A Possessive Kiss (Captivating Kisses #9)

Prologue

She came to him again, bringing him comfort. And even though he knew it was a dream, he pleaded, “Don’t go.”

Her sad smile hurt his heart. “I must, David. But know that I am always with you. Watching over you. Protecting you.”

She turned and walked away into the mist, the ache now deep, swallowing him whole.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the images in the dream—of his mother—dissipating.

It seemed he only really remembered what she looked like in these infrequent dreams. They seemed to come to him when he was on the cusp of change in his life.

At least he had the miniature she had painted of herself and given to him shortly before her death.

He lay in bed, reluctant to rise and break the connection he still felt with her.

He would be leaving the house she had come to as a young bride, fresh from Paris.

His father had met Angelique Delacroix on his Grand Tour and was smitten with her from the start.

After spending as much time as he could with her in Paris, he had moved on in his travels, telling her he’d be back at the end of his tour, leaving her with money and telling her to create a beautiful wardrobe for herself—because she would be a fine lady in England.

Maman had been a seamstress, and she had used the funds given to her to purchase bolts of material from the modiste she worked for.

By the time her lover returned, almost two years later, she had an elegant wardrobe of gowns.

They wed in Paris, and he brought her home as his wife.

He had begged her not to reveal to anyone her humble beginnings, always sticking to the falsehood that she was the daughter of a comte he had met during his travels.

It did not matter. Papa became the Earl of Sheridan within a month of his return from the continent.

After that, no one questioned him about anything, least of all his beautiful, kind, intelligent countess.

Maman had been beloved by their tenants at Sheridale. She was quick with her needle, making clothing for babes and cooing over them. She had given birth to Claude, her first son and heir apparent to the earldom after only a year of marriage.

David came along four years later and quickly became the apple of his mother’s eye.

Where Claude bristled at every comment and was impatient with his family and servants, David was calm, ruffled by nothing.

Academics came easy to him, while his older brother struggled.

Claude had gone off to school, only to come home after that first year, saying he was too sickly to be away from home.

True, Claude had had a childhood fever which had kept him abed for months when he was five years of age, but David knew his brother simply did not like being told what to do, even at the age of eight.

From that time on, a series of tutors had come to Sheridale in order to educate Claude.

David’s childhood was far different. He had gone away to school and succeeded at everything he tried.

He excelled at maths. Wrote poetry in a beautiful hand.

Gobbled up languages with ease. Maman had always spoken to him in French and then changed to Spanish.

He was fluent in both and thanks to his time at school, he now spoke Italian, Portuguese, and German, as well.

He would leave Sheridale today, ready to continue his education, taking the mail coach to Oxford.

David wondered if Papa would even notice his younger son had gone away to university.

Maman had lost several babes after David’s birth.

When he was ten and two, she had died in childbirth, the babe stuck within her.

The midwife had said Maman had lost too much blood to save her, but there was a chance for the child, and so Papa had reluctantly agreed to have the babe cut from her.

The cord had been wrapped about the little girl’s neck, strangling her.

Ever since losing the pair, Papa wandered the halls, hopeless as a ghost, locking himself in his study for most of the day and night, even taking his meals there.

Claude acted in his father’s stead, slowly assuming the authority of the earldom, freely spending money he said would be his inheritance.

Unfortunately, Claude did nothing for their tenants.

David could not wait to leave. Over the years, he had never been close to Claude.

His brother had grown more haughty and arrogant, belittling his younger brother every chance he got.

Claude was drunk with power, and David wanted nothing to do with him.

He had asked his father to purchase a military commission for him after he completed university, and he would enter the army, as many second sons in a family did.

Papa had promised to do so, already setting aside the funds with his solicitor.

That would keep David permanently gone from Sheridale.

He finally rose, thinking this would be the final time he would set foot here.

Once his father was gone, he could not see having any type of relationship with the new Earl of Sheridan.

He washed and dressed and went downstairs, asking a footman to bring his trunk and place it in the wagon.

David had already asked their head groom to drive him into Wypen so that he might catch the mail coach.

His last meal at Sheridale was taken alone, since Claude rarely rose before noon and Papa usually ate on his own. Leaving the table, he went to say goodbye to Cook. She had come from France, and he enjoyed speaking in French with her.

After their conversation, with several kisses and hugs thrown in for good measure, David went to his father’s study and tapped softly on the door, hearing, “Come.”

Entering the room, he saw Papa sitting behind his desk, his hands folded in his lap, a faraway look in his eyes.

“I have come to say goodbye, Papa.”

The earl looked at him blankly. “Where are you going?”

“To university. Remember, I was accepted at Oxford?”

Papa nodded absently. “Yes, of course.” Then his gaze met his son’s. “You know your mother would be so incredibly proud of you, David.”

He touched his hand to his heart. “I know. She is always with me. I carry her here.”

On the inside of his coat pocket, next to his heart, always rested a small miniature Angelique Rochester had painted of herself. She had given it to him for his birthday. She was gone only a few months after that, and he had taken to carrying the miniature with him every day.

“That is good. You will do well at university, David. What do you plan to do afterward?”

He frowned. “I am to go into the army, Papa. You have set aside the funds for my commission.”

“Oh, yes. I recall saying that. You will thrive in whatever comes to your life. I can see you rising through the ranks of the army now. Becoming the general who defeats Bonaparte.”

England had declared war on France only last year in May. It would have wounded his mother deeply to know the two countries she loved waged war against one another. Then again, France had changed radically in the time since Maman had been gone from Paris.

Feeling a bit awkward now, he said, “I just wanted to come and say farewell to you, Papa.”

Surprisingly, his father rose and stepped from behind the desk, enfolding David in a tight embrace. He could not recall the last time his father had done so. He supposed he had been a small boy.

David left his father and found all the servants lined up in the foyer, ready to tell him goodbye. Their butler stepped forward.

“I know I speak for all of us, Mr. David, when I tell you how much you will be missed. We wish the best for you at university.”

“Thank you, Edwards,” he said, gazing about the foyer. “My thanks to all of you. You have been more than servants to me. You cared for me after Maman passed, taking on the role of wise uncles and aunts—and even friends. You have my heartfelt gratitude.”

“What is this?” a voice harshly asked.

David glanced up and found Claude at the top of the stairs. “I am leaving for Oxford. The servants merely gathered to say their goodbyes to me.”

“Leave! Now!” roared his brother, and the staff went scurrying in different directions.

Claude marched down the stairs as if already he owned Sheridale, coming to stand before David.

“I have waited for this day. I do not want you in this house again. When your term ends, stay in Oxford. I know you are to enter the military after you complete university. I will see that Jaffrey purchases the commission for you. Do not ever darken the doors of Sheridale again.”

“You are not yet the earl, Claude,” he said, his voice firm and steady. “This is my home until Papa is gone.”

Claude laughed harshly. “Haven’t you noticed? Papa has been gone for years. His spirit died when our mother and her latest attempt at having a brat died.”

Rage filled David at the ugly words, but he knew Claude goaded him. He refused to lose his temper.

“I am leaving. Take care of Papa.”

He went through the front door and climbed into the wagon.

“Drive,” he ordered, wishing he could scream.

He hated that his last memories of Sheridale had ended on a sour note.

At least his goodbyes at Norwood yesterday had gone well.

David had ridden over to say goodbye to Henry Davenport, his closest friend who was a year younger, as well as the Duke of Norville and Lady Elinor, Henry’s younger sister, who had just turned ten.

They felt more like his family than his own, the duke having taught David to hunt and swim, alongside his son. They were the ones he would truly miss.

He already had his mail coach ticket in hand and bid the groom return to Sheridale instead of waiting with him. Twenty minutes later, the vehicle came through Wypen and stopped, and David loaded his trunk atop it. While he hated abandoning Papa, David had to live his own life.

And two weeks later, everything changed.

*

“Mr. Rochester, please stay. Dismissed,” Mr. Keller said brusquely.