The Princess and the Marquess Read online

  Table of Contents

  Books by Aliyah Burke

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Read more from Aliyah Burke

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  About the Author

  Totally Bound Publishing books by Aliyah Burke

  Single Books

  Through The Fire

  Seducing Damian

  Code of Honour

  A Marriage of Convenience

  The Lieutenant’s Ex-Wife

  A Man Like No Other

  When Stars Collide

  In Aeternum

  Casanova in Training

  Harbour of Refuge

  Protected by Shadows

  Polar Opposites

  Theta Corps

  Restitution

  Contrition

  Vindication

  Interludes

  Temporary Home

  Alone With You

  Till We Ain’t Strangers Anymore

  The Edge

  Called Home to The Edge

  Straying to The Edge

  Returning to The Edge

  Cuffed at The Edge

  The Monroe Sisters

  Need You Now

  Let Me Go

  I Won’t Say Goodbye

  Keeper of the Stars

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Part Five

  Astral Guardians

  Chasing the Storm

  Highlands at Dawn

  Fields of Thunder

  Branded by Frost

  Driven by Night

  Moon of Fire

  What’s her Secret?

  Preconception

  With Taige Crenshaw

  Single Title

  Unbreakable Bonds

  Kemet Uncovered

  Talios

  Devi

  Linc

  Saffron

  Taber

  Ashia

  Heart’s Compass

  THE PRINCESS AND THE MARQUESS

  ALIYAH BURKE

  The Princess and the Marquess

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-352-8

  ©Copyright Aliyah Burke 2020

  Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill ©Copyright January 2020

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2020 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Book one in the Heart’s Compass series

  Sometimes you need to lose it all to discover what is truly important.

  Lucien St. Martin, Marquess of Heartstone, is ordered to travel to the “uncivilized” part of the world. America. Little does he know, everything is about to shift on its axis.

  Ciara McKay is known as “the heart of the mountain.” Her world is changed the day she encounters a strange man near death on her mountain. Long winter nights lead to explosive passions before they part. Seven years pass before they meet again.

  Can they overcome the “accepted” rules of society? Or will “the heart of the mountain” cease to be? Is it possible that Lucien can convince her to give them another chance? Will Ciara accept her destiny that together is the only way for them to be—as the princess and the marquess?

  Dedication

  Thank you to Totally Bound for coming with me on this journey as I get to play in the past. To my readers, I know, I know, not enough historicals, but here is another for you. DH—love you. As always, my heartfelt thanks to the men and women of the Armed Forces who sacrifice so much.

  Chapter One

  The intense weather fell harsh and unforgiving, offering the inhabitants a preview of what was to come in the frigid months that loomed ahead. Thunder rumbled as lightning flashed through the mountains. A winter storm. The winds howled as if they were straight from the bowels of hell, intent on ripping everything in their path to pieces. No living person, sane person, would be caught out in this.

  Twenty-four-year-old Ciara Malika McKay swore to herself as she fought and strained against the winds that whipped through the mountains. Every single step she struggled to take, their strength knocked her back five. What am I doing out on a night like this?

  In her defense, she’d needed more herbs and when she had left her cabin this morning the weather hadn’t been like this at all. Of course, she could have returned earlier when she had experienced the air change with the impending storm. But when had she ever done anything the easy way?

  The life she led was hard, but she wouldn’t change it for anything. For all intents and purposes, she was alone on this mountain with only animals to befriend her. She did not often venture down into the town that was at the base of a neighboring mountain because she disliked the crowds. Especially after that one incident.

  Ciara preferred to keep her interaction with people confined to the elderly women who lived at the outskirts of the town. Even then she kept her visits short. She visited them only because they were the final link to her parents she had left.

  * * * *

  Paradise Cove was nestled at the foot of a mountain. It was a town composed of outcasts. All were welcome there, regardless of race or religion or any other determining factor in most place
s. The numerous occupants comprised escaped slaves, Indians and whites who had ventured in and chosen to stay. The residents had a close network. Despite their differences, they protected, defended and supported each other. It was a prosperous spot.

  Regardless of the good they presented, Ciara chose to live high up in the mountains, keeping to herself. All the townspeople knew of her and yet few could call her friend.

  She was legend, a myth. A young woman who lived by herself up there. Those who sought her out never found her. Not a trace of her or her cabin. She was like the mist.

  How she came and went depended on her mood. There were those few adventurous men who declared they would be the one to find this elusive wood sprite. But when they made it back to civilization all they had were faint memories of a hooded figure who had stood over them and carried them to the base of the mountain.

  * * * *

  She cursed again as the wind ripped her hood off her head. Ciara jerked it back up as she squinted through the pelting rain. Her herbs were safe at her waist and, as she sank into some mud, she growled to herself. A shape materialized out from the rain itself before her and she smiled despite her current situation as she laid her eyes on her friend, Faolan.

  He was a large wolf, blacker than the darkest night and just as dangerous. She had saved him from a trap years ago and he had never left. Silent, he stood gazing upon her with amber eyes before turning and melting back into pitch black. She followed with the knowledge that he would lead her safely through. Ciara groaned with relief as she saw her cabin outlined in the flashes of lightning, so she hastened, eager to be out of this weather.

  A push opened the door and she stood dripping on her wooden floor as Faolan streaked past her to shake and lay himself by the stove. Taking off her sodden cloak, she shivered as she hung it, then made her way to start a fire. When the room heated, she stripped and put on some dry clothes with haste. Then, turning her attention to the herbs she had gathered, she laid them out to dry as well.

  Warm, dry and safe from the storm, Ciara set to her next task. Food. She enjoyed a simple meal of soup and bread and remembering the past as she cleaned up from that.

  Closing her eyes against the onslaught of pain at the memory of her parents, she banked her fire and climbed into her bed to fall asleep, ignoring the tears on her face, alone except for the wolf in her two-room cabin.

  * * * *

  Lucien St. Martin, the eighth Marquess of Heartstone, smothered a groan as he looked out of the window at the endless miles of dust, dirt and anything far from clean. This country was vast and not at all where he wanted to be. However, being that he was unable to tell his father, Sebastian St. Martin, Duke of Stokley, no, here he was, traveling in this godforsaken continent to acquire a horse.

  Turning to his companion, Blake Trent, he asked, “How much longer? I wish to get out and get cleaned up.”

  The man in the carriage looked him in the eye as he answered, “We are almost there. The town will have a place for you to stay and then in the morning you can speak to the ones who can tell you how to get the horse.”

  “Not until morning.” His words were laced with disgust. “I have had enough of this rustic crap. I wish to get the horse and leave. I thought that this was understood.”

  “With respect, sir, this is a rather large place and these horses are very worth the wait.”

  Arching an aristocratic brow, Lucien looked down his nose at the man across from him. “I realize that this is a big place. The country is larger than my own, no doubt filled with thieves and scoundrels of the worst kind. However, I was promised that the horse would be here for me.”

  The carriage jolted to a stop and Blake jumped down. “You are the one two weeks late. The horse was here on time. We had to go have the horse brought back.”

  Lucien watched in silence as the man disappeared into the dusk. He climbed down out of the carriage and had to keep his temper so as not to blow the sale of the horse. The town was clean but small, the streets well-lit, and as he looked, there was an imposing picture of the mountains behind the town being covered like a veil by rolling dark clouds. He straightened his clothes, to once again regain his impeccable look, then turned and headed into the building the carriage had stopped beside. Momma Marie’s.

  He swung open the door, then stepped inside. Behind the counter stood a tall, distinguished black man.

  “Good eve, sir. Were you looking for a room to rent?”

  A brusque nod answered the question. He strode to the counter and slapped his leather gloves down on it. He gazed around and took in the surroundings. A few patrons sat at the tables through a walkway as they ate dinner in the dining area, but otherwise it was very quiet.

  “For how long will you be staying, sir?”

  “Not sure. Where can I find M. Thomson?” In an instant, the man’s eyes shuttered.

  What is going on here?

  “I can have someone show you. Your key, sir, you are in room four. It’s upstairs and to the left. Dinner is at six. I will send someone to your room to escort you to the Thomson residence.”

  “My bags?”

  “They are already in your room. Paul shall be to your room shortly.”

  “Good evening, sir. I am Paul. I will be taking you to the Thomson place.”

  Gritting his teeth to keep his automatic response contained, he nodded as he followed the boy down the stairs. As they stepped out onto the street, he noticed the clouds rolling over the mountains in the distance. The wind picked up and plucked at his cloak like a young debutante plucking the petals off a flower.

  “This way, my lord.”

  Arching his brow, he looked at the lad. “How is it you know my title?”

  “Everyone knows. It’s not often that anyone with a title comes through. Just that titles don’t mean much here. We are all equals.”

  Lucien hid his surprise at that statement. As he looked around, he noticed many different shades of skin color on the people in the town, from the palest white to mahogany to a deep coal black. No one but him seemed to notice any difference. Children played together in the increasing winds and adults spoke to each other regardless of sex and color. The attitude was much more lackadaisical than anything he would run into back in England.

  Lucian noticed how people automatically got out of his way. He doubted it was because he was a titled marquess from England, he wasn’t sure they knew, but because his presence and sheer size made them move to the side.

  By the time the sun had set, Paul was leading him up some stairs to a small house on the edge of town. On his estate, it would be considered a crofter’s hut.

  He waited with impatience while Paul knocked. Lucien followed Paul into the house and stopped in shock when he saw two ladies sitting in chairs smiling at him. One of them spoke.

  “I’m M. Thomson. Please come in and sit down.”

  After his large frame had settled in a chair that appeared too fragile to hold his body, he gazed at the women and asked, “Where is the one with whom I was corresponding?”

  The little lady with the gray hair smiled at him. She reminded him of someone he had not thought about in a long time, his own grandmother. “I am the one who you need to deal with. About the stallion. We expected you earlier and for that reason the horse is not here today. But we can have him here tomorrow.”

  “How is it that I was dealing with you and not your husband?”

  “Mind your tongue, boy. This may not be England, but you can still show some respect,” she snapped at him.

  “My apologies. I am just anxious to get the horse and leave.”

  “Very well.” With a wave of her hand, she sent Paul on his way. “You are dealing with me, because my husband is dead. Not that it is any of your business. The stallion will be here in the morning and then you can leave. Now we need to discuss payment.”

  “Payment will come after I inspect the horse.” His response fell right away.

  This was an area that he could handle. He was
n’t going to pay that much for an animal that may very well be worthless. He had been against this from the beginning and the only reason that he was the one to go was because his father had ordered it. Who heard of traveling across the seas to get a horse when the finest cattle were to be found in England anyway?

  Humph. “You will want the horse, although you may not be able to handle him.”

  “Madam,” he groused, his tone imperious, “I have yet to meet a horse that I cannot handle.”

  “Temper yourself, boy. You English sure are touchy. By the way, my name is Marie and this one here is Angelique. She is deaf but not blind so smile at her.”

  Colonials. They would be the death of him. This wasn’t even in the colonies but in the untamed west. Worse. They were dreadful and wild. And still, he did as she bade him and smiled at the one named Angelique.

  “I shall bid you good night then and will see you in the morning.” Lucien sketched a bow to both of them and let himself out of the house. Striding up the street back to the hotel, he looked down as he saw Paul running up to him.

  “Sir, what are the seas like?”

  Childish inquisition was something Lucien was not prepared at all to handle. He was not a man used to dealing with children—rather he felt that they should be seen little and heard even less. Paul was gazing at him with some kind of worshiping eyes as he waited for the answer to his question.

  “Wet,” Lucien snapped and strode on.

  He had zero remorse for biting at the boy but he had no experience in dealing with children. His own father had not wanted to deal with him and now it was only to issue foolhardy commands such as this one. He looked back and saw that the boy had stopped and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt.

  The memories of wishing that his own father would show any interest in what he had done came back with a vengeance to haunt him. The pain of rejection made him reevaluate his manner.