A Curse of the Heart

Perhaps his creditors were chasing his heels and he wanted to hide the heirloom. It would certainly explain the shabby state of his horse. Yet he knew Beaufort still owned the estate next to his and he’d not been told of any money worries.

The thought of going home to Westlands brought a hard lump to his throat, and he swallowed deeply in an attempt to dismiss the years of guilt.

The past no longer mattered.

All the years of pain and hard work had been worth it. His estate was thriving. Now, he intended to take his rightful place, to relax and enjoy the peace and tranquillity.

He glanced down at the necklace in his hand, the weight of its burden pressing down on his shoulders. Whatever problem Beaufort had, he could not get involved. Then he felt the familiar stirring in his chest, the thrum of excitement that always lured him towards dangerous and mysterious escapades.

Damn it.

The quicker his friend returned to claim the pretty necklace, the better.

Chapter 2

“Mr. Potts, I think he’s here, Mr. Potts.”

Sophie Beaufort watched the old woman scurry

out through the door behind the glass counter and then continued to examine the box of ribbons.

“Your mother seems rather excited today,” she said, pulling out a length of red satin.

She did not need new ribbons, or threads, or buttons, but her regular walks to the village made the days seem shorter.

“She has been like it all morning,” Emily said shaking her head. “She thinks the marquess is going to come in and buy her whole stock of gloves. I’ve told her he probably buys all his apparel in London, but you know how she gets.”

Sophie swallowed a few times hoping it would help to correct the problem with her hearing. “I thought I heard you say the marquess,” she chuckled. She really was spending far too much time on her own.

“I did.” Emily bent down, removed another draw and placed it on top of the glass counter. “I know how you hate to tie it up, but I think the forest green would look wonderful with your ebony hair.”

Feeling an odd flutter in her chest, her mind oblivious to whatever it was Emily had just said, Sophie placed her hand on the counter and inhaled deeply through her nose.

“Why … why would your mother think that?”

Emily glanced back over her shoulder and then leaned forward. “Mother said it’s the least he can do. She’s spent the last six years moaning and complaining about him, and there she was yesterday morning, a smile spread right across her face, waving her handkerchief at him as his carriage rattled by.”

A hard lump formed in Sophie’s throat, forcing her to swallow deeply. “The marquess has come home?”

“Yes,” Emily beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Lord Danesfield has returned to Westlands.”

“Wonderful,” Sophie repeated, fear and loathing hiding within that one feigned word.

Emily gave a teasing wink. “He’ll probably call on you today, what with you being his closest neighbour. Course, he’ll be expecting your brother to be home.”

Sophie’s stomach twisted into gut-wrenching knots as she recalled her last encounter with Sebastian Ashcroft. The image conjured was so real that she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, expecting to feel the evidence of the dumpy fourteen-year-old girl.

“Just make sure there’s someone with you,” Emily said as her gaze drifted over Sophie’s hair. “You know what the gossips say about him. Though I don’t believe it myself.”

Sophie smiled and nodded in acquiesce: a bid to maintain her fragile composure. Her heart thumped violently in protest, desperate to tell the world that he was everything people imagined him to be: a coward, a rake, and a debauched fool.

“He’s here. He’s here. I knew he’d come,” Mrs. Potts said running up to the front window. She turned to Emily. “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself presentable, girl.”

Emily skittered over to the window. “Mother’s right,” she said as her eyes grew wide. “The marquess is here, and he is heading in the direction of our shop.”

The world suddenly tipped off its axis, and Sophie gripped the counter to steady her balance. Little lights flashed before her eyes and the room melted into a hazy mist.

Emily rushed over to her. “The marquess is here,” she said, her mother’s excitement obviously contagious.