A Love Forsaken, Marriage Upon Lies

England 1718

The night was bathed in inky darkness; fine mists shrouding the shadowed grounds. An owl hooted eerily in the distance, marking the quiet passage. The cloud-obscured moon overhead shared the progress of the figure that shimmied up the tall, gnarled oak.

He dangled precariously from the highest limb, fumbling before writing his purchase. The man looked down and chuckled. The things one does for love, he thought with elation and adrenaline soaring.

Thwack! Thwack! Soft curses flowed from outside the second-story window. A scraping of branches, another muffled expletive, and a continuous thumping ensued against the side of the house. A tentative knock at the glass pane followed.

The young woman pulled up the window and leaned outside. She stared down at the man hanging there in amusement. She glanced over the ledge to look down beyond his dizzying position. He scaled the twenty-foot tree without falling, breaking his neck, or waking the sleeping household.

Dark eyes glowed up at her in triumph as he continued his climb. With her help, he swung his long legs over the window's ledge. She helped pull him inside the bedchamber. He bowed to her with an amused chuckle before he shut the window behind him.

He was handsome, her late-night visitor. Even with his ill-fitting, threadbare clothing and over-long dark hair, he appeared a prince to her. His features seemed too perfect by far as if sculpted by the adoring hands of the Gods.

Lady Aubrielle Dane never grew tired of looking at him, having sketched his face a thousand times by the pond behind Gale House, his neighboring estate. If only she had left it at merely looking-but no-that was never enough for them. All that touching led to more, which led to-she sighed sadly as she prepared the speech she composed that afternoon in her mind. It was a good speech, she thought, worrying her lower lip to think of his reaction to it.

Her humble prince came forward intending to embrace her. She held him off with a trembling hand up, making him frown at her odd behavior. Low firelight lit the small, elegantly shabby bedchamber within. The muted glow played upon the tense expression on the young woman's taut features. It wasn't a lover's tryst she intended at all, he realized at once.

They must talk, her brief note read, delivered to him by one of the few servants they had left at Dane Manor. The matter was grave, it implied, in undertones he could read between the lines of her fine script. He could see by the tight set of her lovely features that he would not like what she had to say.

Dorian St. Laurent stared at the object of his heart's desire with confusion growing within his dark eyes. They took much for granted these last few weeks; one of those being their intent to marry. They became lovers recently; sure they would be together forever.

The new Earl of Gale found sad circumstances when he took on his brother's title. Dorian's brother, Cassius St. Laurent, committed suicide six months prior. He was soon besieged with creditors demanding payment for his brother's excesses.

On the eve of them to announce their intentions to wed, the dowager Countess of Gale demanded an audience with her only living child. An heiress was found. The textile heiress's fortune was considerable; enough to shoulder the burdens of St. Laurent's debts. Dorian refused immediately and wouldn't relent. The woman in front of him held his heart. He would have no other, he told his mother in anger. That was three weeks before.

Lady Aubrielle's older brother, Sir Rafael Dane, took her away to London for a fortnight to separate the lovers until they saw sense in their determination to marry. They had been home only a day when she sent word to him. He believed she missed him while she was gone. He saw her pale features composed in dread and tense.

"I came as soon as I got your note," Dorian whispered huskily, his full lips curving into a soft smile that normally undermined her wits in its appeal. Her wits held fast, reminding her of all that was at stake. "What is it that has you so upset, my love?"

"We must talk, Dorian," Aubrielle whispered, her face at last composed. "Rafael received an offer for me while we were in London."

Dorian took a step back, his hands clenching at his sides. His face grew tight with anger. "Received or accepted? Which is it?"

"What is the difference?" Aubrielle trembled from the anger she sensed in him. She hugged herself about the middle as she paced before the small fireplace. "You knew his mind in this when he took me to London. He sought to find me a husband, and he has."

"And did you tell him your thoughts, Aubrielle? Mine have not changed."

Pain and disillusionment filled his handsome features. She looked away, unable to bear the helplessness reflected there. It only mirrored hers. Her heart ached to know they couldn't be together as they planned. Much changed these last few weeks they were apart, and none of it for the good.

"Dorian, he's refused your suit this whole last year." Aubrielle faced him with little courage. "He will not relent and allow us to marry. You must see that now."

Dorian looked enraged, pacing before her, dark eyes growing narrow. "We will elope then! We leave tonight. He will have nothing to say of it then." Dorian glared defiantly at her as if daring her to refuse. "We go to Scotland. The scandal will force him to allow the marriage."

"No, he will just bring me back and force me to do as he wishes. Don't you see that?" Aubrielle shook her head, tears brightening her azure blue gaze. "He will have his way in this, Dorian. We can't fight it anymore."

"So I'm to stand back and allow you to marry another?" Dorian raked a trembling hand through his dark hair in frustrated rage. "How can you expect me to do that, Aubrielle? I love you! The thought of you with another will surely kill me."

She slid onto the padded, upholstered chair at her dressing table. She clasped her shaking hands in her lap. Dear God, this was torment! "Neither of us has a choice in this anymore, Dorian. Your brother's foolishness has made your situation dire. I just learned Rafael is indebted to moneylenders. We must both marry for wealth, it appears. Don't you see that?"

"Leave my situation out of this!" Dorian's eyes filled with renewed urgency. "I don't care about any of that, Aubrielle. I told you we will make due. I will not lose you!" He grabbed her hand in his. She snatched it back, staring at him with sad resignation.

"Make due, will we? Your estate goes up for auction, Dorian. What of your mother? Have you thought of her? You can do nothing but accept Thornbury's offer, as I must agree to wed Lord Evercroft. There is no choice for us anymore. Don't you see that?."