Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Gentleman's Master
    Gentleman's Master
    Gentleman's Master
    Ebook301 pages3 hours

    Gentleman's Master

    By Jo Ann Ferguson

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    ". . . filled with romance, humor and mystery." --Romantic Times magazine

    Tonight is the first night of the rest of their lives. Lady Priscilla anticipates a thrilling time on her honeymoon with her dashing husband, Sir Neville Hathaway, far from family and friends. But when their carriage is halted by a highwayman, she discovers the excitement they are about to share isn't what she expected. She and Neville are about to embark on an investigation of murder most macabre.

    Obligations from Neville's past demand that he make a bargain with the leader of the highwaymen. If he does not, Priscilla will die. Neville is drawn back into the life he once knew--a life that straddled both sides of the law. He--and Priscilla--agree to help the highwaymen find the man who's hunting them down as if they were beasts.

    As they work together in this strange alliance, Priscilla and Neville know that friend and foe alike intend to halt their investigation. If they want to enjoy their first night in each other's arms, they must find the truth fast . . . without making a fatal mistake.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBelleBooks
    Release dateOct 20, 2010
    ISBN9781933417110
    Gentleman's Master
    Author

    Jo Ann Ferguson

    Jo Ann Ferguson is a lifelong storyteller and the author of numerous romantic novels. She also writes as Jo Ann Brown and Mary Jo Kim. A former US Army officer, she has served as the president of the national board of the Romance Writers of America and taught creative writing at Brown University. She currently lives in Nevada with her family, which includes one very spoiled cat.

    Read more from Jo Ann Ferguson

    Related to Gentleman's Master

    Related ebooks

    Historical Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Little CHARMS

      Oct 19, 2022

      Little CHARMS
      6 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Guide

      Jan 2, 2022

      Summer Reading Guide
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Scarlet PEBBLE

      Feb 28, 2024

      The Scarlet PEBBLE
      9 min read

    • Article

      Mrs. Robinson

      Dec 10, 2022

      “Do you think she will like me?” The question slipped from between my lips and hung suspended in the air. My gloved hands were in my lap, and I was wringing them. As the carriage conveyed us and we neared my new husband’s ancestral home, Ashby Hall,

      20 min read

    • Article

      Supportive Husband

      Sep 12, 2023

      There were less intimate places available, so it was odd when a woman took the seat directly facing mine across the subway aisle. I looked up from my book and right back down: a couple of months before, we’d gone home together. She had a Southern acc

      22 min read

    • Article

      Our Lady Of The Rockies

      Aug 7, 2023

      Our Lady Of The Rockies
      13 min read

    • Article

      The Invitation

      Aug 21, 2023

      York, October 1644 Before I’ve even mustered the courage to knock, the door to the townhouse flings open. I drop my hand. “It is me, John Falmouth,” I say and wince at how loud my voice carries into the night. My greeting falters when I look up and n

      6 min read

    • Article

      The BRACELET

      Jan 30, 2024

      The BRACELET
      6 min read

    • Article

      Women and Men Made of Them

      Sep 15, 2019

      Mary Ann lived near me in Baton Rouge, then she was in Memphis. She’d told me they could never return. Return to this life, she meant. Her husband, Knox, I’d hated, and he’d been called, of all things, a kind man. People called him good, gentlemanly,

      14 min read

    • Article

      The King’s passion

      Aug 11, 2021

      The King’s passion
      11 min read

    • Article

      The King’s passion

      Aug 11, 2021

      The King’s passion
      11 min read

    • Article

      That Particular Sunday

      Jul 6, 2023

      That Particular Sunday
      26 min read

    • Article

      In Love And War

      Jun 10, 2021

      April 1943 - Krakow, Poland Irena was bent over her needlework, stitching the frayed seam of her skirt when she heard a single gunshot ring out. She jerked and then scowled. After four years of war, she ought to be used to it. Why, the other night a

      11 min read

    • Article

      The Mr Darcy MYSTERY

      Nov 23, 2022

      The Mr Darcy MYSTERY
      6 min read

    • Article

      Suspicious Minds

      Apr 7, 2022

      Suspicious Minds
      5 min read

    • Article

      Love at First Try

      May 4, 2020

      Love at First Try
      5 min read

    • Article

      STEPPING Out

      Mar 4, 2020

      STEPPING Out
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Evil Stepmother

      Apr 3, 2019

      The Evil Stepmother
      6 min read

    • Article

      Left To Lose

      Jul 10, 2022

      Around the time she gives up her name, it starts to feel like this entire revolution isn’t worth it anymore. The world is probably lucky that Kelian—she still remembers Kelian, in spite of everything—is there to pick up the pieces, the way he always

      11 min read

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      The BRACELET

      Jun 16, 2021

      The BRACELET
      6 min read

    • Article

      Every CLOUD

      Aug 31, 2022

      Every CLOUD
      6 min read

    • Article

      Jack of Knives

      Jun 3, 2021

      WINNER £100 Jennifer is the author of four middle grade children’s novels published by Maverick (writing as Jenny Moore). Her latest book, The Misadventures of Nicholas Nabb, is set during the same period as her winning story and also includes a scen

      6 min read

    • Article

      Yara And The Witch Queen

      Oct 1, 2019

      I knew the dangers of witchcraft. My parents had told me about the time before I was born, when magic plagued our desert kingdom of Bahati. Untrained witch doctors trying to cure warts ended up paralyzing their patients or turning them into crocodile

      10 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Gentleman's Master

    4/5

    1 rating0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Gentleman's Master - Jo Ann Ferguson

      Other ImaJinn Titles by J. A. Ferguson

      (Regency Romance)

      My Lord Viking

      Gentleman’s Master

      Marry Me, Millie

      Under Her Spell

      Writing as J. A Ferguson

      Call Back Yesterday

      Dreamsinger

      Dreamshaper

      DreamMaster

      Dream Traveler

      Luck of the Irish

      Daughter of the Fox

      Timeless Shadows

      The Wrong Christmas Carol

      Sworn Upon Fire

      Writing as Jocelyn Kelley

      (Regency Romance)

      Sea Wraith

      Gentleman’s Master

      by

      Jo Ann Ferguson

      ImaJinn Books

      Copyright

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

      ImaJinn Books

      PO BOX 300921

      Memphis, TN 38130

      Ebook ISBN: 978-1-933417-11-0

      Print ISBN: 978-1-933417-10-3

      ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

      Copyright © 2010 by Jo Ann Ferguson

      Printed and bound in the United States of America.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

      ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

      We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites

      ImaJinnBooks.com

      BelleBooks.com

      BellBridgeBooks.com

      *10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

      Cover design: Deborah Smith

      Interior design: Hank Smith

      Photo/Art credits:

      Man (manipulated) © Curaphotography | Dreamstime.com

      Couple (manipulated) © RomanceNovelCovers.com

      Background (manipulated) © Miramisska | Dreamstime.com

      :Emgv:01:

      Dedication

      For Tracey Lyons,

      Madame Prez extraordinaire and,

      more important, a good friend

      Chapter One

      STAND AND deliver! came the shout in the wake of the pistol shot.

      Lady Priscilla Hathaway choked on the scream that wanted to escape from her throat. The dim light in the carriage glinted off the burnished barrel of another pistol pointed directly at her. Unlike the first shot, this one would not be fired over the carriage in a warning.

      But she silenced the terror roiling in her. A single sound might be the very one that made the highwayman fire.

      Her fingers inched across the smooth surface of the carriage’s seat to entwine with Neville’s. Neville, her husband of barely more than a day. Neville, her best friend who had shared her grief when her first husband died and left her alone to raise their three children. Neville, who taught her rumor and reality did sometimes speak the truth because she had learned that not all the stories about his exploits before he became Sir Neville Hathaway were untrue . . . and she found she did not care anyway.

      His broader fingers closed over hers, gently squeezing. She was glad that he had had many dealings with the criminal world, because his knowledge might be the only tool to save them from death.

      Yer fripperies, ordered the man holding the pistol. His face was shadowed by the night and the wide-brimmed hat he wore.

      Priscilla curled her left hand and slid it behind her. She could not endure the idea of losing the ring that Neville had put on her finger as they exchanged vows yesterday. Then she told herself not to be silly. A circle of gold was worth nothing in comparison with their lives.

      Now! The highwayman’s voice grew colder.

      As she started to withdraw her hand from Neville’s to slip off her ring, his hand tightened over it. She gasped when he shifted so he was between her and the pistol.

      Begone, Neville said in an even icier tone than the highwayman’s. We will not be provender for the likes of a rum pad like you.

      Priscilla held her breath at his bold words which he had issued in the low cant a highwayman would understand.

      The highwayman snorted a cruel laugh. Fancy words, but hand over yer treasures now!

      As soon as you give me one good reason, Wat Watson!

      Priscilla wondered if she or the highwayman was more shocked when Neville addressed him by name. The gun did not waver, but the thief lifted the broad brim of his hat to reveal pinched features on a thin face. His eyes grew as round as coins.

      Neville ’athaway! Ye old son of a she-dog!

      She looked from the highwayman’s now twinkling eyes to her new husband. New husband, but the same old story. If they encountered someone from the most sordid walk of life, Neville was sure to be a longstanding friend. Those tales about his past suggested some of his activities had not been exactly legal.

      Watson, your language. Neville needed to add nothing else as he glanced at Priscilla.

      The highwayman gulped and looked embarrassed. Sorry, ma’am. His gaze shifted back toward Neville. Wot ye doin’ out ’ere in the middle of the night? Ye should know well enough that no one drivin’ a leathern conveniency in the middle of the night ’round ’ere is safe.

      Leathern conveniency is a carriage, Neville explained, glancing at her.

      I know, Priscilla replied, "and I assume that you know this man."

      Yes.

      As you are acquainted, may I? She reached out and put one finger delicately on the gun barrel and lowered it.

      I am sorry. The highwayman grinned as he rested his elbow on the window, holding the gun with a nonchalance that amazed her. Any lady friend of ’athaway’s is . . .

      Neville’s voice became frigid again. "She is my wife, Watson. Lady Priscilla Hathaway."

      Wife? The highwayman gulped again and raised his fingers to his hat. Pardon me, m’lady.

      Most certainly. She hesitated, then said, I would feel much better if you would remove that weapon altogether from the carriage. To avoid an accident.

      He made the gun disappear beneath his ragged cloak, and she heard what was undeniably a laugh from Neville.

      Watson, we will not keep you, Neville said, because I am sure you have other business tonight. He glanced at her and smiled. We do.

      If we could speak . . . privately . . . The highwayman started to open the carriage door.

      Neville shook his head and put his hand out to keep the door shut. Another time, Watson. Tonight is the first night of our honeymoon. I am sure you understand.

      She was shocked when Watson argued, It will take only a moment.

      Not now. Neville slapped the side of the carriage, and she heard the call to the horses to continue down the road.

      The highwayman jumped back toward his own horse that still stood among the trees alongside the road. He called Neville’s name, but whatever else he said vanished beneath the rattle of the carriage as it continued on its interrupted journey.

      Priscilla looked out the window on her side to see Watson swing up onto his horse. He began to pursue them, then drew in. A flash of moonlight through the clouds outlined what appeared to be another rider on a white horse.

      You need not worry about Watson, Neville said, drawing her back into the curve of his arm. He will find someone else as his prey tonight.

      I am glad you know him. She rested her head against his chest. Do you know his partner, too?

      Partner? She heard the surprise in his voice. He always works alone.

      I thought I saw another horse and rider. It may have been a trick of the light, but . . . No, I am sure there was someone else with him.

      If I were a betting man—

      Which you are when you can fix the odds in your favor.

      If I were a betting man, I would wager the moonlight betwattled you. He smiled when she looked up at him. If you need your curiosity satisfied, I will contact Watson and ask. Tomorrow.

      He seemed very anxious to speak with you.

      Whatever it is—and it most likely is nothing more important than to regale me with his recent exploits—can wait. With a growl, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her even closer. My dear wife, we have had too many postponements of our wedding night already.

      She clasped her hands behind his nape and gave him a saucy smile. That is what happens when you wed a woman who has a son who ate so much wedding cake at your house that he was sick all night.

      Leaving me with your two daughters. Leah who gave me regular, far too detailed reports on the state of Isaac’s upheavals. That child is obsessed with things most girls would be horrified with. And if that was not enough, in the midst of the clinical descriptions, Daphne took the opportunity to ask me about a man’s point of view of every look, every word, every nuance of her most recent conversation with that pup Witherspoon. I don’t know what she sees in that young fool.

      Priscilla laughed. You sound more and more like a protective father, Neville. Lord Witherspoon is a fine young man, who has been very kind to Daphne.

      He likes that she worships him.

      She fancies herself in love, but you know how first loves are when you are sixteen. They burn fiercely and die just as fast. Give it some time. Soon she will be nutty over some other young man she has met. Do not let what may be no more than calf-love get you in a tizzy. A young girl’s heart is fickle. It was not so long ago that she believed herself in undying love with you.

      Do not remind me! His embrace tightened around her. But enough talk about the children. They are being watched by your aunt and your household while they prepare to leave for your aunt’s country house, and we are, at long last, only minutes from the inn where we will have a wondrous night to ourselves.

      Wondrous . . . She welcomed this kiss with the same eagerness she had his first.

      But it was cut short when a small door in the roof of the carriage opened. Begging your pardon, Sir Neville, came his coachman’s voice. I thought you would want to know we are being followed.

      How many, Stuttman? he asked as he released Priscilla with obvious reluctance.

      One. On horseback and gaining fast.

      Not again, she said.

      Neville shook his head. No conveyancer would follow a carriage openly. They would sit in ambush as Watson did. I suspect the one giving chase is of a far more honest nature. Through the door in the top of the carriage, he called, Stop and let the rider pass so he is not muddied by our wheels.

      I don’t think he wants to pass, came back the coachee’s answer. I think he wants to catch up with us.

      Then let us see what his business is so we can be on our way.

      The inn is around the very next bend in the road.

      Neville chuckled lowly. Very well, Stuttman. Bring the carriage to a stop right in front of the inn’s door.

      As you wish, Sir Neville. I shall drive it to within an inch of where you wish. The small door closed.

      "As I wish? Neville laughed again, louder this time. Stuttman always agrees with me until he gets what he wants."

      A wise man, Priscilla said.

      And will you be a wise woman and agree with me until you get what you want?

      She leaned her head on his shoulder. I think we both want the same thing tonight.

      Agreed.

      Closing her eyes, she relaxed into his strength. She knew within minutes they would have to confront whoever followed them. Stuttman would not have mentioned the rider if he had not been concerned. She wondered what he had seen that seemed out-of-the-ordinary enough to cause him to alert Neville. It had to be something other than the simple fact that few people rode out after dark because of cut-purses and thieves like Wat Watson.

      The inn was brightly lit, sweeping away the darkness from the two large front windows. The sign with its name—Harriers Inn—was decorated with a hunting dog running as a hawk flew overhead. The sign was worn by wind and rain, as was the inn. A few tables were scattered across a stone terrace at the front, but no one sat there.

      As the carriage slowed to a stop by the steps to the door, Priscilla heard faint voices. That sound was overwhelmed by hoofbeats behind the carriage.

      Stay close, Pris, Neville murmured as he opened the door.

      She nodded. When he assisted her out of the carriage, he drew her fingers onto the crook of his arm.

      Neville remained silent as a man dismounted and walked toward them. That did not surprise her. He did nothing out of hand. He carefully appraised each situation, then took action befitting the circumstances. She could trust him with her life . . . as she had before.

      The man was about even with Neville’s height, but the lamps on the inn’s façade showed that he was much heavier. When the man strode closer, she saw he was also older. He must have been close to her aunt’s age.

      I am Vincent Goodman, said the man. The rising breeze teased his thinning hair and played his cloak out behind him. The local justice of the peace.

      Sir Neville Hathaway, and this is my wife Lady Priscilla. Neville put his other hand over hers and smiled before looking back at the justice of the peace.

      She tried to temper the pulse of joy. Each time Neville said, my wife, he gave her that loving smile that made her want to shout with happiness and tell the whole world how much she loved this man who had vowed to be hers forever. It was a joy that she could not have imagined a year ago. And it was a joy that she wished they could concentrate on without all these intrusions.

      She struggled to concentrate on the conversation. Neville would find a way to bring it to a quick end. Even though he usually enjoyed a good coze with anyone, tonight of all nights, he was as eager as she was to shut out the rest of the world.

      I heard shots. Mr. Goodman frowned. And I came to investigate.

      Shots?

      There were at least two.

      Neville’s brows rose, and she knew he was as shocked as she was. We heard only one, he said.

      No, there were at least two. I am certain of that. His scowl deepened the lines on his face. Mayhap one was so distant that the sound of your carriage wheels masked it.

      That is possible.

      Priscilla was astounded by Neville’s comment. Little was missed by his honed senses. When he gave her a half-smile and a wink, she understood what he would not say in someone else’s hearing. They had been too focused on each other to pay attention to what happened beyond the carriage.

      Before Mr. Goodman could reply, rapid hoofbeats thudded toward them. Neville pushed her behind him, but not before she saw the dismay and fear on the justice of the peace’s face. From the box, Stuttman called out to the rider to stop and identify himself.

      She wondered why. No highwayman would be halted by a simple command. Then, when the coachee shouted again, she realized he was warning the rider that the carriage and its passengers were in the inn’s yard.

      The horse slowed, and a man jumped down to rush toward them.

      Mr. Goodman muttered, Late as always.

      She assumed he spoke of the man who skidded to a stop next to the justice of the peace. Instead of speaking, he stared at the tips of his boots, as if enthralled with them.

      Kenyon, where have you been? Mr. Goodman demanded.

      I heard shots—

      And came as quickly as you could. Mr. Goodman’s voice became sarcastic. The same old tale, as always. Gesturing toward the newcomer, he added, Sir Neville, Lady Priscilla, this is Constable Kenyon, who has served nearly half his term without much to show for it.

      The constable raised his gaze from his boots. He was younger than Mr. Goodman, claiming no more than thirty years. His clothes were rough, as befit a man of his standing and duties, but if he had worn finer feathers, the young misses of the ton would be swooning at the very thought of his broad shoulders and how his dark hair dropped toward his equally brown eyes. She was glad her older daughter Daphne was not here to fall instantly in love with him.

      That handsome face lengthened with a frown. There have been too many robberies by highwaymen and their ilk in the past few years. Despite all efforts—my predecessors as well as my own—the roads have become more dangerous. Our local folks know better than to travel after dark.

      Mr. Goodman scowled, and the constable looked at his boots again. We have no wish to impugn your decisions, Sir Neville.

      No insult was taken. Neville smiled coolly.

      I trust you and your lovely wife are unharmed.

      Quite.

      If the justice of the peace was astonished by Neville’s terse answers, Priscilla saw no sign. Neville stepped away as boys came rushing out of the inn to get the bags from the carriage’s boot. The boys were shouting with excitement. When they glanced toward the downcast constable, she noticed Constable Kenyon’s ears turning red. She wanted to ask what was amiss, but held her tongue. She was no longer a pastor’s wife with the duty of helping those in obvious discomfort.

      The justice of the peace seemed determined to do his companion’s job. Constable Kenyon will look into this incident, as well as the source of the other shot, immediately.

      It is unnecessary, Neville said, putting a hand out to halt the constable from running to get his horse and gallop into the darkness. We were not harmed and nothing was taken.

      Nothing? blurted the constable, earning another scowl from Mr. Goodman.

      Priscilla stepped closer to Neville, wrapped her hands around his arm and gazed up at him with the lovesick adoration she had seen on some young misses who thought the insipid expression was endearing. In a coo she borrowed from them as well, she exclaimed, Oh, my dear husband was so brave. The highwayman knew he had met his match and scurried away empty-handed. Isn’t he wonderful?

      Wonderful? The highwayman? asked the justice of the peace, then flushed as he realized how silly he sounded.

      No, my dear, dear husband. She gave Neville’s arm another squeeze and twittered, "He has always been my hero, but tonight he saved us all. Isn’t he wonderful?"

      Um . . . yes. The justice of the peace appeared ill-at-ease with her exuberance. Clearing his throat, he said, You were lucky, Sir Neville. The conveyancer must have been scared off by the sound of us approaching. You are not in London.

      Priscilla trilled a laugh. What a jest! We do know where we are, Mr. Goodman. She widened her eyes as she gazed up at Neville. You do know, don’t you?

      Yes. He coughed as if trying to ease a tight throat, but she suspected he was, rather, fighting not to laugh at her response to the justice of the peace’s condescension.

      Give us a description of the highwayman, Mr. Goodman went on, looking rather embarrassed. We keep a list of those who have harassed travelers in this area. We can compare what you tell us with what is already on the list. Already we are beginning to see a pattern of which ones attack in which areas. Endlessly fascinating.

      The constable gave a sudden smile as he looked up shyly. It was Lord Rossington’s idea. A brilliant one that is sure to make my job more rewarding.

      Rossington? asked Neville, astonished. He is the last one I would expect to involve himself in the pursuit of highwaymen. For years, this area has been plagued with highwaymen and other criminals, and he has done nothing to halt their preying on innocent people.

      His wife and daughters were stopped earlier in the year by a knight of the pad. Constable Kenyon’s eyes snapped with an abrupt fury that startled Priscilla. He had been restrained until now. The lady and her daughters were robbed of their jewelry and were terrified. Even Miss Verlyn, who is the bravest, most amazing woman—

      Enough! The justice of the peace fired a look at the constable that Priscilla could not read. It was clear the young man did because he nodded and added nothing more as the justice of the peace continued in a calmer tone, Lord Rossington is determined not to have that incident repeated.

      It was not tonight, fortunately, Neville said, his voice even more serene than Mr. Goodman’s. Now if you will excuse us, my wife should not linger out in the night’s dampness.

      Priscilla could see Mr. Goodman’s disappointment. What would the justice of the peace say if she mentioned it was

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1