’d wed. He adored his position as a Principal Officer with Bow Street, so much so that he’d only taken a week away for his wedding trip.
And of course due to their mother’s fragile health.
“He was supposed to be here by now.”
Another confirmation that a lecture was in store, if both Andrew and her brother would head this discussion. “I can’t imagine what’s bothering you, Cousin,” she said in a sweet voice and dared to bat her eyelashes at him. It was outrageous enough, but it would either cajole him into a better mood… or infuriate him.
One never knew with Andrew.
“Don’t insult my intelligence or yours with that attitude.” Andrew once more clasped his hands behind his back as he leveled his angry gaze on her. “These past handful of weeks you’ve become a veritable powder keg of scandal. Sooner or later, you’ll explode into a mess that even my reach won’t be able to smooth over.”
At least he didn’t waste time. “What particular incident have you taken exception to?”
His eyes narrowed and his chest swelled, straining the buttons of his waistcoat. Then, he took a deep breath and let it ease out. “Does it matter? It seems you go out of your way to cause scandal, but if I were to pick something, the most recent of which was the shameful flirting you did at the Waterfords’ rout two nights past. I heard you had a bevy of young men fairly eating out of your hand and that you very nearly lured two into an unused parlor.”
Well, the gossipmongers hadn’t been wrong… Remembering those two men prompted a grin she didn’t quite hide quick enough. Twin sons of a viscount and sinfully handsome to boot. A few years older than her, they cared nothing for propriety and were just the sort of men she wished to coerce into illicit embraces.
When she caught Andrew glaring, she sobered. “They were quite insistent.” Of course, she encouraged them…
“You cannot continue with that behavior.” Her cousin shook his head, and he softened his tones. “I’m not against your having a choice, but please have a care. If you go down this path, you’ll be labeled fast or too scandalous for a decent man.”
“Piffle.” Isobel waved a hand in dismissal. “I never said I wanted a decent man. Where’s the fun in that?”
His eyes narrowed. “For God’s sake, settle on one.” He ran a hand along the side of his face. “Your mother and William are both worried. Poor Aunt Patricia doesn’t need her last days on this earth filled with that.”
Isobel’s chest tightened with the urge to flee, to run through London and far away from this house. Above all, she refused to cry in front of her cousin, let alone show any sort of emotion. That wasn’t who the Stormes were. Instead, she drew upon the anger that was all too easy to find these days. “What do you know of my life, Andrew?”
“A fat lot more than you assume.” His expression softened. “I know what you’re going through, and I’ll help if I can. Perhaps if you talked about what’s bothering you?”
That didn’t sound like her cousin at all, but then, he was still growing since he’d married. She blew out a breath. “Everything is changing. You Storme boys have barely come back into my life, but now you’re all married and have your own interests. William just wed. Caroline keeps herself away from everyone. That leaves me alone with Mother.” A ball of tears rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “And she’s dying.”
Don’t show weakness, Isobel. Women seeking scandal need to be strong.
“I understand.”
Isobel snorted, for his compassion felt out of character, which left her even more confused about him. “Obviously, you don’t understand that much, for you’re anxious and concerned about only your growing little family.” She clasped her fingers in her lap. “You have rarely visited Mother; Caroline hasn’t. And now William has other duties that take his time.”
“I’ll try to do better, Cousin.” When it appeared he would have taken the spot next to her on the sofa, he held his position, perhaps doubting his reception. “Whether you believe it or not, Aunt Patricia’s impending death saddens me.”
“Yes, well, it stifles me, presently. Why can I not have a bit of fun before my mother dies and I’m forced into mourning?” She found his gaze with hers. “For so long I’ve been caught up in the wreck of the Stormes. I need the freedom to find out who I am outside of this family.”
That was perhaps the most truth she’d ever shared with him.
Before Andrew could answer, her brother William dashed into the room flushed and looking for all the world as if he’d been involved in wicked, delicious things.
“My apologies for being late. I was on a case,” he said, mostly to Andrew, who merely gave him a curt nod.
Isobel rolled her eyes. And he’d no doubt found time along the way to dandle his new wife. “Such gammon, Wills. You look as if you’ve had a quick tryst. Perhaps in a carriage.” It would be all too easy for him since his wife was a journalist and worked with him on his Bow Street cases. “Naughty boy.”
Both Andrew and William stared at her with red faces, which prompted a wildly inappropriate laugh from her. They had no clue that some of the literature she’d read was of a more erotic bent than that. To say nothing of the stories she’d heard from some of her married girlfriends or from listening to the maids.
