The Sweetest Love (Sons of Worthington Series) Read online

  The Sweetest Love

  Book Three in the “Sons of Worthington” series

  Regency-set Romance

  By: Marie Higgins

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The Sweetest Love

  Copyright © 2013 by Marie Higgins

  Cover Design by Sheri McGathy

  Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  For more information about author: http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

  After three years of only remembering pieces of his life, Tristan Worthington is kidnapped by the one woman he wishes to forget.

  Wanting revenge against the man who ruined her life, Diana Hollingsworth wants Tristan to suffer as she has.

  But fate has other plans…

  When both Tristan and Diana are accused of murder, their worlds crash down around them. Their only hope is to find the true killer so they can be together.

  Will they be able to find true happiness once again?

  Dedication

  I want to dedicate this book to several critique partners who continue to assist me with my stories. Melissa Mayer Blue, who will always be my support. Mary Martinez, who although doesn’t generally like historical romance, doesn’t hesitate to read mine. A big thanks to Ella Quinn (for helping me with historical accuracy!), Lauren Smith, Ann Chaney, and Veronica for helping me edit this story.

  Chapter One

  England, 1823

  It was the perfect night to escape.

  Storm clouds rolled in. Darkness settled over the land, hiding the stars and occasionally the moon. The brisk wind blowing from the East ushered in the autumn weather. Diana, Viscountess Hollingsworth grinned. She’d been waiting…anticipating…this night for several weeks now.

  Withdrawing from the window, Diana sauntered out of the sitting room and into the great hall. She hoped her appearance would suggest she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Her husband’s servants shuffled from one lamp to the next, lighting them. Silence stretched around her, which told her the servants were probably whispering—gossiping, actually—once again.

  It had been two months since Diana found her husband in the stables stark naked…and stabbed to death. Ludlow, Viscount Hollingsworth, had smelled strongly of spirits and women’s perfume. That was nothing new. In the two horrible years she’d been shackled to him against her will, Diana had grown used to his betrayals.

  On her way upstairs, she passed a few servants and nodded a silent acknowledgement. They curtsied appropriately, but she couldn’t dismiss their condescending glares when they thought Diana wasn’t looking. They’d been acting this way from the first day she had married. Her husband had made her appear like an unruly child in front of the servants, and because they were so devoted to him, their attitudes worsened over the years. She had never understood their blind loyalty to him when he’d always been so despicable and uncaring. Diana figured their attitudes would change after his death, but it only grew worse, and she could barely stand to live with them.

  Tonight, that would all change.

  As she turned the corner at the top of the stairs, low voices floated out from the next room. Slowing her steps, she listened closely for what they were gossiping about this time.

  “Mr. Brown, did you hear the authorities have been questioning Lord Tristan Worthington about his Lordship’s murder?”

  Diana halted and pressed herself against the wall. She hadn’t heard this particular subject. She shouldn’t believe all the gossip going around, but usually the servants had the most accurate information.

  “Indeed, I heard, but they have no evidence, Mrs. Yearly. If you ask me, I think Lord Tristan is guilty. He had every reason to kill his lordship.”

  Diana took a deep breath as unease grew inside of her. The mere idea of Tristan killing her husband was preposterous! If Tristan had wanted Ludlow dead, he would have done it three years ago. Not now.

  “I agree, especially after what had happened between the two lords before she married Lord Hollingsworth. Why his lordship married her, I swear I’ll never understand.”

  “Then Mrs. Yearly, you will be happy to know gossip is circulating about her ladyship lately. The magistrate should arrest her any day now.”

  Diana’s heart dropped. She prayed the servants were not correct this time. It upset her to think that some people still looked down on her for the scandal that happened three years ago. Why could the ton not let the past rest? And the servants…didn’t they have anything better to talk about?

  “The magistrate has taken too long as it is,” Mrs. Yearly said. “Someone needs to be arrested. Soon.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Brown grumbled. “It was a terrible and unsuspected travesty. Someone needs to pay.”

  Doom closed in around Diana—worse than it had done before. She knew the reason nobody had been arrested was because the magistrate had too many suspects. Over the years, Ludlow had angered many people. One of them, Lord Tristan Worthington—the man Diana had thought would be the love of her life. The man who should have rescued her from an unwanted betrothal. Instead, he fled like a coward and deceived everyone around him.

  He’d lied to her and had only wanted to compromise her without any intention of marriage. He’d made her life a living hell.

  Unfortunately, her girlish dreams never came true. Instead of the prince she’d wanted, Tristan had turned out to be the toad in this particular fairytale.

  The last she’d heard, Tristan would be getting married soon. She hoped he could find happiness, even if he had left her miserable. She was surprised the murder suspicions against him hadn’t frightened his fiancée, the widow Lady Fairbourne, enough to call off the wedding.

  Quietly, Diana continued walking toward her chambers, not caring if the gossiping servants saw her or not. Diana would soon be out of this house and another man would take over as Viscount.

  When she entered the room that had finally became her sanctuary, a maid stood by Diana’s bed turning down the covers. Only a few lamps lit the room, casting shadows all around.

  “One moment, please.” Diana held up a hand as she hurried to the older woman. “Martha, this is not necessary. I shall leave tonight for an extended stay with my cousin.”

  Martha Whitehead’s eyes widened. From outside, the wind picked up and howled through the closed window, rattling the pane. “Milady, it’s too late to travel…and a storm is brewing.”

  Chuckling, Diana turned toward her dressing table. “I’m not a stranger to traveling in bad weather. I have lived in England all my life. I shall brave the elements and arrive safe at my cousin’s house. Besides, it’s only an hour’s drive. All will be well, I assure you.” She picked up her bonnet and placed it snuggly over her ringlets. Hopefully the maid didn’t know how far her grandmother’s cottage really was. “I assume you have already packed my things?”

  “But of course, Milady. You instructed me to do it days ago. You just didn’t know when you’d be leaving.”

  “Splendid. Please inform the footman to load the trunks onto the carriage. I shall leave as soon as he’s finished.”

  Diana peered in the mirror
and met Martha’s reflection. The maid shrugged and smirked. “As you wish, Milady.”

  As the thin middle-aged woman rushed out of the room, Diana clutched her hands against a rolling stomach and silently prayed everything would go smoothly. She didn’t know why she feared the worst unless it was because her life had always been a pattern of mishaps. She didn’t want anything to ruin this for her now.

  Freedom was just hours away.

  * * * *

  “Ever’one raise yer glass and toast ta Lord Tristan’s nup…nup…shuls.” Tristan Worthington slurred his words as he tried to ponder on what he wanted to say. Realizing his mind was too unclear, he laughed and stumbled against the man standing next to him, spilling his rum over the side of his tumbler.

  The man rolled his eyes. “Worthington, will ye quit toastin’ to yer own weddin’? We all ‘no ye aren’t gonna marry the lady.”

  Tristan scowled at the fellow. What was his name… “Ah, but my good man, ye’re wrong. T’morrow afta-noon, I’ll be there in church standin’ next to my beautiful bride, lady…er…lady…” Tristan rubbed the throb growing in his forehead.

  The other men who’d gathered in the tavern, released a fit of laughs. One belched loudly and lifted his cup. “Worthington has fergotten her name already.”

  Blast it all! Tristan grumbled. What was her name? “Doesn’t matter. I’m marryin’ her t’morrow.”

  His legs wobbled and he plopped his butt down on the chair before he ended up on the floor like he had last night. Inwardly, he groaned. How many nights had he been visiting the taverns toasting his nuptials, anyway? Too many to count. Tomorrow his life—his very freedom—would end no matter how badly he wished for a different fate.

  You’re making a colossal mistake, Worthington, the warning came from the back of his mind. Yet, he figured by marrying Lady Jane he would be able to put his past to rest once and for all, so it must be done.

  “Ah-ha!” he called out loudly to his nameless associates. “I remember now. Her name is Lady Jane Fair…er…burn, or something like that.”

  Once again, the men broke out with boisterous laughter so loud it nearly shook the walls. Tristan’s headache threatened to crack every bone in his head. He couldn’t take any more of this celebrating. He must return home and sleep off his drunken stupor, especially since he needed a clear head tomorrow when he walked into the church.

  Glancing down at his wrinkled clothes, he tried to smooth out the material. He needed to change, as well. It wouldn’t be seemly to arrive at the church looking this unkempt. His mother would certainly not have her son acting—or looking—like a fool in public. And heaven knew Tristan had brought enough worry to the woman in the past few years. Her health couldn’t take any more. He must be clean and dressed appropriately for his wedding.

  His mother had high hopes of Tristan marrying into a good family, especially after the turmoil he’d had the past three years… He’d nearly died and lost his memory for a good twenty-four months before his brother, Trey, found him. And because the one woman—the woman he thought he’d given his heart to—was not in his life any longer, he needed to do something to move on. Marrying the young widow, Lady Jane Fairbourne was exactly what he needed in order to put Diana in the past where she belonged.

  “Milord?” The toothless bugger next to him grinned. “Do ye need me to stand with ye for yer big day t’morrow?”

  Tristan waved a hand through the air. “As much as the idea sounds appealin’, I must decline.” He lifted his drink to his mouth and finished every last drop before slamming it on the table. “My friends,” he called out, “I shall take my leave now. The next time I come ta this fine ‘stablishment, I’ll be a happily married man.” Well…he wasn’t too sure about the happily part, but he most certainly would be married.

  The men inside the tavern cheered his name and lifted their cups in a salute as Tristan left the building staggering his way toward his coach.

  Although his fiancée was beautiful and wealthy—thanks to her late husband—this was a marriage Tristan didn’t really want. Lady Jane Fairbourne had been paraded in front of him so many times in the past few years he’d grown tired of looking at her. But he was even more tired of trying to look for the woman he could give his heart to. Now he just wanted to marry and start a family, and it didn’t matter with whom. Most of the ton’s married couples didn’t love each other anyway, so why should he be any different?

  He stopped and leaned against the building, blinking to clear his vision. Where is my bloody coach? He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to think of where his driver had parked. “Ah, there it is!”

  Taking slow and careful steps, he headed toward his vehicle. Tristan released an agitated breath. Lady Fairbourne would look as good on his arm as his wife. She knew how to tease men to make them quake, but Tristan had never really envisioned her by his side making him truly happy for the rest of his life.

  As quickly as that thought came, another one followed, and he pictured a lovely, young woman with auburn hair—perfect ringlets framing her heart-shaped face.

  Diana.

  Stars had danced in her green eyes, and when she’d turned her gaze upon him, her smile had melted his heart. When he’d met her three years ago, he’d had his share of women, yet in her presence he truly felt like a man. How could he not when he knew she stared at him with so much admiration in her astounding eyes?

  Groaning, he pushed the torturous memory aside. He’d been foolish then, believing that love could conquer all. He’d fallen hard and fast for this woman, and his head had literally been in the clouds during that time. Thankfully, though, reality crashed around him and made him realize there was no such thing as a faithful woman…or love.

  His memory hadn’t fully returned to allow him to actually remember what she’d done to make him think about love this way, but something in his subconscious told him that she’d hurt him. Badly.

  When he’d met Diana, he had sworn the sun rose and set on her. Stolen kisses that quickly turned into more. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t let go of that time in his carefree life. Just when he thought he had pushed her memory out of his head, her husband had been killed, and Tristan was suddenly suspected of killing the man.

  Tristan shook his head. If he wanted to kill Lord Hollingsworth, he would have done it three years ago. Instead, the man almost succeeded in killing him!

  Well...time to pay the piper. Tomorrow he would marry Lady Fairbourne, and even if it killed him, he would put Diana’s memory behind him.

  He stepped to his coach, opened the door and climbed in. Perhaps he should have waited for his driver to assist him inside, but Tristan was too impatient and if he waited for the driver to open the door, Tristan would have toppled over standing still for so long.

  A few minutes later, there came a strange scratching sound—like metal rubbing together—from the other side of the door, but he didn’t care to think about it right now. Let his driver worry. Soon, the vehicle lurched into action, nearly causing Tristan to fall off his seat. He adjusted himself, braced his feet on the floor, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back.

  The rhythm of the coach swaying back and forth relaxed him more than he wanted. He couldn’t fall asleep now. Not until he reached home and crawled into bed. A good night’s sleep on a soft mattress would make him more alert for his wedding. But after fifteen minutes, the road became bumpier, which wasn’t familiar at all. Tristan bounced on the seat more so now than before. Had the driver taken a different route home?

  Pulling back the curtains, Tristan peered out the window. Although darkness had settled over England, the full moon showed him that the storm from earlier this evening had passed quickly. The full moon also showed him that the driver was definitely not going the right direction. Confusion pounded in his head. Curse his alcohol-soaked mind. If he didn’t know any better, he would think they were leaving town altogether.

  Doubting his foggy thoughts, he shook his head, blinked and looked agai
n. Sure enough, they were heading the wrong way.

  Grumbling in anger, he smacked his fist against the roof and yelled, “Dudley, where are we going?”

  Instead of getting an answer, the speed of the vehicle increased. The rocking motion slid him to the floor this time. Angrily, he pulled himself on the seat. He yanked on the door, preparing to reprimand his driver, but the door wouldn’t budge. Tristan jiggled the handle several times, fighting with the blasted thing, and it sounded like chains held it closed. Good grief! What was happening?

  “Dudley!” Tristan pounded on the wall. “I say! Stop this vehicle immediately.”

  Once again, the driver ignored his request and the coach’s movements grew more erratic. Tristan pounded again. “Hear me now. If you do not stop this vehicle immediately, I will have you thrown in prison for kidnapping.”

  He waited for Dudley to comply, but his wish was not granted.

  This couldn’t be happening! Worry clenched his chest as fear sailed through him. Would tonight’s adventure have an impact on his wedding tomorrow? Part of him hoped for such, yet he didn’t need to add extra worry on his mother.

  He had no other choice but to sit back and wait to see what would become of him. Was this a kidnapping or just an out of control coach without a driver? Then again, the door would be able to open if something had just happened to the driver, so obviously Tristan was being kidnapped.

  A couple of hours had passed—he had guessed—before the coach jerked to a stop. Tristan looked out the window again. He had no clue where they were except embedded deep in the forest. And what appeared to be a small two-story cottage, stood nestled amongst some trees. The place wasn’t familiar to him, and neither were the surroundings. He pictured an elderly couple lived here in a private haven away from society.