CHAPTER ONE

STONECREST MANOR

ENGLAND

1820

"Argh!" echoed through the cool morning air.

Blake Bradley, the Baron of Stonecrest, shook his head like an angry beast as the feeling of dread washed over him. From the time he was pushed forth from his mother's womb, God had frowned down on him and, at thirty years, Blake did not look for it to change anytime soon.

He could feel it. His day of reckoning was closing in on him. He had been preparing for it since the day the ill-conceived deed had been formed. But the knowledge did not make it any easier to bear. Just the thought of it made his stomach clench and his teeth grind. Slowly, Blake reached up and touched his face. A sadistic smile stretched his tense lips. Perhaps, there might be some justice in this world after all, he thought, without a trace of humor.

His black eyes stared out at the green valley below him as he tried to calm the rising fury that always filled him when his thoughts turned to this particular subject. He was known as a hard man. The very sight of him made people tremble in fear. It mattered not what people whispered behind his back. In fact, he preferred their taunts. The reputation the gossip gave him brought the solitude he desired. His laughter echoed around him as he recalled several of the rumors…the rumors that kept anyone from interfering in the Beast of Stonecrest's life.

Blake's father, Roger Bradley, had trained his only son well. The family hatred had been nurtured to the growth and power that Blake now felt burning deep within himself. There were times that he despised all the hate, but he was helpless to stop it.

But, there lay another reason for Blake's hatred. His real father no longer existed, not mentally anyway. Roger had stayed to his third floor suite for the past fifteen years, only coming out to roam the halls of Stonecrest every now and then. His hatred and mild insanity glowing in the depth of his blue eyes. No, he wasn't the same man Blake could remember as a lad. Roger was nothing more than a shell of the man he once had been.

Roger's mind had started deteriorating from the moment his wife, Ann, had died. Blake had been eight years old at the time and then at the age fifteen came the signing of the damn contract. A contract that had only served to speed up his father's descent into madness. The hated name sprung forth in Blake's mind, making his stomach muscles clench tighter. Every bad thing that had happened to the Bradleys was either directly or indirectly caused by that one vile name.

Judgment was upon him and Blake had already selected the verdict in which he would hand down to the recipient. Truthfully, in the past he never gave the contract much thought. He was already two years late at fulfilling his end of the deed and everyday that passed, he found himself dwelling on the damned thing more and more.

A scowl marred his brow when he heard the sound of an approaching rider. He turned and watched his man, Griggs, pull his mount to a halt along side of Blake's black beast. For several minutes Blake ignored him and then finally he cast the elderly man a side-glance. Griggs was more friend than servant…and more of an irritation than friend.

"Nice day, is it not, milord?"

Blake raised a black brow at the man's gruff voice.

"Yes...If one is in the mood for damp, rainy weather."

"I thought it rather fit your mood, sir," Griggs replied.

Blake shook his head at the elderly man. "I do not believe you rode all the way out here just to share your opinion with me. I already know you think me the gloomy sort. Is there something on your mind, Griggs?"

"Me, sir? No, I don't believe so."

Blake sighed heavily, at the snide tone. "Out with it, old man. You know that I have not the flavor nor the patience for your droll sense of humor."

"But, that's where we differ…I fear nothing."

Griggs glanced over at the younger man. He had known this man since the minute of his birth. Lady Ann had labored hard and long to bring the twelve-pound baby into the world. He could still recall the glow on her face when the ordeal had finally ended. Her black hair had clung to her damp cheeks, her dark eyes had glistened with unshed tears.

It was the most tender experience he had ever witnessed. From that moment on, the baby had become his major concern. He had tried his best to shield the lad from a sire that saw everything in a contorted view. But somewhere along the way he felt as though he had failed.

Griggs blamed a lot of Blake's rash fits of temper and reckless behavior on the war. He had come home a hero. In recognition of his heroic service he had rendered, he had been given the title of Baron. But the war had destroyed the last part of the real Blake Bradley. A large "X" was carved into each finely sculptured cheek…but the war had marred more than just his face. It had left a young man's hopes in much the same way it had left his face…torn and ragged.

Of course, he was honest enough to admit that Blake had never been the same after the death of his mother. With a heavy sigh, he put an end to his wandering thoughts, but not the hope that still lingered in its wake. Looking at his young master's face, Griggs plastered a bored expression upon his own as he tried to recall their conversation.

"What was it we were talking about, milord? I seemed to have forgotten."

Blake gave Griggs a good frown before repeating his question for the third time. "I said, I assume there is a good reason for you riding out here? Other than you like the feel of your skinny arse getting bumped black and blue with your ungracious talent at riding. So, out with it."

"That's one thing I have always admired about you, sir. You do seem to have a way with words. I pray that you can retain your good spirits a moment longer," Griggs said, then flashed a rare smile.

Blake felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

"Your guest has arrived," Griggs announced.

It was short and straight to the point. It also felt like Blake had taken a blow to his mid-section. Slowly, he tried to take a deep breath, but the air seemed to evaporate before he could draw it in, making his chest ache with awareness.

Without saying a word, Blake turned his horse toward home, riding like Lucifer himself charging through the flames of hell. Blake condemned himself as he and his steed soared over the uneven ground. Instincts had warned him and still he did not heed them. Pulling back on the reins, he came to a stop in front of his home. As he dismounted he threw the dangling reins to the young stable lad.

He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected to find upon entering his home, but the empty hall told him that either his 'guest' had been there for awhile or was an extremely light traveler.

No…not this guest.

The door to the drawing room slammed opened with such a force that even Blake blinked at the booming sound he had caused. He took a battle stance and then noticed the room was empty. Turning on heel, Blake smartly bumped into Griggs. He could feel his face turn hot with embarrassment.

"Your library, sir."

Muttering a hellish curse, he pushed past Griggs and stomped down the hall. Stopping just outside the library, Blake drew in a deep breath before opening the door, slowly, more cautiously. He knew he should control his anger, but he wanted to feel it, he needed to feel it, he had to remember everything that had brought him to this point of damnation.

As the door opened inward Blake came face to face with a blonde hair giant. Instantly, Blake was reminded of a painting he had once seen of the Spartan warriors. The man who stood eye to eye with him did not impress him. If this was to be some kind of safeguard against him, Blake was going to look forward to the challenge.

"This is my guardian, Lucas."

Blake's gaze moved across the room to where the other person stood in front of the hearth.

The other intruder appeared to be nothing more than a lad by his size. He wore some sort of sleeveless vest that hung down to the floor and was made of white fur with a matching hat that in Blake's opinion looked utterly ridiculous.

As his coal black eyes raked over the youth, Blake noticed that the boy had one of his boots propped up on a decorative three-legged stool. Suddenly, he wanted to knock the lad a fair distance from it.

"Boy, you're going to need a guardian, if you don't remove your grimy foot from my mother's stool." Blake's growling voice had its intending effect as the lad quickly lowered his foot and straightened.

With cold contempt, Blake turned back to the Spartan warrior. How dare these strangers enter his home? To make themselves at ease? Did they have no manners? Even though his gaze was on the giant he could still see the boy from the corner of his eyes. The lad was in the processes of removing his long vest, brushing a hand over the fine fur. Expensive clothing, yet foul manners. A sharp in-drawn breath hissed from Blake as he watched the lad bend forward and spreading the fur over the stool. Good God, not a lad, echoed through the Baron's mind as he turned toward the shapely derrière.

Then his breathing stopped all together. He tired to swallow, but found he couldn't. His face flamed as he realized his mistake. The obvious proof of this person's gender nearly undid him. A girl...no...a woman. A full grown, lush woman.

He had not realized that he had been holding his breath until she turned to face him. Eyes the color of rich topaz met the gaze of his black ones. That's when he felt his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen. He could not seem to stop his eyes from roaming over her. Then his brows snapped down as her state of dress, or rather her costume, registered in his dull mind. What in the world was the woman wearing? She looked like some sort of festival performer.

The bright red shirt was belted around her small waist, emphasizing her wide hips. Damn, Blake muttered, when he realized that the woman was wearing pants that apparently were too small for her, for the material fit her full thighs like a second skin. He truly did try to stop his gaze from wandering over her, but finally he gave up the losing battle. He could not recall ever seeing one such as her before. She was beautiful.

That thought brought a fierce frown to his face.

Her face was a perfect heart shape. Her skin appeared to be smooth and as lustrous, like that of a pearl. Her lips were full, tinted a natural pink. He found himself wondering what color her hair beneath the ridiculous hat would be. He also realized that it angered him not to be able to determine what color her brows and long lashes were. An intense need to rip the ludicrous hat from her head swept over him.

Again his eyes scanned over her. Her breasts raised with each breath she took. Blake found his own breathing pattern had adjusted to hers. What the hell was wrong with him? He was behaving like some ill-disciplined pup on his first run in a kennel full of bitches. He shook his head, trying to break the spell he was caught in. Spell? That would explain his odd reaction to her. This woman/creature was a witch. How utterly fascinating...and how positively absurd.

Blake turned away in self-disgust. How long had it been since there had been a woman in this house? He glanced over his shoulder at the vision again and muttered a curse. His mother had been the last Lady at Stonecrest. He doubted he could place this ill-dressed chit in the same league as his mother.

He could just imagine what type woman this one was. Her manner of dress told him all he needed to know. The way the material clung to her ripe figure, the way her bold glare assessed him, the way her...Blake put an immediate stop to the erotic thoughts and images that started taking shape and filling his head…stopping them before they lead him down a path he had no desire to explore.

Bracing himself against the corner of his desk, he slowly let his gaze return to her, studying her for several minutes. He was surprised to find her steady, unflinching gaze on him. As always, he prepared himself for the reaction he knew was forthcoming. For some baffling reason, he hated the thought of those gold eyes peering at him in disgust…or fear. Was there a possibility that she had not noticed his ravished face? Impossible, unless she was blind as a bat. Hell, he muttered, pushing the foolish thoughts away.

Finally he broke the silence. "And tell me, Madame, who in the blazes are you?" His voice seemed to thunder through the small room.

Blake's eyes widened when the woman's brows lifted in mute question. He watched, almost mesmerized, as she took one step toward him and then stopped. Turning slightly, she reached up and pulled the hat off, carefully laying it on top of the vest before turning back to him. Long, dark red hair fell below her waist. Again she took a step closer, then another, and another. Her topaz eyes seemed to twinkle with some emotion Blake could not pinpoint. But, then if asked, he probably would not be able to state his own name at the moment.

The woman was a raving beauty.

"I am Thorton Lynwood," came her soft, husky reply. She could tell the man was having some difficulty in comprehending her. She also had not missed his earlier sneer in reference and in tone when he called her 'Madame.'

"I'm your betrothed," she clarified.

Blake pushed away from the desk as he glared at the woman. His fist clenched tightly at his side. Had he really expected anything less? No. After all, this was the due his family supposedly owed. This was the 'payment' for some crime Roger Bradley had allegedly committed against the Duke of Lynwood. This was the price Blake had to pay for the sake of family name and honor.

"Bloody hell," he moaned.

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