He was suppose to protect his heart, not lose his own...
Callen has always had a stoke of luck with everything. The ladies to his missions, he succeeded in them all.
But all Callens luck strikes out, Literally...
When a daring mission cost his life...
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Miss Elizabeth Wilder wondered at the wisdom of breaking into the Earl of Melbourne's mammoth estate on such a cold and damp evening. More specifically, she questioned her degree of intelligence in general. Scaling a tree in the dead of night while somehow managing to hold a small lantern to light her way, all for the sake of helping one, adorable, outspoken little boy named Edward, was certainly not one of her better ideas. And though the earl and his evil second wife were on holiday, she still ran the risk of discovery. In fact, she would rank this idea right up there with the time she'd disastrously experimented with gunpowder. Fortunately, the only casualty that day had been the chamber pot.
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She grimaced as her booted foot slipped off the branch, knocking a combination of leaves, bark, and twigs to the grass-covered ground nearly thirty feet below. A gentle puff of wind caressed the branches around her and caused the lantern to sway and the candle inside to flicker. She held her breath as she waited to be plunged into darkness, but, with a hiss, that candle flared back to life again.
At that moment she contemplated turning back. Contemplated, but decided against it. Her glance darted from the window that was her goal, to the ground, then to the window again. Her friends always told her she had more courage than sense. Elizabeth looked at her surroundings and grinned. They were right.
Still, that didn't change the fact that she knew this would be her one and only chance to gather clues, perhaps even evidence, proving Edward was really the long-lost son of the Earl of Melbourne. Unfortunately, in her experience, knowing something to be a good idea and actually implementing the notion were two different things.
Bother.
Leaves and small branches tangled in her hair, which she had tied behind her head. She swatted them away, she gasped as the hot lantern glass scalded her breeches-clad leg.
Rot and bother. There were at least thirty trees dotting the gently rolling hills that surrounded the earls Tudor-styled home, many of which looked far easier to climb-not that she could see much outside the rim of the light-but with her luck tonight, she'd probably fall out of this one.
