Masked Promises (Unmasking Prometheus, #2) Read online

  Masked Promises

  By

  Diana Bold

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Masked Promises

  By Diana Bold

  Copyright March 2018

  Cover Artist: Kim Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Prologue – Masked Intentions | (First book in Unmasking Prometheus Series)

  Chapter One

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  Dedication

  To Kurt – my hero, my happy place, my love, my life. Everything is better with you by my side.

  Prologue

  January 1880

  Lucien Strathmore, the fifteen-year-old Earl of Hawkesmere, stood in front of a dusty, full-length mirror in a forgotten corner of his stepfather’s cavernous attic. With trembling hands, he lifted a bone-white mask and placed it over his face. His younger brothers, Morgan and Adrian, settled a heavy cape of crushed crimson velvet around his thin shoulders.

  All three of them stared at his mirrored reflection, which transformed him somehow from a gawky young lad into a rather fearsome masked vigilante.

  “You’re tall enough,” Adrian said. “No one would ever know that it’s you.” His face, scarred on the left side from the fire that had burned Hawkesmere House and killed their father, lit up with awe and pride.

  “Swirl the cape around a bit,” Morgan instructed. “It doesn’t look like I made it out of old drapes, does it?”

  Lucien did as his brother requested, impressed by the way the fabric ebbed and flowed about him. He had to admit he looked rather dashing. “You did a wonderful job; you both did.”

  “When do we move on to the next stage of our plan?” Adrian asked, his quiet voice vibrating with intensity. “When do we make that bastard pay for what he’s done to us?”

  For the past few weeks, they’d been utterly focused on their plan to create a masked persona called Prometheus to somehow stop their stepfather’s abuse. They’d fantasized that they could terrify and hurt him, the way he had them. They’d found an old sword, and they’d imagine the fear on the old bastard’s face when Prometheus confronted him with it.

  “Together, we can do anything,” Morgan reminded him. The words had become their mantra.

  “Yes,” Lucien said. “Together we can do it.” Except it wouldn’t be the three of them who went after Winters and their stepbrother Roger. It would have to be Lucien because the twins were too short to pull it off. And despite all the planning they’d done, he wasn’t at all sure that Winters and Roger wouldn’t laugh in his face and then beat him within an inch of his life. Neither man was easily frightened, and a man in a mask might just amuse them.

  The weight of his brothers’ expectations suddenly seemed crushing, and he ripped off the mask, struggling to draw a steady breath. Ever since his father’s death, everyone expected so much from him, and he felt completely unworthy and unready. He was still a boy, but he had to be a man, an earl, and now Prometheus.

  “I’ll be back,” he muttered, flinging the mask away. “I need some fresh air.”

  Ignoring his brothers’ concerned protests, he strode quickly from the attic. By the time he hit the second floor, he was running, the cloak fluttering behind him. He burst out of the house into the chill air, then headed for the woods. It wasn’t until he’d run for nearly an hour, crashing through bramble and tripping over roots, that he admitted where he was going.

  The remains of Hawkesmere House lay only four miles from the Earl of Winters’ estate, but Lucien hadn’t been there even once since the night his life had changed forever. What was the point? The tenants had all left, and the house was a burned-out shell. The only one left was the gamekeeper, a drunk who wasn’t worthy of the job. Lucien had let him stay on simply because it was one of the only things he could control. As his guardian, Winters was going to run the Hawkesmere Earldom into the ground long before Lucien reached his majority.

  Gasping, he finally reached the ruins, and the sight of them, the stones starkly black and twisted against the bright green grass, brought him to his knees. The house mirrored his life, broken and hopeless. He couldn’t imagine that either one could ever be repaired. He pulled the heavy cloak tighter around him, feeling the cold for the first time.

  As he struggled to breathe, blinking against the stinging tears that filled his eyes, he slowly became aware of a silent presence behind him. He slowly turned, half-expecting it to be the ghost of his father, half-hoping it would be, so he could ask for help, beg the old earl to tell him what to do.

  Instead, a slip of a girl, who couldn’t be more than ten, rounded the crumbling wall, her large green eyes locked with his. She wore a white dress with grass stains on her knees and a threadbare coat. Tangled, moon-spun blond hair fell to her hips.

  He blinked, uncertain whether he had imagined the ghostly image.

  She moved forward, stopping just in front of him. Though he was on his knees, she was still a bit shorter than he was. Biting her bottom lip, she reached out her hand and touched the painful bruise on his cheek. Winters had put his entire weight into punching him yesterday. Lucien’s only crime had been trying to keep him from hurting Adrian, who, with his scars and silence, was the monster’s main target.

  The tears he’d been suppressing for so long spilled over at the girl’s sweet, gentle touch. Her icy fingertips felt like a ghost’s would, he thought, on the verge of madness. Embarrassed and ashamed, he dipped his head, but she took his hand and pressed it to her own face. To his shock and horror, he looked up to see she bore a nearly identical fading bruise of her own. Empathy filled her large green eyes.

  Realizing that she was not judging, that she had endured similar treatment by someone who was supposed to take care of her, filled him with a sudden fierce affinity for her. He wrapped his arms around her slim body, pulling her beneath the warmth of his cloak and crushing her against him as his tears started in earnest, huge wracking sobs that would have humiliated him if not for the fact that she cried just as hard.

  He had not cried when his father died, remaining strong instead for his mother and brothers. He had not cried when his mother had rushed into marriage with Winters, then became so cold to her own children, as though they were last Season’s gowns, to be donned and then discarded. He had not cried when he’d discovered that Winters had been abusing Adrian while Lucien and Morgan had been away at school. He had not cried when Winters and Roger had begun to turn their abuse upon him. Instead, he’d tried to be
strong, tamping his emotions down so fiercely that now that he’d let them loose, he feared he’d never be able to stop them.

  “It’s all right,” the girl whispered, her voice hoarse with her own tears, stroking her hand up and down his back. “It’s going to be all right.”

  He drew in a shuddering breath, the sudden storm of emotion slowly abating. He wondered who she was and how she knew how to be so comforting, but he was so exhausted he couldn’t find the energy to ask. From her manner of dress, he knew she was a commoner, someone far removed from his own unwanted lofty status. Somehow though, he felt closer to her at this moment than he’d ever felt to anyone.

  They remained that way, holding each other beneath the heavy cloak, drawing comfort from their similar circumstances, swaying slightly to and fro for what seemed like an eternity, as though they were being buffeted by a storm. She smelled of lavender and sweetness, and the scent calmed him. He breathed deeply, wondering if lavender would always remind him of the peace he’d found in this moment.

  Suddenly, she drew away and looked over her shoulder, as though she’d heard something. Turning back to him, she shyly pressed her lips against his forehead in a sweet benediction. “Be well, my friend. I will never forget you.”

  Then she scampered away, disappearing through the trees, leaving him dazed and confused, wondering again if he’d imagined her.

  “Be well,” he whispered, belatedly, wishing he’d said more, wishing he’d said anything.

  Whoever she was, she’d made him feel a little less alone. She’d made him feel that it was all right to let down his guard for a while. And he’d needed that. He’d needed it desperately. He would never forget her, either.

  Sinking all the way down to the ground, he lay on his back and looked up at the gray sky, letting himself remember his father, and the happy childhood he’d had before the fire had taken it all away. He mourned his losses, and then managed to count a few blessings.

  After a long while, he got back to his feet, squaring his slim shoulders as he once again took the weight of the world back upon them. He would be strong and take care of his brothers. He would be the earl. What other choice did he have?

  Chapter One

  Sixteen years later...

  May 1896

  Serenity Pratt was halfway up the grand staircase of the Earl of Winters’ London townhouse, her arms filled with freshly washed linens when someone pounded heavily on the front door. She froze, then reluctantly set her burden down on the stairs and headed to answer it.

  As an upstairs maid, answering the door was not part of her duties. However, Lord Winters had left in a flurry late last night, turning the house upside down packing for a lengthy, unexpected trip. The butler had been up till almost dawn, and Serenity knew the elderly gentleman was still abed since it was only half past eight.

  She reached the front door and squared her shoulders, dreading the thought of who might be on the other side. The earl had a wide variety of less-than-savory friends. Taking a deep breath, she flung the door open—only to be confronted with a ghost from her past.

  She put a hand to her mouth and stumbled back a few steps, the urge to flee warring with the need to throw herself into the arms of the man who stood in the doorway.

  Lucien Strathmore had been her first love, her only love, but it had been nearly eight years since she’d last seen him. He’d been little more than a boy then, twenty-three and just back from the University, ready to take up the reins of his own estate. They’d had a whirlwind summer of stolen kisses and walks along the river, but it had ended quite badly. For her, at least.

  He was a man now, still breathtakingly handsome, with his dark gypsy looks and startling blue eyes, but the carefree youth was gone, replaced by a world-weary exhaustion that broke what was left of her heart.

  He gave her an impatient look, obviously annoyed by the fact that she was simply staring at him in shocked silence. His crystal blue eyes stared right through her, paying no attention to the hired help. He either didn’t recognize her or the most meaningful time in her life had meant so little to him that he chose to not even acknowledge her.

  “I’m the Earl of Hawkesmere,” he said at last. “Winters is my stepbrother. I understand that he left last night and took my little sister, Lady Allison, with him. I need to know everything you can tell me about exactly when he left and where he was going. Assemble the staff, girl. Quickly! Time is of the utmost importance. I must find her before he takes her out of the country. She may be in danger.”

  “Come in, Luke,” she murmured, ushering him inside, so stunned by his words that she forgot all propriety.

  He froze in the process of shutting the door, then turned slowly, finally seeing her, and not just a nameless, faceless servant. With a soft, disbelieving sound, he lifted his hand and removed the mob cap that completely covered her pale hair, then trailed his fingertips across her cheek, his eyes widening in shock and... pleasure?

  “Serenity?” he breathed. “Is it really you?”

  She bit her lip, blinking away unwanted tears. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but in her fantasies, she was strong and brave, telling him what she thought of his abandonment in no uncertain terms before squaring her shoulders and storming away. She’d never expected that all her tender emotions would return with the force of a tsunami, rooting her in place and stealing her angry words.

  How could she still love him? He’d absolutely destroyed her!

  “It’s been a long time,” she said at last. “You look well, Luke. Er... Lord Hawkesmere.”

  He made a quick, dismissive gesture at the formality, then shook his head, obviously still in shock. “That’s all you have to say? You ran away from me what... eight years ago? Left without a word, broke my fucking heart, and you’ve been here, less than a mile away, working for Roger, all that time?” Unmistakable pain and anguish filled his voice, which grew louder with each word.

  Confusion filled her. He wasn’t making any sense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! You sent me away,” she cried, her own voice escalating. “You broke me, Luke!”

  Gripping her shoulders, he backed her up and pressed her against the nearest wall, crowding her with his body, staring into her eyes as though he could somehow read her mind. His breath came fast and hard, as though he’d run a great distance, and she knew her own heartbeat pounded in time to his. His scent, sandalwood, and leather, filled her senses. She stiffened, outraged by the way he was manhandling her, afraid of the storm of emotions crashing over him.

  Suddenly, he gentled, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks with a tenderness that took her breath away. “I looked for you... God, I looked for you everywhere. And you’ve been here all along? Right under my nose?”

  She didn’t know what was going on, but the look of longing and desire on his handsome face was one she’d dreamed of seeing for so long...

  “I missed you,” she whispered, losing her inner battle to remain strong. “When I close my eyes at night, I still dream of you, of that summer we spent together.”

  He held her gaze for a second longer, obviously seeing the truth there, and then he slanted his mouth over hers. The second their lips touched, the passion that had always been between them reignited, an explosion of fire and emotion.

  Lucien devoured her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers, stealing her breath and all thought. The years fell away, and they were once again young and in love, with their whole futures ahead of them. She groaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around him.

  The sound of a throat clearing behind them sent an icy rush of reality through her, giving her the strength to pull away.

  Mrs. Rockwell, the head housekeeper, stood a dozen steps away, her thin nose vibrating with outrage. “Miss Pratt! Move away from the gentleman immediately. Go to the kitchen. I’ll deal with you shortly.”

  Cold fear washed through Serenity as she leaped to do Mrs. Rockwell’s bidding. What she’d done was a firing offense, and the
housekeeper had never liked her much anyway. She’d only taken a few steps when Lucien reached out and grabbed her arm, his elegant fingers closing around her wrist in a vice-like grip.

  “No!” he said, his voice snapping with anger. “She stays. Here. With me.”

  Serenity looked up at him, stunned and confused, but his gaze narrowed on the housekeeper. “I need to know where Winters went and how long ago he left.”

  His imperious tone made Mrs. Rockwell swallow and nod nervously. “The earl said he and Lady Allison were going to Dover, then on to Calais.”

  “Did Lady Allison seem willing to go with him?” Lucien demanded.

  Serenity wondered what this was all about. Lady Allison was Luke’s half-sister, from his mother and Winters’ father, conceived when Luke was thirteen or fourteen years old. Since she was also Winters’ half-sister, Luke’s panic didn’t seem appropriate. Much as Serenity disliked Winters, she didn’t think he’d ever hurt the girl.

  Mrs. Rockwell slowly shook her head. “The young lady was sleeping when they left, my lord. He carried her out to the coach himself.”

  Lucien cursed softly beneath his breath. Then he turned to Serenity. “You’re coming with me.”

  Serenity shook her head. “What? Absolutely not! I have a place here. You’ll get me fired.”

  “You’re already fired, Miss Pratt,” Mrs. Rockwell snapped, regaining her dignity. “You may gather your things.”

  “Ma’am,” Serenity cried, aghast. “I don’t have any place else to go.” She’d been in service here for seven years; she had no family; she had nothing but this place, however much she might hate it.

  Lucien swung her around to face him, his eyes intense. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know how you ended up here, and I don’t have time to figure it out right now. What I do know is that I lost you once, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until we have a chance to talk. You’re coming with me, and we’ll work everything else out later.”