Regency Surrender: Passionate Marriages: Marriage Made in Rebellion / Marriage Made in Hope
No matter the cost they’ll say ‘I do’!Marriage Made in Rebellion by Sophia JamesSeverely wounded Captain Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, has a boat waiting to take him home but this means parting ways with the woman he’s given his heart too. He can’t stay in war-torn Spain. Yet neither can he stop his arms from tightening about Alejandra as he breathes her in…Marriage Made in Hope by Sophia JamesLady Sephora Connaught knows there is another, more reckless side to her. When she’s rescued by the wild and dangerous Francis St Cartmail, Earl of Douglas, suddenly her confined world bursts into vibrant life. She offers him hope, but only time will tell if their fragile marriage is enough to banish his demons for ever!
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SOPHIA JAMES lives in Chelsea Bay, on Auckland New Zealand’s North Shore, with her husband who is an artist. She has a degree in English and History from Auckland University and believes her love of writing was formed by reading Georgette Heyer in the holidays at her grandmother’s house. Sophia enjoys getting feedback at www.sophiajames.co.
Regency Surrender: Passionate Marriages
Marriage Made in Rebellion
Sophia James
Marriage Made in Hope
Sophia James
ISBN: 978-1-474-08568-7
REGENCY SURRENDER: PASSIONATE MARRIAGES
Marriage Made in Rebellion © 2016 Sophia James Marriage Made in Hope © 2016 Sophia James
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Table of Contents
Sophia James
The English declare they will no longer respect neutrals on the sea; I will no longer recognise them on land.
Napoleon Bonaparte
A Coruña, Spain—January 16th, 1809
Captain Lucien Howard, the Earl of Ross, thought his nose was broken. His neck, too, probably, because he couldn’t move it at all. His horse lay upon him, her head bent sideways and liquid-brown eyes empty of life. A good mare she was, one that had brought him up the hard road from Lisboa through the snows of the Cantabrian Mountains and the slippery passways of mud and sleet. He swore silently and looked away.
It hurt to breathe, a worrying thought that, given the distance from any medical help. Another day and Napoleon and his generals would be all over the harbour. It was finished and the British had lost, the harsh winter eating into what was left of resistance and a mix-up with the ocean transports in from the southern port of Vigo.
God, if he wasn’t so badly hurt, he might have laughed, but the movement would have most likely killed him. It was so damn cold, his breath fogging as he fought for what little air he could drag in, but a mist had come up from the sea to mingle with the smoke of battle hanging thick across the valley.
Lucien was not afraid of death. It was the dying that worried him, the length and the breadth of it and the helplessness.
Lying back, he looked up into the heavens, hoping that it would be quick. He couldn’t pray; that sort of hope was long since past and had been for a while now. He could not even find the words to ask for forgiveness or penance. He had killed men, good and bad, in the name of king and country, but once one saw the whites of an enemy’s eyes, the old troths and promises held less sway than they once had.
A man was a man whatever language he spoke and more often than not a family would be waiting at home for their return. As his was. That thought sent a shaft of pain through the greater ache, but, resolving not to die with tears in his eyes, Lucien willed it away.
It was late, that much he did know, the sun deep on the horizon and only a little left of the day. He could see the lights of resin torches further away along the lines of the olive trees and the aloe hedges, searching for those who still lived. He could not summon the strength to call out as he lay there, a rough stone wall to one side and an old garden of sorts on the other.
