Kendal: Regency Rockstars
Kendal
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.
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Contents
Regency Rockstars
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
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.
Regency Rockstars
Reid Owen Callum Kendal
Chapter One
A stupidly early time
July 1816
Putney Heath, London
* * *
The early morning mist hung lazily around the tops of the trees. The sun was barely up, and it would take another hour for Putney Heath to be clear. In a small glade toward the western end of the heath was an unmarked, black town carriage. While the horses nibbled on soft tufts of grass, two well-dressed gentlemen and three servants stood a few yards away, waiting.
The first of those gentlemen, Lord Owen Morrison, scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand and sighed. “Are you certain you are not just happy for the chap to apologize and let bygones be bygones?”
Lord Kendal Grant shook his head vehemently. “Not a chance. Some people don’t learn unless the lesson delivered is a harsh one. Hopefully, him getting out of bed at sparrow’s fart and then being shot at will teach him something.”
“I know it has taught me something,” replied Owen.
Kendal, who had just finished tying his long blond hair up with a piece of leather, turned and looked at him. “And what have you learned, Owen?”
“To hide when you come looking for one of us Noble Lords to be your second in a duel. This is becoming tedious. Another morning, another bloody settling of an argument at gunpoint.”
Kendal ignored Owen’s complaint. His friend had just set foot in the front door of Follett House after a night of drinking and carousing when Kendal had nabbed him, promptly turned him around, and pushed him back outside and into the waiting carriage.
A footman handed Kendal a rosewood pistol box. He took a moment to run his gloved fingers over the intricate Chinese ivory detailing on the lid before opening it. He gave the two pistols inside a quick look. “Are they loaded?”
The footman nodded, then stepped back.
Another carriage appeared over the nearby rise.
“For fuck’s sake, he brought a marked carriage,” Kendal muttered as his gaze settled on the blue and gold livery of the conveyance.
Everyone knew that dueling was illegal. Hence the need for early mornings, quiet locations, and most of all . . . plain, black carriages. The other party may as well have taken an advertisement out in The Times announcing that he was going to fight a duel this morning.
“He must have missed the class at Eton when they explained the part about how one should settle matters of honor discreetly,” replied Owen.
Says the man who failed to turn up for the whole term when they were teaching us about discretion.
Kendal passed the box of pistols to Owen. “Here, make yourself useful.”
When the other carriage finally drew to a halt, Kendal’s party readied themselves, then they waited. And waited. After several more minutes, Kendal angrily huffed and marched over.
He rapped loudly on the door. “Come on. My bloody breakfast is getting cold. Take your shot and then let’s get on with the day.”
The handle on the door slowly turned, and it fell open. A gentleman still dressed in his formal evening attire tumbled out headfirst and landed on the ground with a thud. A puff of dust scattered. Kendal leapt back out of the way in an effort to spare his highly polished hessian boots.
Owen, who had followed him over, looked down at the fallen man. “I would say he has had one or two glasses of brandy to give him some Dutch courage.”
Kendal rolled his eyes. Great, now I’m going to have a drunk aiming his pistol at me.
“Get up, man!” he cried.
The man swayed as he got to his feet, then staggered back. He waved a finger in Kendal’s direction. “All I said was that without Mozart, Salieri’s career would have meant nothing. Lord Grant, I don’t see how you can possibly take offence.”
“Blasphemy!” roared Kendal. He launched himself at the half-foxed fool, ready to set to him with his fists.
Owen raced after Kendal and, taking a firm hold of his arm, dragged him away. “Let the pistols do the talking.”
Kendal tried to wrestle free of Owen’s grasp, but his friend was too strong.
“Fucking Mozart. Salieri was a genius long before that pimple-faced little weasel was born. Antonio Salieri taught Beethoven, Liszt, and bloody Schubert!” Kendal’s blood pumped through his body at a furious rate; his heart pounded in his ch
est. The musical philistine deserved to be thrashed, then shot.
Owen pointed to a spot in the clearing a little way from them. “Kendal be a good chap and go and stand there. Let me get this gentleman ready to handle a pistol, and then you can get about the business of killing one another.”
Kendal aimed another filthy look in the direction of his adversary before stomping away. His ire was such that he would have quite happily settled for a bare-knuckle bout and lived with the bruises. Sod the pistols.
After both Kendal and his foe were armed with their weapons, Owen, and the other man’s second led them to a spot away from the carriages and the easily spooked horses.
Owen handed the other second a sword. “Take ten paces that way and then stab the tip of the sword into the ground. That shall be your point. I shall do the same in the opposite direction.”
Kendal removed his grey woolen scarf and greatcoat before shrugging out of his jacket. He rolled his shoulders and made a great show of stretching his back. He caught the look of unease on the other man’s face and smiled. He loved the dramatics of the duel preamble.
His opponent cleared his throat. “Lord Grant, how many duels have you fought?”
Kendal frowned. He had to think about that for a minute. “A few. What about you?” he eventually replied.
The other man winced. “This is my first, and if I survive it, my last.”
Most men would shy away from such a reckless hobby, but to Kendal it had a certain appeal. The risk of death was a powerful, exhilarating spice—one which he liked to have sprinkled over his life from time to time.
Owen and the other second returned from establishing the points where the combatants were to stand.
“Now, gentlemen, you both understand the rules of the duel. You are to step to your points and when I release this handkerchief, you may fire at will. First blood drawn will see the end of the duel and satisfaction being settled,” said Owen.
Kendal gave a nod and sauntered over to where Owen had placed his sword in the ground. He then turned and waited. His opponent did not appear to be in any great hurry to reach his own point. The poor drunken unfortunate staggered and fell enough times that his second eventually had to come and help him to his designated spot.
“Oh, do come on. You only die once!” cried Kendal.
“Taunting the fool is not helping things,” replied Owen.
After his rival eventually managed to stand in one spot long enough for his second to raise his hand and signal his readiness, Kendal gave a nod to Owen.
Owen pulled a long red silk handkerchief from the pocket of his greatcoat. Kendal took in a deep lungful of air. This was the best part of the duel. That moment when you began to wonder if, indeed, you were about to draw your last breath, if this would be the day you died. His cock twitched in his trousers; for some unknown reason, the hint of death always gave him a hard-on.
His mouth went dry, adrenaline pumping through him at a rate of knots. The heavy thump of his heart made him feel light-headed. It was the rush of fear, the high which he craved. It was better than any of the hash-infused cigars that his fellow Noble Lord Callum regularly smoked.
Owen lifted his arm, twirled the handkerchief above his head in dramatic fashion, then let it fall.
The other gentleman raised his pistol and aimed it in Kendal’s general direction. His arm shook so badly that Owen and the man’s second both took another step back.
Kendal, meanwhile, left his arm hanging loosely by his side. He hadn’t even bothered to cock his pistol. “Make it a clean shot,” he cried.
The sound of a bullet whizzed through the air, followed by the thwack of it hitting a not-so-nearby tree. He flinched, then took a deep breath. The shot had gone wildly wide.
He met his opponent’s gaze. The drunken man was still unsteady on his feet. Kendal was now in two minds as to whether the shot had been deliberately sent wide or whether the other gentleman’s aim was terrible. Deciding it was probably the latter, he let go of his disappointment.
Lifting his pistol, he cocked it, then pointed it squarely at the other man’s face.
“Mozart was an overindulged mama’s boy who wasted much of his talent creating tiresome and repetitive shit,” he announced.
He shifted his aim and fired the pistol. The bullet nicked the edge of his opponent’s coat. The man instantly dropped like a stone to the ground. His second rushed to his side and began frantically looking for the bullet wound, for blood.
Owen strolled over and casually glanced down. “He has just fainted. Give him a minute, then take him home. Oh, and get him some clean trousers; he appears to have made a mess of himself in those,” he snorted.
He picked up the dueling pistol and sauntered back to Kendal’s side.
“I know you get a great thrill from letting them shoot first, but one day you are going to meet someone who does not shoot wide. Then what will you do?” asked Owen.
Kendal shrugged. “Fucked if I know. Probably die.”
Chapter Two
“You are not dead then?” said Eliza.
Kendal gave her a cheeky grin. “Sorry, Eliza, no such luck.”
After he and Owen had returned to Follett House following the duel, Kendal had changed clothes and followed his fellow Noble Lords into the breakfast room. The usual well-laden sideboard, groaning with various dishes, had been laid out by the servants for Reid’s summer guests. Lady Eliza Follett ran her brother’s household like a well-tuned instrument.
Callum looked up from his cup of tea and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you fought yet another duel over Mozart.”
While he and Owen exchanged a knowing look, Kendal pointedly ignored them. They all knew full well that he only ever took to the field of pistols over the long-dead composer. What else was there worth fighting over?
He turned his attention back to Eliza. “And where is your libertine of a brother this morning?”
Reid was not in attendance at breakfast. In fact, the singer for the Noble Lords seemed to have a happy knack of disappearing at this hour of the morning most days.
“Out. He had an early morning business meeting,” replied Eliza.
That made sense. Reid was the only member of the group who had an estate to run. Kendal was glad not to be burdened with such mundane tasks. There were some benefits in being a second son.
Owen picked up his coffee cup and drained it, then sat back while a footman refilled it. Reid, Eliza, and Owen were the coffee drinkers, while Kendal and Callum both stuck to tea. The battle lines over breakfast brews had been drawn long ago.
“Are we looking to begin rehearsals today?” asked Owen.
Kendal nodded. He was eager to get started on creating a song and music list for the Noble Lords music group. If the four friends were serious about taking on the Italian musicians who were currently stealing all the good bed sport in the ton, there was not a minute to waste. “I have a piano tuner arriving shortly to make sure my Cristofori is in perfect working order; after this, we can get started. Hopefully Reid won’t be too long; his singing needs a bit of work.”
“He should be back just after ten,” replied Eliza. She rose from her chair and the others all stood and bowed. Formalities were very much relaxed in the house, but all due respect was still paid to Reid’s sister and chatelaine.
Kendal was keen to get a professional to give his priceless antique piano the once-over. It had been moved from his family home at Banfield House to Windmill Street the morning he, Callum, and Owen had arrived to spend the summer as Reid’s houseguests following the formation of the Noble Lords. He was worried that it may have sustained damage during the short transit. And if his beloved Cristofori was not in immaculate condition, then he couldn’t play. He wouldn’t play.
Eliza clasped her hands together. “Well, I shall leave you all to your breakfast. I also have an errand to run outside of the house this morning. I am taking tea with Mrs. Scott to see if I can convince her to book the Noble Lords. She seeme
d particularly interested in your new musical group, though I am not sure why.”
Kendal made a close study of his kippers, doing his best not to snigger when Owen gave a mock cough. They both chuckled. Mrs. Scott was a woman with a reputation for being entertaining in bed. Kendal knew Owen had also made the walk of shame sometime after he himself had spent a night with her.
“What’s so amusing?” asked Callum.
Kendal and Owen exchanged a knowing grin.
“Nothing. Nothing. Just excited to think that hopefully we will be playing in public very soon,” said Owen.
Kendal crossed his toes up in his boots, doing his best to stifle a laugh.
“And if our first show is at Mrs. Scott’s home, at least we know it will be an interesting evening,” said Owen.
“I think Callum should make an effort to get to know her on a personal level at some point.” Kendal could just imagine the look on Callum’s face when Mrs. Scott’s footman appeared in her bedroom and offered to make up a threesome. He considered himself to be fairly open-minded when it came to sex, but even he had drawn a line at that.
Eliza stopped on her way to the door, turned, and came back to where Kendal sat. She leaned over and gave him a firm slap across the back of the head. “Thank you, Kendal, but I would prefer it if you did not encourage Callum to give Mrs. Scott any of his attention.”