Devil at the Gates Read online

  Redmond’s eyes burned as he thanked Maria. He never thought that they would say that they believed him. When he’d told them of Millicent’s death all those years ago, they’d left his home heartbroken, just as he had been. But he had feared, as the years passed, that they might have believed the rumors that he’d killed her. But they hadn’t. They were here to celebrate Christmas, moving forward.

  He cleared his throat and glanced toward the main stairs. His heart stopped. Harriet descended alone. Her satin gown was the color of ivy, and the hem and bodice were embroidered with gold ivy leaves. Her skirt split apart to reveal a red petticoat down the middle, and a thin layer of gold netting was draped over her outer skirts. Her blonde hair was pulled back, and a duchess’s coronet, one that had belonged to the women of Frostmore for two hundred years, was nestled in her artful coiffure. She hadn’t wanted to wear it, not until she was officially a duchess, but with a little help from Maisie, she’d been convinced to wear it. She moved as though she were in a dream. He went to her, catching her hand as she reached the last step.

  “Happy Christmas, darling,” he whispered as he led her to the crowd of people gathered in the hall. Then he made an announcement for everyone to follow him into the long portrait gallery. There was no formal ballroom at Frostmore, but the gallery was long and wide. Musicians inside struck up a merry waltz, and couples began to form for the first dance. Redmond pulled Harriet into his arms.

  “Harriet?” he said as they began to dance beneath the candlelight.

  “Yes?” She gazed at him with luminous eyes that saw into his soul.

  “Marry me. Tomorrow. I have a special license from London. Marry me and become my duchess.” They stopped dancing, and he pulled out the small box with his mother’s ring inside, inlaid with a large brilliant ruby, surrounded by small diamonds.

  “Oh, Red,” she gasped. “Of course I will. Yes!”

  He slipped the ring upon her finger, and the couples who had witnessed the proposal broke into applause. He held her close, wanting to kiss her, but he had caused enough of a scandal for one night.

  They began to waltz again. As the couples around them joined back in, Redmond’s heart caught in his throat as he recognized two figures dancing in the crowd. Their pearly luminescent glow was otherworldly as they spun between the other guests, unseen by all but him. He swallowed hard as he watched them smile and twirl before they both looked his way. His heart stopped as he recognized quite clearly their pale faces, which were full of joy. A moment later their forms transcended time itself as they faded into shimmering stardust before his eyes.

  “Red? What’s wrong?” Harriet asked, her worried eyes fixed on his face.

  “Nothing. Everything is finally, truly fine.” He smiled as he focused on his future wife.

  If love truly was a book, then he had turned the first page, and all he saw was Harriet’s face. Whatever spirits had haunted Frostmore were at peace now. And for the first time in seven years, Redmond looked toward the future instead of the past, with the love of his life dancing in his arms.

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  Thank you so much for reading Devil at the Gates! I hope you enjoyed Harriet and Redmond’s love story! England was once famous for its gothic ghost stories during the yuletide season!

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  If you love a good enemies to lovers romance, where a fortune hunter accidentally sneaks into the wrong bedroom and ends up wed to a prickly older sister of the woman he intended to marry, then you should check out my Taming of the Shrew-ish romance A Gentleman Never Surrenders which you can grab HERE or keep reading to see a three chapter sneak peek of bad boy Owen and his unintended bride Milly!

  A Gentleman Never Surrenders

  Chapter 1

  London, October 1911

  Owen Hadley reclined in a leather armchair in one of the gaming rooms of Brooks’s club on St. James Street, a glass of brandy warming his hand as he glowered at the occupants of the room. It was late in the evening and many of the old regulars of Brooks were coming in for supper. Owen’s attention was only partially on the young lords gambling away their fortunes. A scowl curved his lips down as he watched the coins and pound notes changing hands.

  He was in bad need of money, and the irony was not that his need arose from any vice or fault of his own. At thirty-two he was the only male heir in his family, and his estate in the Cotswolds depended on him. While he’d be away fighting a war, the land and house had fallen into disrepair and the tenant farms had been abandoned. Only a large influx of money could bring it back to life. Money he didn’t have. Being merely landed gentry, land was all he had, and his was hurting.

  I need a wife.

  As much as he was loathe to admit it, marrying an heiress would solve the problem. But finding a woman and getting approval from her father for the match would be difficult. There were many other men, impoverished peers who could offer young ladies and their families’ titles as trade for their dowries. Owen grimaced. He could offer no titles, nothing else to persuade a lady to marry him. He glanced about the other tables in the club, misery darkening his mood further.

  One of the young men nearby cheered as he won a winning hand. The temporary excitement in the tame quiet of the room was grating on Owen’s ears. He scowled in the direction of the exuberant gamblers. The downward movement of his lips and the tensing of his cheeks caused a bolt of pain along his bruised jaw. One week ago, he’d caught a train down to Hampton House, the country residence of his close friend Leo Graham, the Earl of Hampton.

  One of the house party guests had been a divine raven-haired creature named Ivy Leighton. Her father was the owner of a London newspaper. He was nice and more importantly he was rich. The possibility of seducing the nouveau-riche newspaperman’s daughter had been impossible to resist. A very rich young lady who would have set his home well up with her fortune. Owen had been so close to saving his estate, but he’d acted foolishly.

  Perhaps a little too foolishly, he amended. Leo had gotten upset when he found Owen trying to steal a kiss from the young lady. Owen had been attempting to compromise her in the presence of witnesses. In such a situation, marriage would have been guaranteed, but Hampton had come upon them first and knocked Owen senseless. He still didn’t understand why he and his friend, a man he’d never quarreled with before, had come to blows without warning over a woman. Owen had never felt strongly enough about any woman to throw a punch for her.

  “Hadley?” A familiar voice disturbed him from his thoughts. He glanced up to see Leo staring at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

  “Hampton,” he replied, a tad gruff. He hadn’t enjoyed his friend rendering him unconscious by snapping him a good blow to the jaw. It hadn’t been too sporting to strike a man unawares, and Owen’s pride stung a little.

  “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been ages since we enjoyed a night at the club—”

  “What do you want?” Owen growled.

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I owe you an apology for hitting you. But damnation, Owen, you were in the wrong.”

  Owen shot him a challenging glare. “Why did you hit me? I was trying to secure myself a wife. Ms. Leighton would have been perfect for me.”

  “I couldn’t let you have her—Ivy, I mean.” Hampton lowered his voice. Speaking of a lady, even in good terms, in a club was taboo. Owen didn’t care for such rules, but Leo was more of a gentleman. Ever since they were lads, Owen had always been the one more likely to get into trouble.

  “Why not? Are you…interested in her?” Owen prodded, sensing there was a change in his friend. Leo seemed more…alive, like the old Leo he’d been before his father had died and the responsibilities of the estate crushed all the fun out of him.

  “We were childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since she was eight, and when I met up with her again…I fell for her, hard. She’s agreed to marry me.” Leo’s cheeks turned a ruddy red as he admitted this, and Owen would have laughed under other, less-tense circumstances.

&
nbsp; So Leo was marrying the heiress? Lucky devil. But I’m the one who really needed her.

  “I see.” Owen sat back in his chair, which was close to the wall near the electric bell. He rang it and waited for the attendant. If he and Leo were going to have a discussion involving women, he needed a stiff drink.

  “I should have declared my intentions toward her, Hadley. I would have, but damned if I didn’t know what my intentions were until I saw you with her.” Leo eased into a chair opposite Owen and nodded toward the bruised spot on Owen’s face. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Owen’s annoyance with his friend was temporarily weakened.

  “I hope we can go on as we were before?” Leo inquired, his tone still low, careful. Leo was always so bloody cautious. Except when it came to Ivy Leighton, apparently. After Leo’s unexpected show of violence, Owen hadn’t stayed at Hampton House. He’d run back to London like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs. But their friendship ran river deep and he was not about to let a quarrel over a woman destroy that bond.

  “Of course,” he reassured his friend. “You can make it up to me by finding me a rich wife,” he half jested, but Leo saw through the sardonic air he’d usually cloaked his troubles with.

  A servant came over with a decanter and refilled Owen’s glass before offering Leo his own drink, which he accepted gratefully. After the servant left, Leo shot him a meaningful look.

  Leo inched closer. “It’s Wesden Heath, isn’t it?”

  Rather than reply, he nodded. The state of his home’s affairs was dire, and thinking of it turned his stomach. And he didn’t want to keep discussing his crumbling estate with his friend.

  “Perhaps I can help you there. Ivy and I will be hosting another house party soon, for a Scottish lord Mother knows, someone related to her cousin I believe. Would you consider coming back for it? The Pepperwirths have just allowed their youngest daughter, Miss Rowena, to have her come-out. She’s a lovely creature. Eighteen and a sizeable dowry. I know you’d do well by a wife, Hadley, so you might have a chance with her. Perhaps, if you play your hand right…” Leo trailed off, letting Owen pick up on his unspoken suggestion.

  Owen sat up, confused. “Mildred Pepperwirth has a little sister?” He nearly laughed, which would have been the height of rudeness. Mildred was the eldest daughter of Viscount Pepperwirth, whose lands abutted Leo’s to the west. She was a beauty, but cold and lacking in personality and warmth. The woman didn’t even dance, for heaven’s sake. Owen loved a woman who danced, who laughed and smiled. A woman should be happy; she should be brilliant and witty, not a cold shrew. Owen couldn’t help but wonder how Rowena would compare to her sister, Mildred.

  Leo’s lips twitched. “She does. As I understand it, Lord Pepperwirth is very protective of Rowena and she’s been quite closeted away until now. Say you’ll join us and I would be happy to put in a good word for you with her father.”

  An attendant appeared with a tray, offering two glasses of brandy for Owen and Leo.

  “Put mine on my account. I’ll pay before I leave tonight,” Owen informed the attendant. Once the man had left, they were relatively alone again and Owen faced his friend.

  “Does Miss Rowena have any potential suitors who might throw punches too?”

  Leo threw back his head in a hearty booming laugh. “Heavens, no. Though she made quite a stir during her presentation. Best if you act fast, woo the young lady before she meets any other men.”

  Owen sighed. “Very well, I’ll come.” Wooing was not a problem. He’d been wooing ladies since he was a young man. It was his lack of prospects that damaged his cause. No one wanted to marry a bloody fortune hunter, which was exactly what he was. And he hated it. Chasing women just for money left him hollow but he had no choice. His home, Wesden Heath, was sacred to him. When he’d returned from the war, scarred and broken, the wooded glens and fields of wildflowers had been his healing haven. He couldn’t give it up without a fight.

  “Excellent. You supping here tonight?” Leo rose from his seat.

  “Planned to. You?” Owen rolled his brandy back and forth between his palms before he and Leo exited the gaming room.

  “Yes, actually. I’ll join you, if you don’t mind the company.” Leo grinned.

  “Only if you tell me more of this young lady I’m to woo.” Owen was relieved he and Leo were on good terms again. It wasn’t at all the thing to quarrel with one’s good friends. Not after everything he’d been through during the war and afterward. Good friends were worth their weight in gold and he would never forsake one, not for anything.

  “Well”—Leo glanced about again, apparently determined not to be overheard—“she’s quite the beauty, with flaxen hair and cornflower blue eyes…”

  “Were you nervous, Milly?”

  Mildred Pepperwirth glanced into the mirror of her polished walnut vanity table to meet her younger sister’s gaze. They were in a lavish guest room at Hampton House attending a house party through the weekend. It was the first formal dinner party in the country for her sister Rowena to attend since she’d turned eighteen.

  “Nervous about what?” Milly waited patiently as their lady’s maid Constance tucked the last few tendrils of Milly’s chestnut hair into place. The maid had created an elegant coiffure that left a mass of hair in thick, coiled strands almost in a Grecian fashion. A green fade comb studded with diamonds was nestled in the base of her hair, keeping the intricate coils bound together.

  Rowena, perched on Milly’s bed, was already dressed in a white lace evening gown, one suitable for a young lady only just come out into society. She tugged on her elbow-length white gloves, fidgeting with them until she’d tugged them too tight and then was forced to loosen them again.

  Milly fought off a smile. Her little sister had no reason to be nervous. She was exquisite and every male eye would be on her once she joined the other guests downstairs.

  “Oh, you know. The parties, the balls, the suitors?” Rowena’s eyes were soft but the same arresting shade of blue that she and Milly had inherited from their father. The brilliant color had captivated many a young man and made many a lady jealous.

  “I suppose I was at first,” Milly replied. “But it all becomes so tedious.” She despised all the social engagements that accompanied a typical season, not because she didn’t like dinners and balls or dancing. She loved to dance, loved to visit with friends, but it had only taken her one season to realize that she was nothing more than a broodmare on an auction block. The Season had only one true purpose, she’d come to realize: to secure alliances of the wealthy and elite through marriage. Milly had quickly learned to feign a distaste in dancing to avoid giving the impression she would entertain a man’s romantic interest in her.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry; she was much like any other woman—she longed for a loving husband and a happy marriage like her parents had, but she knew what her parents had was rare. They weren’t simply husband and wife. They were partners in everything. From the moment her father had met her mother, they’d known they were meant to be. But Milly hadn’t met a single man since her come-out who she felt that instant connection with. She wanted what her parents had. Her mother had an equal say in finances and the control of the house and their investments. Milly wanted that, too, but knew of not one single gentleman of her age who would even consider such an equality in marriage. That meant Milly had no real chance of finding a love match like they had, not one that would give her the freedom she needed.

  During her years of private schooling in France, she’d been fortunate to glimpse a freer society for women, but here in England, she was a pawn, a piece to be bargained and bought, based on her family’s fortune and her father’s lands. The realization was unpleasant and Milly had done the only thing she could think of to avoid marriage to a stranger, or marriage to a man she couldn’t stand. She’d become standoffish, mulish even, in the presence of eligible men. If they could not stand her coldness, her feigned arrogance, they left he
r in peace. It was a lonely peace, though, one without a hope of love. She was not brave like the suffragettes she secretly admired.

  She would not have chanced such a strategy to avoid marriage if she didn’t know without a doubt her father would never force her to marry. He would let her remain under his care for the rest of his life if she didn’t find a man who suited her, which was her plan if she didn’t find someone who could give her both freedom and happiness in a marriage. It was a lonely solution, but better than the alternative: forced to live the rest of her life with a man who would never see her full potential as a partner.

  If any man viewed her as property to be bought, she could never respect him. Love could not grow in a garden sown with seeds of domestic slavery. The only way she could ever marry would be to find a man who would love her mind, her heart, and her soul and agree that she wasn’t a lesser being. He would want to support her when she volunteered to teach children to read, especially girls who could benefit from education and better not only themselves but also their families. Milly needed a man who would stand beside his wife if she attended a suffragette meeting, not one who would ignore her or chastise or even forbid her from supporting her belief in equality between the sexes. But such a man did not exist, at least as far as she could tell.

  Rowena got off the bed and came over to stand behind Milly, leaning down a few inches to peer at her own reflection in the mirror. She tweaked the bodice of her gown, tugging it up a little rather than down as most young ladies might.

  “I don’t think dancing would ever become tedious, but I am so clumsy when I’m nervous. What if I trod on my partner’s toes?” Her little sister bit her bottom lip nervously.

  “You’ll do fine, Rowena. Stay close to me if you get nervous.” Milly pinched her cheeks to pinken them a bit before she stood and reached for her black evening gloves.