Lady Emmi Rue: An Exclusive Excerpt From Author, D.L. Carter's 'Crimes of the Brothers'

An Exclusive Excerpt From Author, D.L. Carter's Crimes of the Brothers

**Mature Audience Advisory***

Brothers are supposed to be kind... caring... supportive... protective. Catherine Walman's brother, however, is not. He has maligned her reputation until no honorable man will seek her company, wasted her dowry and endangered her home with his gambling and now his new wife has made it clear Catherine is no longer welcome. The hand of fortune intervenes when a letter arrives advising Catherine that a stranger has bequeathed to her "a home and money to keep it." Catherine seizes upon this chance, hoping that it might be enough for her to be independent, to be free - only to discover this stranger also had a brother, or two, or three.

Fortunately, the rain abated just as they drove down their front drive. The forecourt, which had not been regraveled for six years, was a lake of mud, not improved by the passage of the horses, but Catherine decided as she looked up at the peeling façade and old, pale yellow stone of her home, that it was a very welcome sight. “Here, take in this box. I cannot trust it to the gardener,” said her father thrusting one of the egg boxes into Catherine’s hands as she prepared to descend from the carriage.

“Call James back. He shall take the next one.”

“I cannot take it and manage the stairs both at once, Father. Please wait until I have both feet on the ground.”

“If you must.”

Catherine climbed down with assistance from the gardener’s son and catching sight of James almost through the front door called, “James. James. Father needs your assistance.”

James halted and glared back at her. “For God’s sake, Catherine, give over nagging.”

“I said,” Catherine accepted the box her father held out to her. “Father needs your assistance. It will only take a moment.”

Grumbling James stumped back down the stairs and snatched the box from Catherine.

“James.” shouted his father, leaning through the carriage door. “Gently. Gently. Don’t squeeze the box. Use both hands and do not run. Take them into my bookroom and put them on the table furthest from the window.”

James rolled his eyes and turned, box still held in one hand, and stomped off into the house. Their father placed another box delicately into Catherine’s hands.

“Hurry in … carefully, girl. Take that box from James before he ruins them.”

Catherine, her reticule dangling from one wrist, her valise hanging from her other elbow, lifted her skirt out of the mud by her fingertips as she hurried into the house with the egg box held close to her chest. Most of their few remaining servants turned out to empty the carriage. Catherine glanced about for Kay, the upstairs maid and the closest thing Catherine had to a friend, but she was not to be seen. Catherine hastened up into the house and almost collided with James, who was standing frozen in the hall staring up at a petite blonde woman with brilliant green eyes framed by thick black lashes. She stood on the main staircase, one hand resting on the balustrade, the other outstretched towards James.

“Jocelyn, what are you doing here?” demanded James of the stranger.

“Darling, I missed you,” the woman gushed in a breathless voice. Her dress of almost transparent rose silk… with three flounces at the hem and several yards of ribbon and lace around her throat… clung damply to her limbs as she descended the last few steps and rushed across the hall to wrap herself about James’s arm and press her bosom against his cringing form. “You cannot tell me that you did not miss me.”

Catherine would have observed her brother’s discomfiture with amusement if she weren’t gripped with dread in anticipation of the explanation for this woman’s presence. Her stomach clenched and burned as she watched her brother stand, open-mouthed and paralyzed. There was shriek from the upper house… a very young voice raised in fierce anger.

“Dear God,” cried her mother, entering the hall on Catherine’s heels. “What is that noise?”

“That,” said the stranger, “is my son. Your grandson. Gregory James Walman, the heir to the Walman estates. I thought it past time that he made the acquaintance of his grandparents.”