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

Best of all, Fayerweather Stud was starting to be noticed.


Geo was away—he had some business in the Americas—but this time he’d asked me to come to London to see him off.


“I’ve something for you.” He handed me a catalogue from Tattersall’s. “Earl Malemayns must needs auction off his cattle. I know you’re looking for a stallion for your stud.”


“Yes.” If we could find one carrying the blood of the Godolphin Arabian. If ever one came on the market. If we could afford him.


“There may be something in here that interests you.”


The catalogue was folded in two, and when I opened it, an opera-length strand of black pearls was revealed.


“I believe this belonged to your mother.”


I’d thought it was gone forever. “How did you find it?”


“Knowing the sort of man your uncle was, I simply inquired of all the men with whom he’d gambled.”


“Th-thank you!” My voice quavered, and I cleared my throat and stiffened my upper lip. “Words can never express my gratitude, but—”


Chapter 92