Treasured By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book 4)

  Treasured by the Earl

  Lords of the Night

  Book four

  Sandra Sookoo

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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  TREASURED BY THE EARL © 2019

  by Sandra Sookoo

  sandrasookoo@yahoo.com

  Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

  Published by Blue Tulip Publishing

  http://www.bluetulippublishing.com/

  ISBN- 9781946061331

  Edited by: Angie Eads and Heather Garcia

  Book Cover Design by David Sookoo

  Couple:– Period Images

  Background images: Deposit Photos

  First Digital Edition: 2019

  Dedication

  To everyone who thinks anxiety will forever keep you from the good things in life. Just have faith everything meant to be will find its way to you.

  Blurb

  He’s tormented by guilt and memories, but cannot forget... Evan Michael Sedgewyck, ninth Earl of Coventry, is doomed to walk the earth as a dragon-shifter, but it’s his actions that have caused his own personal hell. Beastly half aside, he’s been a widower for seven years, and the moment he decides to attend a ball and perhaps enter the Marriage Mart again, he stumbles into a woman he once thought dead—his wife. Yet the anger he carries doesn’t diminish.

  She’s searching for answers, but doesn’t remember... Miss Damaris Sheffield—Victoria—

  is looking forward to her next paid position as a governess, but when a handsome stranger pulls her aside at a masquerade, calls her by another woman’s name and kisses her soundly, she begins to wonder. After rebuffing him and denying his claims, she discovers she truly is the earl’s wife, has a young son, and has been essentially missing for years. The knowledge does nothing to soothe her anxiety attacks.

  Finding love a second time in order to save their marriage… As Evan and Victoria butt heads during a new courtship period, they’re both forced to delve into secrets of their past and confront old fears. Heat between them grows, bringing acceptance and understanding, but only deep, abiding love can fix what’s broken. They’ll have to defeat a surprising threat and fight for a happily ever after… if they believe the romance is worth healing the pain.

  The Legend of the Cursed Lords

  At least a hundred years ago, a handful of irreverent, spoiled lords had their way with female gypsy travelers in the countryside of England. In a fit of spoiled, drunken revelry, they set fire to a wagon and laughed as it burned while the remainder of the caravan fled in terror. That vehicle was owned by an ancient witch, existing through the years from the magic flowing through her veins. She took high exception to the destruction, as well as the uncaring attitudes of those English lords, and under the light of a full moon, the gypsy witch brought forth a powerful curse onto those unfortunate men.

  From here to eternity, you will never know peace, never live the life of a full human man. You will always be a slave to the shifter, the beast, or anomaly within. All women who look upon your face will turn away in disgust, for in moments of high emotion, they will see the truth; there is no hiding from that. You will be held in terror once your secret is revealed—for tell them you must. And though you might marry, you are destined for the coldness of a joyless union, unless you find the very heart and secret of life. You will carry the burden alone, for this curse will only belong to you and cannot be transferred or shared with a mate.

  But I am benevolent, men with no hearts, no morals, and less feelings. Every five years, during one full moon each quarter, the curse might be broken, if you are wise enough to come out of the shadows and see the error of your ways. Beneath the light of that one full moon when the kiss of unselfish, pure love crosses your lips, and pride, fear, and ego falls, then you might know the freedom of living as a full human with your affliction broken and your offspring unhindered. For yes, unless the curse lifts, any male children you might have will suffer too.

  Tread carefully, accursed ones, else you will forever go through life cold, unloved, feared, and isolated.

  To this day, those men are referred to as the Cursed Lords of England—the Lords of the Night—and until they find themselves hopelessly and helplessly in love so deep that they cannot survive without winning the heart of their lady, they are doomed to walk the earth hand in hand with their beastly halves, alone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  March 19, 1816

  London, England

  What a bore this crush is. Evan Michael Sedgewyck, ninth Earl of Coventry, stifled a yawn and resisted the urge to flee the ball room. He rested a shoulder against the wall while idly glancing over the assemblage as they moved and swirled about the dance floor.

  You only consider it so because you’ve buried yourself in your study with work, came the sarcastic and quite unhelpful response from his ever-present other half, the beast that lurked within and would never leave him alone.

  At least for the foreseeable future.

  He ignored his dragon in favor of locating his friends, the other Cursed Lords of England, the men who, like him, struggled with a being inside them that made them somewhat less than fully human.

  You cannot ignore me forever. Let us leave this place and shift instead.

  I can try, but shifting is not an option, at least not for a while. Damned dragon and his rather insistent demands. It was easy with his friends, for their inner beasts were manageable. They could skulk about the shadows and midnight darkness of London, relatively unseen, but him? What the devil did one do to conceal a bloody dragon who also had wings?

  Damn you, gypsy witch and your curse. He was but one of a long line of men who’d held the title of Coventry that had been cursed generations ago, and now he must pay for an ancestor’s night of ill-advised debauchery. His eyes narrowed. Bah! It would do no good to dwell on that bit of misfortune; it never did. Long ago he’d accepted what he was. Made peace with it? Not exactly, for the dragon and his foibles and demands left Evan unaccountably angry more often than not, which was not good when one was a dragon-shifter who happened to breathe fire the more upset he grew.

  And that caused even more problems.

  Victoria. The ache that hadn’t quite faded over the years twinged in his chest, and he grunted. His wife, dead these past seven years, had perished in an inferno of his own making. I’m so terribly sorry… Never would he cease seeking forgiveness.

  There is no excuse for weakness, human, his dragon reminded him. We cannot escape what we truly are, and if the rest of your circle won’t accept us, then to hell with them.

  That may be so, but the guilt persists. And she’d been on the verge of accepting all
of him when tragedy had struck. He plucked at the edges of the domino mask he wore. What would life have been like had she lived? Would love have grown from their union enough for them to break the curse as they’d planned?

  Stiff upper lip and all of that, human. Our mate is gone. You have me. That is all.

  Yes… And I have my son—Victoria’s son. I am grateful for that.

  He was, yet at times, he was lonely; he was human. And there was only so much solace found in the pleasures at his club that could make him forget what he’d had and foolishly lost. Thank God the work of a solicitor kept him well and truly busy—kept him from dwelling on things he couldn’t change.

  Shoving such maudlin thoughts from his mind, once more, Evan scanned the brightly-colored gathering and then his attention settled upon his hosts for the evening—the Earl and Countess of Devon. His lips tugged into a grin, for there was no mistaking Rogue even in the guise of a storybook hero with a cavalier slant, a sheathed sword at his side, lace-trimmed shirt doublet and… He stifled a snort of amusement. Devon had chosen to wear hose and fancy, old-fashioned buckled shoes. The garments no doubt gleaned from a tucked-away trunk in his garret, for the man had a penchant toward flashy elegance.

  Yes, the newly married Astleys—returned from their honeymoon in the last few weeks—had decided to introduce themselves as a couple to the ton in the form of a clever masquerade ball. Masks that hid a person’s features acted as a security of sorts, but it also rendered everyone equal in anonymity… and allowed a man laboring beneath a curse to relax a fraction on keeping his true self contained.

  Ah, this should be amusing, if nothing else. Not that greeting his friend would lift the growing ennui intent on swallowing Evan whole. As much as he attempted to forget about Victoria and the past they had shared, there were times when the memories insisted on intruding. Perhaps it was due to the knowledge that his wife had adored masquerades and dressing up, making believe she was someone else for a time… to escape.

  From me. Damn, but that still stings.

  Pushing off the wall, Evan sauntered along the fringes until he reached their location. Then he executed a half-bow from the waist. “How wonderful you look tonight, Lady Devon,” he said with a smile as he straightened.

  “And how charming you are,” she murmured with a slight laugh. Dressed as a fairytale princess of old, her hat featured gauzy veils, her dress had bell-shaped sleeves, and the skirts of her flowing gown shimmered bronze and green with her every movement. Her chestnut hair, upswept beneath the hat, gleamed in the candlelight. “Good to see you again, Lord Coventry.”

  “And you. I trust you enjoyed your wedding trip?”

  A blush stained her cheeks, slight, but betraying, nonetheless. “I did.” The countess glanced at Rogue, her husband. “I met Rafe’s mother and his sister. Afterward, we lingered in Bath for before coming home.”

  The Earl of Devon took one of her hands in his. There was no mistaking the gleam of adoration and love in his eyes. “The whole experience was beyond my expectations.” A faint red ring glowed around his irises, the only outward indication of his own beast—the vampire. “I still cannot believe I won her.”

  Evan cleared his throat as a sudden feeling of awkwardness fell over him. “Yes, well, good for you, my friend.” And the story was fit for the fairytales the countess favored. He extended his hand. “Congratulations once again. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” That much was the truth. Whenever one of their own found that elusive love and had it returned despite the beasts they dealt with, it was a reason to celebrate.

  “Thank you, Coventry.” The earl shook hands heartily before releasing him. “I’m glad you came tonight. I began to wonder since I haven’t seen you around Bête Noire these past weeks since I returned home, let alone town.”

  Bête Noire, the gentleman’s club he and the other Cursed Lords had founded as a refuge from the slings and arrows of London society.

  He waved away the concern as if it was naught but a gnat. “Perhaps the hours I keep no longer correspond to those you realize now that you have other… interests to occupy your time,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Touché,” Rogue drawled with a smile he didn’t try to hide.

  “Truly, this time of year brings out the litigious side of men. Spring means new beginnings.” The strains from a string quintet snatched them up and scattered them with the opening strains to a country dance.

  “Work has kept you busy?”

  “Always. My services are in high demand by those who can afford my time.” His grin felt as toothy as his dragon’s. Inside his head, his beast chortled in amusement. “Who am I to turn away good coin on foolish endeavors?”

  “Now that sounds like a man who is doing his best to either forget his inner torment or to separate hardworking men from their treasures.” Another of his friends added to the conversation.

  “You make me out to be a villain. Quite the opposite, and neither are these men hardworking, but they are fools, content to swindle others under the shelter of the law.” He shrugged. “Yet, silver and gold are tempting to one such as myself.” Evan turned and greeted the newcomer with a wide grin. “Ah, Manchester.”

  The Duke of Manchester clasped his hand. “Except gold is your downfall. Be mindful of that. I don’t want to see you stumble.”

  “As if I could forget, which is why I expect payment for services rendered in silver or paper bills these days.” Too much gold under the right circumstances would render him powerless and unable to shift. And that made him vulnerable. Only he and his friends knew that dreadful secret. “When did you arrive?”

  Dressed as a Greek god, the duke’s bearing and aquiline features backed up that make believe claim. Though his brown hair was longer than current fashion dictated, it didn’t detract from the figure of power he represented this night. “I have been here from the start, Coventry, but have circulated through the room, unlike you who’ve been lounging and scowling at the lot of us.”

  “Do not try to shame me into more polite behavior,” Evan responded with a trace of a growl in his voice. He transferred his attention to the duchess. “My lady.” When he caught her fingers and placed a kiss upon her bare knuckle, an answering growl from the duke made him laugh. Such jealousy was unfounded. “Good to see you looking well, Lady Manchester.”

  “Thank you.” Dressed to resemble the goddess Aphrodite, the loose drape of her simple gown fell softly over curves enhanced with her six-month pregnancy. Though blind, when she rested her silvery gaze on Evan, he’d swear she saw right through to his soul and left his secrets exposed. “I am glad you decided to attend this event. We all have much to celebrate, and this spring masquerade is just the thing.”

  “Indeed, my love.” The duke slid an arm about her waist.

  When she snuggled into his hold, Evan stifled the need to roll his eyes. “Aren’t you all a cheerful, romantic bunch?” he asked instead, for there was no other way to describe it. His friends and their wives had fought through hell and back for their happiness. They’d earned the right to luxuriate in that love. Still, a thread of envy tugged through him. He didn’t begrudge any of them their romance, but it did make a man deuced uncomfortable knowing he was on the outside looking in.

  “I’d like to think so,” the duchess said in a soft voice and the smile on her face was nothing short of angelic.

  I had that once… or thought I did.

  You had lust and affection, nothing more, his dragon was quick to remind him. Otherwise, the curse would have lifted and I’d be nothing more than a dream.

  A nightmare, you mean.

  Perspective, old chap.

  Yet, he had been married for seven years and two months. He and his wife had had a child together. That had to account for some sort of romance, didn’t it? Too bad he could never manage to control his damned temper any time the conversation drifted to his dragon.

  Don’t lie and remember things not as they were, his beast huffed with a fair amo
unt of ire. “Your temper raises its head on a myriad of subjects that have nothing to do with me.

  You are the reason for the ever-present anger. Evan gritted his teeth. With an effort, he forced himself to concentrate on the banter happening between the couples, but his focus drifted again. He had been part of that romantic world, before it was ruthlessly taken from him, leaving him with a two-month-old newborn and a being filled with guilt and self-loathing, as well as long periods of absence when he’d taken refuge as the dragon while unable to control his rampant emotions. Eventually, he’d curbed the need to ignore the world while in the shift, and he’d returned to his life. The child had grown, of course, but the emotions were merely banked and dust-covered, but always there, forever keeping company with his ire.

  Inside his head, the dragon paced, smoke curling from the nostril holes in his black snout. I want for nothing more than solitude and riches. Why must you yearn for things that don’t matter?

  Coin and jewels make rather poor bed mates, Evan quickly reminded his darker side. I need more than such material things. But, deep down inside, he would never again allow another woman access into his heart, for such organs were frail and fragile, and when they broke, they nearly killed a man when love crumbled. You were wrong, dragon. I loved her. At least I thought so.