The Duke's Stolen Heart (London Scandals Book 4) by Carrie Lomax

Author:Carrie Lomax [Lomax, Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance, Women's Fiction, Regency & Victorian Romance, London Society, England & Britain, 19th Century, Forever Love, Bachelor, Single Woman, Love Possibility, Hearts Desire, Life-Changes, Second Chance Reunion, Honesty & Trust, Home & Family, Lifetime Love, Romantic Schemes, Beautiful & Feisty, Love-Family & Forever, Action & Adventure, Sensual Story Theme, London Scandals Series
Publisher: Carrie Lomax
Published: 2020-01-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The bell tolled nine-thirty before Antonia slipped through the door of the studio the next morning. Havencrest had had plenty of time to practice his sketches. None ever looked quite right. His mother’s face never quite matched the image from his memory. Warm lips puffing soft words against his forehead. He hadn’t understood them at the tender age of six.

I love you, Malcolm, no matter what they say when I am gone.

“To the theatre?” he had asked in his innocence as he played with the big red gem nestled at the base of her throat. Its scrolled gold setting intrigued him like an endless maze. She was dressed in a midnight-figured silk gown. The bodice was embroidered with gold thread to match the earrings and heavy necklaces custom-made for her upon her wedding. The duchess only wore the set on special occasions.

“Yes.” She had the dreamy, half-awake look on her face again. The one that made his father so angry, when he sharpened the blades of his wit at his wife’s expense. “I may not come home tonight,” she said as though she was already a million miles away. “I love you. Be a good boy for your father. He loves you, even if he doesn’t…” The duchess trailed off. Or, perhaps Malcolm had imagined it.

He scratched his pencil across the paper trying to capture her expression. Loving. Wistful. Calm. Fathomlessly sad. Every time he returned to this memory, it looked more like the miniature of her face, cracked and faded. If he was to have his mother’s image restored it must be a true likeness. Not pieced together from the thirty-year-old memories of a child who hadn’t known he was about to lose his mother.

“Will you tell me a story?” A simple request, routine for a child of six. His mother had smiled again and bussed his cheek with lips as red as the stone.

“The story about this necklace is a sad one. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

He had nodded. He remembered feeling there was more to ask, more to know, but his words had been inadequate to the task. Malcolm listened intently as his mother had told him the story of the Heart’s Cry, why it had been cut and set into two halves of a necklace. He’d unclipped the gold necklaces and refastened them while she talked. When she was done, his mother had kissed his forehead.

“Your father and I are under this diamond’s spell. We cannot break it. We tried. We failed.”

Malcolm’s hand scribbled furiously over the paper. Her expression eluded him. No matter how soft he made her lashes or the precise angle of her eyebrows, he could not recreate his mother’s expression to his satisfaction. Nor could he recall the exact whorls and stacks of gold filigree that bound the diamonds in their eternal dance of grief. If he had the jewel before him, it would dredge up memories of his mother’s expression like clearing muck from the bottom of

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