Tinnean

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

“The mare is none the worse for wear, according to Ruston.”


“I don’t know what possessed me to take her. She’s truly taken no hurt? She came down rather hard.”


“Didn’t I say as much? Ruston also says her owner was so impressed by the mare’s performance that he’s going to have her trained for polo rather than put her up for sale to some unsuspecting fool, as he’d intended.”


“It’s a game played with cane sticks and balls made from bamboo roots.”


“It’s quite a popular game in India.”


The fall must have rattled my wits. “Why would Colonel Whittemore care to train his mare for that? Is he leaving the country?” But no, there was the matter of the chestnut he’d purchased in hopes of winning Miss Petre.


“What I mean to say is I thought Colonel Whittemore was her owner.”


“No, it’s the Colonel’s nephew. I understand he’s a military man himself.”


Chapter 97