CHAPTER ONE
London, England
Autumn 1819
“Ican’t accept this.” Mara shook her head as she slid the obscene bank draft back across the table to Lady Rockford, where they conversed in private in the back room of Mara’s haberdashery on Cheshire Street. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s not true,” Athena countered with a slight hitch in her voice. “I owe you this and so much more for saving my life.” Reaching out, she grabbed Mara’s hand. “You have become one of my dearest friends, Miss Smith. Please allow me the chance to help you.”
And there it was…
Miss Smith.
Mara felt a stab of guilt toward the lie that separated her from the countess more than any rank or social standing ever could.
She knew at the beginning that it had been a mistake to befriend the former Miss Hawthorne, but sensing a kindred spirit, Mara had decided to do the right thing for once and help a friend, for heaven only knew those were in short supply for her as it was. Athena was also common born and had fallen on hard times after her father passed and their jewelry shop had been sold off to pay false creditors some weeks ago. With Mara’s assistance, Athena had finally been able to reclaim her inheritance, and eventually she fell in love with the Earl of Rockford and married him.
But Mara was well aware that not every story had a happy ending.
At the sound of the front bell, Mara found the perfect opportunity to end the conversation. “I’m sorry, Lady Rockford, but my answer is no.”
With that, she walked away. She might have given up a chance at a better life, a small fortune really, but she was perfectly content running her modest haberdashery. It might be located in the very heart of Spitalfields, but it had been her saving grace.
Where one life had ended, another had begun.
But now, as she turned the corner, her worst fears had come to pass. In the blink of an eye, she stood face to face with the very man she had studiously tried to avoid for seven, long years.
Roarke Garrott, Viscount Eversleigh.
“Mara?” His voice was hoarse with emotion as he came forward. “My God! Itisyou, isn’t it?”
She stared into those hauntingly familiar, hazel eyes as he reached out and grasped her upper arms and held tight as if he might never let go. His expression ranged from shock to anger and confusion before finally settling on—heaven help her—betrayal.
Mara ignored her bleeding heart and quickly fell into the role she was supposed to play. She struggled in his hold with a proper amount of righteous indignation. “Unhand me, sir! I don’t know who you think I am, but you are quite mistaken. I am Miss Anna Smith, proprietor of this establishment—”
He cut her off with a roar. “Don’t lie to me!” Shaking her violently, he demanded, “What kind of cruel game have you been playing all these years? Do you realize the torment I’ve been through thinking that you were dead when all this time…?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, as if the very idea was unfathomable.
Athena’s husband, Orion Ashcroft, had been standing nearby and witnessing the exchange in silence, but finally intervened when the bell above the shop door tinkled again and a startled patron paused upon the threshold at the scene unfolding before her. Laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he advised in low tones, “Roarke, now is not the time.”
As if finally coming to his senses, the viscount blinked rapidly before releasing her. Taking a step back, he ran a trembling hand through his hair.
For a moment, Mara had to look away. How many times had she run her hands through that sandy blond mane or kissed those chiseled lips?
Whether it was due to heartbreak or desire, he still tore her up inside.
Roarke took a deep breath. Finally, he raised his head to regard her once more, and the look on his face clearly conveyed that their business was far from over. He turned on his heel and walked stiffly out the door, brushing past the gaping customer so abruptly that she nearly stumbled in his wake.
“I apologize for my friend’s crass manner.” Lord Rockford said, although Mara could sense that he regarded her more thoughtfully than before. “He has been under much duress upon his recent return to England.”
Mara swallowed over the lump of self-loathing clogging her throat. Unable to look the earl in the eye any longer, she glanced down and brushed off her skirts. “There’s no harm done, my lord.” Forcing herself to keep a neutral expression on her face, she turned to Athena, who had just joined them.
“Thank you again, my lady, for your generous consideration on my behalf. But if you’ll excuse me, I have a shop to run.” With that, Mara turned her back on the countess and her husband, focusing all her attention on the woman who had nearly been run over by Roarke but had recovered enough to riffle through the colorful ribbons on display.
Mara held her breath until the bell above the door chimed again and she knew they had gone. Her nerves were still finely tuned even after she heard theclip-clopof horses’ hooves as the Rockford barouche rattled down the cobblestone street. Thankfully, her one customer did not tarry overlong and, after quickly selecting a few fripperies, took her leave as well.
That’s when Mara collapsed.
It started out as a trembling through her limbs as she turned theOpensign toClosedand locked the shop door. But before she could even make it to the back room, she burst into a fit of tears, years of strain and unrequited love flowing down her cheeks. She quickly wet a cloth to press over her feverish skin, thankful she was alone and that no one was around to witness her fall from grace.
