AVAILABLE FILE FORMATS: HTML for the standard computer, PDF for Adobe Reader, Rocket for the Rocket and REB1100, MS Reader for the PC and Pocket PC, FUB for eBookMan, Mobipocket for Palm Pilot, Pocket PC, and eBookMan, and KML for hiebook

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Hawkthorn Manor, England

October 15, 1811

Mist curled around the hidden door. The Old Earl stepped into the room. His tall majestic figure, dressed in a burgundy velvet coat, sparkled in the moonlight like rubies. He twirled his cane then bowed from the waist.

"I need you," whispered young Robert Craigh.

"What might a six-year-old be worrying about after the sun goes down?" The apparition spoke in his usual hoarse voice, slightly above a whisper.

"I heard Julia tell Miss Harper the Earl of Hawkthorn is on his way home." Robert hugged his book to his chest. "He is the Dragon of Hawkthorn."

The Old Earl clicked his heels, and brushed back his shoulder-length, white hair. The lace that hung below his sleeve swayed with the movement, disturbing the mist. "This is good news."

Robert wiped away a tear, hoping the Old Earl would not notice. "But, sir, the dragon is a most fierce beast and I fear I am not big enough to protect Julia properly."

Wrinkled jowls trembled as the Old Earl shook his head. "There is no need to be afraid. Jameson merely swaggers and belches fire as any good dragon should."

"Fire?" Robert's eyes widened in disbelief, his book splattered to the floor, and the golden title, Hawkthorn Dragon, glittered in the moonlight. "Will he burn Julia?"

"Words are his fire." The Old Earl's fists disappeared in the pockets of his pantaloons. Rocking on the heels of his square-toed boots, he added, "James has a big heart, much like Julia's."

"Oh, if his heart's the same, is he no taller than she?" Robert asked, hopeful that between he and Julia, they could hold off a dragon that stood not much taller than a horse's withers.

The earl drew his hand from his pocket and leveled it above his own head, "He is bigger than Julia, bigger than I, but he has a loving heart -- like Julia."

Dismay snuffed Robert's spark of hope. "It's a dragon's heart and Julia would never have a dragon's heart."

The old man shook his finger. "Nor should you believe that Jameson has a dragon's heart." Shrugging his tall Boney frame, he swaggered closer, his voice a haunting serenade. "Ah, James steals your heart before you know it. Julia quietly demands you give her yours. But it all ends up the same. They have your heart."

Robert raised his eyebrows. "Julia showed me how to feel my heartbeat. I still have my heart."

The old man smiled. "Perhaps, when you're older, you'll understand. James will protect you, and keep the land profitable." Then with a flourish he twirled into a mist, and magically back again. "James will teach you to ride."

Robert wistfully sighed. "To ride as well as Julia?"

"Balderdash! You will ride better." The Old Earl shook a pointed forefinger with emphasis. "Julia fears you'll be thrown, and it interferes with her teaching you. Her skill comes naturally. She can't teach something she's never learned."

"I'll never have Julia's bottom. Aunt Shredda says only a few can ride so well."

"James will teach you," the Old Earl insisted.

"But Julia says he'll chase her away." Robert sniffed back his tears, and he rammed his fist against his teeth to keep from crying.

The old man bent low to face the boy. "No, he won't...we won't let him."

"Can your magic stop James from turning into a fierce dragon?"

"I need no magic. James' now the earl. He will tend the land and you'll ride with him. Julia can spend more time with you, young man. You'll see."

Very pleased at being called a young man, Robert confided in a whisper, "Julia doesn't like the Hawkthorn Dragon."

With a shake of his white hair, the Old Earl whispered, "Never you mind. That won't be a problem for long."

"You promise he will never harm Julia?" Robert looked into the old man's eyes searching for the truth.

The Old Earl laughed heartily. "On my honor."

"And Julia will be able to spend hours with me?"

"What are you planning to do with Julia?"

"Julia is teaching me Greek, sir. And I am behind in my translations."

"Greek!" The shaggy white eyebrows raised, the old man leaned closer, and shook his finger. "James will teach you to ride! The wind to your back racing after the fox." Then he heaved a long sigh. "Ah, I do miss the hunt. You have more need to learn to control a horse than to read Greek."

Robert's lip curled, and he forced himself not to laugh. "Papa and Mama told me those who can't read Greek always belittle the language."

"Humph!" The Old Earl swung his cane, and stood straight. "They never knew what they missed with their noses stuck in a book. Better to tend to the land, Robert, than read ridiculous books by my countess about imagined dragons. If James fails to beget an heir, you may have to take charge."

"Is begetting an heir difficult?"

With hardly a blink of a lash, the old man said, "'Tis what I expect of him. But we must both have patience, Robert."

The Old Earl faded away as usual when the sound of Miss Harper's heels reached the nursery.

She rushed across the room, and put her cool hand to Robert's head. "A bad dream, Master Robert?"

"I talked to myself," he reassured her, for it turned Miss Harper all starchy when he spoke of the Old Earl. Robert often asked the old man to talk to Miss Harper, but he always left before any of the household could see him. Julia insisted the Old Earl had died fifteen years ago, and Miss Harper feared he was a ghost.

Robert crawled under the covers. He wondered if he could lift the Hawkthorn sword to save Julia if the Old Earl's magic failed to protect her. Robert loved Julia; he would not let the Hawkthorn Dragon hurt her. Or belch fire near her.

CHAPTER 2

Jameson Craigh had changed, yet nothing had changed in London. Diamonds set in gold baubles, silks, and French brandies delicacies, were all still available. Napoleon's warring be damned. Obviously no one in London cared if a soldier fell, and spilled his blood on a battlefield.

James shook his head hoping the action would chase away the unbidden shivers that raced up and down his spine. What could be wrong? He was in England. He was home. Why would he feel a sense of urgency as powerful as when he dodged cannon balls on the battlefield? Why had he survived fighting on foreign soil when his brother died in a carriage accident not fifteen miles from London?

By Jove! It seemed as if he were dreaming up worries like his man Casper.

Above his head the solicitor's faded sign swayed against the gray sky. He shrugged off the old wariness of battle, and reminded himself it wasn't a call to arms, but a courtesy call to collect any message the solicitor might have for Papa. He dashed up the flight of stairs, two steps at a time.

The old clerk, Miza, opened the creaky door and, instead of the usual nod, he bowed. "This way, my lord." He stepped aside.

James nodded, determined to adjust to being an heir to an earldom instead of a second son. Inhaling musty air, he followed Miza down the narrow hall to the solicitor's office.

"Earl of Hawkthorn, Mr. Jones," The stooped clerk announced before he discreetly disappeared.

Startled by the use of his father's title, James stared at Stewart Jones, expecting a correction.

Mr. Jones rose from his massive desk, and gave a slight bow. "Lord Hawkthorn, I have been expecting you."

"My father?"

"He died two days after he sent for you. I assume you did not receive the missive informing you of his death?"

"No!" Stunned by the news, James grabbed the smooth back of a nearby chair. "It would have been difficult, but I would have returned immediately."

"Your father was in the same accident that took his wife and your brother."

"Papa didn't mention he rode in the carriage."

Stewart nodded, and motioned James to sit. "I have prayed for your return. You are needed at Hawkthorn."

He did not want to believe he'd never see them again. Denial made James say, "You mean..." His voice staggered to a halt.

"Of course." Stewart, his expression grave, added, "You are now Earl of Hawkthorn."

James slumped in the chair, and rested his head in his hands. He stared at the worn wooden floor, his mind flooded with memories. And regrets.

The lean solicitor eased himself back into his chair. His fingers fidgeted with the papers in front of him until the clock struck the hour. "May I presume you will be staying in England?"

James raised his head to nod before he drew in a fortifying breath. "When exactly did my father die?"

Stewart appeared nervous. He turned his gaze away, and cleared his throat. "A few days before Christmas. The fourteenth of December to be exact. Several weeks after the tragic accident."

James flinched. "More than ten months ago!" He dragged in a slow breath. "Tell me about the accident." It surprised him that he sounded more like his grandfather than an officer and gentleman.

Clearing his throat, Stewart began, "It happened during one of those unpredictable ice storms. Your brother, father and stepmother were returning home the morning after Squire Henry's annual ball. Your father survived because he was thrown from the carriage."

"What about Robert?"

Stewart looked pleased when James mentioned his half brother. He settled back in his leather chair, and steepled his fingers. "Robert remained at Hawkthorn with his governess."

"And Julia?" James leaned forward, remembering the feisty little girl with a mop of golden curls, and mischievous blue eyes.

"Your cousin was visiting your aunt, Lady Loretta, here in London."

James gripped the arms of his chair. "What caused Papa's death?"

"Grief, mostly. Shattered by the death of his beloved wife, and unable to speak of his oldest son. But pneumonia weakened him. He wanted to talk to you," Stewart replied sadly.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to be with him," James admitted, feeling the loss with such fierce poignancy, he wanted to be alone with his grief. It wasn't possible now. "Papa and I had our moments of disagreement. He was a good father, and though I wasn't his best pupil, I did learn to translate accurately." Looking at Stewart with resignation, James held back the tears that welled in his eyes. "Death is always close in battle. Still one never gets used to it."

Stewart nodded in agreement. "I sat with your father during his last moments. The Earl had immense faith in you, my lord." As he dabbed his eyes with a white handkerchief, Stewart suddenly appeared weary and old.

Strange, Stewart Jones always seemed ageless and invincible, like Papa. James fisted his hand and held his breath. It will be difficult to ever accept the finality of death.

"Even near the end..." Stewart's voice cracked. "Your father expressed his confidence in you to right the estate. He seemed pleased it would not suffer through a second generation of neglect." He raised his handkerchief to his forehead, and wiped his wrinkled brow. "The earldom signified a weighty responsibility and your father's interest, rest his soul, lay more in scholarly pursuits."

"Both Papa and my brother devoted their lives to translating the great classics." James straightened in the chair. "Not like the Old Earl. That is how my brother and I referred to our grandfather."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Stewart returned his handkerchief to his pocket, and wrung his hands. "Would you like to go over the books?"

James wanted it clear that the friendly relationship, Stewart and Papa had enjoyed, would continue with himself. "There is no hurry, Mr. Jones. I would like to see all the tenants before I look at the books. Perhaps you should join me at the estate in a fortnight."

"Please, call me Stewart."

Stretching his arm across the desk, James shook the offered hand to seal their accord.

"Although the books are in order..." Stewart paused before adding, "the tenants have been too long without the direction of an Earl of Hawkthorn."

What about Hawkthorn's condition made Stewart nervous? In any event, James inherited the title with all the responsibilities that entailed. Anxious to put an end to the meeting, and call on Papa's tailor to order appropriate clothes to replace his uniform, he said, "I will try to emulate the Old Earl, and restore Hawkthorn to the glory it had during his life."

"Your father believed you would do just that."

James nodded, pleased by his father's confidence.

The old man's eyebrows rose, "Lady Loretta is anxious to see you."

"I will make it a point to stop by and see her before I leave London."

Stewart spoke softly. "Your aunt has left London. She is staying at Hawkthorn. You may need some advice from her."

James raised his eyebrows. "Pray tell what might that be about?"

Stewart leaned forward unconsciously fingering his beard. "The young lady, my lord."

James shook his head not understanding what the solicitor meant. "The young lady?"

Reaching into a drawer, Stewart pulled out a few papers, and placed them on his desk before he said, "Your cousin, Lady Julia, and your half brother, Master Robert, are your wards."

"Yes, of course," James mumbled to himself.

"I believe you are the one who gave Lady Loretta the name of Aunt Shredda." Stewart smiled. "Robert and Lady Julia call her Aunt Shredda, too."

"Yes," James said off-hand before continuing in a more serious vein. "Aunt Shredda will insist I marry for their sakes."

"I assume you are right on that account."

"You understand, I will not allow my aunt to run my life." That brought a chuckle from James' chest, and he leaned on the desk briefly. "I don't want a wife. Truthfully, I will not mind raising two children."

"They have grown older..."

"So have we all." James shrugged. "I can handle them. They will be less trouble than a battalion of tired, hungry men."

"Of course, my lord!" The old man smiled. "Are we agreed that I travel to Hawkthorn in a fortnight?"

James nodded wondering what had amused Stewart Jones. As he walked down the gloomy hall, he recalled his youthful wildness that had brought misery upon his father. Hawkthorn must have been clothed in black last Christmas with Papa dying just before the holidays.

But now, he thought, Hawkthorn belonged to him and would be decorated for Christmas. He would see that Robert and Julia never experienced a lonely holiday again.

As he left the musty office, Miza bowed. "Good day, my lord."

He nodded at the old man, dashed down the stairway to the street. At the curve in the street James found the tiny shop with Papa's aging tailor.

"This way, my lord. I'm sorry about your father. He often admitted you would be a far better earl." The short, stout tailor led James to the back room, and as he stepped back, added, "I will see that you have several changes, the rest of your clothes will be sent within the week." The tailor bowed respectfully.

James nodded. "It is most kind of you to rush my order."

"Your father would expect that of me, my lord."

After an hour at the tailor, James walked through the dark narrow alley to his carriage thinking of the many nights he'd slept on the ground, but tonight he'd be in a fine hotel in a warm room with a soft bed. He would dine in splendor. It had been a long time since he'd had luxuries available to him. The war, a long way off, would not cease. Others would fight to keep England free. He vowed to never forget those soldiers.

By nightfall he would no longer be known as His Majesty's officer, but as the Earl of Hawkthorn with the responsibility of the estate, and his heir, Robert.

And, of course, Julia.

As the sun set, James dashed up the stairs to White's Club, and looked around. He saw a hand lifted in greeting. Glen Sharn limped a few feet from his table to signal James. His best friend seemed to have grown stout since he left the battlefield. A wounded leg and eight months had obviously done more good than harm. James hurried over to his friend, shook his hand, then sat opposite Glen at the table.

"I'm glad you could join me. I've met with Papa's solicitor. I suppose you know..."

"You're now the earl."

"Yes. I'm excited about being a guardian. I actually feel blessed with Robert and Julia left in my charge. In some way I suppose I want to compensate for the havoc soldiers cause the innocent. I'm tired of seeing children forage for food and not know the fun of fishing. I want to see children laugh."

"At long last," Glen laughingly shouted, "the Dragon of Hawkthorn is returning home as its earl."

A few interested heads turned, and eyed them curiously.

James rolled his eyes remembering when he'd acquired that nickname. "Damn, I wonder who else remembers Julia calling me the Dragon of Hawkthorn? She shouted it so all the servants could hear. The little imp used to play in the creek with the stable boys. She bit me, you know, after I reported her actions to my stepmother, who didn't take it at all well. The little spitfire certainly gave me a pinch of trouble."

Glen's smiled skeptical.

"I'll take her a doll to sweeten her. All little girls like dolls." He laughed looking at Glen's grin. "For God's sake man, why would you remember what that ragamuffin called me?"

"It describes you more aptly than anything I've ever thought to call you." Glen leaned forward, and lifted his glass of wine. "Come now, James, she's but a tiny little girl with a monstrous amount of spirit."

"Spunk with no muscles to back her," James agreed. "I hope Julia filled out a little, and looks more like a girl than a boy. She's not a beauty like her aunt who raised her from infancy." Frowning, he sipped his wine, and added, "Must have taken after her father."

"She had large mischievous eyes, and too much hair. Didn't she damn near drown before you forced her to learn to swim?" Glen teasingly reminded.

James shook his head. "Julia thought I wanted to drown her. I caught her fishing with the stable lads, and before I left, I taught her to swim. Indeed, she would have drowned before my father ever noticed she couldn't swim. Her aunt had eyes for nothing but her new baby and thoughts of being a countess."

"A beautiful countess! And I differ with you. She gave your father another boy, but she had eyes only for her husband." Glen lifted his glass, and took a long sip.

"That's as it should have been," James agreed unpleasantly. "A widowed woman raising her small niece needed a man to take care of them. She must have sought out my father." He wished his bitterness were not so evident in his voice. Yet to be honest, Papa had grieved many years before he met another woman to take his mother's place.

"'Tis true your father and brother took more interest in translating the classics than in dancing with women. God rest their souls. But by all accounts I've heard he and his second wife loved each other." Before James could comment, Glen added, "You'll prove to be a great earl, James. You were always more suited for it than your father or older brother. Everyone thought you more like your grandfather. Under his stewardship, Hawkthorn flourished."

Pleased by his friend's words, James took a long breath, and sipped his wine. "Because the Old Earl believed tenants prospered under good management. Something neither my brother nor Papa found as interesting as translating Greek and Latin into English."

"Don't be bitter, James. Your father and brother tried, but it never held their interest. Their translations contributed much to English education."

James laughed. "You always see the best in everyone. Come home with me, Glen. I might need bracing to face Aunt Shredda."

"Come now...Lady Loretta is much more amusing than those Frenchies. And you could not expect me to help you put the estate in order." Glen laughed. "We envisioned ourselves heroes, and I have a stiff leg to prove it...not that I'm not grateful you saved my life."

"Need we relive war stories? I'm quite sure my head would not rest on my shoulders today if it hadn't been for you."

"I'm glad you're not going back," Glen savored a swallow of wine. "War teaches a lot of lessons that Oxford omitted."

Their food arrived then. They were quiet as memories of the war stirred thoughts better forgotten.

Glen sighed, and broke the silence. "Do you think your new title will change you?"

Surprised by the question, James raised his chin. Then with a chuckle he said, "Not as much as the battlefield. Aunt Shredda once told me the more lofty the title, the worse the rogue."

"To a spirited old gal." Glen reached out and clinked James' glass with his own. "I suppose you're right. She'll be telling you what to do."

"Maybe not. She knows I never heed her advice. But I'm certain she will stay through Christmas. She's always been part of the holidays at Hawkthorn. She claims Christmas lacks warmth without family." Suddenly James felt it necessary to grab his old friend's arm, and plead, "Promise you will come down to share Christmas with me and the children."

"I will." Glen let out a sigh of relief. I dreaded spending it with my cousin. He thinks of all sorts of outrageous things to do. And a limping hero in tow will not enhance his polished image with his latest mistress. She's a beauty, a well-known opera singer, Kathryn Smythe. You might have heard of her even in France."

James shook his head. "That being the case, you're doubly welcome."

Glen added, "I'll be at Hawkthorn by the fifteenth of December. I'm looking forward to meeting your wards. Children don't expect much of one."

"Good, you can help choose the Yule log. I remember even Papa put down his books to join in the hunt for the finest ash log to grace our fireplace."

Glen sat back with a satisfied smile. "Done, then."

Old memories frolicked through James' head and heart; the feel of his mother's arms around him reading about Father Christmas. He turned ten the year she died, and had to read the Christmas stories to himself. The seasonal aromas of gingerbread, oranges and plum pudding filled the halls of Hawkthorn. Not to mention the aroma of goose baking from below stairs. The scent of pine branches trailing down the banisters, and visions of dancing at the Old Earl's Christmas balls. Finally, the wonderful Yule log in the grand fireplace.

As they left White's, James waved, trying not to notice Glen's limp as he returned to his horse. The time had arrived to put the war behind him, and to become the earl Papa had expected and his grandfather would have admired.

The next day James sent Casper ahead with the newly purchased carriage and a hired driver. James spent two hours choosing toys for Robert and Julia before leaving London.

Once astride his horse, James felt a yearning to be back at Hawkthorn; he missed the brook that ran through the fields, the winds that whistled through the trees, the birds that filled the air with their songs. One could view the blue sky unsullied by cannon smoke or listen to the soft bleat of a lamb instead of the loud roar of cannon. War reeked of death, not the scent of flowers.

As the sun began to set, the countryside hid in shadow, and James found himself anxious to return to Hawkthorn. Spurring his horse to a gallop, impatience filled him to catch up to his carriage that held his clothes and toys for the children. Alongside the carriage, he realized both the hired driver and his man Casper looked tired. Even the matched pair of black horses were dark with sweat and their heads hung when they pulled the carriage into the inn's stable. The only thing that perked the ears of the horses and improved their disposition while being rubbed dry, were the sugar lumps tucked in the stable boys' pockets.

Poor Casper kept removing his hat and wiping his brow, a habit he had when tired and weary. The hired driver leaned against the inn's door. It was obvious Casper and the hired driver, along with the horses, needed food and rest. Yet, imagined pleasures of his home estate fed and refreshed James. After leaving instructions, he continued to ride on alone.

In less than three hours it would be midnight, and he would be home. The night had turned cold and crisp, but he planned to sneak into his bedroom just as he did as a boy. Morning would be time enough to greet everyone. He berated himself for his eagerness, though it had been years since he'd been home. Oxford, London and a redheaded, black-eyed beauty enticed him in his youth. He believed himself in love, but the conniving woman jilted him for a duke old enough to be her father. Good riddance to the woman was all the sympathy he had received from Papa, or any of his friends.

Disillusioned, he had taken the funds his mother had left him, and bought his colors the next day. He expected his father would never speak to him again. Instead, Papa accepted the decision rather philosophically.

He hadn't known then that war stayed with a man in his dreams even after he left it. War was more than Papa believed. It was educating; very bloody; and more real than books. More deadly than parliament visualized. War bared men's souls; exposed bravery and fear in the strongest of men and bestowed honor on many. But the glory of war lived only in the words of poets, never on the battlefield. Glory could not be felt, sensed or realized until the last shot was fired. Only then could the mind perceive its meaning.

James' mood lightened. In the frosty moonlight, he could see the Hawkthorn Manor. The front lawn seemed more expansive. The trees had grown taller and the tracery of their limbs more tangled. The stone lions resting on both sides of the gate seemed to have shrunk. In shape contrast to the dark bricks, the white window trimming glowed in the moonlight. Climbing off his horse, he crept past the manor leading his horse to the stable.

A stable boy, sleeping in a pile of straw awoke, "You be the new earl?"

Obviously Stewart Jones had sent a message ahead. "Yes. And who are you?"

"Bates. I'll take yer horse, my lord."

"I've ridden him long and hard today. Can you take care of him?"

"I'll rub him down and feed him, my lord."

"That's a good lad."

With a smile, James quietly meandered to the rear of the manor, leaned against the old oak tree and looked up at the narrow balcony with the French doors. Should he climb the trellis as he used to many years ago? He sighed deeply. Home. So good to be home.

He ambled over to the trellis and tugged at the vines. They seemed as strong as he remembered. At last he grabbed hold of the trellis in the dim moonlight. Life would be exciting with Robert. Teaching the boy to climb, ride the fastest horses and become an incredible whip. He smiled thinking of Julia tagging along, trying her best to be better than boys, perhaps Aunt Shredda could help him turn her into a lady. What a shame such a spirited little girl couldn't also be a beauty.

The memory of laughter and happiness that reigned in the old manor flooded over him. So different from war where one could hear the belch of cannon fire and the piercing cries of fear and pain by children, women and men. Here he would hear the laughter of children and observe them growing into adults.

He heaved himself up on the trellis, his heart racing with the thrill of anticipation. Christmas will be perfect this year.

Julia could not sleep. Her promise to Robert roiled over and over in her thoughts. The Hawkthorn Dragon made her jittery. How would she ever attract the Earl of Hawkthorn enough to propose marriage?

At the sudden rustling sound outside, under the balcony, Julia leaped from her bed, tiptoed to the curtains and hid. Slowly she peeked around the heavy fabric, breathless, unable to speak as a mist slowly seeped into the room. Half-frightened, half curious, she watched it twirl and descend. She held tighter and tighter to the curtains trying to disappear among the folds, yet she could not resist another glimpse.

The mist twisted upward and outward until she could clearly see an old man whose feet dangled above the floor. He swooped down to whisper in her ear, "Wait!"

CHAPTER 3

Julia pushed against the wall, the old man's toes touched the floor, and his whisper grew raspier. "James will climb the vine, and come right in using the very knife I gave him to disengage the lock. Caught him at it many times when he was a youth."

"Who," her voice quivered, "are you?"

His eyes twinkled in the moonlight. "The Old Earl."

Her heart pounded like thunder. Is this what Robert hears? Is the Old Earl more than an imaginary playmate? Is there a ghostly spirit haunting the manor dressed like the portrait in the gallery? She clung to the curtains. "Do you speak to Robert?" Even though she tried, she could not control the quake in her voice.

"Yes, we are friends." He came closer and frowned. "Listen to me! Hide behind that curtain. James is tired. He'll fall asleep before he rolls over."

"I can't be caught dressed like this." She clutched the thin muslin nightgown close to her throat and pushed back harder against the wall. "I must change, my lord."

"Oh, no. Perfect attire." He stepped back and moved his head from side to side studying her from every angle. "Just the right modesty. Take a risk, my dear. Ah, no quicker way to keep your promise to Robert." He put his finger to his lips. "Hush...hush..."

The mist drifted away. Julia pinched herself. Was it possible to see and hear ghosts? Can Hawkthorn really be haunted by the Old Earl? Then she clearly heard the crunch of dry vines as someone clambered up the trellis. Camouflaged by the heavy curtain, she held her breath, and waited, and waited. Her body trembled, and her heart pounded. She waited, listening to every twig that snapped.

James climbed the ivy entwined trellis, swung over onto the narrow balcony of his old room, took out his knife, opened the French doors and stepped through, not quite closing the door. Rather than the sober master of Hawkthorn, he felt more like the long ago young schoolboy, who had imbibed too much ale, and was skulking in late.

The thin sliver of moonlight lit the dark shadows while he removed his clothes. He stretched his muscles, felt the cool breeze caress his body while he ran his fingers through his hair. Clouds had covered the moon, and in the darkness, he slipped into the bed, and breathed in the sweet scent of fresh sheets. Home, where he belonged for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes to bring back pleasant memories of long ago. Life here would be happiness and contentment with days of fishing and swimming with the children.

James rolled over.

A soft snore filled the air. James had fallen asleep.

Julia let the curtain fall back. With a long breathless sigh, she clearly remembered when he snatched a fishing pole from her hands, pulled her out of the brook, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He embarrassed her in front of her only friends.

She scrunched behind the curtain to wait. Her thoughts churning back to the last time she had seen James and thought him a fierce dragon. He actually didn't look all that much like the sketch of the Hawkthorn man that turned into a fire breather. James was as handsome as a prince with muscles that rippled in the moonlight, and when a lock of his black hair fell over his forehead, his hair seemed as untamed as Robert's curly locks. When Robert becomes a man, will he look like James?

Doubts filtered through her thoughts. What if he awakened and threw her out of the room. He could escape before Aunt Shredda arrived. She shook her head and stiffened her spine. He did not know she hid in the room. A sleeping dragon could not be dangerous. She wrung her hands, bit her lip and leaned back against the wall where the curtains hid her, and soundlessly slid to the floor. Then slowly she mentally relaxed every muscle, it would be a long night filled with foreboding, but she could handle it. "I can wait in the darkness," she thought, "until I hear Aunt Shredda's footsteps at dawn. I can slip into bed with James. Compromised...I will keep my promise to Robert. I can wait!"

"It is time," the raspy voice whispered in her ear waking her.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and watched the mist twirl. "Time?"

"To climb in bed with James."

"Now?" Her pulse raced. "It is still dark."

"It is time." The whirling mist scattered into the darkness.

Her heart beat like a drum, and she shuddered with fear as she unwound herself from the heavy curtain. How could she have fallen asleep? A cool breeze swept across her skin sending a shiver up her spine, she crept to the bed. His eyelid's were closed, his smiling face relaxed, and he reminded her of Robert. Slowly she sank down in the feather mattress, and laid her head on a corner of the pillow. She tried not to move until certain James had not awakened.

His breath on the back of her neck sent flutters creeping down her back. She drew her legs under the cover, and the warmth of his body triggered a strong desire to move closer. Never before had she been so in need of warmth, and some mysterious need she did not understand. Yet she didn't dare relax, move closer to the heat nor move away from the edge of the bed until she could hear Aunt Shredda's heels tapping in the hall.

While sunlight inched through the glass and wandered across the room, her heartbeat raced. She prayed James would not awake and discover her before Aunt Shredda arrived.

As her eyelids fluttered closed, she tried not to panic or leap from the bed. After a deep breath, she opened her eyes and concentrated on the doorknob. To keep her promise she had to remain in this bed.

At a sudden crash outside the door, her body lurched. Panic seized her stomach. She had to run, to disappear. Carefully she eased one leg to the edge of the mattress ready to slip from the bed. Suddenly, James rolled closer clamping his leg down on the tail of her nightgown. Frightened, she lay motionless. Caught like a rat in a trap!

Through the door she could hear Aunt Shredda sending her maid, Louise, to the kitchen. James moved again, but Julia's nightgown remained gripped tightly to the bed. His breath seemed warmer on her neck.

The minute she heard the doorknob rattle and the hinges squeak, she threw the blankets over her head knocking her bed cap off. She closed her eyes and waited for Aunt Shredda to enter.

Groggily James raised his head from the pillow, and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyelids, still heavy with sleep, refused to open. No one knew he was home. He flopped his head down, rolled over and touched something soft.

A sweet moan drifted to his ears. Through squinty eyes, he saw a mop of blond hair on the pillow beside him. A small, bare foot peaked out of the covers on the other side of his bed as kicking legs tried to free themselves of their restraint.

The door opened.

The wiggling form beside him disappeared under the covers, and went absolutely still.

He sat up, and tried to focus on his aunt standing at the door.

"Quiet," Aunt Shredda whispered.

Glancing down, James grinned at the vague shape huddled under the covers next to him. Only a bit of hair now showed. "Who's in my bed?" he asked the lump politely.

"Your bed? What are you doing in my bed?" a soft muffled voice asked from beneath the covers.

"I asked the question first," he whispered to the quaking form responsible for shaking the covers.

Aunt Shredda's laughter filled the room.

A maid knocked on the door.

Puzzled, James looked at his aunt -- still a beautiful woman, perhaps slightly above average in height, but quite fashionable. How does she plan to control me? I'm too old to be bribed with sweets, and too young to believe flattery.

"Come back in twenty minutes, Louise." Aunt Shredda called to the maid.

Instinctively James suspected the little pest under the blankets was Julia. "Get out of my bed!" he ordered in a half-amused but authoritative voice.

"Sweet Jameson," Aunt Shredda chuckled. "Julia has been sleeping in this room for at least four years. Now, tell me, when did you arrive?"

"Last night," he grumbled, not at all pleased by the news someone had taken possession of his room.

"How did you get in without disturbing the servants?"

"It was midnight or close around that time. I climbed up the trellis. Totally exhausted, I fell into my bed. Why didn't she...wake up?"

"I put a sleeping potion in her cocoa last evening. Thought Julia deserved a night's sleep." With an obviously wicked grin, his aunt shrugged.

"What's thrown you into good humor, Aunt Shredda?" He saw nothing hilarious about the present situation.

"I must protect Julia. I think you best leave, James," Aunt Shredda said through her laughter. "We will talk later. Your presence in this bedroom is highly improper."

"It's my room," he grumbled.

"Not any more!" Julia responded loudly. "You are in my room, in my bed. You are not supposed to be here until tomorrow!"

"Don't pretend that this isn't my room. It's been my room since I turned six. You are in my room."

"Your father gave me this room. He was the earl."

James could not stifle his grin. Julia hadn't lost her determination, still a spunky little girl. Trying not to laugh, he said in his most determined voice, "Get out of my bed, Julia. I'm the earl now."

"I won't get out!"

Aunt Shredda stood with her arms akimbo. "Get out, James!"

"Get this child out of here so I can get dressed. I haven't a stitch on. If you don't believe me..."

"James!" Aunt Shredda gasped in shock at the outrageous suggestion. "Julia is an innocent."

As he tossed the covers off his bare chest, Lady Loretta screamed, "Turn your head, James. Julia, put on this robe. We'd best take you to your dressing room until this rascal vacates your bed."

"I've no plans to vacate it," James mumbled. "It's mine."

"Not any more," his aunt disagreed again. "Come on, Julia." Aunt Shredda could be heard scurrying around leading Julia toward the dressing room. "You can dress now, James."

At the sound of the door slamming, he crawled out of bed, and dressed as best he could. The fact he couldn't achieve the spit and polish appearance that symbolized an officer in His Majesty's Army sent a surge of anger through him at his civilian status. It was time he make his dear aunt understand he is the earl! "Are you planning to have breakfast with me this morning, Aunt Shredda?"

Her answer could be heard clearly from the partially opened door. "You and I have more than breakfast to discuss this morning. I'll meet you in the library in an hour. Be discreet when you leave. You have Julia's reputation to consider."

Determined at least to look commanding, he threw back his shoulders and marched straight to the wall and touched it. As soon as I get my bearings and the sleep from my eyes, Aunt Shredda will find out exactly who is running Hawkthorn. She is not going to undermine my authority over my wards! I will show her I'm better with children than she is. A wood panel slid aside, and James, with all the dignity of an English officer, stepped into the void.

In the darkness, relying on memory, he cautiously stepped down the long, narrow, dusty stairs pushing aside spider webs and checking on the security of the banister. Once on the flat area, he ran his hand along the wall until he felt a leather strap. Slowly, he slid open the panel, and entered the library. Pausing first to control his anger, he closed the panel quietly though he had the urge to slam it. What's wrong with Aunt Shredda? A silly child slept with him and Aunt Shredda laughed like she belonged in bedlam.

James began to think of himself as the earl. He no longer needed to obey orders; he was not in his Majesty's army. Although he had always respected his aunt's insight into people and situations, she had no right to order him around. In a few days his dear aunt will come to realize that he's in charge of Hawkthorn.

He felt at a disadvantage in his wrinkled uniform. Damn, his new clothes wouldn't arrive until noon. When he should have arrived and been received with dignity, not standing here ramrod straight like a scolded boy. Unable to sit, he paced while he waited. When he heard footsteps in the hall, James stood stock-still.

Into the library walked Aunt Shredda with her chin raised.

Ellis trailed behind her carrying a tray with two silver pots and a generous breakfast platter. He set the tray on the library table and arranged its contents. He bowed to James and said, "The staff is pleased you have returned safely, my lord."

"I'm happy to be here, Ellis. Tell them I'll meet with them later today."

"Yes, my lord." Ellis turned to leave and Aunt Shredda followed him to the door and locked it behind him.

"Sit down, Jameson," she ordered. "You surely realize you must offer for Julia."

"Offer what?"

His aunt glared at him.

"What the devil! The child was sleeping in my bed." He made a fist and held it against the old wood of the desktop, controlling it from rising to beat on the desk. The silent mirth twinkling in his aunt's eyes annoyed him.

"After you." He gallantly indicated a chair. Once she was seated, he stood at his own chair drumming his fingers on the back while she arranged her skirts. Then he sat across from her.

She slowly raised the silver coffeepot and poured coffee into a fine English-china cup. With a smug smile, she passed him the cup, then reached for the teapot and poured a cup of tea for herself.

After sipping the steaming coffee, he said, "What was Julia doing in my room?"

Aunt Shredda sat back in the chair and looked indignant. "Your bed is now in the master bedroom. Your old room belongs to Julia."

He leaned forward and frowned. "Well, she can have the room. I didn't mean to throw the child out."

"Julia isn't a child, she's a young woman. Seventeen to be exact. You must offer her marriage," his aunt breezily replied.

"For God's sake, Aunt Shredda, you can't believe anything happened. I didn't realize she was in the bed."

Aunt Shredda held her hand to her chest and spread her fingers as though about to take her last breath. "Someone may have seen you leave the room. You must offer for her, James."

"Ridiculous!" He shook his head. "I left by the hidden stairs."

"Those hidden stairs are no secret. Besides, you left the French doors partially open. Julia leaves them closed." Aunt Shredda smiled and breathed deeply. "You must offer for Julia."

"She would never want to marry me. She's a child."

In the most officious manner, Aunt Shredda demanded, "The Earl of Hawkthorn should not recoil from his duty. I insist that you offer for her!" Aunt Shredda placed her translucent teacup on the table and rose slowly as though she hadn't raised her voice. "I'll send Julia in directly."

James stood and retaliated. "Just one moment!"

"Of course." Aunt Shredda sank back into her chair, and raised her chin defiantly in the air.

"Just exactly why do you think she would be well-off married to me?"

"You are head of the family now, she will obey your counsel. At least we might say you did your duty by her."

He rubbed his hand against his whiskers. "If that be the case, I will arrange for her come out. That is simple enough. Would you enjoy sponsoring her?" When his aunt hesitated, he added, "I'll pay for both your gowns."

"She might not want to be launched."

"I know she's not a beauty like her mother, but a large dowry will help."

Aunt Shredda scrutinized him for a few minutes and made him devilishly uncomfortable. Julia must indeed be unattractive. He sighed, adding, "Proper gowns will improve upon the young chit's looks."

"Yes, of course. But, you must ask her and let her decide. I could not otherwise be persuaded." Aunt Shredda's voice demanded compliance.

After serving as a captain in the army he had learned to rein in his temper and deal with the difficult. He didn't want it claimed that he'd inherited the Old Earl's disposition. It sounded easy enough. "You're right, dear aunt. It's precisely the sort of situation gossipmongers thrive on. It takes little imagination to see the trouble that could inspire if someone discovered I spent the night in Julia's room." He stood, then paced. "Even a plain miss wants a season. Send her to me. I'll persuade her to into taking part in a season."

"Of course, my dear," his aunt soothed in a solicitous manner. "Now, that we are speaking of responsibility, I should like to remind you that you are the Earl of Hawkthorn and should not encourage the gossips to spread the old rumors by dashing after opera singers and the like as you used to. It would so endanger Julia's possibilities."

"I promise to do whatever is in my power to bring about Julia's successful come out. But, I will wash my hands of you, Aunt Shredda, if you become too demanding."

He held his aunt's chair as she rose holding her back as straight as a poker. "Oh course you shall," she agreed nodding with a smile of satisfaction that caused his hackles to rise.

He watched her walk out of the library as though she were royalty. He murmured to himself, "You're a scheming old woman, my sweet Aunt Shredda. But you have met your match."

Surely with the proper gowns and dowry Julia could be made presentable. Hell, he hadn't seen much of her, other than a bit of her tiny foot and that mop of unruly hair. He hadn't dared a glance with Aunt Shredda staring.

James walked around the table to pour himself another cup of black coffee. Not long after his aunt's departure, the click of the door caught his attention.

Julia entered the room. His heart lurched.

To order or learn more!