A Warriner To Protect Her
An heiress in distress and an earl in disgrace...
When heiress Violet Dunston escapes from an abduction, she finds an unlikely protector in Jack Warriner—a member of one of England’s most infamous families. Ensconced with mysterious Jack behind his manor’s walls, soon escape is the last thing on Letty’s mind!
Jack may be an earl, but his father’s exploits have left him with nothing to offer except a tarnished name. He’s turned his back on the ton, but with Letty tempting him day and night, he finds himself contemplating the unthinkable—a society marriage!
The Wild Warriners
Four brothers living on the edge of society...scandalising the ton at every turn!
Tucked away at their remote estate
in Nottinghamshire are the ton’s
most notorious brothers.
The exploits of Jack, Jamie, Joe and Jacob Warriner’s parents—their father’s gambling and cheating, their mother’s tragic end—are legendary. But now, for the first time, the brothers find themselves the talk of the ton for an entirely different reason...
Because four women are about to change their lives—and put them firmly in society’s spotlight!
Find out what happens in:
Jack’s story
A Warriner to Protect Her
May 2017
Jamie’s story
A Warriner to Rescue Her
July 2017
And watch for Joe and Jacob’s stories—coming soon!
Author Note
I have a thing for old Hollywood musicals. The glorious Technicolor, breathtaking CinemaScope and stereophonic sound captivated me as a child. Back in the days of VHS, when you had to tape things off the TV, I had a great collection of them which I would watch over and over again. Singin’ in the Rain, Calamity Jane and Meet Me in St Louis are three of the greatest films ever made, if you want my opinion, but the best of all is Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
I love that film. I adore the premise. Seven down-ontheir-luck brothers, living in a shack in the middle of nowhere and eking out a living from the land. Looked down upon by the rest of the community because they’re a little bit wild, they’re all desperately in need of a wife and yet never meet any women at all—let alone court one.
In homage to that wonderful film I’ve created my Wild Warriners. Four brothers tainted by the dreadful reputation of their hideous ancestors, practically broke and forced to toil on their estate because they can’t afford to pay anyone else to do it. And all desperately in need of that special someone. Their perfect match.
This story is the first in the series and follows Jack Warriner, the eldest brother and head of the family. He’s proud, stubborn and used to being in charge. What he needs is a feisty woman to stand up to him...
A Warriner to Protect Her
Virginia Heath
www.millsandboon.co.uk
When VIRGINIA HEATH was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace her insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her for ever to fall asleep…
Books by Virginia Heath
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Wild Warriners
A Warriner to Protect Her
Stand-Alone Novels
That Despicable Rogue
Her Enemy at the Altar
The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide
Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.
For Tracy Croft.
Mentor, friend and feisty heroine.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
The Wild Warriners
Author Note
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
1st December 1813. One month, three days and
approximately eighteen hours remaining...
The thin cord dug into her wrists painfully. Letty ignored it to focus on the practicalities. She barely opened one eye and peeked through her lashes. The Earl of Bainbridge’s crinkly, grey head was lolling sideways, swaying slightly with the motion of the carriage—eyes closed, mouth slack—and she experienced a moment of relief to know he had finally nodded off. She risked opening her eyes properly for the first time in the better part of an hour, raising her head carefully from the seat to look out of the small strip of window still visible between the dark curtains which hid her from the world.
It was black as pitch outside.
A good sign.
It meant they were deep in the countryside, miles from any life, and the fact she could not even see the stars suggested this part of the Great North Road was edged with sheltering trees. Bainbridge’s tatty coach was also flying along at speed, another indicator that they were a long way from the next inn or village. So far, each time the driver had approached one, the wheels had slowed and he had rapped loudly on the roof. Then the Earl had violently restrained her, his gnarled hand clamping tightly over Letty’s already gagged mouth, the point of his boot knife pressed ominously against her throat as they had either passed through or the horses were quickly changed.
As he dozed, that very knife was still resting on his knee, his fingers loosely clasping it. Just in case. There seemed little point in trying to wrestle it from him when her main priority was escape. The last time she had showed any signs of struggle, Bainbridge had swept the back of his hand maliciously across her cheek with such force, his signet ring had sliced through the soft skin on her lip, leaving it now swollen and painful around the gag. For protection, she had pretended the blow had rendered her unconscious and had not moved a muscle since. If it had achieved nothing else, it had given Letty time to think.
As stealthily as she could, she rose to sit up and silently edged her bottom incrementally towards the door. If she could reach the handle, she could throw herself on to the road. After that, if she survived, she really had no idea what she was going to do. It was not really much of a plan, but as she had no desire to go to Gretna Green and she would much rather be dead than married to Bainbridge, it was better than nothing.
The Earl began to snore. But it was erratic on account of his upright position, the sort of snoring which woke a person up. There was no time to lose. Letty stretched out her bound hands and lunged at the handle desperately and, by some miraculous twist of fate, she managed to do this as the carriage veered slightly towards that side. She crashed into the door, wrestled with the handle and it flew open, taking her with it and tossing her sideways.
Instinct made her curl into a ball before she hit the ground, to protect her head and her limbs. Still the impact was sheer agony, pushing all of the air out of her lungs and blinding her with pain. Sharp stones embedded themselves in her skin as she rolled; muddy water shot up her nose and seeped through her closed eyelids, stinging them mercilessly. Almost as a blur in the distance, Letty heard a shout go up from the carriage, now further ahead, then the squeal from wheels when the brake was suddenly applied.
She rose to her knees, forced her bruised and battered body to move, practically dragging herself into the dark and silent trees. Then she ran. There was no thought as to direction. Just as long as it was away from the road, it didn’t matter where she was going. She ignored the way the tangled branches seemed to reach out and grab at her clothing, nor did it matter that the deeper she plunged into these woods, the darker and more terrifying they appeared. Nothing could be as terrifying as being caught again by that dreadful man.
In the distance, she could still hear their angry voices, yet with every yard, those voices became fainter and fainter, spurring her to put even more distance between them as she ploughed recklessly forward. Until her lungs burned and her muscles screamed and she could run no further.
* * *
What Jack should have done was go straight home. But hindsight, in his experience, was overrated. It only served to bring about regrets, and frankly, Jack Warriner had quite enough of those already. So what if he was now drenched to the skin and frozen to the bone? The inn had been warm, the ale good and the company, for once, friendly. He had meant to stay for just the one drink. Just to clear the dust of the road from his throat and to enjoy a few minutes of respite from all of the responsibilities which stifled him before he wound his way down the last three miles to home. But one drink had soon turned into three. And three became six. Then the innkeeper had brought out the whisky and someone else had produced a fiddle, and before he realised it, he had been singing loudly with the rest of the patrons, stamping his feet, clapping his hands and behaving like a young man without the entire oppressive weight of the world on his shoulders.
Now he was paying for his rare moment of weakness. The rain was impressive, even by December’s standards, and would have been coming down in heavy, vertical lines had it not been for the wind. But to compound Jack’s current misery, as he fought the inevitable after-effects of far too much alcohol in too short a period of time, the relentless north-easterly was forcing the fat rain drops almost horizontal. Right into his face.
Thank goodness there was only a half a mile or so left. Soon he would be home. Safe in the house which ate money for breakfast, luncheon and dinner. His grand stately pile, the opulent legacy of his lofty title, a leaking, creaking, millstone around his neck. The place where all hopes and dreams were mercilessly crushed under the hobnail boot of responsibility, while Jack sunk deeper and deeper into debt with every passing year. Just thinking about it made him lethargic.
And slightly nauseous.
Or perhaps that was merely the whisky and the ale. Jack wiped his dripping face with the back of his sleeve and almost lost his seat when his horse suddenly reared noisily. He struggled with the reins to bring the beast under control and that was when he saw her. Almost like a ghost, the woman appeared out of the trees. Her skin eerily pale in the flimsy moonlight, hair and thin dress plastered to her body, eyes as wide as saucers as she stared back at him. Then she fled, wet skirts and a pronounced limp hampering her progress.
It took several seconds for his alcohol-impaired mind to register what else he had seen. A vicious gag. Bound hands. Sheer terror.
She was stumbling ahead of him along the narrow, rutted lane which led to his house as if her very life depended on it. Judging by the state of her, it probably was. Jack’s wits finally overpowered his inebriation and he swiftly directed his horse after her.
‘Miss! Wait! I mean you no harm.’ The wind carried away his words.
As he came alongside her, Jack bent low in the saddle and grabbed her arm. She spun around and tried to extricate herself from his grip, fighting like a cornered fox to escape him.
‘I mean you no harm!’
He could tell by the way she struggled that she was exhausted. Shouting at her was not going to calm her.
‘Let me help you.’ He said this quietly and he saw her blink as she heard him. To prove it, he released the grip he had on her upper arm and held up his gloved hands as if in surrender. Automatically, she went to bolt and he forced himself not to try to stop her. It was the right thing to do. She hesitated. Turned back. Her wide eyes locked on to his and she simply gazed at him, as if she were searching the depths of them to the man he was inside, to see if he could be trusted. Then, almost as if all her strength and determination was gone, she began to slip to the ground.
Jack managed to grab her arm again before she crumpled into a heap and used all of his formidable strength to pull her now deadweight body on to his saddle. He cradled her in his lap; her damp flesh was like ice and it made him wonder how long she had been out here, exposed to the winter elements. She felt so very delicate in his arms. Precious.
He tried to work the gag free. It refused to move. Rainwater had sealed the knot tight and whoever had tied it had done it so harshly, he could not move it. This close, he could just about make out the bruising on her face. Her lip was badly cut and swollen, suggesting she had been beaten as well as bound. And the very fact he had discovered her stumbling blindly along a deserted lane, past midnight and wearing what appeared to be only a bedraggled, sleeveless silk gown meant she had probably managed to escape. Only then did it suddenly dawn on him that her captors might be searching for her. Whoever had bound and beaten this delicate woman was not going to be the sort of person to listen to reason. If she had escaped, it went without saying they would stop at nothing to get her back. Whoever she was, she needed his help.
Without thinking, Jack kicked the horse into a gallop, holding the reins tightly with one hand while the other held his unconscious passenger close to his body to keep her safe. He ignored the sting of the wind and rain on his face. Nothing else mattered but getting her home and to safety. Markham Manor might well be in dire need of a new roof, but at least his troublesome ancestors had had the good sense to surround it with a twenty-foot wall and an archaic pair of similarly proportioned gates which weighed a ton. He had a feeling tonight, for the first time in over two hundred years, the Warriners might actually need them.
Chapter Two
One month, three days and approximately
sixteen hours remaining...
Jack carried her limp body into the hallway and shouted for his brothers at the top of his voice. Used to jumping to attention at his tone, they arrived one by one on the landing. First came Joe, the second youngest and only four years his junior, and by far the one he was keenest to see first. He took one look at the woman and the physician in him burst to the fore.
‘I’ll get my things.’ And he was gone again.
Then came Jacob, the youngest, who crossed his brother on the landing, dark hair on end and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Close behind him limped Jamie, the closest in age to Jack. Both men instantly sprang into action the moment they spotted the burden in Jack’s arms.
‘What the hell?’
Jacob just stood and gaped as he reached the bottom step, trailing after Jack as he hauled the woman into the high-ceilinged great hall which now served as the drawing room. He had already lowered the woman on to a sofa by the time Jamie managed to get there. Like the brilliant soldier he had been before his injuries, it did not take his brother long to assess the situation.
‘Where did you find her?’
‘She just appeared in the middle of the road. She was conscious then.’ That she had failed to regain consciousness in the last twenty minutes was a worry. In the dim lamplight, her skin now had a grey pallor beneath the caked mud which did not bode well.
‘Any signs of whoever did this to her?’ Jamie asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘But the storm is still raging outside. Even if there had been an army right behind me, I doubt I would have heard them. Make the place secure!’
Jamie responded immediately to Jack’s command, turning to Jacob. ‘Get my sword and pistols from my bedchamber, and grab something for yourself. We’re going to close the gates.’
The two brothers were gone by the time Joe returned with his medical kit. Despite the fact there had been no money to send him to university again this year, Joe had still relentlessly studied medicine in the vain hope he would one day qualify as a doctor. He had done since he was a young boy. What he did not know about the workings of the human body was not worth knowing. He watched Jack carefully cut through the gag and the cord at her wrists, then remove them, before kneeling to examine her.
‘She’s like ice, Jack! We need to warm her up.’ Joe fished in his bag for some scissors and began to cut the woman’s clothing open from the hem up.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Jack exclaimed, because somehow stripping the poor girl seemed a bit extreme.
‘I have to get her out of these wet things, Jack, and dry her off or it will be impossible to warm her. Hypothermia can kill. Fetch some blankets.’
For once, Jack did exactly as he was asked. His younger brother might well bow down to him on all other matters, but in this situation, he trusted Joe more than anyone else to help the stranger. Secondly, Jack had precious little medical knowledge, had no idea exactly what hypo-whatever-it-was meant and it felt morally wrong to stand by gawping while she was relieved of her clothing. Wasting no time, Joe was in the midst of his examination when Jack came back, his patient’s torso thoughtfully now covered in a coat.
‘I do not think she has suffered any broken bones, though until she is awake, it is difficult to know for sure. There are cuts and bruises all over her—see?’
Jack passed the pile of blankets towards his brother and glanced down at the poor girl’s visible bare arms and calves. His brother was not wrong. Filthy wounds and grazes marred the pale skin. ‘Look at the bruising here.’ Joe pointed to the left arm. ‘If I had to take a guess, I would say she had a bad fall from something and landed on her side. Judging from the size and colour of the bruise, it’s a miracle her arm or collarbone did not shatter from the impact. Some of these punctures are quite deep. The cut on her lip is nasty too. And her wrists have been rubbed raw by the cord around them—those wounds are angry and prone to become infected. She had to have been tied up for hours. I need to clean them all thoroughly.’
Relegated to the role of nursemaid, Jack busied himself by boiling kettle after kettle of water and traipsing the heavy buckets backwards and forward from the kitchen to the hall, leaving his brother to do what was necessary and feeling impotent in the process. As each layer of grime and embedded grit was removed, Joe commented on how miraculous it was that the woman was not more injured, yet she did not regain consciousness nor did she lose her deathly colour. Despite the now roaring fire in the enormous stone fireplace and the heap of blankets that swaddled her, her core temperature did not increase. Her swollen lips were blue tinged, her hands and feet like icicles.
‘She must have been out in the cold for hours, Jack. I am worried she actually has hypothermia. She’s barely breathing now and her pulse is definitely slowing.’
‘What can I do?’ Because there had to be something. The idea of her dying in their house tonight was horrifying. Not after he had done his best to save her, seen the stark terror in her eyes.
‘You gather her up, Jack—share your body heat with her while I finish with all of the other injuries.’
‘Share my body heat?’ It sounded far-fetched, but Joe had proved to be right before. ‘How exactly do I do that?’
‘Hold her in your lap like a child.’ Joe lifted her carefully at the base of the shoulders, exposing her bare back. They swaddled the blankets around her like a baby’s shawl and Jack sat so the pair of them could manoeuvre her into his lap.
It was all well and good Joe telling him to hold her like a child—but it was blatantly obvious she was no child. There was too much of her, so his brother tucked her legs up beneath the covers to warm her extremities, while Jack smoothed his palms briskly along the sides of her arms in an attempt to create some heat from the friction. Her back and bottom were so cold he could feel the chill through the layers of woollen blanket and his clothing, and if she had not been breathing he would have thought he was holding a long-dead corpse. He gathered her close protectively and wrapped his arms about her, hoping she would absorb whatever warmth she needed from his body, crooning to her as his brother towel-dried her sodden, matted long hair before wrapping a blanket around her head too.
‘If she was awake, I could make her drink something. Warm milk or tea might help to speed up the process.’ Joe ran his hands through his thick dark hair in agitation. ‘I suppose I could try and spoon some into her?’
All Jack could do was shrug. He had no clue as to what should be done and from his position beneath the girl, he was hardly in a state to assist his brother further. Being powerless was not something he excelled at. He hated feeling so useless when he was usually the one in control. All he could do was continue to hold her cradled in his arms, searching her wan face for signs of life. As he waited for Joe to return from the kitchen, his other two brothers returned. Both looked as if they had just walked through a hurricane.
‘Only an idiot would be out in that!’ said Jamie, shaking off the rain. ‘But the gates are bolted and we saw nothing in the lane. If somebody turns up, we’ll all deny any knowledge of your mystery damsel until we know what the hell this is all about. How is she?’ He limped painfully towards the sofa and stared down at the still bundle in Jack’s arms.
‘Joe’s patched her up as best as he can for the time being. Now we’re trying to get her warm.’
Jamie did not instil a great deal of confidence with his next words. ‘I’ve seen many a man killed from exposure to the elements. It’s when they stop shivering you have to really worry. Is she shivering?’
She was not. Jack did not want to think about what that meant. ‘She won’t die!’ Not if he had anything to do with it. ‘Joe is fetching some warm milk.’ As if milk was some magic medicine nobody had known about which would miraculously cure a poor girl who was almost frozen to death. Jack stared down at her. She was so still, and so frighteningly pale, she could almost have been carved out of alabaster. He remembered the fear he had seen in her wide eyes when she collided with him and hoped those awful few minutes would not be the last she was doomed to remember. ‘I don’t even know her name.’
Jacob, so far silent, went to the pile of wet clothes discarded on the floor and began to rifle through them.