Worlds Apart Read online

  Worlds Apart

  by

  Stein Willard

  @ 2019

  © Stein Willard 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author or publisher.

  Please note that piracy of copyrighted materials is illegal and violates the rights of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: DEPE

  Editor: JLF

  Cover Design: DEPE

  BACK OF THE BOOK

  Lady Tia Bellingham, the Duchess of Camphor wanted the near impossible: to stop the centuries’ old exploitation of the poor and down-trodden. But the darling of the English Court could not be seen as the one behind the ruination of her peers, and those most likely to make themselves guilty of such immoral practices. She realised that she needed help – more specific – she needed the help of Britain’s most dangerous and elusive criminal, The Maverick.

  The dark, decaying slums of London were where Oasis felt most comfortable. Born a secret and raised in secret, it wasn’t difficult to hide her true self in a place where no one would come looking. As the feared outlaw, The Maverick, she ruled the underworld with an iron fist; her justice swift and lethal in her quest to protect the innocent and destitute. It’s only when the captivating Duchess of Camphor came knocking, that Oasis found there were certain depths to her that only the blonde beauty could access.

  DEDICATION

  I wish that one day I can write a full page to thank you, my readers, for your continuous support and encouragement. But I already say so much in my wordy novels that I’m completely out of grammar and vocabulary by the time I come to the dedication page. Nonetheless, guys, thank you for still reading my ramblings and for your feedback. I pray we can keep this relationship going for as long as I can write.

  As always, I’m your biggest fan!

  To JLF. Thank you for polishing my scribbles to make them a little more appealing. I’m pretty sure my readers would like to thank you too. LOL.

  .

  I

  ‘In search of a Ghost’

  London, 1755

  The occupants of the carriage sat in silence as they watched the London night emit more nocturnal creatures from their hiding places. A woman stepped out of the shadows, her dress skewed and her hair ruffled. Right behind her, a finely dressed gentleman patting his crotch, pushed past her and disappeared into the night.

  A deep grumble came from the man sitting opposite from the woman in the carriage. The obvious sound of displeasure drew the woman’s gaze to him.

  “This is no place for a lady, Your Grace,” he muttered for the fifth time since they had arrived here about an hour ago. “Please, let me take you back to the townhouse. I can come back afterwards to see if he’s here.”

  The woman shook her head, her rich, blonde ringlets dancing around her face as she returned to studying the dark degradation of society from behind the carriage’s window. The prostitute was now engaged in a short, animated discussion with another gentleman before she took his hand and pulled him behind her into the shadows. But not before a small grimy hand appeared from nowhere to slip into the gentleman’s coat and lifting out his billfold. Lady Tia Miranda Bellingham, the Duchess of Camphor, turned back to her male companion, where he sat ramrod stiff.

  “Relax, Burton. No one will recognize me nor will I be in trouble.” She held up her wrist where a small derringer was held by a contraption, which at the slight touch of a lever, would slide out and pop the small handgun into her hand. She was an excellent shot and rarely missed. If the gun were to misfire for whatever reason, she had a backup plan. Under her long coat, and resting against her leg, was a thin rapier of the most exquisite craftsmanship. Her father had it made for her just before he died. It was light enough to handle, sharp enough to kill and thin enough to conceal. The best part was that she was lethal with it in her hand. Burton, who had been her friend/bodyguard since she was six, was well aware of her prowess and it irked her that he thought he needed to protect her.

  Burton sighed deeply. “The person we’re searching for is not known for diplomacy. As the kingpin of the London underworld, such a person is most likely crude, violent and depraved.”

  Tia grinned. That was exactly what she was hoping to find. She reached for the door handle. “Then I can’t wait to make his acquaintance.”

  “Milady…Tia…please…Allow me to accompany you,” Burton tried a last-minute desperate attempt at talking sense into the stubborn head of his employer and friend.

  “No. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.” And she was right. Her father, an avid explorer, had crisscrossed the world to bring back the most peculiar and exotic items to astound the London peerage. She was six when her father returned with an eight-year-old servant boy, saved from a slave ship travelling from the West Indies to the Americas. Unnamed and scared by his new environment, the boy kept to himself. He only left his room at night when the house was still and nobody was about to raid the pantry. It was on such a night that Tia stumbled upon him wolfing down a quick dinner of bread and cheese. As expected, he was ready to flee until she gently lured him closer with a few peppermints her father had slipped her earlier when her mother wasn’t looking.

  From that night on their fragile friendship began. As she taught him to speak and read English, he in turn taught her how to ride and to fight. Theirs was a mutual beneficial relationship until ten years later when Tia became of age. Young lords from across the country swarmed the Bellingham estate to woo the beautiful daughter of the illustrious Duke of Camphor. It was while alone with one of her would-be suitors that the young lord tried to press for more than was offered or, for that matter, welcomed. An enraged Burton found her struggling to push the young Marquess off her. At eighteen, Burton had reached physical maturity and stood almost six and a half feet tall in his boots with an impressive figure made up mostly of muscles. The young Marquess quickly realised his mistake when Burton pulled him off her and shook him like a ragdoll. Ego bruised and very apologetic the poor soul left the estate, never to return. Since then Burton had been her unofficial bodyguard.

  His presence became even more valued when her parents died in a carriage accident soon after her eighteenth birthday and left her, their only child, with a duchy as a dowry. The quiet, colossal presence of Burton stemmed the flow of would-be suitors and left her with the time and patience to make a calculated choice for her future instead. When Lord Percy Hereford, the Fourth Marquess of Windham, came knocking, she knew that she had just been handed her chance at living a life less stifling as that of her peers. Old and ailing, the man already had an heir to carry his name and a title. She, on the other hand, simply needed a man to protect her interests and one who would not make physical demands on her. Percy allowed her to live her life while he whiled away his few remaining years, reading and when possible showing off his gorgeous young wife at soirées. After six years of a most fulfilling companionship, Percy died in his sleep. A widow with a powerful title, great financial means and a life free of restraints, Tia’s life truly began at twenty-four. Known for her eccentric lifestyle, many of the peerage quickly found that she was not in the market for another husband. Having found a kindred spirit in the Queen, Tia had not only the ear of the most powerful woman in Britain, but also the protection.

  For those in the know, the queen’s inclination to don men’s trousers and accompany the young beautiful duchess on hunting trips at the vast Bellingham Estate, was not surprising. The king, madly in love with h
is wife, turned a blind eye to this unconventional friendship. After all, a happy queen made for a happy king and in turn a happy country.

  Tia lived a great life and she revelled in her good fortune of having such powerful allies. But of late, she had found that there was something lacking in her life. Her twenty sixth birthday was fast approaching and she felt the need to add value to her existence. Love had long been something she stopped trying to attain, for the simple reason that there was no one out there who made her feel the way her parents felt about each other. Nor was she sure she wanted to add a man into the mix, which would place more limitations on her life.

  Then she heard her chambermaid regaling another servant of a piece of gossip she had come by while visiting her ailing mother over the weekend. That was the moment that set the ball rolling and that was the reason she found herself dressed up as a young man staking out a tavern known to be the hang-out spot of one of London’s most notorious outlaws, The Maverick.

  She cast a quick look at Burton and read the displeasure on his face. If all the rumours were true, she could understand why Burton felt the way he did. The Maverick was feared by almost everyone. Faceless, he moved like a shadow through life, ruling the London underworld with an iron fist. Not much was known about him except that his cruelty was second only to his lust for power.

  She needed someone like that to help her establish this new phase of her life. To help her find a purpose.

  “I won’t be long, Burton,” she said and pulled a woollen cap over her blond curls. “In the meantime, please try your best not to come after me.” Burton’s frown deepened. “That’s an order, my friend.”

  For a moment their eyes locked and held before Burton nodded curtly. “You have an hour before I come looking for you.”

  Tia rolled her eyes at the man. “An hour is more than enough for me.” Slamming the carriage door shut, she fastened her cloak around her body to keep the nippy wind at bay, as well as to conceal her rapier. Using the shadows, she swiftly made her way over to the tavern. She could hear music and loud laughter filter through the widow of the tavern and took a moment to make sure that her hair hadn’t escaped the confines of the coarse knitted cap. To fortify her resolve she touched the rapier and took a deep breath before she pushed through the door of the Stag ‘n Hound inn.

  The large room was filled with men talking, laughing and playing cards as they drank deeply from their tankards. A lively fire in the hearth kept the room warm, well-lit and cosy. Scantily-clad women wove their way through the tables, carrying foaming tankards of ale and inviting gropes to their butts as they sashayed past the leering eyes of the men. Tia made her way over to the bar, having to dodge a few drunken patrons on her way. A middle-aged bartender quickly wiped the crude wooden bar with a cloth before he came over to her.

  “What will it be?” His voice was rough, but friendly as he studied her carefully. She gave him a grin, showing her fake yellow stained teeth to add to her coarse appearance. She slammed a coin on the bar.

  “The house ale will do.”

  The barman nodded and move away to attend to her order. Tia used that time to study the patrons. What would The Maverick look like? It was no secret that most of those who had met The Maverick face to face had taken that secret to their graves. A chill coursed down her spine as the realisation of what she was about to do set in. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hasty in turning down Burton’s offer. Inside the carriage, surrounded by the security of her wealth, position and power, she had been convinced of her ability to protect herself. Now, looking at these rough-looking, drunken men, she was having second thoughts. Who in their right mind would enter the lair of a dangerous criminal, whom according to legend, had no face except for a chilling reputation?

  “Here you go, mister,” the bartender said and placed a foaming tankard in front of her. Nodding her thanks, she took a long drink. It wasn’t the expensive French Pinot Gris she usually indulged in, but it also wasn’t the worst drink she had ever tasted. The fruitiness of the drink was actually quite pleasant. She took another drink as she studied the men over the rim of her tankard. Placing the drink on the bar, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The bartender had moved on to the next customer and she waited until he had finished serving the man.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she called him over and he made his way over to her. “I’m looking for someone and I was told that he frequented this place.”

  The man shrugged. “If you have a name, I could probably help ya.”

  She leaned closer as did the bartender. “I have an urgent message for The Maverick.”

  She saw the man’s head jerk back as he studied her now, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. They kept eye contact for a long while before the man wiped at the bar again.

  “Many people come here following the myth of The Maverick.” He looked up at her with hard eyes. “I’ve heard the name whispered a few times in here, but I’ve no idea if he exists or not. Sorry.”

  She felt disappointment settle in her chest. She hadn’t expected for this search to go smoothly, considering the man had made it his mission to remain undiscovered. But to hit a brick wall so early on in her search was discouraging to say the least.

  Loud laughter drew her attention to a table nearby and she watched dispassionately as the men clapped each other on the back. When she returned her attention to the bartender, it was to find him looking at her with a peculiar look on his face. It was then that she realised that all was not lost. This man knew more than he was telling her. She took another long drink of ale and scratched her head. She didn’t have the time to dance around the subject nor did she want to come across as forceful and alienate the only person she believed knew where or how she could get in contact with The Maverick But she needed to do something – and quickly.

  “My master has a proposition for him,” she said softly and leaned close, conspiratorially. “You see, I work as a stable boy for a very important man and he wanted me to leave a message for The Maverick.” She leaned back to search the man’s eyes. “This involves a lot of money. I don’t know how much exactly, for my master wanted to talk to the man himself. Are you sure there’s no one who could take a message to him?”

  The bartender shook his head. “No. If you know of The Maverick then you should know that no one knows what he looks like.” He threw his arms wide. “If he did exist, then for all we know he could be sitting in this very room without us knowing.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” He moved away, but turned back again. “Don’t go looking for ghosts, mister. From what I’ve heard, The Maverick is not someone to mess with. Leave sleeping dogs be.”

  Frustrated, Tia groaned inwardly as she watched the man move over to a strike up a conversation with a patron. She lifted the tankard to her lips and drained it in a single breath. She grinned slightly when she felt the heat settle in her belly. She hoped she didn’t regret her overindulge too much. Anything tasting that good surely must have debilitating after-effects. Without a backward glance she made her way to the exit and into the cold November evening.

  She had lost the first round, but she was far from giving up the fight.

  ***

  “I can’t believe you’re still sulking.”

  Burton threw a poisonous look at her where he sat in the large chair in front of the hearth. On their trip back to the townhouse, she had tried to engage Burton in conversation, but had to settle for short noncommittal responses. He was angry that she had placed herself in danger and from the look of things it would take a while for him to forgive her. She walked over to stand at the chair, swirling the brandy in her glass as she looked at him. Burton made a point to ignore her as he continued reading. She scanned the text and smiled

  “The Battle of the Books, huh?” She took a sip from her brandy. Burton loved to read, but he only sought out Jonathan Swift when he found himself in mental distress. She placed her hand on his massive shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
<
br />   He shrugged. “You’re unharmed and home safely. Everything is fine.”

  She snorted. “Your bearing speaks otherwise, my friend.” She came to stand before him. “Look at me, Burton.” When he lifted his large dark eyes to look at her, Tia felt like a cad. Anger, fear and sadness warred in Burton’s eyes. Placing the tumbler on the side table, she knelt at her friend’s feet. “I’m sorry for not taking your feelings in consideration, old friend.” She placed her head on his lap. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  She waited for him to speak and as the silence stretched, she thought that she would have to come up with something more substantial in terms of an apology. Just when she thought to let things be for now, she felt the soft touch of his hand on her hair.

  “You scared me tonight,” he said in his deep baritone. “Sitting in that carriage, knowing you were in there, unprotected, was the most difficult thing I ever had to do in my life.” He pulled at her hair, his way of telling her that he wanted to see her eyes. When their eyes met, he smiled sadly. “You’re all I have left, Tia. You’re my only family, my sister, my friend. Without you I am nothing but another oddity in this country.”

  Tia blinked at the tears as she climbed into his lap and embraced him. In her quest to achieve her dream, she had nearly damaged the most important relationship in her life. They sat like that for a long while, before he tapped her on the shoulder.

  “It’s getting late and we have to be up early tomorrow to devise another plan to track down The Maverick.” With a quick kiss to her cheek, he stood and placed her on her feet. “Now I need to leave, for my ladylove awaits me.”