The Marquis of Thunder (Heart of a Hero) Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Marquis of Thunder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  The Marquis of Thunder

  by Susan Gee Heino

  Chapter 1

  April, 1813

  Nottinghamshire, England

  The skies were seething with dark clouds. Distant thunder rolled over the surrounding hillsides, ominous in its persistence. The storm would be raging soon; it would show no deference for Lord Thorston, the infamous Marquis of Thunder.

  Indeed, Thorston was about to get wet. He felt it in his bones.

  His horse felt it, too. The elegant black shuddered with nervous energy. Thorston patted him for reassurance.

  "We'll be there soon, long before the first drops, my friend."

  His mount flicked his ears and tossed his dark head. Indeed, it wasn't raindrops the sleek warmblood feared, it was his namesake. When Thorston had named the colt five years ago he'd thought he was simply paying homage to his own unfortunate epithet. At the time he'd had no idea he was being ironically prophetic. Thunder, unfortunately, was terrified of thunder.

  Thorston knew he had better get them both safely to Northgate Hall before the storm hit. He barely held his worried animal under control as it was. If they were out here much longer, Thunder was likely to go into a panic. Thorston touched his sides and gently urged him into a trot.

  Rounding a sharp curve in the road, he was forced to pull up to a stop. Thunder champed and snorted as a too-near flash of lightning cut through the clouds. The corresponding thunder answered a few short seconds later. Progress, however, was impossible.

  The roadway ahead seemed to be blocked by a flock of jostling sheep. One very determined collie dog darted about, keeping the flock tightly together, perfectly in the way. Thunder shied backward and Thorston calmed him as best he could, searching the steep banks on each side of the road for a possible escape.

  The ancient roadway had been worn deep into the landscape. The earth rose up on either side, with decaying rock walls lining the rim above that. Tufts of grass spilled over the edge. There was no chance of getting a horse up out of the roadway here.

  He could not reach Northgate Hall as he'd hoped. At this point, he'd be lucky to reach the village that lay between them and the ancient estate. But to get even as far as Lesser Crossing he still had to get past these damnable sheep.

  Apparently he would have to convince Thunder to backtrack. They'd have to ride toward the storm for half a mile or so before they might find a way up, out of the rut and over the wall. And then they'd have to negotiate the soggy fields. The road they traveled on ran roughly parallel to the River Trent. This storm was not the first to pass through here in recent days and the river was already breaching its banks. The road was treacherous enough. Sending Thunder through open grazing lands would not make for quick headway.

  It seemed there was no other route, though. He was about to turn the animal to retrace their steps when his eye caught on something. A lone figure appeared, rising up from a stooped position in the midst of the sheep. Not one of the local farmers as Thorston might have expected, but a woman. Instantly he worried that she was in danger, trapped by the agitated animals and likely to be trampled.

  To his surprise, though, she whistled at the dog who immediately came to her aid and directed the sheep away from her. Unflustered, she stooped down again. Thorston sat up higher in his saddle to see what might have her attention in such a tenuous situation. He could not tell, so he nudged Thunder to move closer.

  The horse was unsure, but trusted Thorston's leading and took a few hesitant steps. The dog glanced their way, but seemed to care only for the sheep. They pushed and pressed against each other, their noisy feet and worried cries only slightly louder than the gathering wind and distant thunder.

  The woman, Thorston could see now, was down low in gap through the bank at the right side of the road. Apparently this was an area that was used as a crossing. The rock wall that lined the roadway was obviously a barrier that usually kept the sheep out of the road. Now, as the river on one side was rising the sheep needed to be moved to pasture on the other side. Something was blocking their passage. A gate, from what Thorston could see. It should be open, but it was not.

  Why this lone woman was out here trying to repair it by herself, he had no idea. He could see easily, though, that she could use some help. Whatever obstacle she struggled with seemed to be more than she could handle.

  Thorston slid off of Thunder and prayed the horse wouldn't spook and bolt away. There was no telling how far the terrified animal would run without Thorston's governance. It was risky to leave him in the road now, but the pitiful sight of the woman―a young one, at that―struggling at the rock wall in the midst of all those nervous sheep was not something he could turn his back on.

  If Fate had granted him anything, it was strong arms and a broad back. His tailor often complained of his less-than-elegant musculature and his own father chastised him for participating in frequent strenuous exercise unbefitting a gentleman. Thorston ignored them both, of course. His physique and his experience made him perfectly qualified to render assistance in this moment, and by God he would do so.

  He only hoped it would be in time to avoid the tempest that blustered and swirled in the wall of dark clouds that roiled steadily toward them. Despite his broad back and generous stature, Thorston had no great desire to be drenched today. The unpleasant nature of his visit to this area was more than enough to have put him in a sour mood. The sooner he could get the young woman and her sheep out of his way, the sooner he could get himself and his horse to safety, then get on with his business.

  Seraphina steadied her foot on the large, moss-covered rock and steeled herself for another try. The wind carried the scent of rain and the current of urgency. Any moment now the heavens would open and unleash their downpour. She had to get this gate open and drive the sheep up to higher ground.

  Unfortunately, the rocks had tumbled, trapping the heavy wooden timbers that ordinarily would have been removable to allow passage. Unless she could miraculously shift the rocks, the whole lot of them would be trapped in this narrow gully as the river raged higher and higher over its banks. She knew this area flooded often and it had not been her intent to leave the sheep in the low pastures at this time of year.

  But secrets had to be kept, so here she was tackling the problem long after she should have and totally alone. Papa's health had required her extra attention these last days, and she'd been especially mindful of that more than anything. He did not need to learn about things that might upset him. Such as a flock of sheep that had not been listed among their assets when she and their man of business tabulated their rents.

  Ordinarily Seraphina would be opposed to any sort of deception, but Papa was so fragile, and their man of business assured her that this was the only way to make ends meet. Papa needed to feel calm and secure, he needed his physician and medicines, and Seraphina needed to do whatever it took to see that he got those things.

  Surely the duke would not suffer if the rents he received from them were slightly less than usual. They had heard nothing from the man in years. She wondered if he would even notice if they did not bother to send the rent money at all.

  But of course that would be dangerous, and this was not the time to court danger. With all that was going on―the war on the Continent, the war in America, the violence and unrest here between workers and mill owners―it was hardly the time to do anything but try to survive.

  And that was getting harder every day. Papa's last two hired men had now come up missing―go
ne with no word and no warning. The household staff was down to a bare minimum, and Papa's meager investments had failed. If they lost the flock to flash flooding, it would send them into ruin. She'd already sold the wool―even though it was still on the sheep―to one of the local hosiers. How could she ever pay him back if they did not have the wool to give him?

  But because they did not officially have these sheep, she couldn't very well go around begging for help with them. She really had made a fine mess for herself and now here she was, surrounded by animals much heavier than she while a raging storm bore down on them all. She had no one to turn to, just her own strength and Tess, her tireless sheepdog who was doing her best to keep the sheep under control even as a bright flash of lightning sizzled the air all around them.

  The sudden shriek of a horse accompanied the flash, just moments before a loud boom of thunder rattled the earth. Seraphina jumped. The dog darted across the road to keep the sheep from erupting into mindless frenzy, but as the thunder rolled over the landscape the frantic effort seemed pointless. The sheep would rush back over the other bank and be trapped in the lower meadow, easy prey for the gluttonous river. As soon as this next downpour was unleashed, flooding would be inevitable and swift.

  It appeared the only thing keeping the sheep from breaking past Tess now was the huge black horse that seemed to appear out of nowhere. He stood in the narrow road just slightly above them, his rider completely composed despite the tenuous situation. Seraphina shoved her damp, disheveled hair out of her face so she could get a better look. Had someone come to help her? One of the men from their village, perhaps?

  No, the man on the horse was no one she'd ever seen before. No one from Lesser Crossing had ever cut such a fine―and enormous―figure. The stranger sat tall and straight on his stately mount, apparently impervious to the weather. The horse danced nervously, but the man kept him expertly in check. Even his hat sat obediently atop his head in elegant perfection, defying the wind. The man's cloak was as black as the horse and the multiple capes flapped like foreboding wings behind him.

  Seraphina could not make out his features, but one distinguishing element caught her eye. The man, although clad in black on the huge midnight steed, was not a dark figure. It surprised her to note that beneath his raven top hat, he was crowned with a shock of wild, waving hair that was every bit as yellow as hers. It was almost as if some golden archangel had donned human attire and dropped from the heavens, assuming gentlemanly form.

  Unfortunately, at this moment she didn't need an archangel or a gentleman. She needed someone who knew something about dislodging big rocks and keeping sheep from drowning. In her limited experience, she'd never found angels nor gentlemen to be particularly useful in either of these.

  Apparently he was willing to give it a go. The man dismounted, his horse becoming noticeably more nervous with his absence. Seraphina half expected the animal to charge off in the other direction when the man dropped the reins and took a step toward her. It didn't bolt, though, which she counted as a testament to the man's horsemanship, or perhaps his ability to install dread in anyone who might wish to disregard his will.

  "Are you having some trouble there?" he called. His voice boomed over the gusting wind and bleating sheep.

  "I need to get the sheep into higher pasture," she yelled, hoping her own voice might somehow carry. "But I can't move the bar that is blocking our way. It's wedged under these rocks."

  He must have understood because he glanced toward the low-lying meadow that the sheep had been in and nodded. Her collie growled low as the man advanced toward them. Seraphina murmured an admonition.

  "Easy, Tess. I'll let you know when it's time to bite the fellow."

  Tess dropped low to the ground, ears back, her gaze flicking warily between the man and sheep under her command. Seraphina had no doubt in her faithful canine. One motion from her―the slightest whistle―and Tess would forget herding duty and become a formidable protector. But how effective could it be against such a man?

  His clothes and his voice gave the appearance of social standing, but his broad shoulders and strong stride hinted at a more physical power. The man was huge, and built as a laborer. Surely if he were so inclined, he just might be able to do something constructive for them. If he were not so inclined, however, Seraphina could be in for some trouble.

  She was not quite sure what his inclinations were right now.

  "A sturdy hammer might be useful for this," he said, uncomfortably near.

  "It would," she agreed, standing as tall as she could and keeping eye contact with Tess. "But my hammer got caught when those rocks tumbled, pinning it as well as the bar that I need to move."

  He leaned in, so close to her she could smell the scent of his soap. His shoulders practically blocked the light and his very nearness took her breath away. Before she could react to defend herself, he was reaching, stooping so that his face was almost against hers. She choked on her surprise, but as quickly as his action terrified her she realized what he was doing.

  He had his hand on the shank of the hammer where it stuck out from under the pile. If she'd been in control of her tongue she would have reminded him that it was pointless, that she'd already tried―and failed―to remove it. When the rocks in the wall had tumbled, they'd trapped it securely. His attempt would be fruitless.

  But she couldn't tell him that. The words simply wouldn't form as her eyes caught on his, locked in an uncomfortable but unbreakable union. In the icy blue depths she saw defiance, impatience, assurance, and perhaps even a touch of mirth. Was he enjoying his needless display of supposed superiority? Yes. The hint of a smile at the corner of his lip gave him away. He stared at her with the most annoying overconfidence.

  Soon it would be her turn to smile when he tried to retrieve the hammer and found that, indeed, it was stuck. She smiled her own hint of a smile to imagine such a proud gentleman humiliated by a simple workman's tool. He would not be so smug then, would he?

  Her imagining was short lived, though. The hammer, it seemed, was even more intimidated by him than she was. It didn't so much as try to frustrate his arrogance. With one effortless tug, the hulking stranger pulled the traitorous implement free of the rocks.

  The hammer was his and he held it up before her. Lightning flashed through the darkening clouds. The man's golden hair tossed in waves with the wind. Thunder rumbled with the same timbre as his voice.

  He grinned when he spoke. "I'm good with hammers. Now, how can I help you, little shepherdess?"

  Chapter 2

  Seraphina gaped. Despite the man's height and the breadth of his shoulders, she had never expected him to be so very useful. Clearly he was a gentleman; his elegant attire and posh tongue betrayed privilege and nobility. He was not at all the sort to be eager for manual labor. Yet he stood there surveying the tumbled rocks and assessing the situation with a certain gleam in his eye. That hammer seemed as comfortable in his hand as if it had been forged for him.

  Seraphina hesitated before she spoke. Could she truly trust him? Then again, did she have any choice right now? The answer was obvious. She cleared her throat and hoped she sounded calm as she spoke.

  "Do you suppose you could pound the beam loose?"

  "Indeed," he replied. "That should be easy enough. I'll be quick about it, too. We'll have rain any minute and this whole area will likely end up under water."

  He was closer now and she summoned the will not to back away. He made a towering figure with his golden hair whipping around like an angry halo. His eyes were pools of silver in violet-rimmed ice and she found herself staring. His gaze was so intense it nearly pierced her.

  A jolt of anxious electricity ran over her skin. Who was this man? He dominated the landscape and she felt very small in his presence. Glancing around, she noted the position of her dog―not exactly far away, but not exactly posing an immediate threat to the man. She would come running if Seraphina needed her, though. She truly hoped she would not. Her insides jigged
nervously.

  "If I can just get my sheep to higher ground, all will be well," she said with false confidence. "We are quite used to our annual flooding, sir."

  "But not ready for it, I see," he added. "Good thing for you that I happened along."

  She shuddered to think how right he was. She must appear hopelessly weak and vulnerable. If only one of Papa's men had been around to help her with this... if only she weren't so woefully alone. If only everything were different.

  But things were the way they were. Papa was home in his chair, unable to walk. Their staff was whittled down to almost nothing, the able-bodied men had gone off to war or were taken up by the more lucrative employment of industry. Their finances had run dry and their prospects were bleak. Now this storm was at their doorstep, this stranger towered over her―hammer in hand―and no one could come to her rescue.

  Seraphina would simply have to rescue herself.

  She broke free of the man's captivating eyes and turned her focus back to the tumbled gateway. He said he wanted to help, so she would see that is what he did.

  "There, that is the heaviest rock and if you could shift it a bit, I think the beam would move," she instructed.

  He nodded. "I believe you are correct. Let's see what we can do."

  She wasn't sure who he referred to with his use of the plural―it was obvious she would provide no assistance. The rock that was in question was impossibly large and she'd already spent a good half hour at it with absolutely no result. If it were possible at all to move the stone, the man would be doing it on his own. He didn't seem the least bit daunted, in fact.

  "Now," he said. "If you will step back, please."

  "Here's a stick that I was using to pry the rock," she pointed out.

  He glanced at the stick and then glanced up at her as if she'd offered him a feather. "You tried to work this rock with that? No wonder you've been unsuccessful."

  True, the stick hadn't worked for her, but really, he did not need to roll his eyes at it the way he did. She thought she'd been rather clever, even if her attempt had ended in failure. He had yet to prove himself any better.