REDEMPTION
ISBN: 0975453386

SHE WAS HEAVEN SENT...
Lady Tian Winterbourne has spent the past five years in seclusion, roaming the secret chambers and corridors within Valholen Monastery. She was content with her ghostly plight until fate dropped the devil on her doorstep, tempting her to sin...

HE WAS SIN INCARNATE...
Lord Devlin Montaign, Viscount Syndale, who is better known as Lord ‘Syn’, has a reputation for being a rogue and a scoundrel. He is touted as a seducer of innocents, a rakehell, and he was content to live up to his scandalous reputation until an angel put her faith in him, and made him yearn for redemption...

Praise for REDEMPTION...

"Morgan Leshay makes a promising debut with REDEMPTION—a beautiful love story that will haunt you long after you turn the final page!"

~Teresa Medeiros, New York Times Bestselling Author of YOURS UNTIL DAWN

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"REDEMPTION finds our most hidden emotions and brings them forth, so we see they are our most real and shining selves."

~Torri Mbriel, Reviewer

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Rating: 4 cups

"...an engrossing tale with twists, turns, a touch of mystery, and a very satisfying ending that left me smiling."

~Jenn, Reviewer For Coffee Time Romance & Reviewer For Karen Talk About New Books

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Rating: 5 Stars 
“...mystery, intrigue, humor, drama, romance and a touch of the erotic in perfect balance...A MUST read for the romance enthusiast.”

~Michelle Jackson

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Rating: 5 roses
“Ms. Leshay’s knack for characterization and imagery is superb...”

~Debbie, A Romance Review

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5 Stars!
“Morgan Leshay's REDEMPTION combines the perfect blend of mystery, romance, suspense, and humor.”

~ Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

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5 stars!
“Fans of romance novels will gobble up this story.”

~Girl Power, from Amazon.com

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4 Stars!
“...an enchanting romance with some suspense and surprises...this is the title you should look up. Recommended!”

~ Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews

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5 Hearts!
“...original and very creative. The characters are very colorful...a well-written passionate story that I think most readers will enjoy.”

~ Anita, The Romance Studio

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“Not only does this regency period book take you into a world that is full of intrigue, but it captivates you with page after page of tempting prose that keeps you reading more.

Romance, suspense, intrigue and humor all thrown in make this well worth reading it. Taking you from one thing to the next, all so well written that you are tempted to go looking for more books by this talented author. I know I will be looking. I can honestly say this is one of those books you will enjoy reading time and time again.
Redemption is one book that you must have in your library.”

~ Wendi R. Felter-Gabbidon, Writers Unlimited Reviewer

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4.5 Stars!
“The sexual tension built throughout the story until it exploded and made for some beautifully romantic scenes. This combined with the true danger to Tian made this one exciting and passionate novel to read. Historical setting, romance and suspense - it doesn't get any better than that. Redemption is sure to be a choice pick for those of us who enjoy historical romantic suspense. Morgan Leshay has written an excellent story with Redemption.”

~ Debby Guyette, The Single Title Review

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“I was swept away with the mystery of the story.”

~ Jana Gentry, Buchanan Haralson Public Library

READ AN EXCERPT...

CHAPTER ONE

A fleeting glimpse—something white and billowy—caught the edge of his vision.

Devlin Montaign, Viscount Syndale, squinted into the darkness that cloaked the far wall of the rectory, then jerked upright. He shook his head, uncertain whether he sought to clear his thoughts or his vision. Unless both his eyesight and his mind were deceiving him, he had most definitely seen a ghost.

There was no such thing as ghosts, and such imaginings were simply nonsense, he thought scornfully.

He strained to hear, listening carefully for any sound; any hint of movement but other than the occasional hiss or pop from the fire, the chamber remained silent.
The sound of his breathing seemed to magnify in the deafening silence and a chill chased its way up his spine. The urge to shiver grew nigh unbearable with each second that passed.

Rising cautiously from the stiff, wooden chair, making as little sound as possible, he crept stealthily forward toward the rows of bookshelves along the opposite wall. Quietly, he made his way into the part of the room from which the flickering light of the fire could not manage to banish the shadows, where the iridescent apparition had disappeared.

Someone or something had been in this chamber, he was sure of it. The thing that disconcerted him, however, was the realization that whoever—or whatever—had been in the chamber was there no longer and they had left the quarters by some exit other than the door through which he had entered.

His gaze sought out every shadow, searching the darkest corners of the room. So intent was he on examining them, he stumbled against the divan that blocked his path to the shelves.

Hidden in the darkness that clung to this side of the chamber, the divan faced the fire, as if perhaps one might rest there upon it and read by the light of the fire. A soft, lingering hint of roses teased his senses as he passed it, and his brow furrowed.

There was no one about to use the divan but for Mr. Grigory the overseer and a few retainers, and he thought they were not the type to make frequent use of such a luxurious item. Neither would those few be partial to scenting themselves with the delicate fragrance of roses.

The suspicion grew that all was not as it seemed here.

He wondered how long it had been since the Duke had personally visited the property, for obviously there was more going on here than met the eye.

His glance swept back toward the desk and the door, making certain that whoever had been in the room was not, even now, circling around to come at him from behind. There was no one else in the chamber. No sound greeted his ears. No movement caught his careful eye other than the occasional twist or dip of the flame atop the candle that sat resting in the holder on the edge of the desk.

Mr. Grigory bade him wait here, and Devlin had lighted only the single candle on the desk to cast the gloom from the room whilst he waited. The chamber, for the most part, remained cloaked in darkness.

His attention returned to the shelves and he continued his search, for something—anything—that would reveal the spectral visitor’s escape route. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary about the construction of the centuries old shelving, he ran his hands carefully along the edges of each shelf slowly, carefully, looking for something. Just what he was seeking, he wasn’t sure. He’d thought perhaps there might be a catch or latch that he might slip to reveal a secret door or passage behind the bookcase.

Finding nothing, he turned his head to peer about the room once more. Was it possible he had simply imagined it?

‘Twas nothing, he decided, though his fingers continued their inspection of the shelving in front of him. ‘Twas merely a figment of my imagination, brought on by fatigue or lassitude, he rationalized.

Yet the nagging certainty that something or someone had definitely been in this chamber but a few moments ago continued to plague him. Unless that something or someone was of the celestial type, it could not have simply slipped away through the walls. But there was no entrance or exit to or from the room other than the door through which he himself had entered.

Devlin had almost convinced himself that he’d simply been in a half-state of sleep, some vague and distant point between sleeping and wakefulness, when his fingers found an indentation in the otherwise smooth surface of the wood. It was somewhat hidden, a shallow groove on the underside of one of the boards.

He leaned close to the shelving, pressing his fingertips into the indentation he had discovered. A tiny waft of air caressed his cheek and his excitement and trepidation grew apace with each other. He moved his fingers back and forth within the short groove.

Click!

The sound was barely perceptible, yet to him it was as loud as the report of a dueling pistol on a deathly cold and quiet dawn. He stood back away from the shelving, not at all certain what to expect.

At first nothing happened. Then he reached out and pushed, and the entire section of shelving moved inward. The soft whir of well-oiled bearings was the only sound as the bookcase slid inward to reveal a long, dark corridor that appeared to stretch endlessly into blackness.

He gave a quick, furtive glance both left and right, but saw no windows and strangely, smelled no dust. Apparently the corridor was used frequently, though only high walls of stone and pitch-blackness greeted him.

His nose twitched, and his hackles rose as the faintly acrid scent of a recently doused taper tickled his nose. Someone had been in the passage. The otherworldly visitor?

The sudden need to discover the identity of whoever the wraithlike visitor was and what they thought to accomplish by roaming this secret passage within the walls of the monastery plagued him. He wondered idly if Mr. Grigory was aware of the fact that someone was hiding within this passage. Indeed, he wondered if the good man even knew of the passage’s existence.

Devlin stared into the unlit murkiness of the passageway beyond the door he had discovered, wondering just what he should make of it. Secret entrances and exits, and even secret chambers in a monastery were definitely not unheard of, but this one unquestionably bore investigating. Especially since his goal was to acquire this particular monastery as the new permanent location of Syndale Hall...his home.

It puzzled him that he’d been a visitor here many times over the past few years, and not once had he considered that there might be more to the monastery than that which he could see. Something was afoot here, and he wondered what it was.

“She is called St. Valentine’s Angel, you know.”

The voice came from behind him. The hair at his nape stood on end. Devlin spun about, prepared to defend himself. It was the cleric, Mr. Grigory. Sensing he had nothing to fear from the man, he allowed himself to relax...for the moment.

The man appeared nonplused by Devlin’s skittishness or the fact that the hidden portal now stood open behind him. He simply motioned Devlin to join him at the desk in the center of the chamber. Then he took up the taper from the corner of the desk and moved about the room, lighting several more of the tallow candles, which hung in dark cast-iron brackets at intervals along the walls. Finally, he seated himself behind the thick, mahogany desk, placing several long sheets of paper upon the smooth surface of the desktop.

His thoughts centered upon discovering the identity of the apparition, Devlin had all but forgotten the transaction he’d come to complete. He’d spent many months and much coin in his quest to purchase the monastery and suddenly all thoughts fled his mind, save that of the mystery he had stumbled upon within its walls.
Obeying the cleric’s summons, though making a mental note to explore every nook and cranny of the dark, mysterious corridor as soon as his business was complete, Devlin took the single chair in front of the desk and glanced back toward the bookcase.

Soon he would uncover the mystery. Excitement rushed through him, and he was unable to resist another glimpse toward the secret door through which the supernatural appearing vision had escaped.

He was about to question the man’s knowledge regarding the existence of the passage when understanding of Mr. Grigory’s earlier words dawned in his beleaguered mind at last. He had said, “she”. That meant the ethereal being he had caught a slight impression of earlier was female, did it not? If it was a she, then it had to be human and not a spirit as he had surmised.

“Then she is real?” Devlin asked, settling himself more comfortably in the chair. His enthusiasm for the topic hidden behind a bland look of cool disinterest, he waited patiently, despite the fire of determination burning within him to know all and know it now.

Mr. Grigory smiled softly, peering at him in such a way that he felt suddenly decidedly uneasy. ‘Twas as if the cleric could see within his mind, indeed, into his deepest, most secret thoughts and he did not like even the possibility of it. He looked away, breaking the contact of their gazes. Finally, the man nodded slightly in answer.

“Perhaps,” he said, drawing the word out as if hesitant to speak at all.

Devlin leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Perhaps? What do you mean, perhaps? She is either real or...No, what am I saying? Of course she is real.” He sat back, eyeing the man skeptically. “Isn’t she?”

Devlin’s uncertainty irritated him. He hadn’t believed in ghosts since the tender age of eight, and he had absolutely no intention of reviving that long forgotten belief at this late date.

If the ‘angel’ of which Mr. Grigory spoke was not flesh and bone human female, what was she? Who was she? Furthermore, why would she be here, hiding away behind unseen doors in a former monastery?

‘Twas no spirit he had seen, Devlin decided. That he would even consider the possibility it might have been some incorporeal entity was sheer absurdity.
The cleric studied him closely for a moment then began to speak, his tone rich with dramatic resonance.

“In the past five years, several have sought sanctuary within the walls of this monastery from the weather or various elements as they passed through the area. A few of those travelers swear to have seen a floating vision in white, a wraithlike spirit who spoke to them concerning matters dear to the heart.”

The good man’s dramatic bend reminded Devlin of the times during his childhood that he and several young boys had gathered outdoors around a fire, each of them trying their damnedest to frighten the wits out of the others. Fighting back a chuckle, he hid his reaction behind a fierce scowl.

“You’re saying this ‘angel’ advises people about love? What nonsense!” He snorted in disbelief, and the cleric’s brows rose, though his expression of seriousness did not change. He refused to continue the tale until Devlin bade him carry through with it, ridiculous though it were.

“’Tis said the vision is female, breathtakingly lovely and awe-inspiring. A true lady, no less, sent as messenger from the patron saint of lovers, St. Valentine himself.”
Devlin scoffed at the tale again, for no true lady would hide herself away in this place. ‘Twas completely illogical. A true lady would seek a husband, as befitted her station were she of marriageable age, and if she were even half as lovely as the man before him sought to portray her, she would do so with little or no trouble at all.

If she were past marriageable age, she would live with relatives who would support her.

Someone would know if one of their relations had taken up haunting the local monastery. Someone somewhere knew who she was, and sooner or later, they would come looking for her—if she were real.

“That says nothing as to whether she is real or not, Mr. Grigory. A fact of which, I am certain, you are aware,” he said.

Devlin’s irritation with the man grew along with his discovery of the cleric’s obvious ability to talk around a subject and his own unexpected need to uncover the mystery behind St. Valentine’s Angel, whom he had decided was definitely a real female. His logical mind could accept nothing else. That he might be interested in tracking down a ghost was so completely preposterous, he sought to divert the direction of his thoughts.

His plans to convert the monastery into his home should be uppermost in his mind. Anything else would simply delay his progress and he had a yearning to see the work completed by the end of summer.

Mr. Grigory leaned back in his chair, drawing Devlin’s attention once more. “As I said, young Master Syndale, perhaps.”

Judging from the rapidly fading luster in the elder’s eyes, the loss of enthusiasm in his voice, the man apparently forgot the matter as easily as he had addressed it mere seconds ago. Devlin wanted to ask more, but the cleric began to speak of other matters, matters that should have been far more important to him at this moment. He realized, with some annoyance, that those concerns now came second in consequence to the mystery he yearned to solve.

“We’d best get to the business that brought you here. Everything is in order. The necessary coin has changed hands. I have seen to it that everything is prepared as you requested. However, before I am free to take my leave, there is one other matter...a thing about which I must inform you...”

The man looked uncertain, upset even, by the news he must impart. Devlin noted the deep crease of the frown that marred his brow and could not help but wonder what outrageous addendum had been added to his purchase price. He sighed and prompted the man to continue. “Do go on, Mr. Grigory. What is it now?”

Theodric Grigory studied the young Viscount, uncertain if carrying out his duties would indeed be in the best interests of all concerned, no matter how many times he had been assured they were. He had tried to explain to his charge that this was not a thing to be done on a whim. More than one life would be affected by the outcome of this transaction that had started out so simple but had evolved to major proportions—but the decision had been firmly reiterated. He had no choice in the matter now but to see it out.

Still, he worried. Suppose something went awry? Perchance the young rakehell showed himself to be completely uncouth and unreformable? What then would he do?

He sighed, for ‘twas not his place to worry over the matter, though he knew he would continue to do so.

No matter, he thought. He would fight with his personal dilemma alone, for there was truly naught he could do. He was merely a servant, a hireling with no voice in what was to be done, only the carrying out of it.

His thoughts turned to the gentle lady he sought to protect. He thought of her serene smile, her dancing eyes, her joyful, innocent spirit and he could not help but worry how she might fare with this rogue who sat before him now. Such was her naiveté, her genuine belief that there was good within everyone—it distressed him. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the tightness there from emotions that seemed to swell in him.

“My pardon, Lord Syndale, but it is my duty to inform you that in purchasing the monastery there is one final codicil, one last stipulation to the purchase. You must...that is to say...” He broke off, clearing his throat once more. “My lord, I ask you to consider...for our lady’s sake...”

He halted again, unable to continue, at a loss for the words he needed to form a plea to this knave before him for a promise of gentle manners where she was concerned.

Devlin became most attentive to the man’s words. Our lady? What lady? Indeed, of whose lady was the cleric speaking? As far back as he could remember, none but a handful of attendants had lived here within the monastery. The Duke’s wife and daughter had both long since passed on, and at no time that he had stayed here had the Duke been in attendance. “You speak of her, the one you call St. Valentine’s Angel?”

The cleric nodded and Devlin peered askance at him. “What has this woman—which you have yet to clearly state whether or not she is indeed a real flesh and blood woman or some phantasmagoric prank you’ve created to bemuse unwary travelers—to do with my acquisition of the monastery?”

“Indeed, how could it possibly concern her?” he wondered. Was he to escort her to her long-lost family perhaps? Or worse, would he be forced to see to her care? He considered those possibilities and decided either could be done, were it necessary. His desire for the monastery superseded any slight chore he might have to perform in the getting of it.

Theodric leaned back in his seat once more and sighed. ‘Twas a puzzle to him how he might convince Lord Syndale, who was affectionately known by his peers as Lord Syn, to be kind-hearted and lenient where the lady was concerned. It escaped him what words would be best to sway the plundering scoundrel who peered at him now, awaiting an answer to his question. He placed the tips of his fingers of each hand together before him, forming a peak, which he studied intently as he spoke.

“Allow me to attempt an explanation, Lord Syndale. Our lady is very...delicate and very innocent. She has been sheltered much of her life and knows nothing of the proclivities and mischief many of us have known...” he trailed off, still perplexed as to how he might get his message across without offending.

“And I have known many. Is that what you are trying to say?”

Theodric nodded. “Yes, my lord, but not in the way you think.”

Devlin could not believe the man’s audacity. What had his lifestyle to do with any of this? Come the morning, Mr. Grigory and the other attendants would be leaving. He scowled. “You fret overmuch, Mr. Grigory, for come the morning the lady you waste such deep concern over will be well away from any dark taint my presence might blot upon her. She departs as you do.”

Theodric shook his head, a deep sadness welling within him. Though he greatly wished it otherwise, she would not.

‘Twas this fact that had plagued him all along, for he knew he would miss her sorely. They all would but him most especially since he had been her guardian these past years. To leave her would be like leaving a part of himself behind.

Though he tried to hide the intensely sorrowful thoughts leaving her aroused, he felt certain Lord Syndale could see his grief in the small, trembling half smile he offered.

“Not our lady, my lord. ‘Tis the final stipulation I sought to speak of though I see now that I quite botched the telling of it. In order to finalize the transfer of the properties, Lord Syndale, you must agree to...”

“I must agree to see to the lady’s welfare? Or must I seek out some distant relative and see her delivered safely into their keeping? Which is it?” Devlin asked, interrupting the man, certain he knew the lay of the codicil.

Theodric stared at him for a moment in silence, and then shook his head. “I wish ‘twere so simple a matter, my lord, but unfortunately it is not. In order to finalize the transaction, you must agree to a marriage between yourself and the lady of whom I have spoken.”

It took but an instant for the words to sink in. Staring at the man, aghast, Devlin left his seat. He could feel the deathly cold grip of a trap closing about him and it was all he could do to stay in the same room with the man and not commit mayhem. His temper soared. “Marriage? Marriage! Dear addled Mr. Grigory, I think not!”

He’d been willing to see the lady to family who could take care of her. He’d even thought he would not mind overmuch providing the necessary coin to see to her welfare, should that have been the thing asked of him. But marriage?

Nay, he would never marry.

He leaned over the desk behind which the cleric sat, glaring his fury at the man. “You have yet to convince me that the bit of white I think I saw pass through yon wall into the corridor beyond earlier is anything more than a figment of my much wearied imagination. How you can sit there and casually announce that in order to claim the properties my monies have fairly purchased, I must also consent to wed her...it...whatever, is beyond me!”

He stomped to the door, fully intending to leave, then paused and spun about, piercing the man with the fire of his gaze. “Are the rest of this parish’s members as twitted as you?”

Theodric left his seat and came around the desk. “My Lord Syndale, you must understand that our lady is...” he began in an attempt to placate the young lord’s sudden temper but that one crossed the room in a flash of fury to stand toe-to-toe with him, his hazel eyes spangled and sparkling ominously with bright gold shards of color.

“I must do nothing of the sort, my good man, and I demand that you leave off with this nonsense immediately!”

He’d had enough of this whole preposterous situation, the monastery be damned! Had they planned this, him and his precious lady, St. Valentine’s Angel? He had to admit ‘twould have been a fabulously orchestrated manipulation were it any other young lord eager to have a place to call his own, but not him. He well knew his own reputation.

Throughout London and farther he was known as the dastardly, black-hearted seducer of innocents, debaucher of Society’s elite, for no decent young lady of a marriageable age was safe from his almost legendary powers of seductive persuasion. Dubbed the charmingly cold Lord Syn, ‘twas said he thought nothing of stealing a lady’s virtue and leaving her to face her disgrace alone.

In recent years, it had become nothing more than a game to him. Charm her, woo her, take her and move on to the next lovely. However, he was well aware that no one would even jokingly consider him fit material for marriage.

It was also considered highly doubtful that, should he ever take a wife, he would remain faithful to her for very long. At least that was the general consensus among various high-ranking members of Society, and he felt no compulsion whatsoever to correct them. He’d sampled many a maid and many a young widow over the past few years, and not one of them ever made him yearn to give up his bachelorhood.

Neither did this cleric’s cleverly laid scheme. Long had he played this game and won. He would not allow himself to be captured now.

Theodric shook his head regretfully. A slight frown wrinkled his otherwise smooth forehead, and he sighed. “Perhaps ‘tis best you meet our lady, my lord,” he suggested.

Devlin simply stared at him, trying to assimilate all that had occurred in the last few minutes. Intrigued, despite his anger and incredulity at the audacious announcement the man had made, his thoughts spun.

Was it possible there was truly a delicate lady living here in the monastery? Unbelievable. But unable to resist his own fascination with the vision he had seen and finding it somewhat humorous to toss the cleric’s own word back at him, he smiled slowly.

He nodded. “Perhaps….”