Obsession Wears Opals Read online

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Author's Note

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Raves for the Jaded Gentleman Novels

  Passion Wears Pearls

  “A warm Victorian . . . A well-written, tender historical starring two superb protagonists, who may learn too late that love may be blind to the knowledge of what the other cherishes.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  Ecstasy Wears Emeralds

  “Sensuality fills the pages.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “The always original Bernard delivers another Jaded Gentleman to his fate: a wonderfully engaging, independent, and sassy heroine. Bernard creates a delightfully passionate romance, but the verbal sparring between her characters is the key to the story’s enchantment and the powerful feminist overtones will capture readers’ attention.”

  —Romantic Times

  “The story line flowed very well. It had enough of everything to keep you entertained and involved . . . This series is very good and I can’t wait for more.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “The third Jaded Gentleman Victorian romance is a superb historical . . . Fans will enjoy this deep, still timely today, nineteenth- century romance as the mentor and the mentee find respect and love.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  Seduction Wears Sapphires

  “An amazing read. I enjoyed it immensely . . . Ashe and Caroline are wonderful characters that made me fall in love with them from the beginning of the story.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “A fine book; well crafted, well researched, and an entertaining romantic novel . . . Historical romance fans will be delighted, I have no doubt.”

  —The Book Binge

  “What a refreshing new take on two people who from first sight are determined to detest each other . . . I was immediately engrossed with the fiery, witty dialogue and the curiosity of how this couple, who loathed each other upon their meeting, would come full circle to a beautifully shared love in the end.”

  —Fiction Vixen

  Revenge Wears Rubies

  “Sensuality fairly steams from Bernard’s writing. This luscious tale will enthrall you. Enjoy!”

  —Sabrina Jeffries, New York Times bestselling author

  “If you’re a fan of spicy hot romances mixed with a bit of intrigue and set in Victorian London, don’t miss this one!”

  —The Romance Dish

  “Galen’s journey from emotional cripple to ability to love is a captivating, erotic romance.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  More praise for the “grand mistress of sensual, scorching romance.”*

  “Sinfully sexy . . . Wickedly witty, sublimely sensual . . . Renee Bernard dazzles readers . . . Clever, sensual, and superb.”

  —Booklist

  “Scorcher! Bernard debuts with an erotic romance that delivers not only a high degree of sensuality but a strong plotline and a cast of memorable characters. She’s sure to find a place alongside Robin Schone, Pam Rosenthal, and Thea Devine.”

  —*RT Book Reviews

  “Very hot romance. Readers who enjoy an excellent, sizzling Victorian story are going to thoroughly enjoy this one.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Shiverlicious! A captivating plot, charismatic characters, and sexy, tingle-worthy romance . . . Fantastic!”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “Crowd-pleasing.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Renee Bernard

  REVENGE WEARS RUBIES

  SEDUCTION WEARS SAPPHIRES

  ECSTASY WEARS EMERALDS

  PASSION WEARS PEARLS

  OBSESSION WEARS OPALS

  Obsession Wears Opals

  RENEE BERNARD

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  OBSESSION WEARS OPALS

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market paperback edition / December 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Renee Bernard

  Cover art by Alan Ayers. Cover design by George Long.

  All rights reserved.

  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 author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-61329-0

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  This book is for every woman who had the courage to go when she needed to and stood up for herself, and for all the women who are waiting for their chance to escape. You are not alone.

  To Geoffrey and my girls. Almost there. Keep on swimming. I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  Memo to me: Happier acknowledgments please. No one wants to read about the dreary slog of my life or how anyone living in the twenty-first century cannot for the life of her manage not to fall further behind every time she tries to “upgrade” her technology. Seriously, I must be doing it wrong. If there’s an “easy” button outside of that comm
ercial, I’ve lost mine.

  I want to thank Eric Ruben for being more than my agent. He’s become my true friend and a pseudo-sibling. I have to thank Kate Seaver for being such a patient and wonderful editor and for fighting for me. My thanks to Sheila English at Readers Entertainment for making me part of the team and to Megan Bamford and the Aussie Crew for introducing me to red frogs, new varieties of Tim Tams, and the opals (Oh, goodness! The opals!). My thanks to everyone at RT for their amazing love and support. I have to mention Anne Elizabeth, who is so dear to me as a friend and advocate that there just aren’t words. I’ll never be able to repay her for all her advice and support—if having a loving heart was a sport, Anne would be a world champion.

  I want to acknowledge Carolyn Follett for all her hard work and her attempts to keep me from leaving a trail of personal belongings in my wake at RT Chicago. Also a huge thanks to Michelle Drew, Lindsey Ross, and Josie Cusumano; I couldn’t ask for a better cheering section or nicer friends. And I didn’t forget you, Ms. Pierre. You’re in the next book, so brace yourself. You went waaaay past a mention and accidentally landed yourself in the finale of the Jaded Gentlemen series, so make sure you’re sitting down!

  A special thanks to Danny Kemp of The Desolate Garden for reassuring me that British men are, in fact, the most fabulous things walking and worthy of all their fictional following—but also that their heroic worth has nothing to do with their social standing and everything to do with their hearts. Married to the love of his life, Danny is the measure of a truly good man and I want to thank him personally for his friendship and support.

  And to Judi McCoy. If you’d lived to be a hundred, it still would have been too soon to lose such a bright and funny star in the skies. You were always yourself and that was the best lesson any mentor could teach. I love you and I’ll think of you every time I see a dog, hear someone talking about American Idol, or God help me, step into a hotel bathtub. (And, yes, you snored. We’ll argue about it later.)

  It isn’t a book until I tell my mother how much I appreciate her and adore her. We talk almost every day, which I secretly fear qualifies as stalking, but she’s still my best friend and who else would put up with me? The pact we made together when I was a child has held through the years and will outlive us both. We swore to back each other up and dream big, ignore the worst of it, and keep our eyes on what mattered most. She probably didn’t know it at the time but it’s the lifeline that has kept me afloat. I love you, Mom. (Don’t tell Dad, but if I win the lottery I’m whisking you off to Australia next year . . . rumor has it, they’ve got opals there!)

  Hello, Dear Readers!

  Thank you for all your wonderful notes and messages. It’s a bit of a cliché to admit that writing is ultimately a solitary task and it’s easy to feel isolated sometimes. But you’ve made sure that I never felt alone, and I’ve loved creating the Jaded Gentlemen for you and I appreciate the reception they’ve received! I try to answer every e-mail and note that I receive because it means the world to me to have that opportunity to connect with readers.

  Obsession Wears Opals has been a labor of love, and as a true nerd, I confess I’ve always had a secret crush on the smart, shy guy in glasses. So who’s to say my sexy Darius can’t prove that intelligence can win over brawn, and win a few readers’ hearts along the way? Just to avoid any confusion if you’ve been following the series, note the timeline. Darius is in Scotland while Josiah is meeting his match in London and so these stories start out concurrently—so if Darius isn’t yet aware of his friend’s romantic fate with Eleanor Beckett, it’s because he hasn’t gotten the news in Edinburgh, where this story takes place. And naturally, if this is the first book you’ve discovered in the Jaded Gentleman series, welcome and don’t worry! You can enjoy this one without having read any of the previous books in the series. I promise.

  So, it’s still January 1860, and while Josiah Hastings is battling his shadowy demons, here is the answer to Galen’s question, “Damn it, what is keeping Darius in Scotland?”

  Enjoy!

  Renee Bernard

  The minute I heard my first love story

  I started looking for you,

  not knowing how blind that was.

  Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.

  They’re in each other all along.

  —RUMI

  Chapter

  1

  Edinburgh

  January 1860

  Somewhere a drum was beating.

  Isabel groaned in frustration at its insistence, at its intrusion on the numb, cold peace that had finally overtaken her. She’d lost track of time. She didn’t know how far she’d ridden, but the gallop of yesterday had long yielded to a slow crawl through the night, and Isabel couldn’t remember seeing the sunrise. She had ridden until exhaustion and the wintry lash of wind and icy rain had woven together into a tapestry of deadly quiet.

  Except for that infernal drumming.

  The rhythm was steady and slow. But loud enough to draw attention, she thought, because now there were voices. Someone was screaming and then there was an exchange, distant and anxious. Hands were touching her with muffled questions she couldn’t understand. And then someone was lifting her from the frozen wet ground.

  I was on the ground? Did I fall from the saddle? How is that possible—Samson would never let me fall. . . .

  Isabel’s anxiety bloomed at the thought that something had happened to her faithful stallion, that she’d ridden him beyond the limits of his strength, but then her ankle was being freed from the stirrup where it had caught, and she was being pressed against someone and cradled in a man’s arms, wrapped in a coat and blankets. She struggled to open her eyes, aware for the first time that she must have closed them.

  The voices were closer, the vibration of the deep timbre of his speech touching off a spike of agonized fear that jolted her back to reality.

  The drumming was my own heartbeat.

  God help me, I was praying for it to stop.

  Numbness fell away in a single breath and Isabel cried out at the cruel loss. She didn’t want to feel—anything. Not the fiery bite of the sleet against her cheeks or the warmth of his frame against hers; or the horrible return of memory and terror that had driven her to try to escape.

  “I’ve got you,” the stranger said softly, and something in her ached at the gentleness but despised the pain that it evoked.

  You have me.

  And what would you say if I just begged you to leave me as you found me?

  There was a flurry of activity and Isabel became more and more aware of what was taking place as her weightless state gave way to sodden skirts and labored breathing. A woman was hovering behind them and making an awful keening fuss as they crossed the threshold and the warmth of the house enveloped them all. “Is she dead? Oh, God! A dead woman in my winter garden! I’ll be haunted all my days!”

  “She’s not dead.” He shifted her carefully and began to make his way toward the heart of the house. “Calm yourself, Mrs. McFadden. Fetch Hamish and ask him to ride for Dr. Abernethy at once.”

  “No,” Isabel croaked barely above a whisper, wincing at the agony of speech, but her terror overrode everything. “P-please, I beg you. N-no . . . a-authorities . . .” She looked up at him and tried not to cry as desperation bled into her words. “P-please, sir. I c-cannot . . . go back.”

  “What’s that she’s saying?” the woman screeched from the kitchen doorway.

  Isabel held her breath, praying for mercy in an unmerciful world, and nearly broke when she saw the flood of compassion and comprehension in his green eyes.

  “Forget the doctor,” he amended, raising his voice slightly and turning back to his housekeeper with authority. “Tell Hamish to tend to that horse and make sure the upstairs blue bedroom has enough firewood. Our guest will recover there, but for now, I’m taking her to the library where it’s warmest. And hot broth, blankets, and dry clothes, Mrs. McFadden, as soon as you can manage it, please.”
/>
  “Yes, Mr. Thorne.”

  Her terror retreated slightly as the threat of a doctor faded and she was carried through another doorway into a small library. He knelt and then, with his free hand, yanked the cushions off a nearby chair to make a nest for her in front of the fireplace. His hands were efficient as he rolled her gloved hands in his to warm the leather enough to peel it from her fingers, and he spoke pleasantly as if they were experiencing an ordinary introduction.

  “My name is Darius Thorne and you must forgive my housekeeper, Mrs. McFadden, for her reaction. I must be such a dull man that she’s grown unused to any excitement at all.” He laid the gloves aside and then sat back on his heels to address the jet buttons on her riding coat. “Pardon my familiarity, but if we don’t get you out of some of these soaking wet clothes, then I won’t be able to keep my word and will have to send for Dr. Abernethy after all.”

  She nodded, weakly trying to help him with her jacket but failing as her fingers refused to obey her commands. “Thank you. Sh-she has every right to complain. P-people r-rudely landing in her k-kitchen g-garden.” Isabel’s teeth chattered as she spoke. “I—I’m ruining these cushions, t-too.”

  He smiled, apparently ignoring that she’d not offered her own name in return. “No worries. I’ll make sure she knows I’m to blame since I’ve long disliked that chair with its embroidered scene of some idiots cavorting about and shooting deer.” He undid the last button and drew the sodden coat from her shoulders, replacing it with the blanket that had fallen off as a temporary aid to ward off a chill. “Let’s get your boots off.”

  Her extremities had begun to warm, and with the return of her circulation, her skin began to burn as if pricked by a thousand needles. She winced as he pulled off her boots and forgot modesty as he made quick work of her stockings to toss them on the stone hearth.

  “Damn,” he muttered beneath his breath and, without preamble, began to vigorously rub her feet and calves.

  “It hurts!” she protested but stopped when she saw the pain in his face.