Escaping His Grace Read online

  Praise for Kristin Vayden and her novels!

  “Vayden never lets me down; always and forever a one-click Author . . . every work a work of magic!’

  —S. E. Hall, New York Times and USA Today

  best-selling author

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  Praise for HEART OF A COWBOY

  “A touching tale of family, friendship, fated love, and everything in between. A sweet romance that will make you swoon!’

  —Audrey Carlan, #1 New York Times

  best-selling author

  “A wonderfully woven story that will have you laughing, swooning, and choking back tears,”

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  Books by Kristin Vayden

  Lyrical Press Print:

  The Gentlemen of Temptation series:

  FALLING FROM HIS GRACE

  From Lyrical Press E-BOOKS:

  Elk Heights Ranch series:

  HEART OF A COWBOY

  THE COURAGE OF A COWBOY

  THE COWGIRL MEETS HER MATCH

  Escaping His Grace

  KRISTIN VAYDEN

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at The Temptation of Grace

  Teaser chapter

  LYRICAL BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Kristin Vayden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book,”

  Lyrical and the Lyrical logo Reg. U. S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-0570-0

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0571-7 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0571-0 (ebook)

  To Grandma Lainhart (or Grandma Hart, as the great-grand kids call her). Going to Scotland with you and all the girls was one of the most amazing—and hilarious—adventures I’ve ever experienced! Thank you for your love, insight, delight, and humor in all areas of life. Your legacy is incomparable, and if I become half the lady you are, I’ll be grateful. I love you so very much! #bridgmanbabesabroad

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, Jesus, for expanding my time so this book could get written! We caught the epic flu of 2018, all in succession. It was a winter for the record books.

  Thank you, Yessi Smith, for all your feedback, insight, and words of wisdom on this manuscript! I absolutely adore you! And thank you, Kensington Publishing, for all your faith in me, and this series! Rachel, I will ever be thanking you, acknowledging you, and mentioning you because of all the insight, wisdom, and questions you patiently and lovingly answer! You’re the best sister ever! And, of course, my husband, Harry. He’s my mountain man, my hero, and the source of most of my humor. I’d be so boring without you. Thank you for your love, your support, and your willingness to make dinner.

  Prologue

  The Honorable Heathcliff Marston, eldest son of the Viscount Kilpatrick, had quite a perfect childhood. With parents who held a true affection for each other, he was born into a life that was the product of a real love match. It was rare as hen’s teeth in society, but being young, he didn’t have the experience to realize what a boon it was to have parents who actually loved each other, not just tolerated each other’s company. He had the luck to be the son of an Englishman, and the misfortune, as some would say, to have a Scottish mother. It was because of his mother’s estate near Edinburgh that his father elected to keep his family in Scotland, and travel to London for the Season.

  Even as a lad, Heathcliff adored the wilds of Scotland and abhorred the visits to the city of London. When he turned of age and took his education at Eton, he carried a reasonably large resentment toward his father for the first few weeks until he met Lucas Mayfield, the heir to the earldom of Heightfield.

  It was friendship at first fight.

  And a fight it was.

  Lucas had always had a biting way with words, and Heathcliff had the temper of his Scottish mother, so the combination was volatile, and often troublesome for those around.

  Ramsey Scott, the Marquess of Sterling, eventually joined their circle of friends, adding a bit of gravity to their otherwise unruly bunch. He was often the voice of reason, the restrainer of fists, and the only one without a bloodied nose or knuckle. In short, he was the buffer between the two.

  It was those friends who stood by him at his mother’s funeral, silently offering their support when words wouldn’t suffice.

  And damn, he wished he would have listened to them and stayed in London rather than travel home the summer of 1809. He had endeavored to be home to be a comfort to his heartbroken father. It was a worthy cause, but it had become abruptly sidetracked when he reacquainted himself with the daughter of a local squire, Margot Reynoldford.

  He remembered her from his childhood, but she was a child no longer. Flowing chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and an easy smile, Heathcliff had fallen hard and quick for her charms.

  He’d spent most of his summer in pursuit of her affection, which she gave readily. Expectation was thick in the air as whispers surrounded their courtship. It was nearly the end of July when Heathcliff notified his fat
her of his impending engagement to Margot.

  Never once had he expected anything but an acceptance of his offer, never once expecting his father to do anything but congratulate him on finding his own love match. He was shocked when his father advised against the match.

  Heathcliff tried to convince his father it was a love match. Heathcliff adored her, worshiping her every smile as if it were the sunrise and sunset of his life. Surely his father could understand! He had enjoyed his own affectionate relationship with his wife; surely he would want one for his only son? When his father explained his hesitancy, Heathcliff ended the argument abruptly by stating that his father was simply heartbroken, not wanting anyone to experience joy because he no longer could. It had been a low blow, one that would echo in later fights with his father on the same subject.

  Heathcliff stormed from the study, chose his own path and proposed that evening to Margot.

  They were married as soon as the banns could be read, neglecting even to invite his closest friends, pride and folly whispering that they might not approve of the match. Even when he knew it was his own misgivings that had begun to surface.

  Eager to please his bride, Heathcliff had thrown his whole heart into the marriage, deferring to her wants and wishes, however outlandish they seemed. He simply delighted in her smile, feeling as though it were the rising sun in his life.

  Only to find out she had her own rising sun.

  It wasn’t even six months into the marriage when his world shattered. He’d come back from Edinburgh earlier than arranged, expecting to surprise his wife with a beautiful music box from Italy, a gift he had ordered months before.

  He’d sprinted up the stairs, only to find his wife astride another man, in his bed. The music box met a swift end when he hurled it across the room, alerting the lovers of his presence. The sound of it smashing against the wall echoed in his thoughts.

  She didn’t even have the good grace to pretend shame.

  He’d stormed off, knowing if he stayed there would be blood on his hands. A divorce was the only option. He wouldn’t share his wife with another, nor would he be fool enough to pretend it could work to look the other way.

  That was when she confessed to being with child.

  If betrayal were a coffin, that revelation was the last nail in his heart.

  Because she wasn’t sure who was the father.

  Which only meant it may, or may not, be his child.

  Did he dare risk abandoning his own son or daughter? He couldn’t, wouldn’t risk it—regardless of the mother’s sins, the child was innocent of them.

  So, he sent Margot away to his estate in the Scottish Highlands, and waited.

  Heartbroken and bitter, his father was the only voice of reason to reinforce his decision not to put away his wife in divorce. As a reminder of the heartbreak, he ordered a replica of the music box he had bought for Margot.

  May he never forget.

  The child was stillborn, and Margot followed shortly after.

  If that weren’t enough heartbreak for one man, there wasn’t an end in sight.

  The next day, Heathcliff strode into his father’s study and found him slumped over in his chair. The doctor said it was his heart.

  And in one week, Heathcliff had lost everyone.

  Including himself.

  He returned to London, finding that Lucas’s life had suffered a similar upheaval.

  Ramsey was the last man standing.

  But he too would fall.

  It was only after they all survived the betrayal of others that they turned their efforts toward alienating the society that had made light of their pain.

  When Lucas came up with the idea for the gambling hell, both Heathcliff and Ramsey were quick to throw their hats in on the idea. Titled, dedicated bachelors, it was time for them to enjoy life, instead of dwelling on the pain dealt so cruelly by the fates. Lucas’s idea had a name—a bloody insightful one.

  Different than all the other gaming hells about London, this one would thrive on anonymity. No names. No faces. Masks and the uttermost exclusivity no other hell could boast. No strings attached, where your privacy was also your security, your pleasure.

  Temptation.

  Short, sweet, and directly to the point.

  Because when you live in the moment of temptation, you’re too consumed to dwell on the past—and the ghosts that haunt it.

  London, 1815

  “I’m so very disappointed you will not be able to make the acquaintance of your new employer, Miss Miranda.” Lady Barrot’s clear blue eyes conveyed sympathy. She reached over and placed a gloved hand upon Miranda’s as they took their afternoon tea in the Barrots’ parlor.

  Miranda—she practiced the name in her mind, wrapping her head around the new identity, and the necessity of taking it—nodded once. “I understand, Lady Barrot. It’s unfortunate, but it’s clear there are other implications one must consider.” Implications was a simple way to state it. In the past twenty-four hours, her life had changed significantly.

  Viscount Kilpatrick was not only her new employer but the best friend of her sister’s new husband, Lord Heightfield. It was under that close connection she had secured a way to elude her tyrannical father, the Duke of Chatterworth, by taking on temporary employment under the protection of the viscount.

  In hiding till the carriage to Edinburgh, Scotland, could convey her to safety, she was now in residence at the home of Lord and Lady Barrot, trusted friends and benefactors of her new brother-in-law’s clandestine business. She wasn’t quite sure of the details of said business venture, but she knew it was of the scandalous variety. So, she found herself in the sumptuous London parlor, awaiting the time when she could escape fully. In the interim, she was expected to meet the viscount, though they had just received a missive from his estate.

  Several private investigators had questioned him earlier concerning the whereabouts of the duke’s missing daughters. It was paramount that he allay any suspicions they had. To be sure, Miss Miranda was surprised her father hadn’t alerted the local magistrate at the sudden disappearance of his two daughters, but as she considered it, he likely didn’t want to raise awareness of their absence. To not be in complete control was a cardinal sin.

  So, rather than meet the viscount, the man behind so many of her sister’s stories, she simply accepted Lady Barrot’s word, and awaited the time when she could leave behind everything she’d ever known and seek the adventure she never had wanted to take.

  But freedom was always the first choice of captives, and while her cage was gilded, it was still a cage. And for the first time, she was about to test her wings. Hoping that somehow, she would instinctively know how to fly.

  And the place she was to test her wings was Scotland.

  Chapter One

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Two days later

  Miranda took a deep, calming breath through her nose before releasing it slowly and forcing a calm demeanor. The footman extended his hand, offering his assistance from the carriage, and with a resolute step forward, she accepted.

  Her eyes were drawn to the large manor before her. Gray stone rose high above the courtyard, with beautifully trimmed boxwoods that made her immediately homesick for London. Stepping from the carriage, her foot crunched along the gravel. She released the footman’s hand, and met the curious gaze of the elderly woman beside the door. Her back arched in a perfect posture that bespoke some English training. Miranda was drawn to her inviting smile, which was decidedly Scottish, not distant like most proper English servants.

  “A pleasure, Miss Miranda.” The woman nodded kindly and stepped forward. “I’m the housekeeper, Mrs. Keyes. We’re quite delighted to have you on staff here at Kilmarin; you’ll be a blessin’ for sure.” A slight brogue leaked through the crisp accent.

  Miranda nodded kindly, her mind whirling as to how to act like a governess when she had been raised the daughter of a duke. She gave a slight curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to be of ass
istance. Is the young lady I’m to educate in residence or still en route?”

  Mrs. Keyes gave another smile, and a measure of Miranda’s tension melted. “She’s is most certainly in residence, Miss Miranda.”

  Miranda wasn’t sure how her words were intended, but a shiver of foreboding trailed up her spine. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as easy as her sister, Liliah, had led her to believe.

  Even as she thought of Liliah, her heart pinched with sorrow. How she missed her, and it hadn’t even been a fortnight! She quickly reminded herself that she would soon see her once again. As a newlywed, her sister surely deserved a measure of privacy.

  A blush heated her face at the thought, but she pressed it to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand

  Blending in.

  Being someone she was not—but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Hadn’t she done that most of her life?

  “If you’ll follow me, Miss Miranda, I’ll show you to your room and give you some time to freshen up before dinner.” Mrs. Keyes signaled a footman with an efficient twist of her wrist, and Miranda followed the woman as she ambled up the marble stairs.

  Mrs. Keyes nodded to the butler at the door. “Sothers, this is Miss Miranda. She is to be Miss Iris’s governess.”

  The butler nodded his salt-and-pepper head and murmured a soft welcome.

  Miranda curtseyed to him as well.

  Her gaze lingered on the foyer. The flagstone tiles were a rich green color, one she would have associated with Ireland rather than Scotland, yet the color somehow fit. A coat of arms decorated a wall, along with an ancient-looking suit of armor. She eyed the sword dubiously, hoping it was anchored well to its position.