Callum: Regency Rockstars
Callum
Regency Rockstars
sasha cottman
Copyright © 2020 by Sasha Cottman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Mum
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Contents
Regency Rockstars
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Kendal
Also by Sasha Cottman
About the Author
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Regency Rockstars
Regency Rockstars
* * *
1816
* * *
The war against Napoleon has been won. For those nobles who fought the battle of Waterloo, the rewards have come freely from the scandalous women of London high society.
Reid Follett, Owen Morrison, Callum Sharp, and Kendal Grant have had unfettered access to the charms of every lady who takes their fancy. They have had their pick of any woman they wish to bed.
Until now . . .
With the war having been over for a year, the luster of being celebrated war heroes is beginning to fade. When a recently arrived group of hot Italian musicians begin to tear up the London social scene, the English lords suddenly find themselves having to fight to keep the sexual favors of the wild women of the ton.
But Reid, Owen, Callum, and Kendal are determined to defend their territory, and decide to take the Italians on at their own game. The Noble Lords quartet is born.
What follows is everything that makes Rockstar Romance so great: outrageous egos, shocking scandals, and, of course, wicked sex. And somewhere lost in the middle is the music.
The Regency Rockstars series is a new twist on Historical Romance and Rockstar Romance. Stories of war-scarred English lords who are bad boy musicians and the women who dare to love them.
Prologue
1815
London, Friday May 26th
Follett House.
* * *
Callum Sharp watched as Lady Eliza Follett moved through the crowded ballroom, gifting her guests with smiles and friendly waves of her fingers. She was, as always, the perfect hostess.
He waited, heart thumping, for her to look his way. When she did, the slow blink of her long brown lashes signaled to him that the time was finally right. That his moment had come.
Moving toward Callum, she no longer acknowledged anyone else. Her gaze remained fixed solely on him.
That’s it. There is no one else in the room but you and me. Come to me, Eliza.
When she reached his side, he leaned in and whispered, “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten me.”
“I have been busy with other guests. It’s not every day that one’s brother and most of his friends head off to war,” she replied. He caught the edge of worry in her voice.
Taking hold of her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. This time tomorrow, most of the men present at tonight’s party would be on a ship bound for Belgium—bound for battle. “Hopefully it will be a short campaign and we will all be home within weeks. There are enough troops massing on the border with France to ensure that Napoleon is toppled from power once and for all.”
His words of comfort were greeted with a tight smile. Reid, no doubt, would probably have been saying the same thing to his sister in the lead up to his departure.
“Could I possibly steal you away for a few minutes? I wish to spend some time with you in private,” he said.
A small patch of red appeared on her cheeks and Callum’s manhood twitched. I love it when you blush. It reminds me of when you are lying in my arms and I stroke you to completion.
“Much as I would like it to be more, it will have to only be a talk. We have more guests arriving shortly and I need to be here to greet them,” she replied.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, Callum followed Eliza out of the ballroom and up the nearby staircase. Once inside her bedroom, he kicked the door closed and pulled her to him. Their mouths fused in a deep, hungry kiss; their tongues danced together in a familiar motion.
This woman set his blood ablaze. He would never get enough of her—could never let her go. Eliza and he were destined to be together.
When they finally drew apart, he caught the glint of tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Callum, I am so afraid,” she said.
He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t be scared. I promise that all of us will come home.”
She looked up at him. “Even you cannot make that promise.”
He stepped back and, putting his hand into his jacket pocket, withdrew a small box. “You are right. I can’t promise you that, but I can promise you this . . .”
He opened the box and pulled out a ring, which he held up to the pale light from the fire. The gold and sapphires on the band sparkled.
“I love you, Eliza. I promise you that if I make it safely home, I will talk to Reid. You and I shall be married. Will you accept my promise ring?”
She nodded, smiling through more tears as he slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you too, Callum. I will wait for you to return to me. Just don’t take any silly risks or try to be a bloody hero.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I promise I won’t do anything heroic. Besides, with the sheer number of troops Wellington and the allies have at their disposal, any battles are likely to be small and have few losses.”
Holding Eliza in his arms, stealing one last moment together, Callum looked out the window and into the dark of the London night. He was certain that the pending fight in Europe would be an adventure, nothing more. He doubted he would even get the chance to fire his rifle.
“Sweetheart, as soon as I return, you can start to plan our wedding. I cannot wait to make you my wife.”
Chapter One
1815
On Sunday, June 18th, Britain, and its allies defeated Napoleon at the battle of Waterloo in Belgium. There were heavy losses on both sides. Word of the victory took several days to reach London.
* * *
London, Thursday June 22nd
* * *
“My lady, the newspa
per has arrived.”
Seated at the breakfast table, Eliza straightened her back and let out a long, slow breath. Try as she might, there was nothing she could do to calm her nerves.
She nodded at the Follett House butler. “No need to bother with the task of ironing the newspaper this morning, Mister Green. Any possible ink marks it might leave on my hands and gown are the least of my concerns.”
The butler laid the folded copy of The Times before her on the table, then took a polite step back. “Would you like me to remain?”
“No. But thank you for the kind thought. I shall let you know if there is any mention of my brother,” she replied.
News of the victory over Napoleon had been received to a greatly relieved British nation the previous day. Now all that remained was to count the cost—to read the names of the brave souls who would not be coming home. And pray that Reid’s name was not among them.
She didn’t want to fall apart in front of the servants if the news was bad—if her life was about to be irrevocably changed. She had already lived through one momentous life-shattering event in her twenty-three years.
But you had Reid to get you through those dark days. If he is gone, then what?
She forced the bitter thoughts away as best she could. Whatever the news, there was little she could do about it.
Her gaze turned to the newspaper. The front page contained the usual long list of items for sale, notices to creditors, and church announcements. The British press would not be so callous as to post the names of the dead and wounded from Waterloo on the front page.
Mister Green left the room, the click of the door closing behind him signaling that Eliza was alone. His footsteps, however, did not continue down the hall. She took heart that the faithful family servant would be waiting just outside, ready to come to her aid.
With a shaking hand, she picked up the paper and after opening it fully, laid it flat on the table. She screwed her eyes closed and sent a prayer to heaven.
“Please, Lord, let them come home.”
When she finally opened her eyes once more, she looked at the newspaper and held her breath. In the middle of the third page was a column headed British Killed and Wounded.
Eliza placed a finger under the first name on the list of those who had died in battle.
The Duke of Brunswick Oels.
“Oh no. Poor Prinny,” she muttered. The Prince Regent would take the news of his cousin’s death hard.
She continued to run her finger slowly down the list, wiping away tears as other familiar names appeared. When she got to the end of the list of the fallen, she stopped. Her heart pounded hard against her chest.
“Reid is not dead; and neither are the other three,” she muttered.
So far, so good.
Eliza hugged her arms tightly around herself. It was time to check the list of the wounded. She held her breath once more. Often a clean death was better than being at the mercy of the battle surgeons and their primitive medical techniques.
The list of officers who had been wounded in battle was long, and by the time she reached the bottom of it, Eliza’s hands were clammy with nervous sweat. She read both lists twice just to be certain, then sat back as relief coursed through her veins.
“Oh, thank God. Thank you,” she said.
There was not a single mention of her brother, Reid, or his friends Owen, Kendal, and Callum among the dead or injured from Waterloo. Life was not about to repeat itself and throw her world into utter chaos. She had been spared.
There were a number of other reports of the battle in the newspaper and Eliza quickly checked them, bursting into a flood of tears when she spied her brother’s name. Major Reid Follett had been officially mentioned for leading soldiers of the Royal Dragoons and securing strategic ground for Wellington’s men.
“Well done, Reid,” she said with a wavering smile. Her brother was not injured; he was a hero.
She could have gone and found Mister Green and informed him that all was well, but she kept reading, searching for any news of the other important man in her life. She gasped when she caught sight of his name: Captain Callum Sharp.
The Hon. Callum Sharp, son of Baron Sharp, mentioned in dispatches for outstanding bravery. Lord Wellington to recommend Captain Sharp for a knighthood for service to King and Country.
“Bloody fool. I told you to stay out of the worst of it, but you couldn’t resist being a hero,” she whispered.
She would box Callum’s ears the minute she saw him. But right now, none of that mattered. The war was over, England was safe—everyone she loved had survived!
Eliza shot to her feet, pushing back her chair. She hurried to the door and flung it open, almost knocking Mister Green off his feet in the process. She promptly threw herself into his embrace and cried, “He is coming home. They are all coming home!”
Chapter Two
London, June 1816
The first anniversary of the victory at Waterloo
* * *
Callum’s pale hair glistened in the morning light that filtered through the window at Carlton House, Prince George’s official residence. His broad shoulders straightened as Prince George touched his sword on them, right then left.
Eliza wiped away a happy tear as the future king presented Callum with the red sash and star of the Order of the Bath. After Callum bowed to the prince and turned to face the rest of the gathering, applause rippled through the receiving room.
“Thoroughly deserved,” said Reid.
“Yes. Considering what he did that day, they should have knighted him twice,” replied Owen.
Kendal nodded. “I would have pressed for a noble title if I was him. Lord knows he deserves one. He should have been made a viscount, the same as Reid.”
Reid raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well if that toe rag Grey can be given the title Earl Grey for his so-called military efforts, then Callum’s bravery warrants at least that.”
Callum made his way over to his friends, giving Eliza a private wink as he passed her by. Her heart did its usual thing of skipping a beat whenever he gave her his attention. Perhaps today might finally be the day when they could steal away and spend a moment alone with one another. She had been waiting many months for such a time.
He greeted his fellow Noble Lords with a beaming smile.
“Oh, thank God that is done. Now we can go and get right royally drunk,” he said.
Reid frowned. “I thought we were having a private dinner with your parents.”
The grin on Callum’s face grew wider. “No. I managed to convince the old man that what I really wanted was to go and join the first anniversary celebrations of the victory. There are parties all over London today and fireworks tonight along the Thames. He agreed to move the family dinner to later in the week.”
Eliza’s hopes to spend precious time with Callum took a dive at this disappointing, but not unexpected news. She scrambled to find a sliver of hope for her bruised heart but came up empty.
She wasn’t surprised that Baron Sharp had agreed to move the event. He likely suspected that his only son had firm intentions of drinking himself stupid over the next day or so and therefore would not be in any condition to be amongst polite society.
Her plans to pass the evening in the company of Callum and his parents, and thereby show Sir Thomas and Lady Sharp how perfect a candidate she was for their son’s future wife suddenly disappeared. The celebratory dinner would likely never happen. If Callum remained true to form, by midweek he would have gotten bored with the whole idea of a private dinner and asked his father to cancel it completely.
She schooled her features into a soft smile and did her best to hide her disappointment. In the year since his return from war, Eliza had become quite adept at disguising her frustration with both Callum’s poor behavior and his reluctance to spend time with her.
“Excellent news. As soon as this shindig with Prinny is done with, the four of us can hit London town hard. We should all be nicely in our
cups by the time the fireworks start,” said Owen.
Lord Owen Morrison was another of Reid’s friends who was always up for hijinks and a raucous good time. Eliza suspected that the minute the fireworks ended Owen would be heading off to share the bed of one of the wild women of London society. The man was an unashamed rake.
“Speak for yourself. Some of us plan to still be sober . . . ish,” replied Kendal.
Lord Kendal Grant, the fourth member of the Noble Lords, had never been one for getting off his proverbial face. He was always careful to keep things under control.
Reid sniffed derisively. Eliza caught his eye. “I am sorry about the dinner, Eliza; I know you were looking forward to it. But perhaps it is for the best,” he whispered.
She didn’t respond to his offered words of comfort, suspecting that there was every chance Reid was secretly pleased at the dinner having been postponed. He had made it plain to her that he considered anything that kept his unwed sister from being in a close social setting with Callum Sharp was a good thing.