Kate Welsh - A Texan's Honour

Praise for Kate Welsh:

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS‘A mistaken identity and a deathbed promise throw two strangers into marriage and mayhem. Welsh’s latest is a heartwarming novel about greed, revenge, love and desire.’ — RT Book Reviews

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR‘The plot is compelling, with several subplots that add complexity to the story. The well-developed characters are likable, and make the reader care about what happens to them.’ — RT Book Reviews

His move west was supposed to mean he’d be blazing a new path for himself. Alone.

No reminders of his past. No associations that tied him to anyone. But there she sat—looking so alone and forlorn. How could he not offer help when she could leave her past behind too and he could easily help her do it?

“You don’t know where to run, do you?”

Her hands still clutched the pouch containing the jewelry. “No,” she said.

And that one bleak, hopelessly spoken word sealed his fate.

As a child, KATE WELSHoften lost herself in creating make-believe worlds and happily-ever-after tales. Many years later she turned back to creating happy endings when her husband challenged her to write down the stories in her head. A lover of all things romantic, Kate has been writing romance for over twenty years now. Her first published novels hit the stands in 1998.

Kate was Valley Forge Romance Writers’ first president, and is currently their vice-president. She lives her own happily-ever-after in the Philadelphia suburbs, with her husband of over thirty years, her daughter, their one-hundred-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever Ecko, and Kali, the family cat.

Kate loves hearing from readers, who can reach her on the internet at kate_welsh@verizon.net

Previous novels by the author:

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

A TEXAN’S HONOUR features characters

you will have met in

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Kate Welsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Ireland

May 10, 1843

Midnight

It was officially Alexander Reynolds’s twelfth birthday. The mantel clock, in the bedroom he always used on visits to Adair, had struck the final note of midnight. But he was too excited to sleep. At dinner, his Uncle James had told him the book Alexander had been begging for was in the library and his for the taking. He’d also promised Alexander a birthday surprise in the morning.

His uncle, the Earl of Adair, who was very busy caring for the family and its interests, always made time for him and his own son, Alex’s cousin, Jamie. Alexander’s father, Oswald, spent all his time bitterly complaining that he himself wasn’t the earl.

Alex pushed those sad thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about his father. He wanted to be happy for one whole day—from midnight to midnight. And he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Sliding from bed, Alexander crept along the hall, down the back stairs. He carefully opened the door to his uncle’s library. Uncle James was there, sitting in the tall mahogany chair behind his desk. He’d fallen asleep there, as he often did. Just as Alexander was about to tiptoe into the room, he heard his father’s voice. He couldn’t see him and was relieved because if his father saw him he’d be angry, and neither he nor his mother ever angered his father if they could help it. Alex started to back away.

But what his father was saying froze Alex in place. “Wake up, brother. I wanted you to know I’m sending you to your grave. And that sickly whelp of yours won’t be far behind. He’ll come down with something deadly or maybe I’ll arrange an accident. I’ll be earl within the year.”

“No. Please,” his uncle begged.

Before Alex could react, a gunshot echoed in the room and a crimson stain blossomed on the curtains near his uncle’s desk. Then Uncle James slumped forward and his head hit the desk with a sickening thud.

Terrified, grieving and sick to his stomach all at the same time, Alexander backed away from the door and crept to the backstairs. In his bare feet, he ran silently back to his room, shaking all the way.

As he made his way to his room, he heard servants rushing through the house. He climbed into bed, shivering and trying to think. He didn’t know what to do. If he told someone what he’d seen, would they hang his father? Would that be so terrible? he had to wonder. But whom could he tell who would be sure to punish his father and save Jamie?

His mother was too cowed by his father. She couldn’t even stop him from beating Alex. He just turned on her and she ran away crying. Suppose his father killed all of them? Would that be Alex’s fault?

The butler, or the estate manager? No. Not anyone on the staff? No one would take a servant’s word over his father’s. And if Alex did say something to persons of authority on his own, suppose no one believed him? If his father could kill his own brother and said he was going to kill little Jamie, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t kill Alex for telling what he’d seen. He didn’t care about that, he realized. Except that it would leave Jamie alone, standing in the way of Oswald’s desire for the earldom. Jamie would be at his mercy. Without Alex to help him, Jamie wouldn’t stand a chance.

It was too late to help Uncle James, or even get justice for him. But Alex would guard his cousin with his own life.

Alex swore to Jamie he would do just that when the next morning he found Jamie crying in his room over the news of his father’s suicide.

That was how—on his twelfth birthday—Alexander Reynolds’s childhood had ended, forcing him to keep a terrible secret and a sacred promise.

New York City

September 1878

“Mister Reynolds,” his cousin’s butler said as he entered the study. Alexander looked up from the map he’d been studying as the tall gray-haired man continued, “A young woman claiming to be a friend of the countess has arrived. She seems a bit … nervous, sir. I thought perhaps you would be kind enough to explain that the earl and countess have sailed for Ireland.”

“It is rather late.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Alex took a sip of his cognac, cautious as always to assume the careless persona he showed the world. Soon he would be free to let go of that facade. Soon that character and everything that had created him would be in the past and he could figure out who the hell he really was.

“Not looking forward to disappointing the lady, Winston?” he pretended to tease. “You never have that problem when I ask you to send a persistent mamma on her way.”