The Star of Love

  THE STAR OF LOVE

  In the past he had kissed many women. Too many, perhaps. But this was unlike anything he had experienced before. This was the kiss he had been waiting for all his life. The kiss of the one and only woman.

  He felt her body soft against his and pulled her closer still, feeling that they were part of each other.

  “Cliona,” he murmured, kissing her again and again.

  At last he drew back a little to look down on her sweet face, half expecting her to berate him for his forwardness. No gentleman kissed a girl so passionately on such short acquaintance. He had proved himself a cad – that was what she would say. Then she would slap his face. And he would deserve it.

  He even hoped that she would do so and startle him out of the spell in which he was helpless to do anything but pursue her like a man pursuing a pixie light through a forest.

  THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION

  Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

  She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

  Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

  Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

  The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

  The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

  The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

  If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :

  Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

  240 High Road,

  Harrow Weald,

  Harrow

  HA3 7BB

  United Kingdom.

  Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

  THE STAR OF LOVE

  Copyright © 2005 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in 2005 by

  Barbaracartland.com

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook conversion by M-Y Books

  THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

  Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

  Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.

  In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

  Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.

  “Never give up on love. It could be waiting for you just around the corner.”

  Barbara Cartland

  Titles in this series

  1. The Cross of Love

  2. Love in the Highlands

  3. Love Finds the Way

  4. The Castle of Love

  5. Love is Triumphant

  6. Stars in the Sky

  7. The Ship of Love

  8. A Dangerous Disguise

  9. Love Became Theirs

  10. Love drives in

  11. Sailing to Love

  12. The Star of Love

  CHAPTER ONE

  –

  1864

  “Damn you to hell! Do you hear me!”

  Over the desk one pair of blazingly angry eyes met another pair, cold but no less angry. The man with the blazing eyes backed off first, swinging away to move into the large bay window and stand with his back to the other man.

  “Damn you!” he repeated in a more controlled tone. “You are a smug hypocrite and you don’t even have the honesty to admit that you hate me.”

  The man behind the desk shrugged wearily.

  “Would admitting it make any difference, John?”

  “It would be honest. Why not just say that I’m a thorn in your flesh and that your world would be a brighter place if I died tomorrow – or preferably today?”

  Charles Baxter, tenth Earl of Hartley, thought for a moment before saying quietly, “in other words, you’d like me to behave as badly as you do yourself?”

  His cousin, the Honourable John Baxter swung round from the window as he faced his cousin across the elegant desk where the Earl kept his papers.

  “You could never behave as badly as I do, cousin,” he sneered. “You haven’t the gift for it. Behaving really badly is an art, one in which our family used to excel. By Jove, at one time this family made its mark. We could out-drink, outride and out-wench anyone in the county.”

  “And you regard that as something to be proud of?” the Earl asked, and this time his eyes were really cold.

  “Oh stop being so sanctimonious! It was a triumph. It was how a great family was expected to behave.”

  “Yes, as though you were above the law, and oblivious to anyone else’s wishes or needs. You call that greatness? I call it contemptible.”

  “The Hartleys were Titans, and the world knew it. But now? Look at us! You’ve become a virtuous prig and there�
�s only me to keep the glorious traditions going.”

  The two cousins might have come out of the same mould, so alike were they. Both in their thirties, both six foot tall, long of leg and broad of shoulder, both with dark hair and eyes of deep brown.

  Their faces too had been alike at birth, but John’s already showed the effects of dissipation. A ceaseless round of pleasure and idleness had blurred his once sharp features, and a nature in which petulance and selfishness had conquered all else had left a discontented droop to his mouth.

  His frame too bore the signs of self-indulgence in a thickening of the waist that even the most expensive cut to his coats could no longer hide. A man once called ‘as handsome as a young God’ was beginning to look more like a satyr.

  By contrast, the Earl still had the lean, upright figure that spoke of country pursuits, long hours in the saddle and vigorous exercise. He both ate and drank in moderation and the contours of his face were still youthful, something that seemed to drive his cousin John into paroxysms of rage.

  John was indeed in a temper now, caused by the Earl’s refusal to pay a huge debt that he had carelessly tossed to him.

  It had arrived in the post three days ago, as so many had done before it. And Charles had promptly sent it back.

  The response had come quickly. John had come raging up to Hartley Castle and stormed into the library.

  “What the devil do you mean by sending these back to me?” he shouted, tossing the bills onto the desk.

  “My letter means exactly what it says,” Charles had replied. “I’ve paid too many of your debts in the past and this time I’m refusing.”

  “You always refuse, in the beginning,” John had replied with the air of sneering assurance that was common with him. “And you always yield in the end.”

  “This time I shall not.”

  “You always say that, too.”

  “Listen John, I have other claims on me. As head of the family –”

  “But are you, I wonder?” Charles ignored this remark. He had heard the story too often before, and knew that responding always led to a fruitless conversation going round in circles.

  “I’m responsible for the welfare of many of our relatives,” he continued. “Too often I’ve put your gambling debts ahead of their needs.”

  “And you’ll do it again unless you want a nasty scandal,” said John, as Charles knew he would say. “How the newspapers would love to be able to print, ‘Hartley heir imprisoned for debt’!”

  “You’ve blackmailed me too often with that threat,” Charles responded in a measured tone that showed he was trying to keep his temper. “This time I shall not allow it. The answer is no.”

  “How you enjoyed saying that!” John had snapped.

  “It gives me no pleasure.”

  “Liar! It gives you every pleasure, because you hate me. Admit it, you hate me!”

  But this admission Charles steadfastly refused to give, even though it came closer to the truth than he cared to face. There had once been a good deal of affection between them, and although it had long been replaced by hostility on one side and weary exasperation on the other, the memory of that affection kept him from any open admission.

  Not receiving the answer he demanded, John stormed across to the window, hurling the word ‘hypocrite’ over his shoulder.

  Still Charles refused to be provoked and John began to wander around the great library, staring up at the shelves that climbed right to the ceiling, row on row of leather bound books that few Hartleys (according to Charles) had ever bothered to read.

  The library was a combination of shabby grandeur and comfort. Leather sofas and armchairs, worn rugs, a huge fireplace, empty now that it was summer, but in winter sporting a blaze to warm the heart as well as the hands.

  Where the walls were not covered with books, there were many sporting prints and trophies. It was the library of a gentleman, an Earl, and a man who loved his country pursuits. And every inch of it seemed to fuel John’s anger.

  “I won’t accept your refusal,” he snapped.

  “It is useless continuing this conversation,” said Charles. “I have told you a thousand times that your extravagant way of life must stop.”

  “And I have told you a thousand times to go to the devil! It gives me great pleasure to tell you so again.”

  “John, you can’t go on spending money that isn’t yours.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you impoverish others who have a greater claim on it.”

  “Nobody has a greater claim than I,” John shouted.

  “And you know why.”

  “Let us not go into that again –”

  “Because you’re afraid,” John sneered. “You’re afraid to bring the truth out into the open, afraid of the world knowing that it is I, not you, who is the true Earl of Hartley –”

  “You have taken leave of your senses,” said Charles in disgust. “This particular ‘truth’ is one you’ve been peddling for years to anyone who’ll listen and your father before you. And nobody has yet believed you. Why should I be afraid if you say it again?

  Go ahead, John. Tell the world that our fathers were twins, and that your father was truly the elder son, but a drunken midwife muddled them. That’s the story isn’t it? Tell anyone you like but don’t tell me, because like the rest of the neighbourhood, I know it isn’t true and I’m bored with it.”

  A lesser man would have quailed before the malevolence in John’s eyes. He truly could be said to hate his cousin.

  “How do you know it isn’t true?” he demanded viciously.

  “For one thing because our grandmother has always dismissed the story as nonsense. Good heavens John, our fathers were her babies. Who could know the truth better than she? She’s told you time without number to forget this myth, just as she told your father.”

  “She’s lying,” John said feverishly. “She’s against me too. You all are.”

  “If people are against you, it’s because of your behaviour. You lie, you cheat, you seduce women, you spend money you don’t have and others suffer – ” He wasn’t allowed to finish. Slamming his hand down on the pile of bills on the desk, John shrieked,

  “Will you pay these?”

  “No,” said Charles bleakly. “I will not.”

  “By God!” John breathed, “I won’t stand for this.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

  The Earl’s voice was final, and it drove his already maddened cousin into a frenzy. Slipping his hand into an inner coat pocket, he pulled out a small pistol and held it to his cousin’s head.

  “Don’t drive me too far,” he gasped.

  Perhaps a wise man would have placated John at that moment, but there was in Charles a vein of stubbornness that was like granite. It made him shrug his shoulders, even while he could feel the cold steel against his forehead and said, “

  I don’t respond to threats, you ought to know that by now. The answer is still no.”.

  “I’m warning you –”

  “Don’t warn me. I’m not impressed. Either fire that thing or put it away.”

  “If I fire you’ll be sorry.”

  “No, I won’t because I’ll be dead. You’ll be sorry because you’ll be arrested for murder, but it won’t trouble me one way or the other.”

  Charles regarded his cousin with a hint of amusement. “You wouldn’t get away with it, you know. Everyone knows you’re here, and you’re my heir, and you’re the first person they’ll think of. Still, it would solve your debt problems, I can see that.”

  John breathed hard. “You dare to torment a desperate man?”

  “For pity’s sake, stop talking melodramatic rubbish!” Charles said, irritated to the point of tempting fate.

  Whether his gamble would have resulted in tragedy they were never to know. For the next moment the door opened and Watkins, the butler, entered and saw John holding the pistol to Charles’s head.

  “Mr John, sir!” he exclaim
ed horrified.

  Watkins had known them both as boys and no dramatic atmosphere could survive his fatherly intervention.

  The intent drained out of John’s face and he took a step back, lowering his arm.

  “To the devil with both of you!” he said angrily.

  “It was only a joke, Watkins,” Charles soothed him. “You know how incorrigible we both are.” His smile at John was an invitation to return, at least for a moment, to their childhood friendship. “You don’t think that thing is loaded, surely?”

  It was a fatal thing to say, as he knew the moment the words were uttered. After that John had no choice but to pull out the pistol again, take swift aim at a china figure on the mantel piece and shatter it to fragments with a bull’s eye.

  “Now you know better,” he said and stalked out.

  “My Lord,” Watkins said, pale and shaking. “I never was so shocked.”

  “Don’t make too much of it, old friend,” Charles said kindly. “You know him. It was all play acting. He wouldn’t really have fired at me, you know.”

  “Not meaning to, perhaps. But with his finger shaking on that trigger, can you be sure what might have happened?”

  “I suppose not,” Charles agreed. He gave a rueful smile that made his rather stern face charming. “I was mad to defy him, wasn’t I?” I suppose in my own way I’m just as rash as he is. But I will not be bullied, even by a pistol.”

  He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

  “Forget about it Watkins,” he begged. “It was a passing mood.”

  “If your Lordship says so,” the butler said woodenly.

  The Earl grimaced. “Not much escapes you, does it? After all the years you’ve worked for us, does this family have any secrets left?”

  “Not where Mr John is concerned, my Lord. And I hope I do not need to assure your Lordship that I have never discussed family secrets.”

  “Of course you don’t need to tell me that, Watkins. Although I imagine the worst is known fairly widely.”