Where the Viscount Met His Match, page 1
Where the Viscount Met His Match
Ways of Love - Book 2
Tabetha Waite
Copyright © 2022 Tabetha Waite
Cover Design by Covers & Cupcakes
This title is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to photocopy, digital, auditory, and/or in print, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for a review.
1st Edition - *Etopia Press electronic publication: June 2017
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
Season of the Spinster Series
Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)
Isabella’s Secret Summer (Book 2)
The Spinster’s Alluring Season (Book 2.5)
Alyssa’s Autumn Affair (Book 3)
Korina’s Wild Winter (Book 4)
Wanton Wastrels
The Rapscallion’s Romance
The Marauder’s Mistress
Sensual Scandals
A Jolly Little Scandal (0.5 prequel)
An Innocent Little Scandal (Book 1)
A Promising Little Scandal (Book 2)
Novellas
The Harlot’s Hero
Frozen Fancy
Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil
The Secrets of Shadows
The Piper’s Paramour
Kiernan Fantasy Series
The Kingdoms of Kiernan (Kiernan – Book 1)
Shared Worlds
Vanquished (K Bromberg’s Driven World)
Collections
An Everlasting Amour (A collection of short stories)
An Everlasting Christmas Amour
An Everlasting Regency Amour
An Everlasting Regency Amour – Volume 2
The Wedding Wager
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
This book is for all the readers who patiently waited for Roarke to tell me his story and everyone who supported an unknown with her debut. I still can’t believe I have fans! Xoxo
Contents
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Chapter One
London, England
Autumn 1819
* * *
“I can’t accept this.” Mara shook her head as she slid the obscene bank draft back across the table to Lady Rockford, where they conversed in private in the back room of Mara’s haberdashery on Cheshire Street. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s not true,” Athena countered with a slight hitch in her voice. “I owe you this and so much more for saving my life.” Reaching out, she grabbed Mara’s hand. “You have become one of my dearest friends, Miss Smith. Please allow me the chance to help you.”
And there it was…
Miss Smith.
Mara felt a stab of guilt toward the lie that separated her from the countess more than any rank or social standing ever could.
She knew at the beginning that it had been a mistake to befriend the former Miss Hawthorne, but sensing a kindred spirit, Mara had decided to do the right thing for once and help a friend, for heaven only knew those were in short supply for her as it was.
Athena was also common born and had fallen on hard times after her father passed and their jewelry shop had been sold off to pay false creditors some weeks ago. With Mara’s assistance, Athena had finally been able to reclaim her inheritance, and eventually she fell in love with the Earl of Rockford and married him.
But Mara was well aware that not every story had a happy ending.
At the sound of the front bell, Mara found the perfect opportunity to end the conversation. “I’m sorry, Lady Rockford, but my answer is no.”
With that, she walked away. She might have given up a chance at a better life, a small fortune really, but she was perfectly content running her modest haberdashery. It might be located in the very heart of Spitalfields, but it had been her saving grace.
Where one life had ended, another had begun.
But now, as she turned the corner, her worst fears had come to pass. In the blink of an eye, she stood face to face with the very man she had studiously tried to avoid for seven, long years.
Roarke Garrott, Viscount Eversleigh.
“Mara? ” His voice was hoarse with emotion as he came forward. “My God! It is you, isn’t it?”
She stared into those hauntingly familiar, hazel eyes as he reached out and grasped her upper arms and held tight as if he might never let go. His expression ranged from shock to anger and confusion before finally settling on— heaven help her— betrayal.
Mara ignored her bleeding heart and quickly fell into the role she was supposed to play. She struggled in his hold with a proper amount of righteous indignation. “Unhand me, sir! I don’t know who you think I am, but you are quite mistaken. I am Miss Anna Smith, proprietor of this establishment—”
He cut her off with a roar. “Don’t lie to me!”
Shaking her violently, he demanded, “What kind of cruel game have you been playing all these years? Do you realize the torment I’ve been through thinking that you were dead when all this time…?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, as if the very idea was unfathomable.
Athena’s husband, Orion Ashcroft, had been standing nearby and witnessing the exchange in silence, but finally intervened when the bell above the shop door tinkled again and a startled patron paused upon the threshold at the scene unfolding before her.
Laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he advised in low tones, “Roarke, now is not the time.”
As if finally coming to his senses, the viscount blinked rapidly before releasing her. Taking a step back, he ran a trembling hand through his hair.
For a moment, Mara had to look away. How many times had she run her hands through that sandy blond mane or kissed those chiseled lips?
Whether it was due to heartbreak or desire, he still tore her up inside.
Roarke took a deep breath. Finally, he raised his head to regard her once more, and the look on his face clearly conveyed that their business was far from over. He turned on his heel and walked stiffly out the door, brushing past the gaping customer so abruptly that she nearly stumbled in his wake.
“I apologize for my friend’s crass manner.”
Lord Rockford said, although Mara could sense that he regarded her more thoughtfully than before. “He has been under much duress upon his recent return to England.”
Mara swallowed over the lump of self-loathing clogging her throat. Unable to look the earl in the eye any longer, she glanced down and brushed off her skirts. “There’s no harm done, my lord.” Forcing herself to keep a neutral expression on her face, she turned to Athena, who had just joined them.
“Thank you again, my lady, for your generous consideration on my behalf. But if you’ll excuse me, I have a shop to run.” With that, Mara turned her back on the countess and her husband, focusing all her attention on the woman who had nearly been run over by Roarke but had recovered enough to riffle through the colorful ribbons on display.
Mara held her breath until the bell above the door chimed again and she knew they had gone. Her nerves were still finely tuned even after she heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves as the Rockford barouche rattled down the cobblestone street. Thankfully, her one customer did not tarry overlong and, after quickly selecting a few fripperies, took her leave as well.
That’s when Mara collapsed.
It started out as a trembling through her limbs as she turned the Open sign to Closed and locked the shop door. But before she could even make it to the back room, she burst into a fit of tears, years of strain and unrequited love flowing down her cheeks. She quickly wet a cloth to press over her feverish skin, thankful she was alone and that no one was around to witness her fall from grace.
She hadn’t realized how much of an effort it had taken to remain so aloof and unaffected in front of Roarke. This wasn’t the first time she’d clapped eyes on him since his return to London nearly three weeks ago. However, it was the first time she’d been face to face with him in over seven, long years.
Time had changed him only slightly, for he still had narrow hips, a slim stomach, and broad shoulders, but maturity had given him a raw edge that hadn’t been there before. He’d always taken pride in his appearance and his attire today had reflected that. Dressed as he’d been in a pair of buff breeches, gleaming Hessians, with the perfectly white cambric shirt and gold threaded waistcoat, all topped with a starched cravat and brown jacket, everything fit him to perfection, although no one would dare call him a dandy. He exuded too much power and masculinity for that.
He was as handsome as ever—and just as untouchable.
And now that Roarke had recognized her?
Mara felt her chest tighten. She could hope that he might let the matter go, but unfortunately it would be in vain, for she knew him all too well. Roarke had always had a sharp mind to match his handsome looks. He would return, and she would become the villain without even gaining the benefit of a trial, for he would never believe the sordid truth that had led Mara to tear herself from his life so completely.
Shaken, Mara gathered up her few personal belongings and what meager allowance she kept in the cash register. Throwing on her cloak, she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, pulled her hood low, and rushed off down the street.
The carriage ride back to Rockford’s townhouse passed in strained silence as Roarke stared broodingly at the passing scenery, drawn back to the past.
It had been the Christmas season of 1811—the first time he’d met her. Mara Miller had taken residence at Eversleigh Hall with her father, Jack, only two months prior when he had been hired on as the head gardener. Normally, a young man on holiday from Eton with the world laid out before him wouldn’t concern himself with the newly-hired help at his ancestral estate, but one particular day had always remained vivid in his mind because it had changed everything.
He’d just come back from an early morning ride on his favorite mount. He was feeling windblown and carefree, so in an attempt to avoid his mother and her constant needling, he decided to bypass the front parlor where he knew she would be cloistered with her embroidery. With long, purposeful strides, he nearly scared the wits out of the kitchen staff as he headed for the back servant’s stairs.
Some people believed one’s life could change in the blink of an eye. For Roarke, that moment occurred when he first saw that golden-haired, green-eyed girl.
As the carriage ground to a halt, Roarke roused himself from the past with a shake of his head. There was no point in dredging up old memories. He had to focus on the present and figure out exactly what the bloody hell had happened today.
Rion whispered a few words to his new bride, to which Athena nodded, and with the assistance of a footman to climb out of the carriage, she went inside the townhouse.
Once she was gone, Roarke gave a bark of derision. “You don’t have to say anything, Rion. I know that look. You’re going to tell me that I need to give it a few days to calm down, but what you don’t seem to understand is that I’ve been in my own personal hell for the past seven years, trying to escape the pain of the past. I went to India, thinking that I could get away from it, when all this time, she was here in London.” He chuckled. “How the hell is that for irony?”
Rion blew out a heavy breath as if words escaped him. “What are you planning to do?”
Eversleigh clenched his jaw. “I’m going to get her to tell me the truth. Every. Single. Bloody. Word.”
The earl sighed. “Then I suppose there isn’t anything left to say.”
“Indeed.” Roarke didn’t wish to appear ungrateful, for he realized Rion had acted on a rational point of view, whereas if Roarke had allowed his tumultuous emotions to continue to lead him, he might have thrashed that lying wench to within an inch of her life.
“If you need anything, all you have to do is ask,” Rion offered, to which Roarke extended a hand.
After a brief shake that said far more about their friendship than words ever could, the viscount felt his features relax slightly. “I appreciate that, Rockford. I’ll be in touch.”
After Roarke collected his prize mount, Aristides the Just, from Rockford’s stables, he returned to Cheshire Street. To think that he had believed Mara to be dead and buried all these years, only to come face to face with her in the flesh… She had given him the shock of his life.
So yes, she would give him answers, as many as he demanded until he was satisfied with what she had to say.
By the time he reigned in before the haberdashery, the sign on the door had been turned to Closed, and there was no sign of life inside.
Roarke felt his jaw tighten. Obviously, the chit wasn’t as keen on a reunion.
No matter. With a little assistance from Mr. Andrews and his investigators, Roarke would catch up with her. And he would have the truth.
For most men of the aristocracy and gentry, 13 Old Bond Street, the home of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, was a place to expend a bit of energy and perhaps place a few innocent bets. But then there was the other side of London. In the Whitechapel district, men of common birth fought for much more than simple exercise. Daniel Mendoza, another revered pugilist who had fought and lost against Jackson and decided that a bit of rivalry was in order, had been overseeing another London fighting “club” for the past several months. While true boxing
matches were frowned upon in the heart of London, there was a section roped off on the grassy fields in the East End where the bare-knuckle sport was fought with no holds barred.
Today, as on many such occasions, a crowd had gathered, eyes glued to the two men in the middle of the eight-foot ring. Many were waving their fists in the air and screaming for the contestant they had placed money on.
Mara hated coming to these bloodbaths, but since it was Big B’s winnings that were keeping them afloat—certainly selling ribbons and buttons wasn’t going to accomplish much—she supposed she should be grateful that he’d been discovered by Mendoza at The Admiral Nelson pub when he had.
Otherwise, things would be much different for them now.
Bentley, or Big B as he was known in the boxing world, was her one true friend. He had been an African slave with skin the color of midnight, whom she had chanced to rescue on a slave ship bound for Brazil nearly three years ago. He was mute, for the captain of the slaver had ordered his tongue cut out for insubordination. Since he couldn’t read or write, Mara had done her best to teach him his letters.
He had caught on quickly and was finally able to spell out his name, Bentley. Big B became his nickname, as he stood well over six feet tall with bulging muscles that made most men wary of stepping into the ring with him.
In reality, he was a lamb.
Able to catch sight of him just now, the crowd shifting enough for her to glimpse the fight, Bentley’s fist suddenly connected to his rival’s jaw in a sickening crunch. Mara couldn’t help but cringe. Well perhaps he wasn’t a lamb, but he was certainly a gentle giant where she was concerned. As the other man fell to the ground with a hard thud, a cheer went up around the ring when one of the umpires lifted Big B’s arm into the air in victory. It was amazing to Mara that no matter how many rounds he went, other than a sheen of perspiration on his massive barrel chest and a few bloody knuckles, he never looked the worse for wear.
As for his opponent … Mara winced again as the other man was carried away on a makeshift stretcher. He undoubtedly would have a few broken bones to nurse over the next few weeks.
As the crowd began to disperse, a few onlookers pushed forward to shake Big B’s hand and congratulate him on his win. He glanced up and noticed Mara standing on the sidelines. Ignoring the praise being showered upon him, he reached down and picked up his shirt and his few belongings from the edge of the ring and moved through the throng of people until he reached her side.
