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

There was no point in putting this off, I thought impatiently. I detested confrontation, but I would simply have to be firm.


I swallowed, trying to come up with a graceful turn of phrase that would not make it seem as if I were denying his suit out of hand and because I knew he disliked me.


The conservatory was toward the rear of the house, and I made my way there, opened the door, and stepped into the room.


For a moment, I thought it unoccupied. Had Mr Stephenson grown impatient and gone off to see Aunt Cecily? The only sign someone had been there was the Benjamin flung carelessly, almost proprietarily, over the back of the settee. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem the sort Mr Stephenson had worn.


A slight sound drew my attention to the French windows. The afternoon sun poured through them, leaving the man who stood before them in bas relief as he gazed out toward the gardens that were Aunt Cecily’s pride and joy.


Chapter 30