Till Dawn Tames the Night by Meagan McKinney Read Free Book Online Page A

out and touch it.
    He smiled and leaned further back on the railing, much to her relief.
    "I seem to recall one Viscountess Blackwell having a bauble just like it," he said. "But then again, that pendant was stolen, fifteen years ago at least. I can only guess where it is now."
    Aurora's eyes darkened. Was this man somehow accusing her of stealing this viscountess's locket?
    "I assure you, Mr. Vashon, you must be mistaken." She fought to keep her voice even. "This necklace was my father's legacy to me, and he made it clear when he left it for me that there wasn't another one similar to it in all of England. So no one could possibly have owned one like it."
    "I believe you, Miss Dayne."
    Taken aback by his sudden assent, she was at a loss for words. The wind picked up and loosened one of the pins from her hair. Her hand went to her head and she realized, to her chagrin, that she'd been out in public, speaking to a man, without her bonnet. Her cheeks colored as she quickly repinned the loose curl. She said, "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mr. Vashon. I fear I must retrieve my bonnet."
    "By all means," he said, a strange look crossing his face. "The sun gets hot in the tropics. A fair maiden like yourself needs protection."
    A strange fluttering blossomed in her belly. She looked at him and her fingers worried the locket at her throat. For some terrible reason, her bonnet didn't seem like the kind of protection of which he spoke. And it didn't seem nearly enough. Particularly if it was to protect her from him.
    She left, taking only one more glance at him. Nonetheless, she was overcome with the desire to find her cabin and hide there for the rest of the journey to Jamaica.

THE  VILLAIN
     
     

     
     
     
    . . . this declining age, when too many
    worthy members of the community seem
    to have an alacrity in sinking.
    —Captain Rees Howell Gronow :
    Reminiscences

Chapter Three
    Lord Josiah Peterborough, seventh Viscount Blackwell, was a stunningly handsome man. Though he was well into his forties, his dark brown hair had yet to silver, and he possessed a most arresting pair of brilliant green eyes. With title and wealth, he was one of the most sought-after peers in London. That he cut a rather joyless figure was easily forgiven, attributed to the fact that he'd been tragically widowed at a tender age. If anything, his melancholy stance only endeared him further to an already adoring society. His female admirers in particular viewed him with sympathy—well-tempered, of course, with a generous dose of erotic infatuation.
    His conquests were many. At Melbourne House, Lady Melbourne had quickly declared him intriguing and insisted always that he dine next to her. The patronesses of Almack's labeled the evening a success whenever the viscount chose to attend. Lord Blackwell was accepted everywhere, even at Carlton House, and the Regent had even seen to it that he was among the guests invited to a weekend or two of debauchery at the Marine Pavilion. But though the cream of the peerage had long embraced him, there were still three things about him most did not know.
    The first was his shame-filled past as the poverty-bound, untitled son of a barley merchant. Because of his complete lack of funds, Lord Blackwell's future had once looked so bleak that he'd been sent off to Heidelberg at the tender age of twenty-three in the hope that he might earn a living as a physician. Though he never finished his studies, even now, decades later, Josiah Peterborough still possessed an intimate familiarity with the human body, coupled with a horrifying knowledge of surgery.
    The second was simply the fact that his heiress wife had not taken that overdose of opium, lo, these many years ago, without assistance.
    And lastly, no one quite knew the exact source of his wealth. It was naturally assumed that it had come from the title that had ironically landed upon him right after the death of his step-brother. His pitifully short marriage was also