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

But of course what lady would agree to such an arrangement?


“I’m sorry I asked, sir,” Jem murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”


“Not sad, Jem. Now, what’s so pressing that I must be at the stables?”


“This, Sir Ash.” Mr Ruston grinned around his pipe. He led a small, gold-touched bay stallion from the stables. A blanket with Fayerweather’s green and black colours covered the stallion.


“Oh!” I approached the animal carefully, my palm extended so he would learn my scent. His breath was a white plume in the cold afternoon air. “Oh!” I ran my hand over the sloping shoulder and deeply-muscled chest. “Is he here to cover one of the mares? Why wasn’t I told? Whose is he?” And could we afford his fees?


“Yes,” a pleasant baritone informed me. “It was to be a surprise; and he’s yours.”


He smiled. “I wanted to be here when you saw him. I know he doesn’t appear very impressive, but then neither did the Godolphin Arabian.”


Chapter 102