Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles…
Highland Renegade
Highland Conquest
A Scot to Wed
How to Forgive a Highlander
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Allison B. Hanson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Rd
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by romancephotos/DepositPhotos
Rod Hill/GettyImages
ISBN 978-1-64937-057-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2020
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
In memory of my Aunt Nan
Chapter One
Looking down at her hands, covered in her husband’s blood, Marian Fletcher Blackley, Duchess of Endsmere, felt surprisingly calm. She’d known for the last five years this was the way it would end.
With blood on someone’s hands.
She’d expected it to be the other way around. Many times during the duke’s rages she’d thought he would kill her. There were times, after being kicked repeatedly, she’d almost wished he had killed her so the pain would end. So her torment as his wife would be over, and she would no longer have to live in constant fear.
But tonight, something deep inside her—an intense will to survive—had taken over. He was angrier with her than she’d ever seen, and she’d known it would happen tonight. He was going to kill her. She had seen it in his eyes. He wouldn’t have been able to control himself and she would have died.
When he’d raised his fists, she’d reached out in defense. Her protection had come in the form of the fireplace poker. Her palm had grasped it unerringly and her first strike along his temple had downed him.
It would be unladylike to mention the second, third, and fifth strikes that had ended her fear and pain from this man indefinitely.
Lucy, her lady’s maid, knocked frantically at the door, having heard Marian’s screams. “Your Grace, are you all right? Do you need me to call a doctor?”
Lucy knew all, having had to dress Marian’s injuries in the past. It was no surprise that tonight Lucy expected to need to piece Marian together once again. Only it wasn’t Marian who was injured. In fact, for once, Marian didn’t have a mark on her.
The duke, however, was clearly dead.
Opening the door, Lucy gasped. “Oh, Your Grace! What has he done? I will fetch Dr. Simmons. He cannot expect me to tend—” Lucy’s rambling stopped abruptly when Marian allowed the door to open wider so the maid could see the carnage spread out on the rug.
“’Tis not my blood this time.” Even Marian’s voice was calm.
Surely this wasn’t normal. She should have swooned or launched into hysterics by now. But all she felt was peace with what she’d done. What she’d been forced to do to save herself.
Marian’s gown was covered in blood, as were the rug and a good part of her bedchamber.
“I see.” Lucy swallowed, her voice just as calm as Marian’s. “Well, he’s dead,” she announced after checking the body. “Now what?”
The fear and panic that had previously been kept at bay swarmed in now, chilling her bones. Marian’s hands trembled as she tossed the poker to the side.
“I— I don’t know. I guess we call for the magistrate.”
Lucy shook her head. “You’ve not a mark on you, and with your Scottish accent they’ll see you’re hanged for killing a peer of the realm.”
Marian tried to swallow and found it impossible. “What should I do?”
“You must leave. We’ll get you changed out of that dress and I’ll burn it. You must leave London immediately before word gets out. I can go with you.”
“You can’t come with me. Your daughter is expecting any day. You’re needed here.” Plus, Marian would never implicate her maid in her crimes.
At five and thirty Lucy was ten years older than Marian, and the only friend the duke had allowed. Mainly because he was unaware of their friendship.
“Where will you go?” Lucy asked.
“I won’t tell you. That way you can answer honestly when you’re questioned.”
Lucy grasped her arm to stop her as she moved toward her wardrobe. “You cannot go to your family home in Scotland. They will surely track you there and bring you back to hang. You need to stay clear of your clan lands. It’s certain death.”
Marian nodded in agreement, though that had been her plan. Her father had passed a few years ago. Her older brother would take her in and keep her safe. But she would be bringing trouble to her brother’s home. She could only imagine what he would
