My Lord (The Rothvale Legacy Book 2) Read online

  My Lord

  The Rothvale Legacy II

  Raine Miller

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  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 author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Copyright © 2020 Raine Miller Romance

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Regina Wamba

  Editing: CC Readings

  Contents

  MY LORD

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  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

  Next Up: Heart & Arrow

  Mr. Finnegan’s Irish Scones

  A Request

  Discussion Group

  Historical Rothvale Legacy

  Blackstone Affair

  Join my Newsletter

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Raine Miller

  MY LORD

  The Rothvale Legacy II

  Priceless paintings…

  Done in a master’s hand…

  Revealed two centuries after they were created…

  Ivan Everley, 13th Baron Rothvale, would admit he's the last person on earth who should have custody over a priceless collection of art. British law affords him the title of 'Lord,' but underneath all the trappings he's just a regular guy, despite being a world champion in archery, and certain...proclivities of a private nature. But Ivan’s public celebrity is merely a sham—a carefully guarded secret borne out of the pain of betrayal. Even his cousin Ethan Blackstone doesn't know the truth behind the man he considers a brother.

  Lord Rothvale has a plethora of problems piled up to his aristocratic eyeballs, but that doesn’t stop him from complicating his world further when a beautiful art conservationist shows up to appraise his inherited collection of paintings. Once Ivan gets a taste of Gabrielle Hargreave, mistaken identity or not, he can't think of anything but how good the green-eyed beauty felt in his arms.

  The chase is on, and Ivan's dominant side isn't taking 'no' for an answer—but yet, Gabrielle might just teach our discontented lord a thing or two about life, and about himself, and help them both discover the undeniable truth in what it means to find something genuinely... priceless.

  A love beyond any price…

  Lives intertwined over the ages…

  Discoveries of the heart and of treasures hidden away…

  Dedication

  For Dora

  I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life.

  Abraham Lincoln (1809–1865)

  Author’s Note

  I began writing this story in 2011. It was envisioned and outlined before I ever penned Naked. Yes, it’s true. I have my composition book with the original notes to prove it. It’s all there in black and white. I treasure that simple book with the handwritten ideas and scribblings about a reluctant Lord of the Realm and a stubborn art conservationist. Of course, it all got put on hold when I found my inspiration for Ethan Blackstone and Brynne Bennett’s story in the Blackstone Affair… but I never forgot about my original characters of Gaby and Ivan. In fact, I placed them smack dab in the middle of my Blackstone world on purpose so I couldn’t forget about them. I wrote their beginnings into the climax at the end of All In so that I’d be forced to tell their story at some point.

  Priceless was published six years ago now. It very much pains me to type that number since it was left in a cliffhanger. (I do have a heart in case you were wondering.) If you’re reading this, I want to reach out and thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me for those six long years. I want you to feel my crushing, too-long hug and the sloppy kiss to your cheek right now through whatever device you’re reading these words on. Truly. I don’t even have the words to express my thanks and gratitude for holding on for all that time just to have the chance to read more about my kinky British Lord and his feisty, but wounded Lady as they find their true soulmate in each other.

  I assure you they are precisely where you left them six years ago. Like one second for each year you’ve had to wait. So six seconds of time have passed since you last saw them in bed together “talking” about what Ivan would like to have from Gabrielle.

  I so love the ability to do magic like that as an author.

  It’s a joy for me to be bringing the next part of their love story to you now. Their’s is a very big, romantic story. So much more complex than I ever imagined it when I first started it back in 2011. But then an idea comes along and takes on a life of its own and I have to just let the story take me where it wants to go, surprising even me as I’m writing it. Ivan and Gabrielle’s tale is one of those.

  It’s been a delight to be back in their romantic, kinky, sexy world for sure. I hope you feel the same way.

  xxoo R

  sim·u·la·crum

  [sim-yuh-ley-kruh m]

  —noun

  1. a slight, unreal or superficial likeness or semblance

  2. an effigy, image or representation

  Prologue

  1st May 1862

  London

  Dearest Augusta,

  I hope my letter finds you, my dear, loving niece, in good health and all is well within your family. I am writing to share with you an experience of great inspiration and enlightenment for me. Last month I was pressed upon by my friend, Mr. Victor Rampling, to accompany him to a dinner party in Warwickshire at a grand estate, hosted by none other than Sir Tristan Mallerton. As you know he is nearing the twilight of his life, but I was graced with his companionship and counsel for the course of a whole evening, which was remarkable in itself, but what I saw and learned that night within his company, so inspired and marked upon my spirit that I shall remember it to the very end of my life.

  Gavandon, Warwickshire is the country home of Lord Rothvale IX, who if you might recall, is a founding member of the National Gallery we talked about before, a greatly respected politician in the upper house, and also a patron of the arts in word and deed. He has gifted many personal works to the Gallery over the years since its founding in the year of our lord, eighteen and twenty-four.

  The Rothvales have since retired to their country estate in Ireland at Belfast. It is not expected that they shall ever live permanently in England again, preferring instead to live out their remaining days in peace and tranquility in that country, in reflection of a long and productive life as a public servant to the crown. Sir Tristan Mallerton is long associated with the Rothvales, being as close as any family member of blood would be, having lived with or near to them for most of his life. He was charged with the closure of their estate at Warwickshire and was in the process of preparing to move some works of art from Gavandon House for shipment to the Rothvales in Ireland. One painting he showed to me held great personal sentimentality to Lord and Lady Rothvale, who were so beloved of the work individually, which spoke to their desire to have it for the walls of their home in Ireland rather than left behind in Warwickshire.

  A
ugusta, I must describe for you this magical work of purest art and beauty—a priceless treasure that I cannot ever forget from my memories no matter how long my life may be. It appears in my dreams still and calls to me all the time that I must paint my own version from this exquisite creation of colors and canvas. I will not do it now, of course, while Sir Tristan is still a living artist of legend. Having no wish to disrespect his great vision, I will wait until an appropriate time for presenting my simulacre of his resplendent conception to the world.

  I have made many notes and some sketches though, so I may not forget a single detail of the otherworldly beauty which I was blessed to witness that night. The work is of a woman sleeping in a chair wearing a splendid yellow gown. Her feet are tucked up underneath her as she sleeps, her faithful dog at her feet, and also her writing desk and pen and journal. She has the most extraordinary Indian shawl of a gold and orange threaded design wrapped about her, and her golden hair is loose upon her shoulders as if she floats upon a lake. It is ethereal in its presentation of the beautiful subject reminiscent of a goddess at her slumber, dreaming of things only a goddess would dream. Sir Tristan shared with me that the subject is none other than Lady Rothvale herself, painted shortly after her marriage to Lord Rothvale in the year of our lord, eighteen and twelve, more than fifty years ago. His love for her is there in the paint, Augusta. It is as clear to see even if the person who looked at it were nearly blind already. Sir Tristan told me he painted her in June on a summer's day when her husband happened upon her by chance and decided he would like to have it as a portrait of his beloved bride. A boy was sent with a message to bring Sir Tristan immediately to the house where he set about taking over from Lord Rothvale's preliminary sketching onto a canvas where the initial shape and form of her was put down already by his hand. Lord Rothvale discovered her asleep in her pose, and then had the forethought to have Sir Tristan set it on canvas in his masterful hand. Sir Tristan told me that he never even spoke to his friend about what he was to do on the day. It was an unworded understanding between the two men. He simply entered the solarium where Lady Rothvale was sleeping and knew exactly what he was being tasked to do. They also had no wish to awaken her, so they remained silent as they worked at a furious pace. Sir Tristan told me Lady Rothvale slept on for such time as the two of them were able to get enough of her form drawn that first day to finish the portrait from later sittings he arranged with her. He called his painting, "Sleeping Imogene" when he presented it to me, and I could sense his deep attachment to this singular work as a very special one to the great man himself. Lady Rothvale is called Imogene by her Christian name. He said it with such affection and remembrance of love it was apparent to me, even in my novice days as an artist, of the deep friendship and bond of love between them.

  It was truly "something of the marvelous" my darling, to quote the words of another, Aristotle, I believe. I only wish you could have seen it with your own eyes. I know you would have appreciated the beauty and magic the portrait evokes upon the eye and within the heart.

  I look forward to seeing you in the autumn and viewing your own work and hopefully to collaborate on a project as we artists must do, just as we must continue taking our next breath. Be well, my dearest.

  Your most loving uncle,

  Frederic

  Chapter 1

  Gabrielle

  25th August

  Donadea, Northern Ireland

  My heart dropped, as I froze against Ivan. He sensed me stiffening and held onto me a little tighter. Unable to move away or do anything much more than just stare at him, I memorized every feature of his face, the gorgeous green eyes; the mole on his upper left cheek, the natural part of his hair and the way it fell along the side of his face, the color of his lips and the shape of his jaw. All parts of him I was just beginning to know by heart.

  All of him beautiful to me to the point I almost couldn’t look away.

  His burning gaze held me anyway, just as much as his arms were doing. Ivan held onto me because he expected me to run away and freak out. He was only reacting to what he'd come to expect from me based on his experience. I’d been trying to run from him nearly every time we’d been in the same space together since our very first meeting. His powers of deduction didn’t have to work overtime to figure me out. He also had no trouble trying to convince me to stay with him longer. Ivan Everley was a master of persuasion.

  I want you submissive when we fuck, Gabrielle.

  I shivered at the thought… and the implications of what he meant by those very direct and potent words. Imagery flickered through my brain and threatened to short it out. This man had a powerfully mysterious hold over me that I'd never experienced before, and I needed to exercise extreme caution. My rational mind knew this of course, but I also knew I was in danger of tossing said extreme caution to the proverbial wind.

  The confidence with which he made his request inferred this thing we'd started would be continuing indefinitely. As much as it sounded wonderful to be with Ivan for longer than just a weekend of uninhibited sex and sensual pleasure, my rational side told me I was a fool if I thought I could pull this off with him. There was no way I’d make it out unscathed. He would twist me up into all sorts of knots. Add in the fact I didn’t deserve any kind of relationship with him…or with anyone really. My sins still hung heavy on my heart and the self-flagellation was something I couldn't let go of just yet. Someday maybe, I might be able to forgive myself for what I'd done four years ago.

  I want so badly to have that…with you, Gabrielle.

  When he’d said that second part to me there was a definite yearning in his voice. I’d heard it clearly. I’d also sensed a loneliness in him. I think I picked up on it because feeling lonely was my favorite flavor these days. Could Ivan and I fill those lonesome feelings for each other? Was it right for me to give in to the desire I felt with him? Or was I fooling myself?

  I’d guessed right about Ivan. He was a dominant even though I was certain he had mostly suppressed his natural inclinations whenever we’d been together thus far. I’d caught glimpses of the Dom behavior of course, but then, coming from him, it turned me on wildly because Ivan Everley pushed every one of my sexual buttons.

  I liked how Dom Ivan operated far too much.

  Dominants can spot a submissive when they find one, so he'd guessed right about me, too. I couldn’t hide my submissive nature from him any more than I could keep the urges buried any longer when I was with him like this—i.e., naked in his bed weak from hours of attention from his cock and his hands and his mouth. I could barely hold onto a coherent thought, let alone keep my true desires under wraps.

  He just knew.

  “What are you asking me to—to do with you?” I still had to know. I needed to hear him lay it all out on the line before us. For me. I needed to hear it in order to go forward. I could literally feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.

  “I think you know, Gabrielle.” He traced down the side of my face with his finger, and then down my jawbone, further still to my chin before slipping onto the side of my neck to rest it over my pulse point. He pressed in, his finger sinking into the flesh of my neck. “I can feel the blood pumping under my finger. Your pulse is racing. Your perfectly flawless skin is flushed. The idea of my suggestion turns you on.” He pressed his finger just a little harder. “Doesn’t it, Gabrielle?”

  Yes. I was in such deep trouble with this man.

  His green eyes bored into mine as the pressure of his finger held me frozen, totally under his spell, powerless to turn away from his embrace any more than I could deny the truth in his words. That’s all it took. Just one finger infused with the command of presence that Ivan Everley owned as certainly as he owned the handsome looks and the talented moves in the bedroom. Or art gallery storeroom. Or wedding reception dance floor. Or the interior of a sea plane.

  As an involuntary shudder overtook me, the awareness of the strength of my attraction to him, to his wildly unex
pected proposal, was very unnerving.

  It was also so very tempting.

  His response was to bring his lips closer and say, “Don’t overthink. I know that’s what you’re doing.” The press of his lips was as gentle as his kiss, firm but settling. With his tongue licking into me, he breathed, “Trust me, Gabrielle. Just trust me and say yes.”

  Damn, he was good.

  How in the hell could I resist when we were naked in his bed with his lips on my skin promising more pleasure than I’d ever known? An impossible feat for a woman much stronger than me I am sure. I knew I wasn’t ready to give an all-encompassing yes to his proposal, but I could give him an honest answer to his question.

  “Yes, it turns me on, but how did you know, Ivan?” I managed to ask. I needed to know if I had a sign and arrows painted on my forehead. Flashing neon? >>>SEXUAL SUBMISSIVE
  My question stopped the kisses as he stared down at me. The intense look I was beginning to recognize was back. The rest of his fingers moved forward to take my neck in a possessive hold. “I didn’t for certain, but I dearly hoped it was true. The clues were there during our first encounter at The National Gallery. The way you were in my arms when I made you come in that storeroom… Christ, Gabrielle." He licked his lips and his eyes flared. "You were perfectly submissive with me and I couldn’t get you out of my head ever since that night. I thought about you for days and days. I wanted to see you again, but you disappeared and all I had to go on was 'Maria' wearing the green dress.” His fingers left my neck, sliding down my arm to take my hand. He clasped it firmly and drew my arm up over my head with a sharp tug. My other arm got the same treatment until he had both wrists in his grip and me pinned below him. “I want you in that green dress again, too, because I definitely need a do-over of that night with you, Gabrielle.”