Second Chances -- Available Now Historical Romance Lady Emma Easton’s elopement to an elderly earl shields her from an abusive father, until her husband’s death leaves her vulnerable once again. When she learns her father is scheming to marry her off to a brutal man, only one man can protect her—the earl’s trusted friend, Viscount Drake. After losing his wife, Lord Harold Drake vowed never to marry again. But his heart warms to the young widow he’s promised to protect. Emma’s love frees him from the darkness that’s consumed him. But now Drake must protect her from her father’s evil whims, or face losing her forever. BUY E-book: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Smashwords BUY Print: Amazon Read Excerpt

Northampton, England, February 1826

Chapter One

Emma smoothed a few strands of gray hair from Harmon’s forehead, wishing for a way to forestall the inevitable. The huge four-poster bed dwarfed his frail, feeble body. Gold brocade drapes and bedspread cast a regal glow to the chamber, adding a jaundiced yellow to his already pallid complexion.

A fit of coughs rumbled in his chest. Harmon reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. His clumsy fingers couldn’t quite grasp it and he knocked it over. “Bollocks.” He slumped back on the bed.

She’d been so young when they married five years ago, his gruff words and manners should have terrified her. But from the first moment they met, she’d found Harmon’s ways endearing. She knew if she offered any type of sympathy he’d scoff, willful old man that he was.

Emma snatched a linen cloth from the bedside drawer and swabbed the mess. After pouring another glass of water, she leaned over him. “May I be of assistance?” She carefully put an arm around him and held his head and shoulders straight, then brought the glass to his lips. After he took a sip, she leaned him back on the pillows.

“Damn. I hate that you have to do everything for me.”

She smiled. “You are quite welcome.”

A ghost of a grin passed his lips. “Please forgive me, dear.”

Shock ran through her. She’d never heard him utter the word please.

Hands slightly shaking, unsure if the tremors were from his words or because she hadn’t broken her fast this morning, she doused a cloth in the basin filled with warm water. She wiped Harmon’s face and neck. He would undoubtedly fall asleep soon and always rested better when clean. She splashed a tiny amount of sandalwood cologne on her palm and rubbed it on his jaw. Weeks ago he’d grumbled about how he feared he smelled like death, so she’d made this a daily habit. The clean, fresh scent tickled her nose.

Harmon didn’t open his eyes when he said, “Tell Simmons to send Drake up as soon as he arrives.”

 She straightened the bedclothes around him. “You’re going to drive Simmons to Bedlam. You’ve told him dozens of times.”

“I must see Drake.”

“I will remind him.” Her feet were leaden as she trudged across the floor. Before she shut the door, she glanced back at the bed. Harmon’s eyes were closed, and his chest heaved with each breath he fought to take. Stacked on the nightstand were his beloved books. He never tired of listening to Byron, Blake, and other poets and authors.

Tears pricked her eyes. How many more times would she enjoy reading to him?

Voices from the foyer caught her attention, and she glanced down the stairwell.

Harold Drake, the fifth Viscount Drake, his tall lithe form meticulously dressed in black, stood at the entrance. Simmons took his coat and pointed toward the stairs. Lord Drake acknowledged each servant by name. He had been an esteemed guest at Westbourne for years. She’d never known a time when he didn’t visit once a month. Not even two years ago, after his wife’s death.

She glanced toward Harmon’s door. What did he want to discuss with Lord Drake?

“Lady Easton?” Lord Drake had already climbed the steps. “How is he? Simmons practically pushed me up the stairs.”

A lump lodged in her throat. If she looked into his eyes and saw sympathy, she would not be able to stop her tears. Not meeting his gaze, she motioned to the door with her arm.

He gingerly slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and laid it on his coat sleeve—still cold from the freezing weather. Together they made their way to Harmon’s room. After a quick knock, Lord Drake towed her over the threshold. “Look what I found in the hallway.”

Harmon cracked his eyes open. “You have a treasure there, my boy.”

Lord Drake squeezed her arm and released her before he approached the bed. “We are due for a ride, Harmon. Shall I have Endicott saddled?”

Harmon’s eyes flashed with longing. “I am want for a ride.”

“It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“At least I’m alive.” Harmon coughed.

The men usually exchanged many quips during their visits, but today Harmon cut their banter short. “I’m glad you’re here, Drake. We need to speak.”

She started for the door.

“Emma, please stay,” Harmon said.

A shiver raced through her. He’d said please again. “As you wish.” She moved to the opposite side of the bed from Lord Drake and sat in an armchair.

Harmon reached out a trembling hand, and she leaned over the huge mattress to clasp it.

He inhaled a shallow breath. “Drake, the day your father saved my life, he and I became brothers. You are like a son to me. That is why I want to grace you with my most prized possession.” He grabbed Lord Drake’s hand and placed it over hers. “Emma will make you a good wife.”

Lord Drake’s stunned gaze collided with hers.

A heated flush spread through her body. She glared at her husband. “Bloody hell. This is what you had to speak to him about?”

Harmon coughed, dislodging everyone’s hands.

Lord Drake patted Harmon’s shoulder. “I will be back shortly. I need something for my parched throat.”

Or he needed fortification after hearing Harmon’s proclamation. Emma cringed.

Lord Drake started for the door.

She whispered to Harmon, whose hearing had never been impaired in the least, “Why would you want to shackle him or any man to me?”

“So they know angels walk the earth.” His words wrapped her in warmth, but his declaration she marry Lord Drake still stung in her chest like a bee set on vengeance. His boney fingers lovingly stroked her cheek. “Marrying Drake will solve your problems.”

“You know I plan to find employ as a companion or a nurse.”

“That is no position for a lady,” he rasped.

“Then I will venture to America.”

“As a widow?” Harmon scowled. “You’d never make the crossing without protection.”

Emma said what she always did when he would not listen, “You are a foolish old man.” They’d argued several times about what she would do after he passed. And just like now, he disagreed with everything she suggested. But with his time growing so short, she didn’t want to exchange harsh words. Instead, she teased him. “Perhaps I can seek the protection of a…. What does one call a man who supports a mistress?”

His eyes widened. “You will not be a whore—”

“Harmon, your language.”

“Expect me to return from the grave if you do.”

She kept trying to get a grin out of him. “What a sight you would make. A ghost haunting my—”

“It will not be a sight, because it will not happen.” His lips remained in a straight line, but his brown eyes met hers with a hint of humor. She wondered what kind of a young man he’d been. Now in his eighties, his body was failing, while his mind stayed as sharp as ever. He gripped her hand. “Emma, if you won’t marry Drake, I will bequeath all my personal holdings to you—”

“We’ve discussed this.” Teasing aside, she shook her head. “The cash notes you insisted I take will be plenty to live on for the rest of my life.”

“Yes. However, with my holdings, you can hire a staff for protection. You would not worry about anyone hurting you or your—”

“No. Trevor will inherit everything.”

Harmon’s paper thin lips tightened into an aggravated frown. “You have been more a comfort to me than any of my children. Trevor doesn’t deserve a shilling. He’s greedily accepted his allowance and gone about his way.”

“The earldom is rightfully his. We both know that decree is written in blood, not ink. If you leave me any part of the estate, even your personal holdings, it will cause a scandal.”

“Our whole marriage has been one scandal after another.” He shrugged. “What’s one more?”

“I would have to face this one alone.” Her heart ached in her chest. She would face the rest of her life without him. “Trevor will inherit everything. I cannot give him more reason to hate me.”

Since their marriage, Trevor visited just once. Three years ago he’d shown up after Emma wrote and explained the doctors didn’t think Harmon would live much longer. She had not a clue what was said between father and son, but Trevor left with his face blood red and his words harsh, Only the devil would be so stubborn as to live this long.

But Harmon had never been a devil to her. The only devil she knew lived a day’s carriage ride away. She’d lived with him the first fifteen years of her life.

Harmon’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Trevor hates you because without your care, I would have died long ago.”

She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to taunt him. “You have lived a damned long time.”

He barked out a laugh. Not a rich, healthy chuckle—more like a weak cough—but knowing she had brightened his day made it a wonderful sound.

“Lord Drake is not the answer to my problems. If I am in need of companionship, I will find a husband.”

His sigh sounded heavy, like it took Herculean effort just to breathe. “You need protection now.”

She heard footsteps at the door and stood. “Lord Drake, Harmon has lost his capacity to think with any semblance of clarity. I’ll leave you to explain he cannot issue a directive that we marry.” She hurried from the room. As the door closed behind her, tears stung her throat and nose. No longer able to keep her composure, she choked back a sob and ran down the stairway.

~

“You shouldn’t vex your wife so, Harmon.” Drake lounged in the seat Lady Easton had just vacated. A strange scent of sandalwood mixed with rose soap lingered.

“She has to be protected, Drake.” Harmon’s voice waned softer with each word. And his pale complexion made him look like a ghost of his old self. “The best way to ensure her safety is to marry her.”

“I’ll never marry again.”

“You must, for Samantha’s sake.” He coughed as he tried to sit up. “She needs a mother as much as you need a wife.” Harmon’s head dropped back to the pillows. “Emma has been my countess for five years. I’m not sure what shape the earldom would be in if she hadn’t been running it. She will slide right into the role of your viscountess.” Harmon pinned him with a stare. “Plus, you need an heir.”

Drake moved to the bed and adjusted the pillows behind Harmon, knowing the man’s words were true if he cared one whit about society. But he didn’t give a tinker’s dam. “I will invite Lady Easton to live at my estate. My mother and aunts are both in residence.”

“She needs a husband, Drake. Not a bloody friend.”

“And I am sure she’ll make an excellent match, when she is ready.”

Harmon scoffed. “Emma has never even attended a blasted ball. She is too naive to find a husband by herself.”

“My mother will be delighted to help.” His mother loved to play matchmaker.

“Do you think any reputable men would approach her after the scandals involving our marriage?”

Ah, yes, the scandals. Their elopement to Gretna Green, the fact she had not yet turned sixteen when they married, and the way she’d disregarded society and lived as Harmon’s nurse.

“The simple solution is for you to marry her.” Harmon’s blue-veined hands gestured toward the doorway. “Can’t you see how generous and giving she is? Don’t you miss a warm body heating your bed, son?”

Drake paced beside the bed. “How can you say such things?” He stopped and looked at his father’s best friend. His father’s confidant. The man who’d treated Drake as one of his own children. “We are talking about your wife.”

Harmon gathered his strength and leaned up on his elbows. “Whether you marry her or not, you must protect her from her father.” Eyes usually full of mischief and intelligence now looked pained. “Give me your vow.”

“I promise to protect Lady Easton from her father.”

Harmon’s head fell to the pillow, his body limp. “That man is the devil.”

~

Emma had been staring out the study window since she entered thirty minutes ago. A coat of heavy snow covered everything outside. Even the meadow showed not a hint of color, only unadulterated white.

She tucked some stray hair behind her ear, while Harmon’s words echoed in her mind, Emma will make you a good wife.

A knock sounded on the study door before the knob turned. Lord Drake entered and marched over to engulf her hands with his incredibly warm ones. “How long?”

She prayed he didn’t feel the tremors running through her. “The doctor says he should be gone already.” Embarrassed, she couldn’t meet his gaze, so she looked at their hands. “Harmon had no right to ask you to marry me. I’m appalled at his tactics. Senility has definitely settled in.”

He thankfully chuckled at her attempt at humor and released her hands. “Lady Easton, I would be honored if you would entertain the thought of living on my estate after Harmon passes.”

“That won’t be necessary. I am prepared to leave Westbourne and begin life anew.”

“As what?”

“A wid—” The word stuck in her throat.

An awkward silence held between them before he said, “It’s not an easy task.”

She felt a kinship to him, like he understood everything she was going through. “I won’t let Harmon heft me on you as a burden. Especially since you’re out of mourning and I am sure you will be taking another wife soon.”

“I will never marry again.”

She stood dumbfounded. So handsome, with his striking blue eyes and chestnut hair, he could have his pick of all the unmarried ladies in England. And he was still so young. Harmon had told her Lord Drake turned five and twenty on his last birthday.

“My mother and two aunts are in residence and would love for you to visit.” He studied her. “It is important to Harmon you are under my protection.”

Emma sighed.

Damn Harmon.

Damn him for his kindness, his care, and for speaking to Drake. For marrying her and showing her a better life—a peaceful, loving life. And damn him for leaving her to make a life on her own.

How unfair to poor Harmon—he was not even gone yet and here she stood damning him.

“My lord, I appreciate your concern, but I would hate to be an inconvenience to you or anyone.”

“It would hardly be an inconvenience. And you might become friends with Samantha.” His eyes lit up as they always did when he mentioned his two-year-old daughter. He’d brought her to visit a few times, a feat in itself since the carriage ride was close to half a day. But when Harmon became bedridden, Lord Drake stopped bringing her.

“How is Miss Samantha?”

He made his way over to the fireplace. “She is quite taken with the newest litter of puppies. Of course, the mother of the pups tries to hide them when Samantha visits the stables. But somehow she always finds one or two to pet.”

Emma smiled and sat in one of the chairs before the hearth. The roaring fire warmed the entire room. “Puppies are adorable.”

“Quite.” He took the chair next to her. “She’s named each of them, although none of us can understand the names she uses. Nanny tends to think my daughter has created a language all her own.”

A tingle of a laugh tickled her throat, but died when Simmons rushed into the room.

“My lady, you must come. Lord Easton is asking for you and Lord Drake.” The butler’s insistent tone sent a spike of fear through her. “He is very weak.”

Lord Drake jumped from his chair, grabbed her hand, and pulled. Emma resisted. Watching Harmon take his last breath would be too painful.

“You need to say goodbye,” Lord Drake whispered, his blue eyes pained, but resolute. “Trust me.”