He’s bitter, that’s all. If you stayed, he’d come round. I’m certain.” Her onyx eyes watered conveniently, and she laid a hand on his cheek. Rays of light shed a halo about her black chignon, at odds with the growing venom in her tone. “Have you become one of those dandies, then? Looking for pleasure and living off your father’s money and good name?”
He ground his teeth, his jaw tense. “He’s been like this for six years. My presence for a few weeks will not produce a miracle. I will obey my father’s wishes, ma’am.”
Madoc turned on his heel and stormed out the door. A chestnut gelding stood patiently waiting in the courtyard. He mounted and turned the horse to face the veranda, hooves and cobblestones reverberating in the warm afternoon air. “Good day, Mama.” With a bow and sweep of his hat, he added, “Until we meet again.”
* * *
Four years ago. Four long years.
So much had happened in that time. He’d changed, lost his naivete, his youthful optimism. His skills belonged more to a soldier than a titled landowner. He had a relentless grip on a sword, excellent marksmanship, and a wicked right punch. He could go days without sleep. His superiors regarded him as the man with a seductive smile and honey-like charm that could distract top officials—or their wives—while correspondence was pilfered in their own libraries for secrets that could hasten the end of the war. He’d become the perfect chameleon, as comfortable playing a discontented foot soldier or a common thief in the rookeries as he was the polished dandy spending his father’s fortune.
It had taken its toll.
Madoc trusted few people, rarely heard a conversation or request without discerning a hidden implication or ulterior motive, and was bone-tired. He wanted to sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Ride across his childhood estate, nod at tenants, and have no greater worry than balancing the ledgers and deciding which country dance or dinner to attend. It was time to begin his life, the life he’d been born to, the life that had called to him when he’d stepped onto English soil again. Yes, he was ready for the role he had only pretended at the last four years.
* * *
***
* * *
A tired and dusty Madoc trotted toward the village of Breckenknock. He crossed the stone bridge, drew in a renewed breath as the clear water rushed and splashed under the arches. The slate mountains and snow-capped peaks seemed to be stacked on top of each other, as if a crowd trying to see over the next shoulder, and provided the perfect background for his brooding mood. Curiosity would greet him in the village. Waves and questions about the master when the tenants realized it was Lord Madoc riding through. A frigid wind whipped at his face, and he hunkered inside his coat.
He cursed himself for not waiting on the carriage and his valet. It was demmed cold. The sun peeked out from a billowy, gray cloud. He squinted at brightness, his watery vision barely able to discern the outline of the small town looming in the distance. As he drew closer, Madoc blinked and wiped his eyes with his palms. Was he lost? Had it been so long since he’d been home?
He slowed his chestnut gelding to a trot and made his way to the square, taking in the dilapidated buildings. The main thoroughfare—that made him chuckle as they kicked up dust along the dirt and gravel road—was crowded with people buying last-minute wares from vendors closing up and hurrying home before dark. A growl in his belly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but his mind was on the derelict condition of Breckenknock.
There were no inquiries or smiles. No hoorays or nods from the men. Filth trickled like a brown and yellow brook from the alleys and puddled near the street. Roofs were in disrepair and walls had been patched and re-patched. The tenants’ clothes were worn and shabby. What in blazes was going on? His lovely village had gone to ruin.
“Good day,” he called out to the blacksmith he’d known since a boy. “I’ve just returned home and can’t help but notice…” He made a long sweep with his hand to encompass the sight before him. “What has happened?”
“Ask his lordship,” boomed the man before ducking his head and removing his cap. “Or the devil in his pocket.”
“And does this devil have a name?”
“Aye, it’s Caerton’s son, Niall.”
“He’s taken over for his father, then?”
“He’s taken… That’s a true statement, to be sure.” The man turned away and disappeared into his smithy.
“By God, I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Madoc yelled to the retreating figure.
Four generations of Caertons had managed the estate for the Earls of Brecken. The last time he’d seen Mr. Caerton, the old man had been in decline. Finding it difficult to maintain the physical responsibility of managing Brecken’s vast holdings, he had begun training his oldest son, Niall, to replace him. Madoc had never liked him growing up. He remembered the boy picking a fight and cheating by throwing dirt in the other lad’s eyes to win. Of course, that had been years ago. People change. He was living proof of that.
It got worse as he cantered toward the castle. The fields were overworked. At a glance, he knew there had been no rotation of land. Less fertile soil, less crops, less profit. Perhaps Caerton had died before he’d been able to instruct Niall in all aspects of management. He’d give the steward the benefit of the doubt until he had the facts. If the past years had taught him anything, it was that appearances could be deceiving. A mirthless laugh scratched his throat, thinking of the disguises he’d donned over the years.
Madoc kicked his horse into a gallop as he passed a paddock of thin plow horses. He was glad he’d come home. It was time to take over for his father and have a word with the Niall Caerton. As he clattered onto the stone courtyard, the butler appeared at the door. The smile and twinkle in his blue eyes belied the blond hair streaked with gray.
“Lord Madoc, it is so good to have you back.” He held the door open for Lady Brecken, who rushed down the steps to greet him.
“Oh, my sweet son. The lord has answered our prayers. You’ve come home just in time.”
* * *
Want to find out how Madoc meets Miss Evelina Franklin romance?
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Other Titles By Lauren Smith
Historical
The League of Rogues Series
Wicked Designs
His Wicked Seduction
Her Wicked Proposal
Wicked Rivals
Her Wicked Longing
His Wicked Embrace
The Earl of Pembroke
His Wicked Secret
The Last Wicked Rogue
Never Kiss a Scot
The Earl of Kent
Never Tempt a Scot
The Wicked Beginning
The Earl of Morrey
* * *
The Seduction Series
The Duelist’s Seduction
The Rakehell’s Seduction
The Rogue’s Seduction
The Gentleman’s Seduction
* * *
Standalone Stories
Tempted by A Rogue
Bewitching the Earl
Boudreaux’s Lady
No Rest for the Wicked
Devil at the Gates
Seducing an Heiress on a Train
* * *
Sins and Scandals
An Earl By Any Other Name
A Gentleman Never Surrenders
A Scottish Lord for Christmas
* * *
Contemporary
The Surrender Series
The Gilded Cuff
The Gilded Cage
The Gilded Chain
The Darkest Hour
* * *
Love in London
Forbidden
Seduction
Climax
Forever Be Mine
* * *
Paranormal
Dark Seductions Series
The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall
* * *
The Love Bites Series
The Bite of Winter
His Little Vixen
* * *
Brotherhood of the Blood Moon Series
Blood Moon on the Rise (coming soon)
Brothers of Ash and Fire
Grigori: A Royal Dragon Romance
Mikhail: A Royal Dragon Romance
Rurik: A Royal Dragon Romance
The Lost Barinov Dragon: A Royal Dragon Romance
* * *
Sci-Fi Romance
Cyborg Genesis Series
Across the Stars
* * *
The Krinar Chronicles
The Krinar Eclipse
The Krinar Code by Lauren Smith writing as Emma Castle
About the Author
* * *
Lauren Smith is an Oklahoma attorney by day, author by night who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She knew she was destined to be a romance writer when she attempted to re-write the entire Titanic movie just to save Jack from drowning. Connecting with readers by writing emotionally moving, realistic and sexy romances no matter what time period is her passion. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including: New England Reader’s Choice Awards, Greater Detroit BookSeller’s Best Awards, and a Semi-Finalist award for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.
To Connect with Lauren, visit her at: