Julia Justiss - The Untamed Heiress

Dear Reader,

One of the questions writers often receive is “Where do you get your ideas?” In the case of The Untamed Heiress, the story simmered at the back of my mind for so long, I’m not sure where or when the idea originated. I just knew that someday, when the publishing world permitted, I wanted to write Helena’s story.

Growing up in a cruel isolation imposed by her father, Helena Lambarth is a wild creature who comes to London with absolutely no preparation for entering the highly structured world of Regency England. Wary of society and even more wary of men, she goes her own way with fierce independence. Until Adam, Lord Darnell, her reluctant host and sponsor, begins to touch her heart by demonstrating that men of honor, courage, integrity and compassion do exist. If only he hadn’t already pledged his hand to the wealthy, oh-so-conventional Priscilla Standish….

I hope you will enjoy as much as I did watching Adam melt the walls of ice Helena has erected around herself—even as her untamed spirit inspires him to find a way to meld duty with passion.

Happy reading!

Julia Justiss

The Courtesan

“With its intelligent, compelling characters, this is a very well-written, emotional and intensely charged read.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub, Top Pick

“These delightful lead protagonists display honor and loyalty…a solid secondary cast adds to a wonderful gender-bending Regency romance.”

—Harriet Klausner

Wicked Wager

“Unique true-to-period characters, intrigue and up-to-snuff action make for very enjoyable reading.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

My Lady’s Honor

“Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.”

—All About Romance

My Lady’s Pleasure

“Another entertaining, uniquely plotted Regency-era novel…top-notch writing and a perfect ending make this one easy to recommend.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

My Lady’s Trust

“With this exceptional Regency-era romance, Justiss adds another fine feather to her writing cap.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Proper Wife

“If The Proper Wife is not a perfect love story, it comes darn close.”

—The Romance Reader

“A spirited Regency-era romance that far outshines the usual fare…Justiss is a promising new talent.”

—Publishers Weekly

To my editor, Margo Lipschultz, for helping to mold

this story so that Helena’s wild spirit shines free

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE SHRIEKING WIND whipped her tangled black hair into her eyes as the sea crashed and foamed onto the rocks behind her. Ignoring both, Helena Lambarth kept her face turned inland toward the two laborers in the field beneath the cliffs, digging steadily into the stony soil.

The grave was almost ready.

Euphoria sent her spirits swooping like gulls on an updraft. A joyous burst of laughter trilled from her throat as she finally let herself believe it.

He was truly dead. She was free.

Though she knew any sound she made should have been lost in the cacophony of surf and cawing seabirds, one of the grave diggers paused to glance up. As he raised his arm to point, the second man saw her. A look of fear passing over his face, he crossed himself and batted his companion’s hand back to his shovel. An instant later the two men went back to their task with renewed vigor.

Did they think her a ghostie? Helena wondered, her lips curving in a wry smile. Or did they remember her from that grim morning nine years ago when she’d managed to escape Lambarth Castle and flee to the village, only to have a group of townsmen, deaf to her pleas for help, quickly return the “poor, mad girl” to her father.

For a moment the memory engulfed her: standing, barefoot and sobbing, within a circle of wary onlookers who murmured to each other as they took in her torn clothing, dirty face and disheveled hair.

“Such a wee lass…”

“Mind’s completely gone, her papa says…”

“Her mother’s fault, running off like that…”

Her lip curled as a familiar fury coursed through her. Papa’s lies would keep her a prisoner no longer. Today she would leave this accursed place and search for the mother from whose side she’d been ripped just as they were about to leave her father’s land. The mother who, Helena believed with all her heart, had never stopped loving her.

A movement in the distance brought her attention back to the present. The grave diggers stood, shovels in hand, as the funeral procession picked its way down the narrow track from the castle to the small graveyard. Its listing markers and barren, windswept grounds were a picture of neglect but for this new grave and one other, just inside the rusted iron gate.

A pang pierced Helena’s chest as her gaze rested on that still-unsettled mound of dirt hugging the boundary wall, its occupant an interloper in death as she had been in life. If “Mad Sally,” the old hermit medicine woman dead two months now, had not lived in Lambarth’s woods, Helena mused, she probably would not have survived her captivity.

Would Sally have been happy for her today? Helena wondered. Though the old woman babbled nonsense most of the time, in her occasional lucid moments, she’d displayed a shrewd perception. Along with some of the villagers, who crept into the woods begging Sally’s help when the local doctor’s efforts failed, Helena had also prized the woman’s uncanny talent as a healer.

Others believed the chanting crone possessed dark powers and avoided her—which was why her father, ever the coward, had let the woman live on his land undisturbed. Helena, though, had never known Sally to use her skills except to succor and heal.

Another pang squeezed her heart. Vacant-headed or not, Mad Sally had been her only friend, and Helena still missed her keenly.

She took a deep, steadying breath. With the demise of her father, Helena hoped that the patrol he’d set to monitor the perimeter of Lambarth land would also have departed. But whether or not she met resistance from armed guards, she vowed, only her own death would keep her another night at Lambarth Castle.

Thus sworn, she watched the funeral procession file into the graveyard. Two farm workers carried the coffin, followed by a man whose flapping black robes identified him as the vicar, and Holmes, her father’s baliff.

Not expecting any other mourners, Helena was surprised to discover another person trailing the coffin. A man, Helena realized as the muffled figure drew nearer. Someone she’d never seen before.

The vicar’s assistant, perhaps? Since she’d not been off Lambarth property in nine years, there were probably several newcomers to the village she hadn’t met.

The man’s odd demeanor, though, held her attention. Rather than focusing on the preacher, whose moving lips over the open prayer book indicated he’d begun the funeral service, the man’s gaze roved up, down, around the barren graveyard, as if he were searching for something.