Of Sin & Sanctuary: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  { 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 }

  { Chapter 15 }

  { Chapter 16 }

  { Chapter 17 }

  { Chapter 18 }

  { Chapter 19 }

  { Chapter 20 }

  { Chapter 21 }

  { Chapter 22 }

  { Epilogue }

  Of Sin & Sanctuary

  A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

  K.J. Jackson

  Copyright © K.J. Jackson, 2017

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, Living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any forms, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  First Edition: September 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-940149-24-0

  http://www.kjjackson.com

  ~

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  More of my Books

  Historical Romance

  If you haven’t already, be sure to check out my other historical romances—each is a stand-alone story and they can be read in any order (here they are in order of publication):

  Stone Devil Duke, Hold Your Breath, currently free!

  Unmasking the Marquess, Hold Your Breath

  My Captain, My Earl, Hold Your Breath

  Worth of a Duke, Lords of Fate

  Earl of Destiny, Lords of Fate

  Marquess of Fortune, Lords of Fate

  Vow, Lords of Action

  Promise, Lords of Action

  Oath, Lords of Action

  Of Valor & Vice, Revelry’s Tempest

  Of Sin & Sanctuary, Revelry’s Tempest

  Third in the Revelry’s Tempest series (Winter 2018)

  Paranormal Romance

  Flame Moon #1, currently free!

  Triple Infinity, Flame Moon #2

  Flux Flame, Flame Moon #3

  Dedication

  — For my favorite Ks

  Contents

  { 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 }

  { Chapter 15 }

  { Chapter 16 }

  { Chapter 17 }

  { Chapter 18 }

  { Chapter 19 }

  { Chapter 20 }

  { Chapter 21 }

  { Chapter 22 }

  { Epilogue }

  ~ Author’s Note ~

  { Prologue }

  Staffordshire, England

  April 1811

  It had happened to thousands of men before him.

  It would happen to thousands of men after him.

  The scene, played out countless times in studies rife with cigar smoke. The scene, just like this one, all across England. The scene that would start kindly, cordially, and then descend into demands—ultimatums of honor and sacrifice designed to serve the right of primogeniture. Designed to serve first-born sons.

  The grand estates of the country demanded it.

  Theo’s own scene echoed the ghosts of every last one of those conversations.

  He was nothing but the latest fool to be crushed under the custom. Another casualty to the convention of society.

  Theo turned from the low flames of the fireplace in the study to Mr. Demetrick, only to find the man standing by the desk, his face impenetrable. Exactly as Theo knew it would be.

  “Violet will never be yours, boy,” Mr. Demetrick said. “You are a rascal, a rogue, but beyond all of that, you are a third son of an earl. You will never be more. A second son, possibly—there would be a chance, but a third son?” He scoffed. “I will never allow my niece to marry you. I made a vow to her father on that accord long ago.”

  “Yet, if I could offer her security—”

  “Security beyond her own plentiful inheritance? I know of your finances, Mr. Williston. Or the lack thereof.” Violet’s uncle and guardian moved forward, puffing out his chest as he scratched his robust belly. “It is best to end this infatuation between the two of you before she becomes overly attached to you. You do realize, Mr. Williston, that you only do her harm by continuing this assault upon her time. And as a man of honor, I do not think you wish her any undue distress.”

  Honor. Of course Violet’s blasted uncle would call upon his honor. Nothing was beneath the man at this juncture.

  Theo’s left fist clenched at his side, as his glare skewered Mr. Demetrick. “Violet may very well disagree with what you have decided for her, Mr. Demetrick.”

  “Violet does not know what she wants.” Mr. Demetrick paused, looking to Mr. Nullter, the solicitor of Violet’s estate who stood in the corner, silent.

  Mr. Nullter offered Mr. Demetrick an angled nod, his thin voice snaking into the room. “It appears to be appropriate to tell him. It would lessen the debacle about to ensue.”

  Mr. Demetrick’s look shifted back to Theo, his voice brutal. “I do know what is best for Violet. Lord Vandestile has already spoken to me about her.”

  “Lord Vandestile?” Theo’s chest clenched, his fingertips digging into his palm from his tight fist. “But Violet has only met the man once—and at that, she was not impressed with him. She spoke those very words to me.”

  “Yes, well that can be overcome,” Mr. Nullter said. “He would make a fine match for her and her inheritance.”

  “I told him I would seriously consider his proposal,” Mr. Demetrick said.

  “He’s already proposed?” Theo’s head shook. “No. Violet will never fall for him—the man is a notorious libertine.”

  “The man is a viscount.” Mr. Nullter took a timid step forward, aligning himself with Violet’s uncle. “Impeccable lines. And he has already made efforts to curb his rakish ways as he pursues Violet.”

  “And after he gets her?” Theo spit the words out, having to hold his feet in place—hold back against lunging at Mr. Nullter—or Mr. Demetrick—or both of them.

  “She will have made a proper match that I approve of.” Mr. Demetrick patted his protruding stomach as he glanced down at Theo’s drawn fist. “From there, it is up to her to serve her husband. It is no longer my business.”

  Theo’s eyes narrowed at Violet’s uncle. “What are you getting out of this blasphemous deal?”

  “You go too far, boy.”

  “Do I? You are willing to sacrifice Violet’s happiness at the altar of a title? For self-gain? Against what she truly desires?”

  “Happiness is fleeting, Mr. Williston. As is what association you have with her.” Mr. Demetrick’s thin-lipped mouth turned downward in pity. “Violet is young. Her happiness is malleable. Even if she did buck against being paired with Lord Vandestile, it wou
ld have no consequence. As these matters go, I know you understand that it matters very little what Violet actually desires.”

  “You would do well to release her now,” Mr. Nullter said. “That is what we ask of you—of your honor as a gentleman. Do not engage her. Do not encourage her attentions any further.”

  Theo’s look shifted from one man to the other. He knew this had been coming. Knew it since the day he had been born a third son.

  But to hear it. To live it.

  He swallowed hard, his look landing on Mr. Demetrick. “You cannot control her.”

  “No,” Mr. Demetrick said. “But all of us in this room know who controls her inheritance and how this will end—no matter how you argue against it, no matter how you fight it, Mr. Williston. So please, do the respectable thing and remove yourself from Violet. The longer you stay within reach, the more harm you do her.”

  “Harm?” Theo guffawed and stepped to Mr. Demetrick, his look challenging with every fiber of his being. “You know nothing of harm, you sanctimonious prig. I may not be the man that you want for your niece. I may not be worthy of her.” He forcibly unclenched his fist, taking a step backward as he shook his head. “But someday—someday, she will fall. And it will be me—I will be the one to catch her. I always will be. I will be worthy of her. I will bring her happiness. And you will choke upon your words, old man.”

  Without waiting for a response, Theo turned and left the room quietly, each step precise, echoing through the hazy smoke suffocating the room. Each step a silent promise, a silent rail against his order of birth and what it meant for his future.

  A future he had always refused to acknowledge, but could always see.

  A future he didn’t want.

  A future he had no idea how to change.

  ~~~

  Two Years Later

  Derbyshire, England

  September 1813

  She hadn’t thought her life would end like this.

  The darkness swooping in, eating her whole.

  She had always been meant for much brighter things. Adventure. Laughter. Love. The world at her command. Her mama had always said so before she died.

  Not the tentacles of cold death, snaking around her, squeezing the life out of her.

  Violet let her breath exhale.

  One last time.

  The bubbles of air drifted up through the water above her, disappearing into the surface.

  She had floated once in the ocean, long ago on a trip to Brighton with her parents after begging endlessly to do so. Dipping under the waves had been so very much like this.

  Water above her.

  But as once she had lifted herself toward the blazing sun, laughing as she broke free from the water’s surface, now she battled away the panic, the instinctive need for breath.

  The struggle wasn’t even as hard as she had anticipated.

  She kept her eyes open, watching, until the end. More out of curiosity, than out of need to fight against the black.

  The last bubble popped above her.

  Her eyelids faltered, quivering as they slid closed.

  Done. She was done.

  { Chapter 1 }

  London, England

  March 1816

  Violet flipped the page on her calendar, her fingernail pressing into the wood grain of the desk, sawing back and forth as she stared at the dates, willing them to change, even though she knew she couldn’t alter the rotation of the earth around the sun.

  Less than a month away.

  The Gala of Three was approaching far too quickly for the amount of work that still needed to be done. But there was no altering course now—the three-year anniversary of the opening of the Revelry’s Tempest gaming house was coming whether she wished it or not.

  It would be the most fruitful event of the year. That, Violet was sure of. In the two and a half years that she had run the gaming hall on Brook Street, she knew the numbers better than she knew her own hands. She could now predict, merely by the attendee list, how much coin an evening of gaming would bring to the Revelry’s Tempest’s coffers.

  And the third anniversary celebration had attendees of the highest order set to come. It would be a success. It had to be.

  Even if one of her dearest friends, Adalia, wasn’t here to help. Adalia had started the Revelry’s Tempest three years earlier, just months before marrying the Duke of Dellon, and was the mastermind behind the inventive games the Revelry’s Tempest was known for. Adalia was an expert at producing the most bizarre and fantastical moments of entertainment for the crowds. And while Adalia still owned the house, she had given Violet the Revelry’s Tempest to run as her own years ago.

  As much as Violet wished her here, she was no force against nature. Adalia and her husband were currently sequestered away at Dellon Castle, awaiting the birth of their second child.

  A knock on the door thudded into her office and Violet looked up from her desk. “Enter.”

  The door cracked open and Logan, the Revelry’s Tempest’s head of guards, poked his far-too-handsome head in. A rush of warmth from the ballroom and the cacophony of gleeful winners and grumbling losers floated into the office. “Lady Vandestile, there is a slight commotion upstairs in one of the private card rooms that requires your presence.”

  “Cass is not available?”

  “Lady Desmond would not be the proper authority in this situation, my lady.”

  Her eyebrow cocked. Logan rarely had a situation that needed her interference. And if there was an altercation, no one was better at diffusing a fracas than Cassandra, so Logan usually brought most concerns to Violet’s dear friend.

  “What is it?” Violet stood, walking around the desk to follow him into the thick of the crush that had gathered to gamble that night.

  Logan waited until they threaded their way through the crowd to lean down to her as they walked to the stairs in the hall just outside the ballroom. His voice was low—the utmost in discretion. “There is a man that insists that we approve an additional marker to his name.”

  Violet looked up at Logan, noting his slight limp was more pronounced than usual. She was on the wrong side for him to lean down toward her. “And it would be unwise to do so?”

  Logan shrugged as they started up the stairs.

  “How much has he already lost?”

  “Seven thousand pounds.”

  Violet coughed, her gut dropping. “Seven thousand pounds? Who would we allow that much credit to—and who would dare to think we would extend that credit even further?”

  They reached the top of the stairs and Violet switched to walk by Logan’s right side.

  Logan pointed to the third door along the hall. “That is why your assistance is needed. He…he is making claims that you will approve it.”

  Her eyebrows lifted at Logan just as he opened the door to the card room for her.

  She stepped into the room, quickly taking in the scene. Two men standing, hands wildly swinging as they shouted at each other. Four women—two of them her most loyal patrons—sitting around the gaming table, chatting, obviously titillated by the ensuing scandal. The dealer leaned back in his chair, a staunchly bored look on his face.

  Whatever had just happened in this room was not going to reflect well on the name of her gaming house.

  Violet took a step forward just as a third man moving from the sideboard with a full tumbler of amber liquid wobbled in front of her path.

  She froze for a long moment. An excruciatingly long moment. So long, it gave the staggering man a chance to stumble forward and throw his left arm around her shoulders.

  The stench of brandy—both cheap and expensive—enveloped her.

  “There she is. The flower. My little petal.” The crux of his elbow tightened around the back of her bare neck as he pointed at Logan with a finger flipped above his tumbler. “She will tell you. Tell you all how wrong you are. She’ll approve the marker.” He looked at her. “Won’t you, Violet?”

  Bloody hell.


  Theodore Williston, the fourteenth Earl of Alton.

  Adalia’s wayward turned wastrel brother.

  Back from the dead and working on an early grave, if all she had heard of him during the past two and a half years was true.

  Violet jumped to the left, shoving off his arm resting on her shoulders.

  His support suddenly removed, he stumbled to gain his balance, his drink sloshing onto the floor as his gaze swung to her.

  Now that he stood swaying in front of her, Violet could truly take in Theodore’s face.

  His blue eyes bloodshot, Adalia’s brother looked like he hadn’t slept in five days. His nose sat crooked—far from the straight line it once was—with a bump halfway down before the slope shifted slightly to the side. A long scar, rippled, like the skin had torn rather than been cut, ran from his left eyebrow down across his cheekbone until it disappeared at the base of his ear.

  She searched his face, searched for a remnant of the past in him that she recognized. He had disappeared one day and then had sequestered himself away for so long that she had to hunt in her mind for a solid memory of the past.

  His hair. His sandy blond hair was the same. Disheveled, as it always had been. But the same. Cut or mangled, hair grew back. Skin and bone did not.

  Adalia had told Violet of her brother’s injuries two and a half years ago. But this—his face so marred—she had not imagined.

  Logan cleared his throat behind her. “Lady Vandestile, Lord Alton was insistent that you would approve a marker that is far above our limits.”

  Violet jumped, Logan’s sudden voice in the quiet room emphasizing the fact she was standing there like a ninny, staring at Theodore.

  Theo. The man she had known since she was thirteen and had made friends with Adalia. The man she had once had fanciful dreams of marrying.

  When she had last seen his face five years before, it had been perfect.

  No more.

  And now she was gaping at him, trying to reconcile what he had become.