|
FORBIDDEN
By
Julia Keaton
© copyright by Julia Keaton, January 2010
Cover art by Eliza Black, © January 2010
ISBN 1-978-60394-407-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are
of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
Dear Damon,
I've never been one to beat around the bush, so my bluntness now
should come as no surprise. I might not have long left and I find that I need your help most
desperately…
Blood.
The thing about it was, what most people seemed to forget, or what
they simply never considered, is that blood is warm.
It's hot.
It burns.
Because it comes from another living, breathing, human being,
encased in its flesh from the very moment it was brought squirming and miserable into the
world.
In Damon's fevered nightmares the liquid flames of hell coursed
though his veins and pumped through his heart, squirmed in his brain and burned away the forgiving
oblivion sleep should have brought.
But there was no forgiveness … there was no rest.
There was, he admitted to himself as he woke screaming into the
night, no peace.
For a moment all he could do was sit there, breathing ragged as he
tried to remember who and where he was. The nightmare was always the same and he ran shaking hands
down his sweat soaked face in an attempt to drive the lingering images from his mind. After so many
years, he thought the scenes would have lost some of their clarity, but instead it seemed as if
they'd become even more focused. As if he'd been deceiving himself and only now the full force of
what he'd lost and what he'd done hit him. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Damon got up from
his bed, sheets sticking to the sweat on his back and legs before he shook them off so that he
could walk over towards his wardrobe unhindered.
Just as the dreams never changed, his response to them remained
the same as well. What he needed was Isabella. To feel her hot breath on his face and her gentle
mouth on his fingers. Her muscles moving and stretching between his thighs as he gripped the silky
strands of her hair and let his mind float away empty and clean.
Isabella would make it better.
Isabella would make it right.
If only for a little while.
* * * *
"Did you miss me?"
Isabella mouthed a loose strand of his hair as he leaned his face
against the side of her head. Her big brown eyes were earnest and a little sleepy since it was
still so early in the morning.
"Sorry to wake you up, but it's been one of those nights,
Bell."
It was eerie how the horse butted him softly with her nose as if
she understood enough of his turmoil to offer sympathy. For a moment he just stood there, letting
the weight of her sink into his chest before he pulled himself together and stepped away to saddle
her. He was growing more than a little pathetic if he was trying to assuage his loneliness with
Bell. He had made his decision a long time ago and it was best to learn to live with it. He refused
to suffer like he had after Orissa, and the best way to prevent that from happening was to keep his
head clear.
Damon only needed two things in life. Himself and the crops, and
he wouldn't be adding one more thing to his list of regrets simply because he'd been too
sentimental to remember that.
He gave Bella her head once they'd crossed the creek bed. The
fields that surrounded his plantation would make good farming ground. His holdings were small and
it was high time he expanded, however, with the space the crops took up, his own house and stables,
plus the servant's houses, he had little to no room to ride Isabella. While it was selfish of him,
he wasn't ready to let this last bit of freedom go.
He rode on until well past morning, mind wandering as he watched
the rising sun cut through the mist hovering over the wet ground. He let Bella roam as she pleased
and was unsurprised by the amount of preening and prancing the horse was able to accomplish in such
a short time despite the lack of audience.
Though he regretted it, he signaled to Bella that it was time to
head back to the house and it was while she was trotting up the drive that he heard someone call
out behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Damon reined Bella to a halt. She
pranced in place for a bit, impatient and not at all happy to note the strange horse and rider
plodding up to meet them.
"Thank god I caught you. I seem to be a bit lost. This wouldn't be
the Burleigh plantation would it?"
Damon's head canted to one side as he regarded the too skinny
messenger with his shifty eyes and greasy hair.
"It is." He answered in a relatively neutral voice.
The man's rat like face collapsed in relief. "Wonderful, you're
one of the workers here then?"
"You could say that."
Reaching into the saddlebag slung over the rump of his horse, he
pulled forth a wrinkled white envelope.
"I have a message for the master of the house there. Take me to
him."
Settling comfortably in his saddle once again, the messenger
straightened his spine and let his face smooth out in what Damon assumed he thought to be an
aristocratic expression. Damon watched him, unmoving, until the man realized he had no intention of
leading him up the driveway and to the main house. Smiling a bit, Damon reached out one large
callused hand and snapped his fingers, devilishly pleased when the man bristled.
"I'll be taking that now if you don't mind."
"This letter belongs to Damon Burleigh and I couldn't possibly be
so lax in my duties that I would and it--"
"If it's about your pay," Damon interrupted, "I'll be happy to
send one of the servants into town to settle the debt later on today."
He smiled into the man's eyes and watched him pale. "But in the
meantime I'll be taking my letter."
* * * *
Jocelyn Holbrooke liked to dance.
If you asked anyone who lived in Richmond about the Holbrooke
girls they would tell you,
"The older girl's a dancer, a ballerina. You've never seen a more
beautiful sight until you've watched her spinning around the ballroom on the tips of her toes. And
the little one, Ava? She's a painter. Takes after her poor deceased Mother may God rest her
soul."
So up in her room, her little Ava wept over her paints, while
Jocelyn … Jocelyn danced.
After so many years the routine had become instinctual, so much
so, that she no longer had to concentrate or really even think about them before her body moved to
obey the instinctual rhythm.
First position, second position, pirouette and stop.
From fifth position move into a tondeu to the side and go on to
the fourth position.
Now three turns, and stop.
Stop.
STOP!
Wrong.
Again.
From fifth, tondeu, forth, passé and turn three times. Eyes
focused on one point so that the head whips forward to that spot each time. Focus, focus,
focus.
A' la hauteur, ninety % angle, Arabesque. Now keep it. Bring the
leg down into attitude en pointe.
Fifth position, fourth position, third, second, and
first.
Stop.
It was all wrong.
All of it.
She was supposed to go see the performance being held at the
theatre next month. Whenever the dancers came her father always took her to see them.
"Stupid papa, you promised. I really wanted … I really wanted to
see--"
Jocelyn's gut twisted and her lower lip began to tremble even
though she tried to force it not to. Her head throbbed, her chest ached, and her throat burned as
if some phantom had come and tried to rip it out.
"Stupid … Stupid papa." Her voice trailing off, Jocelyn ran a
shaking hand beneath her nose and as she was lowering herself into the position for Battements
Tendus she found the strength leaving her legs and before she knew it she was sitting on the cool
surface of the ballroom floor.
Then the tears came, hot, scalding, punishing. And her throat
ached, and her chest throbbed, and the twisting pain in her stomach tightened until she felt as if
she might die.
Chapter One
I know I'm dumping a lot on you all at once but you're a good man.
One of the best I know, and always have been, even before that bloody mess in India. I believe that
more than anyone, I can trust you with my girls, my most precious treasures.
"Miss?"
Jocelyn barely controlled her small sound of surprise as the
doorman's voice broke the oppressive silence in the drawing room. She smoothed her skirts and made
sure to blank her expression before she looked over her shoulder at Jeremy.
"What is it?"
"There's a carriage coming Miss. The stable boy saw it as he was
out with the horses."
This was indeed strange news. With the death of their father
people had been coming from all over to pay their respects this was true. It had only been a week
since his death, but even so, everyone he'd ever met or locked eyes with had come knocking on their
door. That an unfamiliar carriage should appear was nothing new.
What was, was that the carriage, and the one driving it, had
roused enough concern in the staff to have them come and speak to her of it. Usually they simply
waited until whomever was calling had come knocking on the door before they announced their
arrival, not wanting to disturb the young mistresses of the house any more than
necessary.
She frowned. From across the room Ava looked up from her sketch
pad with dull eyes. Questioning, she looked at Jocelyn.
"Who on earth--"
As one their eyes widened and they leaned toward each other,
blatantly ignoring the distance that separated them.
"He must have heard about it by now, right?" Ava said, setting her
sketch pad on the table beside her.
"He must have. It's the only explanation."
Ava stood and walked to the window, pulling aside the drapes to
peer out the window. "Papa talked about him all the time."
Jocelyn nodded, moving beside her. A little thrill quivered in her
belly. "They were best friends."
"And if he left right after he got the news--"
"And traveled hard and packed light--"
"He might have been able to make it here by today."
They stared at each other, hopeful and shamelessly excited, before
Jocelyn reminded herself not to be so childish. So it was a strange carriage, so what? Chances were
it wasn't whom they hoped it would be and getting her hopes up only to have them crash down again
would be too much after everything else that had happened. Ava seemed to sense her change of mood
because the dark blue eyes that had been twinkling a moment before glossed over once again as she
sat back in her chair and went back to her sketches.
Sighing, Jocelyn turned from the window and noticed that Jeremy
still stood politely in the doorway. She flushed, embarrassed that she'd forgotten about him so
quickly. Her father would have never done something like that. John Holbrooke had been a man who
was meticulous from his days as a soldier and never slacking when it came to people and the little
details. You couldn't expect to run an entire plantation, raise two children by yourself, as well
as manage investments if you forgot as simple a thing as a footman in the doorway.
If she had any hope of taking on all that so she could continue to
raise her little Ava in the home they'd both grown up in, she'd do well to remember
that.
She dipped a small curtsy in Jeremy's direction and bowed her head
in acknowledgement of the slip.
"Thank you Jeremy. Have the footman ready a stable for the horses
and tell the upstairs maids to prepare a room in case our guest needs to stay the night as it's
getting on quite late in the evening and they may not make it back home by nightfall. Also, inform
Cookie to prepare a bit more than usual tonight for the same reason. If whoever it is doesn't stay
then the servants may have what remains and one more clean room in the house won't kill
us."
Bowing, Jeremy flashed a quick grin and left to do as she'd asked.
She should really reprimand him for his familiarity, but honestly that small sign of approval made
her feel better.
As if … as if maybe they'd be alright without papa
around.
Palming away the tears that suddenly sprang into her eyes, she
gathered her skirts in one hand and moved towards the window overlooking the drive in front of the
house.
She could just make out the carriage lumbering its heavy way down
the drive beneath the cloaking canopy of trees. They were about five minutes off which gave her
enough time to compose herself enough to drum up a wilted parody of a smile.
Unsatisfied with how fake it felt, she tried it again, and then
again.
Practice made perfect after all.
* * * *
Damon was tired, he was irritated, and most of all he stank of the
road: an odd mix of horse, dirt, and sweat. He been traveling hard since he'd read John's letter a
week and a half before. After he'd seen who it was from he'd been reluctant to read the contents.
Something about the letter made his blood run cold without his even having to open it.
It had taken him a good two days to prepare his steward and staff
for his extended absence. He'd never been gone longer than a few days, but in honor of John … in
honor of him he would stay until the elder man passed on to receive his just rewards.
He owed him that much.
So it was with mixed feelings that he stepped from the carriage to
look up at the two story plantation home. The curtains in each of the windows on the first and
second floor fluttered and shook as curious servants looked out at the newcomer.
Damon fought back a smile.
He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd known of his arrival
much sooner. He had made quite a stir buying the most expensive carriage and horses available. But
he couldn't help himself, by the time he and Bella had dragged their way into town they'd both been
exhausted. He was adamant about having her rest for the duration. He would be taking the carriage
when he went back to Georgia so that both he and Bell could rest. They deserved it.
His suspicion about the staff being pre warned of his arrival was
confirmed when a young boy hurried forward and bowing announced that he would take the horses to
the stable to be fed and watered down.
Shrugging and rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension in his
back and neck, Damon made his way up the wide stone steps to the front door. It opened before his
knuckles could make contact with the wood.
And there standing before him was the most … enchanting creature
he'd ever laid eyes upon.
"You're him." Her voice was flat and a bit hoarse, as if she were
fighting back some strong emotion.
Damon cocked his head to one side and stared at her hard and long,
ignoring the knowledge that he was being rude.
For some reason he didn't like the faint sense of recollection
that shook him.
It was in the eyes really, those bright green eyes and that strong
jaw. But recognition or not, he wanted to erase the anxious shadows darkening her gaze and the fine
trembling in her lower lip.
So he smiled, crooked and cynical around the edges and raised an
eyebrow.
"Him who?"
She began to nod her head, her eyes steady as she looked him up
and down. Then she saw the dimple and that simply confirmed it.
"It has to be you. I mean you have to be him. It's the only
explanation. You're just like how I remember. Just like it." She was muttering to herself, and
wanting to erase the sick pallor of her face, he rested a hand against the doorframe and leaned in
until he was all too close for his state of mind.
"For you Princess, I can be anyone you want me to be."
His blatant impropriety seemed to shake her out of her daze. She
stepped back with a regal lift of her chin as if she'd suddenly realized that he was far beneath
her notice.
"I apologize, sir." She said, her voice cool. "But we both seemed
to be under some misguided impression of each other. I am no street trollop and you obviously
aren't the man I thought you to be. Now would you be so kind as to state your business and leave,
my home is in mourning and we would like some peace and quiet."
Damon couldn't help but grin down into that perfect little face.
She was taller than most women, and he liked how she met his gaze head on and the way her warm,
honey scented breath teased his nostrils. It took his spiraling mind a moment to grasp what she
just said and when it finally dawned on him, he felt it like a punch in the guts.
Only this time the feeling had nothing to do with the lust the
strange woman awoke in him and everything to do with guilt.
"Mourning?"
"Yes." She was wary of him if the narrowed green eyes were any
indication. "My father passed away last week and I--Good heavens, are you alright?"
Her hands reached for his face. Sick with himself, with his own
stupidity and insensitivity, Damon stepped out of her reach, seamlessly turning the evasion into a
formal bow so that she wouldn't regret her show of concern.
"My apologies." His voice sounded ragged. Damned if his throat
wasn't tight. It didn't matter how hard he and Bella had ridden, because they had been too late a
long time ago.
Much too long.
Raising his head, he met the young woman's eyes, wondering
despairingly if she were Ava or Jocelyn, and guessing if those pretty green eyes were any indicator
then she was obviously the latter.
"I don't mean to intrude during this time of grief, but my name is
Damon Burleigh."
He shrugged and gave a self deprecating smile. "I'm here to see an
old friend."
* * * *
"England!"
"What?" Ava glared at him, her pretty mouth pursed and blue eyes
blazing with evident dislike. "Why would daddy want you to take us anywhere?"
There was a lot of venom in those few words, a lot of distrust and
hurt. Damon understood it, forgave it, and just as quickly, dismissed it.
The girl was suffering and clinging to the familiar.
There was no shame in that, hell; he did the exact same thing most
days.
So he made an effort to keep himself calm. "John sent me a letter
asking me if I'd take you girls to your Uncle."
Lord Clayton Holbrooke, Earl of Stanford had been the one to buy
John's commission into the East India Company. He was a serious man, and liked to keep to himself.
Completely unlike the younger Holbrooke brother who loved crowds and noise, which is probably why
he prospered after the birth of his two girls where other men would have buckled under the strain.
Especially since it hadn't even been a week after Ava had been born that his wife consumed to fever
and died.
They had still been overseas then, still fighting, and it wasn't
until Ava was four and Jocelyn six that the war had finally ended and they'd been allowed home.
During this time John's brother and his wife Kristen had been caring for the girls and as soon as
he got back on English soil he packed them up and Damon followed behind the small family to
America. Once there he used the money he'd inherited from his father to buy a small plantation down
in Georgia while John and the girls claimed his late wife's childhood home in Virginia.
For that first year or so after they'd come back, he'd stayed with
John a lot, traveling tirelessly between Georgia and Virginia every other month it seemed like.
Learning the finer points of how to run a plantation and integrating his own experiences with it
from when he'd helped his father run their estate in Bengal.
For a year he'd watched Ava and Jocelyn grow, Ava who was just as
delicate and pale a child as she was a young woman. Even at four she'd been a smart little thing,
knowing how and when to smile and the exact angle in which to turn her head to inflict the most
damage to the male heart. By the time her fifth birthday had begun to roll around she'd had most of
the staff wrapped around her chubby little finger. Men and women alike were under her thrall, for
though the women recognized her tactics and tricks, she was pronounced as being even smarter and
twice as adorable for knowing how to implement them in the first place.
A twisted sort of logic, but there it was.
Jocelyn on the other hand … she'd been solemn but bright. Quick to
laugh and slow to cry. She'd been enchanting, and just as he'd been hopelessly drawn to her back
then he found himself even worse off now. After he'd lost his little brothers and sister, children
had held little appeal to him. They were too easily broken, too easily crushed and snuffed out like
the bright dancing flames they were. Once you fell in love with a child they kept your heart and he
couldn't have taken it if another one had died on him. So while Ava had been the queen of the
castle in most respects it had been the shy little Jocelyn who'd sought him out to run her chubby
hands over his face whenever he'd found himself lost too deeply in memory.
She had something in her that could save him and it was that
growing attachment to her that had sent him running and convinced him not to come back.
Even now, he found his eyes drawn to her, only this time it wasn't
with the eyes of an infatuated young man, but with the desire akin to that of a moth to the
flame.
She was curvy, her lush figure at odds with her seemingly stern
demeanor. The lashes that framed her green eyes were thick and brushed across cheeks as smooth as
silk whenever she turned her gaze from him. The lamps set up in the room brightened it enough that
he could make out the golden highlights in her dark blond hair.
He wanted to touch her, taste her, lick her, bite her, and the
urges disgusted as well as thrilled him to the bone.
He was shameless, lusting after her when he'd been entrusted with
her safety.
But just because he knew he was shameless, didn't mean he could
stop himself, and if he wasn't careful he would find himself covering the distance between them to
snatch her up.
Good thing for them both she did all she could to keep their eye
contact to a minimum.
Though Damon suspected this had a lot to do with her personal
dislike of him rather than any maidenly urges to protect her virtue.
"We're not going anywhere with you. Let alone to England. Ava and
I are perfectly fine staying right where we are."
"How will you take care of yourselves?"
"The plantation of course."
"So I'm to assume that you're aware of all the ins and outs of
pulling off something like that."
"I've watched daddy do it for years. And what I don't know I can
learn--"
"And while you're learning, this entire estate will collapse and
your father's hard work along with it."
"That's none of your concern."
"John made it my concern."
"And the solution to all of this is to take us across the sea to
the enemy? You seem to be forgetting that we're in the middle of a war, Mr. Burleigh. If you pardon
me for saying so that seems none too bright."
Damon felt his lips tightening and a nasty mix of blood and
blankly staring eyes danced in his head.
"Well excuse me as well, Princess," he began, tone mocking and
gaze fierce as it met hers, "but two women living alone in a warzone doesn't seem all that smart
either."
She deemed him worthy enough to sneer at then, and he ignored the
shot of lust to sneer right back.
Maybe he'd been spending too much time farming and not enough
whoring if this little girl was wreaking such havoc on him.
"I think we've said about all we have to say to each other, Mister
Burleigh. Now if you'd be kind enough to leave, the servants will be happy to--"
"Hold on there, sweetheart. We haven't said nearly enough to each
other. John asked me for a favor, his last wish if you will, and I'm going to make sure I do it for
him whether you girls agree to it or not."
Since he'd just made kidnapping an option, Damon felt tons better
about the entire mess. Even Jocelyn's slowly flushing cheeks were enough to bring a smile to his
face. He was startled when Ava cleared her throat, and he turned to her with hooded eyes. He was
more than a little ashamed to realize that he'd completely forgotten about her and in a belated
attempt to make it up to her he gave her his undivided attention.
He noted the quick flutter of lashes, the soft smile and suddenly
bright eyes and his back went up.
He searched for them and found only the faintest
traces.
The angled body as if she were straining to hear more of what he
had to say, the straighter shoulders that brought her pert little breasts flush against the
midnight blue of the gown that matched her eyes and brought out the moonlight paleness of her
skin.
The tricks were all there, subtle and sweet so they were hardly
noticeable and he had to applaud the girl her efforts. She'd be a match for any of the society
flirts and their matchmaking mammas when she arrived in England.
But her preparation, especially since she obviously disliked him,
alerted him to her next question.
"Is Uncle Clayton a Red Coat? And just how well off is
he?"
"AVA!"
He sighed mentally. Talk about getting to the point. No wonder
she'd pulled out all the stops.
"What? It's not like you weren't wondering either, Joss. If he's
going to take us in then he had better be in a comfortable position to do so. I have no desire to
travel across an ocean to live as a pauper nor do I want to find myself at the mercy of those damn
Brits."
Damon wanted to applaud but thought that would just add fuel to
the Jocelyn fire.
"For the last time we are NOT going."
"He's the Earl of Stanford. From what I understand a Lord's life
is more than just 'comfortable'. Also, the last time I checked, he doesn't support the war. His age
as well as a leg injury from his sea fairing days has rendered him … unsatisfactory as far as
combat is concerned."
Ava smiled, but not as if she was pleased. More like a problem
that had plagued her had been assuaged.
Jocelyn's entire frame shook and biting her lip she turned to her
sister and leaned in close.
Not that that made any difference.
He could still hear just fine.
"Ava. What's gotten into you? We aren't going anywhere with that …
that vagrant."
Ouch.
"I don't really care who we go with Joss … I just want to
go."
Her words brought his eyes to them quickly enough that he was able
to catch the silent conversation that took place between them. When Jocelyn next glanced up, her
face was tight and unhappy, but determined.
"Fine."
Her lips were tight, almost bloodless.
"We'll go."
Damon leaned back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest as
he regarded her with narrowed eyes.
"Then I'll leave you girls to get ready."
|
