'You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.'
~ Sam Keen

 Chapter 1

London, 1850
Ian Worthington, Earl of Blackthorne stepped out of the glow emanating from the ritzy Portland Place residence and climbed into the welcoming darkness of his carriage. He settled onto the well-sprung seat as his coachman, Pearce closed the door behind him. With his large frame sprawled comfortably on the seat, he tilted his head back until it rested comfortably on the padded wall. His eyes drifted shut as the carriage started off towards his townhouse. Lifting his hand he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger to relieve the tension that had been building all night.

The Hurley’s ball was the last thing he’d wanted to attend, but his best friend Michael had badgered him to go. Curse the Duke of Bexley for wanting to pursue the holy state of matrimony! His best friend dragged him to every damn blasted ball he received an invitation to. But the worst part of it, Ian couldn’t help attracting most of the attention. He cursed his own devilish good looks, not to mention his substantial fortune. Every available young lady and her mama were following him around like a hound after its master. No wonder Bexley wanted him along. Ian would attract the ladies like moths to a flame and Bexley would charm and woo them the best he could.  The poor sod, he wasn’t the handsomest of men, but he was decent and upstanding and Ian thought of him as a brother.

Being accosted at every turn was extremely tiresome, especially with some of the more devious young chits trying to land him as a husband. He fully intended to avoid them, but it was getting harder at every ball.

The carriage bounced when the wheel hit a rut, and he straightened himself.

It had been eight years since he’d mingled with society, he couldn’t remember the young ladies being so daring. Tonight he hadn’t even been able to enjoy a quiet cheroot on the terrace without Emily Rutherford cornering him. He’d ended up growling at the unrelenting virago in frustration. Even that hadn’t scared her. She’d just backed away from him slowly, while blowing him a kiss. After continuing to be cornered he’d plastered a scowl on his face and wore it for the rest of the night.

Even Bexley had distanced himself until the champagne on offer had dissolved his wariness. He’d found Ian at the pool table, where in his tipsy state he’d slapped him on the back and laughed in his face, spouting rubbish about ‘not knowing what he was missing’. Ian knew what he was missing, a large slice of his heart.

He needed a way to protect himself. Short of taking a wife, which he refused to do, the quickest way to deter the ladies of society would be to create a scandal. They would run quicker than a winner at Royal Ascot.

He wasn’t adverse to scandal. The last, but not the worst, great controversy he was involved in was his cold-hearted fiancée running away. He had sworn off marrying forever after her desertion. He didn’t need another frivolous female wreaking havoc with his battered heart. After all that had happened in his troubled life he’d only just managed to find a semblance of peace. Which made a ballroom full of eligible young ladies looking for marriage excruciatingly painful to say the least.

The carriage braked suddenly and came to an abrupt halt, Ian was unceremoniously thrown forward.

‘Pearce, what the devil!?’ he bellowed.While pushing himself back onto the seat, a swift glance out the window onto the dark sidewalk revealed what appeared to be a common brawl. Pearce leapt from his seat upon the box and threw himself into the melee. Stunned, Ian momentarily sat and watched, wondering what possessed his coachman to be so reckless. It was then he saw the edge of feminine skirts peaking out of the tussling group.

Ian saw red.

Blazing anger propelled him to leap out of the carriage like a shot, and wade into the fracas. He tapped one of the men on the shoulder who was pummelling Pearce and as he turned, Ian planted a fist into his jaw, dropping the rogue unconscious onto the sidewalk, levelling the numbers. The girls’ screams for help rent the air making Ian abandon his coachman to go to her aid. Savage fury pounded through his veins and he thought his heart would stop as he saw her viciously slapped across the face. He let out a roar,charging in he hefted the giant of a man to his feet,driving the hulking, foul-smelling ruffian into the wall of the building repeatedly, until even in the darkness, blood stained the wall. When the man went limp Ian reluctantly released him, letting the thug fall to the ground. He couldn’t resist giving a deserved hard kick to the ribs for good measure.

His anger ablaze and breathing heavily he turned and saw the woman sit up and scoot back to huddle into a ball against the wall, shielding herself by holding together the tattered remains of her clothing, as if waiting for a fresh attack to occur. Heavy boot steps faded rapidly down the sidewalk as Pearce gave chase after the last man.

Calling on every ounce of control he possessed, Ian suppressed his anger and carefully approached the quivering bundle. Squatting down to assist her to her feet he saw she was dirty, dishevelled and bleeding.

He spoke slowly and gently being careful not to startle her, ‘Miss, miss?’ But when he reached out she shied away. The poor woman was terrified and most likely in shock. He couldn’t just leave her here, his conscience wouldn’t allow it. Without waiting for her consent he scooped her up into his arms, noting the way her body stiffened at the contact. When he reached the carriage, he gently eased her in, placing her on the seat as carefully as if she were made of china. She huddled into the corner while he removed his coat and placed it over her ripped clothing to preserve her modesty. He climbed in himself, shut the door and settled back onto the seat he’d occupied minutes earlier, just before an out of breath Pearce poked his head in the carriage window.

‘You alright, sir?’ Concern creased his brow.

Calm slowly returned to Ian, ‘Nothing that a stiff brandy won’t cure.’ He flexed his right hand, which was already starting to swell.

‘Thanks for wading in sir. Couldn’t leave the young miss to the likes of them ruffians, could I?’

His coachman looked decidedly worse than him, with his black eye and bloodied lip, ‘No, you couldn’t Pearce.’

‘Where to sir?’

Ian looked over to the girl still cowering under his jacket. ‘Where to miss?’

Silence filled the carriage.

‘Continue home Pearce.’ Against his better judgement he gave the direction even though an overwhelming sense of foreboding nagged at him. Hopefully after a reviving drink she would relax enough to tell him where she lived so he could deposit her back home.

The carriage jerked into motion and Ian tried to relax, closely examining the poor lass he had just rescued. As the carriage passed under the gaslights he caught glimpses of high cheekbones accentuated by gaunt cheeks, reminding him that she’d weighed no more than a feather when he’d picked her up. She looked like she could use a good meal.

He tried to ease her fears. ‘You’re safe now, I don’t think those three will give you any more trouble when you return home.’

At the mention of home she started to cry causinghim to groan silently. He couldn’t stand tears, be they real or not. He knew women used them to get exactly what they wanted and he wasn’t going to let her use them on him.

‘Unfortunately, tears will neither garner my sympathy, nor fix your situation, so I suggest you make good use of my handkerchief in the top pocket of my coat.’

He hadn’t meant to sound so cold but it seemed she saw the logic of his words when she took a long deep breath and her sobs turned to sniffles as she fumbled around to locate his linen handkerchief.

Anastasia Bray pulled out the neat square of linen and wiped her face and nose. She hadn’t meant to cry but the mention of her home was more than she could bear. It’s not that she didn’t have anywhere to go but her actions had made it impossible to return to Miss Angelique, and she didn’t have the cunning to survive much longer on the streets. She thought she had found a good place to hide for the night, but it hadn’t stopped those three bullies from finding her.

She glanced at the man sitting across from her. He didn’t resemble the typical gentry - middle aged and podgy. This man was young and well built, his demeanour commanding attention. The details of his face were hidden in the shadows of the carriage making him appear dark and mysterious. Anastasia clutched his coat even tighter. Regardless of his appearance it was far past time to express her gratitude for his gallantry.

 ‘Th-thank you sir, you couldn’t have come along at a better time.’

Her voice seemed to startle him and he leaned forward, bringing his face into the light. She stifled a gasp as the gas streetlights caressed his perfect features. He was glorious, like none she had seen and she almost reached out to stroke his powerful square jaw. Instead she unknowingly handed him back his handkerchief. He plucked it from her fingers and tossed it onto the seat beside him as if it was of no consequence.

He looked thoughtful and his question modulated as he asked, ‘And who do I have the privilege of conveying around in my carriage?’

She wasn’t sure if she should tell him her real name, but what could it hurt, he would return her to the streets tomorrow and go back to his privileged life.

Nerves made her throat tight and she swallowed hard before answering, ‘Anastasia Bray.’

‘And why were you wandering the streets at two in the morning, Miss Bray?’

She tried to think fast and came up with the first plausible idea she could think of, ‘I must have been sleep walking.’

He arched one eyebrow, ‘In your tattered day clothes?’

He was a sharp one. She tried to turn the attention away from her. ‘And who do I have the pleasure of thanking for my rescue?’

A smile broke out across his face and she gasped. If she thought him handsome before he was downright devastating when he smiled. Those strong, sensuous lips curled up at the corners and his sky blue eyes fairly glowed, even in the dark confines of the carriage.

He reached out and picked up her hand resting on the top of his coat and brought it near his lips, his warm breath caressed her skin like a beautiful spring breeze, before they pressed ever so gently against the backs of her trembling fingers. Anastasia’s pulse quickened at the intimate contact.

His voice was no more than a murmur. ‘The Earl of Blackthorne at your service.’

Good Lord she’d been rescued by an Earl! How out of character for his ilk to lower themselves to help the plain folk. She quickly extracted her fingers. Why couldn’t Baron Lechmere have been kind and gentle?

The clip clop of the horses slowed and the carriage came to a stop, Pearce opened the door and lowered the steps, Lord Blackthorne agilely exited and extended his hand to help her out.

Anastasia carefully unfurled her stiff, sore body and grasped his hand before climbing out of the carriage with as much dignity that she could muster. The faint scent of sandalwood and cheroot greeted her as she arranged his evening coat around her shoulders. Good Lord could the man be any more masculine.

Unfortunately for Anastasia he could. Here she was homeless and penniless and she couldn’t stop admiring her rescuer. She took in the tall, strong frame and broad powerful shoulders before he wrapped his arm around her and helped her up the front steps of his townhouse. Ensconced against his body, his heat penetrated the jacket to warm her. A momentary sense of security prevailed before her body began to react shamelessly to the intimacy.

The front door swung open before he could knock, to reveal a tall elderly gentleman waiting to greet them. Blackthorne issued orders as he sailed past.

‘Driscoll, please arrange a tray for our guest, bring it to my study and have my tub filled.’

Either he brought women home in the state of dishabille all the time or his butler was well trained to show no emotion. The man didn’t even bat an eyelid at her shabby appearance or the fact she wore his master’s evening coat.

‘Right away, sir.’ The butler disappeared through a doorway to do the Earl’s bidding.

Anastasia barely took in her surroundings as Ian led her down a dark hallway and entered a room that could only be his study. He motioned for her to sit in a plush striped reading chair, then went about the room turning up all the gaslights. The fire lay unlit on the warm spring night.

He poured two brandies and handed her one, before pushing an ottoman in front of her chair. Sitting himself down upon it he leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His face a scant foot from her own. She raised the glass and took a large gulp to calm her nerves, letting the smooth amber liquid glide down her throat to warm her belly. He arched one brow quizzically. How careless, she’d just drank hard liquor without even a grimace and quickly added a little cough to aid her ruse. Until she could trust him, she had to be careful.

He looked ready to interrogate her, or devour her. She swallowed hard. Lying didn’t come easy to her. When he reached out and stroked her face, she flinched, ready to bolt from the chair in an instant if he posed a threat.

‘Shhh . . . you have a terrible bruise on your cheek and a small cut above your eye, I’m sorry we didn’t happen along sooner.’

She sagged with relief. The haughty manner he wore earlier was at odds with the caring he now displayed. His countenance relaxed and he continued his questions with a teasing note. ‘Now will you please tell me what you were doing out in the street at this ungodly hour?’

Hanging her head in shame she admitted, ‘I’ve been living on the streets for the past two weeks.’

‘So that’s why you’re a bag of bones. Where were you before that?’

She didn’t take offense at his blunt words, he was only stating the truth. ‘Defending myself from a Baron’s unwanted attentions. When I slapped him he threw me out, minus my belongings.’ Well it was almost the truth.

‘What position did you occupy in the Baron’s household?’

‘Governess.’ She desperately hoped he believed her.

‘I thought so, your perfect speech gave you away. No maid speaks the way you do.’

Ian sat back and smiled. So he had a little hellfire on his hands did he? The question that plagued him now, what was he going to do with her? Even half staved and battered her beauty shone through.

A knock on the open door drew his attention and Driscoll entered bearing a large tray. Ian stood and took the tray from him and placed it across her lap.

She hesitated only seconds before stowing her brandy on the side table and grabbing a hunk of bread coated with butter, stuffed it into her mouth and chewed quickly. The poor girl was starving. His coat fell from her shoulders revealing her torn bodice. He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying to the generous swell of breast now exposed. Before she caught him staring he forced his gaze back to her face. He didn’t want her to think him the same as the salacious Baron.

 ‘Well, I can hardly deposit you back on the street tomorrow. You’d probably be dead within the week. Where do you hail from? I can return you to your parents.’

He had to wait until she’d swallowed the last of the bread and washed it down with cold milk.

‘I don’t have any family milord.’

‘You mean to tell me you have no one in this world upon whom to rely?’ He found that hard to believe, but why else would she subject herself to hunger and ruffians?

She nodded her head vigorously as she chewed a mouthful of chicken.

‘I suppose I could advertise a position in the paper for you, some family must require a governess.’

She shook her head wildly and nearly dislodged the tray on her lap. ‘You can’t!’

He noted her fear and pushed for an answer. ‘And why not?’

‘He said I’d never work again. He’d make sure of it.’

‘Who is this man?’ He couldn’t believe she would be cowed so easily.

She hesitatedbefore naming her attacker, ‘The Baron Lechmere.’

Ian racked his brain for some recognition of the name, none came. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.’

Her shoulders sagged and shelooked relieved when he said nothing further. Something wasn’t right, but it would take longer to uncover what she wasn’t telling him. There was plenty of time for questions later.

‘Do you need any new employees? I’ll do anything.’

Her desperate question caught him off guard. He didn’t need any new staff, but he also couldn’t toss her out. Perhaps Bexley could find a spot for her in his household.

Just when his life had fallen into a peaceful rhythm this wayward chit had been thrust upon him. Perhaps he needed a good nights sleep, tomorrow would bring more answers, but first he needed to get her settled for the night.

She polished off the last remnants of a piece of fruitcake before Ian took the tray from her and placed it on the floor.

‘Come, let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up, who knows how long it’s been since you bathed.’ He stood and moved back waiting for her to stand. Instead she quickly grabbed her forgotten brandy and took another swig. Watching a governess toss back brandy like a sailor was very surprising.

Perhaps she needed the comfort that only fine liquor could supply. He’d certainly used it in the past, it was good for healing all sorts of hurts.

‘Yes it has been a while.’ Came her quick reply as she stood and followed him out the door.

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