Saved By A Siren: Spencers in Love Book One

Saved

By A
Siren

By

The
Bawdy Book Writer

Chapter 1

Outside the carriage, a perfect
English countryside went unnoticed as Gilles Henry Laurent Spencer stared
unseeing out the window. He'd spent the entire morning gazing out that window
but he probably couldn't recall seeing anything of note if asked about his
journey. He was in Surrey, probably close to Longwood, he guessed. Gilles
shifted and considered the view from the opposite side of the carriage.
Picturesque, rolling hills. Great, ancient trees. Quaint little towns with ivy
covered cottages. Check, check, check. All was as it was supposed to be, all
was as he'd fought to keep it. England was still perfectly British and
perfectly safe. Why wasn't he comforted to see it so?

            He'd told himself that once he was home, away
from France, he'd come around. He'd be able to leave the anger and heartbreak
there and fall into his old self once he was in London. His home and his family
would revive him and make the world his again. He'd been home for almost six
months and none of his assumptions had proved to be true. He'd felt isolated
and empty in London, irritated and bored with the trivialities of tonnish
society and overwhelmed by the noise and filth of the city.

            His family had been a comfort. His mother and
sister embraced him with their joy and energy, their relief at his return was
almost palpable and he'd felt hopeful at how touched he'd felt in response. The
closeness and loyalty he'd shared with his brother and best friend had survived
and when he was with them he felt a new bond had formed: all three had been men
of war. In their own way, they'd seen, caused and cheated death. In their own
way, each had given a piece of themselves for their country. Even with this
new, unspoken understanding and despite feeling as if no time had passed
between them, Gilles didn't feel as if he was truly there. He was never really
with them, when they were together. It was as if he were the hollow shape of
himself, smiling, laughing, drinking, walking... but he was never truly there.

            Never in his six years in France, regardless of
how many times he changed his name or which direction he'd run, had he ever
felt so lost or unsure of who or what he was. Despite his family's best
efforts, he was more lonely and disappointed than he'd thought possible. He
missed them greatly, more so with every mile he put between himself and London.
But it had become apparent that he wasn't ready to be among them. The pity and
concern in his mother's and sister's eyes were starting to haunt him as much as
his past. His brother's shrewd assessing of his moods and reactions had become
unnerving.

            Even more unbearable had been the pain. When he
was alone, Gilles felt it even more acutely than before his return. It seemed
to fester and gnaw at him the harder he tried to settle into his old life. At
night, when the house was still and he closed his eyes, he relived that awful
moment. He saw the pistol raise and fire, he saw the body fall and the tide
rising to carry it away. He felt himself on the cliff top, holding the
spyglass, screaming with rage and helplessness. He dreamt of it at night.
Pushing the horse harder than he'd ever dared, pleading that he'd make it in
time and still failing. Night after night, he woke up covered in sweat, a
scream dying in his throat and his heart pounding.

            Just as he'd failed that night, he'd failed
himself and his family. Tired from lack of sleep and falling short, he'd left
London. He'd put off the business of his new title and responsibilities until
it had become convenient to settle matters in Surrey as his solicitor had
begged since Gilles' return. 

            Two years prior, his great uncle Basil DeVere,
the Earl of Cambroke had passed away and much to the surprise of all of England
(the part that cared, at least) had no heir other than Gilles to pass the title
on to. Gilles had always assumed (as had all that had cared) that a distant,
older cousin was to inherit. Apparently, while he'd been in France, said cousin
had quietly committed suicide and the whole matter had been discreetly covered
up. So, when Lord Cambroke died at two and eighty, Gilles unknowingly inherited
a title with tremendous wealth and responsibilities. Even without the burden of
the guilt and pain of his past, he had very little use for any of it.
Furthermore, he was exhausted.

            Before he'd been recruited to work as a covert
operative for the War Office, Gilles had lived a thoroughly charmed and
privileged life within society as the first son of a second son of a duke. His
maternal grandfather had been a French marquess. Regardless of his lack of title,
he had been a prime candidate in the Marriage Mart due to his staggering
wealth. Not that he was vain or had ever really cared, but his handsome face
and build hadn't hurt his chances either. In fact, as a younger man, he'd
capitalized on it. He'd charmed women from young to old and bedded every
beautiful woman he could (though he was careful to adhere to specific rules- no
virgins or married women and no children out of wedlock) in pursuit of his
title as one of the ton's most dashing rakes. Upon his return, he was horrified
to learn that he'd become even more eligible. Now, the women almost literally
hurled themselves at him. He'd actually witnessed a mama push her unsuspecting
daughter directly into his path as he stepped out of his carriage. The poor
thing would have bounced off of him and splattered on the pavement if he hadn't
noticed and stepped back in time.  

            Aside from the unwanted attention, Gilles had no
need of additional homes in the city. He currently lived with his brother at
Burton Place, an entirely appropriate gentleman's residence they had occupied
since they graduated school. Though it had been a source of great conjecture,
very little debauchery had ever occurred at Burton Place. Instead, it boasted
an enormous library and various antiquities. Most of which were devoted to
maths, sciences and art. Unknown to society in general, Gilles had been an
excellent student and taken a first at Oxford. Even at the height of his days
as a rake, he could find as much pleasure in a book as he could a woman's arms.
Though he usually enjoyed the latter before the former.

            Alastair, on the other hand had always been
devoted to study. He studied books, he studied people, he studied the world
around him. He studied everything. Two years younger, as a child, he'd always
been quiet. Always slow to speak, choosing to weigh all facts and outcomes
before he made a remark, all possibilities and probabilities before he made a
request. After their father died, he became quieter. He was never remote or
detached, just more reserved. Less trusting of the world in general and more
focused on protecting his family and eventually his work for the War Office,
protecting his country. He'd been nicknamed 'Automaton' while at school and it
had remained when he came to Town. While it seemed to bother him little, to
those he loved and that loved him, it rankled. Despite his precise demeanor and
intimidating intellect, Alastair was gentle and sensitive to those he cared
about. He was rarely emotional or affectionate, but when he chose to be it was
always sincere and rendered when one needed it most. Many joked that he was
made of stone or metal but when he chose to be, he was more human than anyone
Gilles had ever met. But, like his family and many others, he had often wondered
about Alastair's relationship with women. He'd never known him to flirt with a
woman let alone take a mistress. He'd never so much as witnessed a kiss. Which
stung Gilles' pride a bit. His brother and best friend had overseen his first
botched attempt and he'd confided in both about numerous women over the years.
Yet Alastair had never mentioned a single lady. He'd never needed advice or
wanted to boast. He kept that part of himself separate. His aloofness towards
women only served to pique their interest. Gilles had overheard more than a few
speculating about what his brother was like beneath "that icy
facade". Some imagined him to be "like a wild heathen that would tear
at a woman's clothing" or that he'd "burn like the heat of the sun
once he had a woman in his arms". He'd never seen any evidence of that in
his life, let alone at Burton Place.  

            His mother and his sister resided at their
family home, Spencer Place. Occasionally referred to as Fortress Spencer, a
large, stately mansion in the heart of Mayfair, Spencer Place was where those
he loved most in the world (those that still remained) gathered every morning
for breakfast and for dinner when one wasn't tied up elsewhere. Because he was
the son of a second son, Spencer Place had been where his family had weathered
most months of the year. His sister, Mirabelle and his mother kept the home
handsomely furnished and full of flowers and laughter. When Gilles had first
returned, walking into Spencer Place and their arms had felt like a soothing
balm. Eventually, he realized it was gratitude he'd felt. Seeing them safe and
just as beautiful and healthy as he'd left them had been a relief but it had
done little to ease his real injuries.

            While a lack of title had resulted in a lack of
land on his family's part, the Spencer's had a marvelous country retreat
whenever they were in need. Through what Gilles often thought of as divine
machination on his mother's and her best childhood friend's part, the two had
married two very well heeled gentlemen that had been best friends. One of those
gentlemen was the former Duke of Clerendon. The result of which was a very
close alliance between the Spencers and the House of Clerendon. The current
duke, Lucien Guillaume Henry Adrien Haviland was as much a brother to Gilles as
Alastair. In fact, the three had been inseparable from birth and rarely
included outsiders in their adventures. The only exception had been Mirabelle.
And that had only been when necessary or decreed by their parents. While in
London, both families spent the majority of their waking hours at Spencer
Place, probably due to the fact that there was only one child in residence at
Clerendon House and three at Spencer House. When the families weren't in
London, they were at Winthorpe, in Fulborne. The seat of the Dukes of
Clerendon, Winthorpe was an ideal place to ramble and raise hell as a youth.
The staff was as loyal to the current Spencers as it was to the Havilands.
Gilles and Lucien were separated by two years, with Gilles having the
advantage. Despite outranking him, Lucien had always looked to Gilles as an
older brother.

            But Winthorpe wasn't what Gilles needed. He
would always be a welcomed guest there but he'd never be master. It would never
be his. Longwood. Longwood was his. He could find the time he needed in Surrey
and grow into his new title and identity there. He would find a way to make
peace with his past and move forward without tormenting his family.

            Gilles learned from his solicitor that the Earls
of Cambroke had always lived at Longwood and that it was well past time for him
to settle matters there. From what he understood, the late earl's wife was in
residence, and would remain until he recommended otherwise. Gilles had the
perfect solution: Cambroke House was as well situated in Mayfair as Spencer
House and would remain uninhabited for many years to come. He would allow the
Widow  DeVere use of Cambroke House for as long as she lived in exchange for
vacating Longwood. She was also in possession of Harwood Grange, a comfortable
estate not far from Longwood, if London wasn't to her liking. Gilles told
himself that he was in no way making an elderly widow homeless and was probably
doing her a tremendous favor as most women preferred London over the country.

            Gilles consulted the window as the carriage
slowed to turn into a long drive. He took in the the distant face of Longwood.
Soft, cream colored stone and shining leaded glass windows combined to create a
majestic yet relaxed elegance that appeared quite at peace with the land around
it. Wild, rolling woodlands encased lovingly manicured gardens, the focus of
which was a manmade waterfall that fed into a gentle stream and meandered
through a fantasy gardenscape, at the base of which, stood a fantasy manor. The
drive appeared to be the only gravel feature in the landscaping, everything
else spoke of soft, green lushness underfoot.
I will make this mine
,
thought Gilles as the carriage came to a halt.

            As he descended, an elderly, storklike man in
formal black appeared from the opened, great doors of the manor. He bowed and
addressed him.

            "My lord, it gives me great pleasure to
finally welcome you to Longwood. My name is Holderson, I am butler here."

            Gilles smiled.
Finally
? Was the man
criticizing him? No doubt, he'd deserved it. His instincts immediately told him
that Holderson was a man to be respected and trustworthy. 

            "Thank you, Holderson. The grounds and the
outside of the manor seem quite in order." There.
Perhaps you could
show me indoors instead of keeping me on the stoop
. Gilles grinned as he
gestured towards the door.

            Once inside and the staff was introduced, he
took stock of the entryway. Various large tapestries covered the walls and
several oriental rugs covered the floors, overlapping here and there. Very
little floor and wall was left unexposed.

            "I take it Lord and Lady Cambroke weren't
very fond of oils and water colors..." Gilles muttered as he rotated in
place, assessing his surroundings. He saw Holderson stiffen along with most of
the staff. He felt their stares briefly before they schooled their features.

            "Is her ladyship not about, is she busy? I
would have thought she'd be quite anxious to greet me..." he mused aloud
as his gaze traveled along the line of servants. Again, many eyes went wide
before relaxing into the expected, acceptable forward gaze. Holderson cleared
his throat and stepped closer to his side.