Adrift With the Viscount (Lords of the Night Book Three) Read online

  Adrift with the Viscount

  Lords of the Night

  Book three

  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.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  ADRIFT WITH THE VISCOUNT © 2019

  by Sandra Sookoo

  [email protected]

  Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

  Published by Blue Tulip Publishing

  http://www.bluetulippublishing.com/

  ISBN- 978-1-946061-32-4

  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

  For Heather Garcia, because you loved Valentine first.

  Author Note

  This book was a bit difficult for me to write because I identify with my heroine, Phoebe. Not the least of which is having a port wine birthmark that covers my right leg and hip. Throughout childhood and on into my high school years, I was made fun of, stared at, questioned, shied away from. It didn’t get better as an adult, so much so that I never wear shorts, short skirts without tights, or bathing suits.

  However, writing this book and letting my heroine deal with her birthmark like I could never do, like I never had the courage to, has been cathartic. If you have something similar that makes you “different”, just know that it doesn’t matter, not in the long run, not to the right person. I found a guy who loves me, birthmark included. In fact, he doesn’t even see it. No one will who truly loves you.

  So, even though it’s hard to live with the stares and the questions and the prejudices, excel at your life. You are beautiful just the way you are, and that birthmark doesn’t make you less. It makes you strong.

  Be you.

  Blurb

  He doesn’t want a woman, let alone a wife... Valentine Sean Butler, the sixteenth Viscount Mountgarret, is cursed to spend half his life as a merman. Though he doesn’t mind his beastly side, he takes exception to warring for the cause of the mers. They hate humans and require his fighting skills, but all Valentine wants is to sail his ship and be left alone in peace… then one chance meeting with a lady in Hyde Park bends his plans.

  She has no use for men, but needs a convenient marriage... Lady Phoebe Winthrop, used, ruined, and disowned is ready to steer her own fate. Not content with the horrible birthmark or the life given her, she wants adventure, and the only way to gain that is to ask the viscount to marry her. Wedding will give them both a measure of respectability, and beyond that, perhaps the friendship she sorely craves.

  A union based on freedom... As Valentine and Phoebe sail from London following their wedding, they both have to come to grips with what they’re running from. Old insecurities dog their steps, but as the days go by, their unlikely friendship grows into much more. As love blooms and deepens, they must stay one step ahead of danger in the depths, and when a horrible contract comes due, one—or both of them—must make the ultimate, and most personal of sacrifices in order to chase a happily ever after.

  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

  January 15, 1816

  Valentine Sean Butler, the Viscount Mountgarret and the sixteenth man to hold the title, shed his clothes on the banks of the Serpentine in Hyde Park. He left them there in a heap that would have his valet cursing. What cared he for the state of his shirt or the cut of his jacket when he’d go to sea in a matter of days? No one aboard his ship would care if he was rigged out in the latest fashion, and he certainly had no one to impress with his looks. His breath hissed out between clenched teeth, for there was quite the nip in the air, and it had already been chilly enough this winter.

  Tonight was no exception. A few inches of snow clung to the grounds. It also stuck to the bare branches of the trees making them appear as eerie skeletons. London hadn’t seen much of the white stuff, but there was enough to make the world around him enchanting and mysterious. He would miss this aspect of life on land once he left. The darkness of midnight would hide him from any curious eyes, but at this hour, there was no immediate danger of being seen, and he had spent too much time away from his first home to worry about that now. As gooseflesh popped over his exposed skin and prickled his hairs from the icy air, he dove into the frigid winter water that resembled spilled ink.

  Cold immediately enclosed him. The temperature beneath the water was not much better than the air, but it couldn’t be helped, for the Serpentine was closer than the London Docks. He
refused to wait one more moment to feel the water around him, and now that it surrounded him, he called forth the shift that would transform his human body into that of a merman.

  His legs, ankles, and feet fused together in the crunch and crush of bone, nerves and skin. A thick tail formed in their place, and he whipped it up and down as the agony of shifting pushed through him. Scales, bluish-green in color and as hard as armor, covered the lower half of his body. The fin—or fluke—at the tip of his tail acted as a rudder and a guide, and was comprised of a filmy keratin-like substance. It also regulated his body temperature in the water. His was twenty inches long and had a notch torn out of it from the last battle he’d fought. A pair of smaller fins protruded from the tail just above the tip, all the same color as the tail. Another set of fins—pectoral—rested at his hips and helped with navigation through the water and waves. Ventral, dorsal, and anal fins also assisted with swimming and maneuvering.

  But none of that mattered, not while he used that tail to propel himself through the murky Serpentine.

  He gazed down at his torso—his human torso—but the skin was now a faint light green. So, too, were his arms as would his face be, for he was of Irish descent and his roots came from the merfolk of Celtic mythology. A grimace twisted his lips. Not even his closest friends knew of his Irish heritage or the fact that he held a title and lands there.

  It wasn’t something he advertised, for if the ton hated the beast he could be, animosity toward the Irish people came double-fold. So much so that he’d never visited his ancestral home or country, though his father had talked about it fondly many times when he’d been alive.

  Pinpricks of pain danced up and down the sides of his neck as his body reordered itself and gave him invisible gills of sorts. Another slash of agony speared through his chest while his human lungs transformed into those much like a dolphin’s. With them, he could utilize more oxygen than normal humans, and by utilizing the gills, he could remain underwater for indefinite amounts of time.

  A flash of remembrance came to him as he recalled the first time he’d been forced to shift when he’d gone for a summer swim in the lake on his father’s Harrogate property in Yorkshire. He’d very nearly drowned that long ago day as a lad of twelve when his body had undergone the change, but once he’d become accustomed to it, he never wished to be far from water again.

  As quickly as it had come, the pain now faded, leaving him with the unique sensation of the water gliding over his skin, through his hair, and filtering into his gills.

  Damnation but it was nice to be back in the water, back in this form.

  Valentine hadn’t indulged in such a thing since that fateful day when he’d seen his friend, the Earl of Devon, in peril right there in Hyde Park and had gone to fetch help. Hell, he’d hadn’t planned to linger in Town after the night of the Duke of Manchester’s Christmas ball, but the drama and intrigue his friends fell into had kept him in London.

  Valentine surfaced long enough to cast a glance about the area. The section of Hyde Park remained deserted, and once more he dove beneath the water with a thrill of exhilaration. Life was somewhat easier beneath the waves—not that there were many in the Serpentine. With powerful thrusts and pushes from his tail, he shot through the river with a speed that could match his friends upon land when they shifted into their beasts.

  And now the fact that those two pals—also Cursed Lords of London—had found true love was what drove him from the city. He didn’t begrudge his friends their lives; he just didn’t wish to witness their displays of affection. There was only so much a man could bear, especially when that man had chosen to spend the remainder of his life unattached.

  By design, to keep his heart intact, to keep his sanity in check.

  But his chums had been relentless in their good intentions. Valentine didn’t expect anything less of them. He’d enjoyed himself during the Christmastide celebrations, for his friends had seen to that, but once the Earl of Devon had married his lady love, Rogue had left for a honeymoon of sorts to visit his family and spend the time on his country estate, and Valentine had lost interest in the comings and goings of the ton.

  Not that he was accepted in the finest or the most popular drawing rooms or the choicest of events throughout society anyway due to his questionable history and cursed status. None of them were, really. It had been after Manchester’s marriage that things had thawed, and only slightly at that. Unfortunately, respectability didn’t stop years of rumors and countless whispers. It didn’t change the truth of what they were.

  Damn busy bodies and gossip-ridden vipers.

  The viscount swam with ease through the dark, murky water, dodged clinging and dead aquatic plants, skimmed over the occasional dead body in various stages of decomposition as well as the rubbish humans always threw in the river to conceal and forget. He didn’t need the approval of such snobs to feel comfortable with who and what he was, and most of the time, he was happy to tell those people to go hang.

  Except his sister wished for her daughters to find acceptance and make matches in that same society he shunned, so he occasionally did the pretty, but he hated every moment of it. Not that he didn’t love his nieces, he did, yet there was only so much of society he could take before he broke. There was nothing within the ton that he wanted or even needed.

  Now he would leave, and the promise of imminent freedom was heady indeed.

  Come back to the fold and join us.

  The whispered voice belonged to Commander Rion, and it echoed through the chambers of his mind. The merman had the unique ability to mind-tap into any of the merfolk he wanted. Why he’d been granted such power, Valentine didn’t know. It chilled his blood, and he slowed his pace. For the past six months, he’d felt the sharp pull from the secret, underwater kingdom populated by the merfolk whose existence was only a fairy story in the human world. The commander demanded he swear fidelity to them, to his roots, beneath the Irish Sea.

  And now it seemed his fighting skills were needed once more.

  I cannot do that again. It wasn’t who he was, nor who he wished to be. Valentine ignored the voice. There were still things to square with on land before he committed his life to responsibilities beneath the waves, for though he hated life within the ton, he despised the hierarchy and warmongering the merfolk indulged in. He didn’t believe in the conflict they constantly engaged against humankind, but that tug on the beastly side of him became stronger the closer he came to quitting London.

  And each time he found himself in the water.

  You need to return home and take your rightful place among our ranks.

  Thanks to his father’s penchant for bloodshed—and yet another reason the man had been constantly out of pocket when Valentine was young—the name of Mountgarret was known to the merfolk both in and out of the Irish Sea, and they didn’t take kindly to one of their own wishing to bow out. Even if their fight wasn’t his own.

  War with the air-breathers draws nigh.

  He shook his head in the hopes of breaking the subconscious connection with those he shared a tenuous bond with, though not by choice. It is your war, not mine. Fight it yourselves.

  If it came down to a decision, which side would he defend? For hadn’t he said numerous times that he didn’t feel comfortable in London anymore, and that he certainly wouldn’t find himself involved with a woman who’d smash his heart to pieces?

  Yet he didn’t fully believe life in the mer-kingdom was his future.

  As he slid through the dark waters of the Serpentine, he relaxed by increments. Swimming calmed him like nothing else could, and it wasn’t a feeling he experienced while on land. The gentle caress of the water over his skin promoted the peace he desperately craved.

  Perhaps if he bought property near the sea so he could swim whenever he felt like, he could reconcile the two halves of himself.

  We are your true people. The voice came again. Sooner or later, you will have to make a choice—us or them.

  I a
m not one of you. In fact, due to his cursed status, he existed in a nether world between the human and the mer peoples. Neither of them fully accepted him. So why the devil should he fight in some insane war if those people cared nothing for him? I merely wish to live in peace.

  Yet, swimming in the seas was infinitely better than haunting the waters after midnight in Hyde Park. On land, the one driving force every five years was attempting to break the curse so that he could attain a fully human life. Too bad that life in the sea held its own sort of drama. Beneath the waves, they thirsted for war and assumed he’d think like that too.

  Why couldn’t he enjoy both sides of his existence? I want to be left alone. For both the humans and the mers had disappointed him.

  He executed a flip that pointed him back into the direction from whence he came. Now that he was doomed to toil under the curse for five more years, the only thing he chased was peace, which he’d not find in the water as soon as his three-pronged weapon hit his hand.

  For that was what his beast demanded. Once he transformed into the merman and gained his weapon, his thoughts became like his aquatic brethren.