Stand and Deliver

(Novel length: 78,000 + words)

Romance Novel Appeals to Survivors of Abusive Relationships

After enduring years of abuse at the hands of a man she had been forced to marry, Lilith dreamed often about what could have been. What if her fate had been her own, and she had been allowed to go out and search for her “Prince Charming?”

Just when she had given up all hope of ever being happy, a hero comes out of nowhere and rescues her, but what will be her fate once free of the tyrant?

That is the question explored in Stand and Deliver, a new historical romance by Karla Joan Thomas. She originally wrote the story as a gift for a friend, and believes the tale will appeal to anyone who has ever been in a bad relationship.

“Stand and Deliver was my way of helping my friend recover from her ordeal, helping her realize that not all men are terrible scoundrels,” says Thomas. Now that the book is published, she is hoping others will benefit from reading it as well.

Stand and Deliver is set in 16^th century England. In the prologue, readers are introduced to Lilith Ashton, a beautiful young woman who had been dragged to a card game by her unloving husband, Barnabas Ashton. He considered Lilith nothing more than a possession and after losing a small fortune at the card table, tried to get it all back by offering her as collateral.

One at a time, the cards are dealt. Ashton thinks he has a good hand, only to be beaten again by Andrew Fairfax, a professional gambler and thief who then rides off on horseback with Lilith. What becomes of the young woman? Is she going from one bad relationship to another, or has she finally found the love of her life? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

Prologue

London, 1662

The January wind whistled through the narrow London streets, driving all to seek cover from the cold it brought. Beggars huddled in the doorways, searching for what shelter could be found, while men on horseback sank deeper into heavy cloaks as they urged their steeds to speed them upon their way. The night was dark, no moon or starlight piercing the heavy cloud cover. The shadows of city buildings crowded together over the frozen cobblestones were darker still.

Inside the gambling parlor, however, all was bright and warm. Fires blazed in the hearths, and a myriad of lamps shed a glowing golden light on the activities in the three large rooms. Only half the tables were still occupied, for it was well past midnight and many patrons had already left for their homes. A number of dedicated gamesters continued their pursuits despite the late hour. Some of the groups were noisy with frank enjoyment of their play, their delight augmented by the liquor that waiters brought almost without being asked. Other tables held silent men, eyes flicking furtively from the cards they held to the faces of their opponents and back again, trying to divine a strategy to bring the prize their way.

There was nothing furtive about Andrew Fairfax as he sprawled in his chair, studying his handful of pasteboard cards. He gazed speculatively at the man on the other side of the table. The fellow clutched his own cards in both hands, close to his round, sweaty face. Small eyes, sharp with cunning, peered back at Andrew, who glanced back at his hand. The cards added to twenty-seven, not by any means a sure win. He let his eyes roam to the table at his left, which had been steadily drawing his attention all evening.

A woman sat there alone, watching their game with bored disinterest. Not yet twenty-five years old, surely, with ebony hair pinned up becomingly, save for one long lock that trailed over her shoulder and down her bosom, the end curling provocatively between her ivory breasts. The neckline of her green silk dress plunged low to show off these delicious features, and her corset pushed them up so that they swelled round and firm out of her bodice. Andrew imagined that he could almost see her nipples through the lace edging the neckline. The rest of her figure was lithe and graceful, and her hands—he always noticed hands—were delicate and long-fingered, with well-kept nails. A diamond sparkled on the third finger of her left hand.

Her face was that of an angel, delicately heart-shaped, with wide brown eyes fringed by thick black lashes, and full red lips that even in repose hinted at a captivating smile. Her petal-soft skin was too pale, though the heat of the nearby fire had painted a flush across her cheekbones.

When she spoke to the waiter, her voice was low and melodious, with a cultured accent that spoke of highborn origins. Andrew could hardly bear to follow the sound of that music with his own common speech, heavily laden with a rough Yorkshire dialect, as he told the dealer, “I’ll have another.”

The dealer slid another card toward him and glanced toward his opponent, who shook his head brusquely. “I’ll stand.”

Andrew picked up the card. It was a three. “Well, Ashton,” he said in a bland voice, “what have you got?”

Ashton had lost too much money to be complacent about anything less than a perfect hand. With trepidation he lay down his cards. “Twenty-nine.”

Likewise, Andrew was too good at the game to visibly smirk at his good fortune. He showed his own cards and swept up the pile of coins from the center of the table. “Looks like that finishes you.”

The fat man scowled. “You must let me try to recoup my losses.” He wrenched off the huge ring that rode on his finger. “I’ll put this against your wager.”

Andrew held up the ring and studied it with a practiced eye. “Sorry, Ashton. Nowt but glass, as I’m well sure you know. I’d not give you two shillin’s for it.” He stretched and began to gather up his winnings, one eye on the lady nearby. “Nay, I’m finished for the night.” She was not the sort of woman who usually haunted the place, he could tell, but she might be persuaded to spend a little time with him. All he asked was the opportunity to bask in her radiance for a while.

Slowly she rose and approached their table, her every move graceful and contained. The hand that wore the diamond reached out and settled onto Ashton’s shoulder. “Come away, Barnabas. It’s over.”

Andrew’s expression never changed, but his heart froze within him. Could it be true? How could such an exquisite creature belong to this pig of a man? He began to methodically scoop his winnings into his leather purse, but nearly half still remained when Ashton caught his arm in a fierce grip. “I’ll not let it go so easily,” the man growled, his face red and scowling. “What you’ve got there against a night with my wife. What say you to that, eh?”

Andrew stopped, paralyzed for a moment by the thought. It took every bit of self-control that he possessed not to slam his fist into Ashton’s ugly face. The dealer goggled at them, awaiting the outcome breathlessly. Andrew’s gaze went to her, as she stood behind her husband, her face white and blank. Her eyes pleaded with him, though she said not a word and moved not a muscle. What was it she wanted of him? To reject the offer? Or to accept, and so free her of this lout for the space of a few hours? He told himself that he would never dream of sullying her with his unwanted touch, but deep inside something cried out that if ever he laid so much as a finger on her, he would not be able to stop until she was completely his.

He shook off Ashton’s hand, sickened by the contact. “Nay, I care nowt for that offer.” He thought he saw the pleading turn to despair, and he upended his purse onto the table, spilling out all the money he owned, a considerable sum after his recent streak of luck. “I’ll wager all of this, everything, but one night isn’t enough. If I win, you give her over to me completely, for all time.”

The room around them had grown utterly silent. The lady appeared to have stopped breathing as she stared, her eyes huge in her bloodless face. Ashton cursed, but he could not take his eyes off the pile of money. At last he snarled, “Very well! If you win, you can have the baggage. But if I win, it’s all mine.”

Andrew pushed the coins to the center of the table and nodded to the dealer, who fumbled for his deck. Slowly the cards came. An eight. A five. A three. A six. A seven. He held twenty-nine, good enough to win unless Ashton had suddenly turned luckier than he had been before now. But the oaf was looking far too pleased with his hand, and his lady was beginning to regain her look of despair. “Another card, sir?” the dealer asked.

Slowly she licked her lips and lifted her hand. Three fingers covered her mouth, then for an instant they curved to meet her thumb in an unmistakable O. Andrew took a deep breath. His entire future lay before him, a far brighter prospect than it had been only this morning, if his luck held a few moments longer. “One more,” he told the dealer.

He did not look at the card when it came to him. Ashton, his greed showing openly in his face, put down his hand. “Thirty,” he said.

One by one Andrew lay down his own cards. Eight. Five. Three. Six. Seven. Slowly he turned over the last card and discovered a two.

The lady let out a cry of delight. His reaching hand met hers halfway, and when he pulled her to him she came more readily than he had imagined possible. “I claim the prize,” he told Ashton, who was staring in shock at the perfect thirty-one that lay before him.

“Get the money,” she whispered, “or he’ll snatch it.” Quickly he swept the coins into his purse and pushed it inside his shirt. Together they ran out of the gambling parlor, barely pausing to collect their cloaks, before her husband could gather himself to object. As Andrew was lifting her onto his horse, he asked, “What’s your name, luv?”

“Lilith,” she replied.

He swung up behind her. “Lilith. My Lady Lil.” With her sitting sideways in front of him, her arms clasped around his waist, he kicked the horse into a gallop and they rode off into the cold rain.

Chapter 1

Yorkshire, 1664

“Stand and deliver!”

The coach lurched to a halt. The passengers looked warily at one another as a wordless shout rang out from above. It was followed almost immediately by the crack of a pistol, and the woman in the far corner gave a little shriek and huddled into her husband’s side.

A noise of someone scrambling up the side of the coach echoed inside, and the same voice called, “Tie them up tight, Jem, so they don’t give us trouble!”

Lilith stuck her head out the window, her eyes alight with curiosity. The man beside her caught her arm and drew her back inside. “Best not, miss,” he told her. “You don’t want to anger them.”

“Oh, do what the gentleman says, ma’am,” Betsy urged from her seat opposite her mistress. “I knew there’d be trouble if we came to these wild parts, I just knew!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Betsy,” Lilith said, a touch sharply. “It’s no more dangerous here than in Oxfordshire.” Still, she made no further attempt to see what was happening.

She had been warned against travelling so far with only her maid for company. Her solicitor Mr. Aubrey had been unusually eloquent about the perils of the road, and Sir William, the neighbor who had been attempting to court her for the past year, had stressed the general lawlessness of the region. She had laughed at both men and continued with her arrangements to visit her friend Sophy despite their concerns.

Sophia Tremayne was Lilith’s oldest friend, the one who had shared in her childhood secrets and her girlhood dreams. Sophy had wept at Lilith’s wedding, the only one to understand her terror, and had remained a constant buttress in the following years, albeit from a necessary distance, for Barnabas Ashton had made his wife’s life even more difficult when she had friends nearby. Sophy’s husband, knighted for his part in aiding the restoration of the crown, now held the office of King’s Lieutenant in York. Lengthy letters had never ceased flowing in both directions, and they had grown far more frequent in the past two years. When Sophy wrote begging her friend’s company for her coming confinement, Lilith could not refuse, nor had she wished to.

“We must be very near to York,” she said absently as she listened to the rattlings and bumpings above her.

“Two miles, at most,” the man beside her replied. “Cheeky rogues, to ply their trade here.”

Lilith barely heard him. She was mentally reviewing the contents of her bags, wondering what thieves would find attractive. She had little jewelry, and very little of her clothing would be worth the trouble of stealing. Her life was that of a countrywoman, and most of her garments had been chosen for practicality rather than show.

The door beside her opened with a jerk. A black figure filled the doorway, barely visible in the moonlight. Suddenly a flickering light shone in upon them while leaving the stranger in shadow. He had opened a dark lantern to see them better. Lilith, closest to him, peered at him in an effort to make out what details she could. So little of his face was perceivable that she realized he must be masked. The wide brim of a hat obscured the rest.

“Good evenin’, me fine friends,” he said in a jovial voice. “May I trouble you to empty your pockets and strip off your gloves for me?”

Betsy was in a state of near petrification. She barely managed to remove her woolen gloves, which she promptly dropped on the floor of the coach. Lilith felt oddly calm as she set aside her own gloves and reached into her purse. “I’ve only a bit of silver,” she told the fellow, “but you’re welcome to it.” She stretched out a handful of coins toward him.

“Thank you kindly, madam,” he said as he held out a bag to accept their money. Her diamond glittered in the lantern light, and he waved the bag toward it. “A fine gem, that. Your wedding ring, is it?” She nodded. The lilting sound of his Yorkshire accent stole the menace from his words and touched a chord in her heart that she had thought long buried. For the briefest moment memory threatened to sweep her away. She wrenched herself back to the present as the highwayman let his light fall on the man beside her. “And would this be your husband?”

“Indeed not,” Lilith replied, wondering at her own calmness, not only at the robbery but at the storm of remembrance within her. “I am a widow.”

“My condolences.” From the tone of his voice she thought he must be smiling. “I’d not take a poor lady’s wedding token. Nor yours, madam,” he added, turning the lantern to the woman in the far corner, who had been twisting at her own less elaborate ring. “But these gentlemen will not begrudge me their rings and studs. And I’ll ask you ladies for your other jewelry.”

Lilith’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh, please,” she said, perturbed for the first time; “I’ll give you the chain most gladly, but allow me to keep the pendant. It’s worth little enough.”

The light shown on her, illuminating the simple necklace. The front was of glass, rimmed in silver. Beneath the glass could clearly be seen a thick lock of blond hair. “A remembrance of your dear departed husband?” the highwayman asked, amused.

“No. A memento of a very dear friend. It’s all I have.”

“I’m very sorry, madam, but if I let you have your gems, I’ll have to allow the other ladies theirs, and before long I’ll have no trade left.”

With a sigh she unclasped the silver chain and dropped it into the bag. Even as it left her fingers the past it represented seemed to retreat beyond her reach. Till now the thief had intrigued her, but suddenly she was filled with rage. With an effort she held her tongue. Her fellow travelers very slowly followed her example in divesting themselves of their jewelry. As the last man emptied his purse into the bag, the other door opened, and a second black-clad man leaned in. “About finished, Dick?”

“If you’ll help me out by checkin’ that gentleman’s inside pockets,” answered the first highwayman, letting the lantern shine on the man farthest from him, who had contributed little.

In a few seconds the man in question had been relieved of a heavy purse, a gold watch, and a silver toothpick case. This sight caused the man next to Lilith to remember his own watch before he could be put to a similar indignity.

“We’re done here, Jem,” the man with the lantern said, closing it quickly and throwing the coach into darkness. The two highwaymen withdrew, slamming the doors shut. A few moments later the passengers heard hoofbeats fading into the night. Not until the men were gone did cries from the top of the coach draw them outside to investigate.

The driver and guard were tied back to back. Neither had been harmed. At the first sign of belligerence on their part, one of the highwaymen had loosed a pistol shot into the air while making it clear that he had a second weapon to draw upon if necessary. The men had decided on a course of prudence, allowing themselves to be bound. They had sat quietly while the luggage was rifled, neither venturing so much as a word of admonition.

It was some time before the scattered bags and boxes were gathered up again, so that midnight was approaching when the coach finally rattled through the medieval barbican and gate-tower that marked the entrance to the city of York. At last they pulled up in front of an inn. Stiffly Lilith climbed out onto the cobbles and looked around. The building was fairly new, and an inviting lamp shone in the window. She waited as her bags were unloaded.

“What now, ma’am?” Betsy asked as she made sure that none of their luggage had been lost.

“We cannot find Sophy’s house at this hour,” Lilith said. “I suppose we must take a room and continue in the morning.” She stifled a yawn. The excitement of the highwaymen was dissipating, leaving her in a state of near exhaustion.

The door to the inn opened, and a man came out holding a lantern, which he held high to shine upon the two women. “Would tha be Mrs. Ashton?” he asked in a Yorkshire accent so broad as to be barely understandable.

“Yes, I am,” Lilith replied. “Who are you?”

“I be Harry Trotter, Sir James’ head groom. Th’ master sent me to watch for coach and bring tha home wi’ me when tha finally coom. Coach be rare late tonight.”

Lilith absorbed this as well as her weary brain allowed. “However did you know I would be on this coach?”

“Mistress said ‘twould be this week, sure. If there’d been no sign o’ tha, I’d have met coach next Monday.” He was already gathering up her luggage. She had no choice but to follow him to a small carriage, Betsy trailing in her wake. “Get tha oop, ma’am,” he said as he helped her into the carriage. “And tha too, miss.” His voice warmed as he lifted Betsy up. In the lantern light she could see a handsome young face grinning at her. She dimpled prettily at his undisguised admiration.

Lilith tried not to groan as they rattled over the cobbled streets, jarring anew every bruise accumulated in the past week of travel. They were only ten minutes on the way, but bodily aches and fatigue warred so strenuously within her that she felt as if it were hours.

Suddenly they had stopped, and she was being drawn into a warm hallway, relieved of her cloak, and half-escorted, half-carried up a flight of stairs to a broad, low-ceilinged room. It was sumptuously furnished, but all she saw was the huge bed, green linen curtains drawn back to reveal a beautiful matching counterpane. The woman accompanying her, whom she had vaguely heard introduce herself as the housekeeper Mrs. Swynford, was chattering on.

“The mistress retired several hours since, but in her condition that’s only to be expected. I’m so pleased you’ve come at last, Mrs. Ashton. It was worrying her so, being alone at such a time, not that she truly was alone, for I’ve been through childbirth thrice and have two fair and healthy daughters with children of their own to show for my pains, and I’m sure I’d do all I know how to help her, but it isn’t like having true family, is it? And to hear her tell, you’re closer than any sister, which is what she needs, not that the master wouldn’t do everything in his power for her—fair dotes on her, he does, and a fine and proper thing that is, too, if you ask me—but husbands are more hindrance than help at such a time, and the best thing they can do is run down to the public house and drink till it’s all over. Not that the master is one for much drinking, mind you, though he’s no frowning puritan, not by a long chalk. But here you are now, Mrs. Ashton, safe and snug. I’ll have Molly bring water in just a moment, and you can get into your bed, and welcome that will be, I dare say. We’ll put your maid just through that door. No need to worry about being in time for breakfast—the mistress takes hers late, but we’ll not wake you even then, as tired as you’re like to be. I’ll leave you now, and welcome again! We’re so happy to have you at last.”

She bustled out of the room, leaving Lilith bemused by this torrent of words, barely half of which had registered. Betsy fumbled with her buttons and got her out of her dress and stays before being dismissed to a welcome rest. Somehow she divested herself of her woolen stockings. She bathed her hands and face in the heated water provided by a weary but curious housemaid, and crawled into bed.

She drifted to sleep with the sardonic voice of the highwayman echoing in her memory and pursuing her into her dreams. . . .

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