Ashton Laytham was a happy little boy until, at the age of seven, he lost his parents. Sent to Fayerweather to be brought up by his uncle and his uncle’s wife, he was perceived to be an unhappy, unlovable child. Shunned by family and servants and permitted no friends to visit, he grows to adulthood alone and aloof, with only an occasional illicit rendezvous to lighten his days. When his uncle dies, leaving the estate virtually bankrupt, it’s left to Ashton to make good on his uncle’s gaming debts and save Fayerweather. But how? The family talisman, worth thousands of pounds, has been stolen and the suspects vanished in the night, leaving Ashton to face the loss of the home he’s come to love. Geo Stephenson, who works in His Majesty’s civil service, has ghosts of his own. The product of a marriage of convenience, Geo has known all his life his father never loved his mother, and he vows that will never happen to him. Marked by a physical scar earned in battle, none of his previous lovers could bear looking at it without shuddering; his mental scars are due to the many friends lost in useless battles. Geo arrives with a fistful of Sir Eustace Laytham’s IOUs and a solution: Ashton accommodating him in bed, thereby paying off the debt. Attracted to Geo in spite of himself and desperate for any human kindness, Ashton agrees ... never expecting to lose his heart to a man who has sworn he’ll never give his. Can these two men find a measure of happiness together?

Bless Us With Content

“Mr John’s spilled his tea. I’m sure you’ll deal with it in your usual competent manner.”


“Indeed, Mr Ashton.” He went on to answer the bell, and I made my way to the still room.


How much time would I have, I wondered, before John came to me? I took one of the bars of the soap Aunt Cecily had made from the receipt the first Sir Osburt’s lady brought with her from her homeland, and then strolled up to my bedroom. It wouldn’t do to appear as if I were in a rush.


Upon opening the door, I couldn’t prevent a sigh. My room was in darkness save for the faint moonlight that drifted in, for the curtains weren’t drawn, and the hearth was cold.


I set the candle on the nightstand and went to the windows. It was the work of only a moment to close out the night.


After I lit the oil lamps, I tugged the bell-pull. Usually I’d make do with chill sheets, but not this night.


Chapter 11