by Liz Tyner
“I plan to embrace life
...not a husband.”
Vivian Darius intends to waltz, attend soirées and put the last years of serious illness behind her. She’s been in the shadows, although since Lord Everleigh’s entrancing kiss she’s started living again. The troubled lone wolf is believed to have no heart, so why is she finding resisting him so hard? But when their secret tryst in a carriage is discovered, for the sake of her reputation they must wed!
“We do not have to get married,” Vivian whispered, clasping his coat.
Everleigh put his arm around her waist. “We must.”
“I don’t care if I’m ruined,” she said. “I’m almost anticipating it. It’s not bad compared to what I’ve been through.”
“It isn’t fair to you,” he muttered. “You deserve to be respected. A place among the ton. Vivian, will you marry me?” he asked.
Something concerned him. He should feel sad that Vivian was ruined. He should feel sorry for his culpability in all this. But he didn’t. He just wondered why he’d not kissed her more in the carriage.
LIZ TYNER
Compromised
into Marriage
Liz Tyner lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com.
Books by Liz Tyner
Harlequin Historical
The Notorious Countess
The Runaway Governess
The Wallflower Duchess
Redeeming the Roguish Rake
Saying I Do to the Scoundrel
To Win a Wallflower
It’s Marriage or Ruin
Compromised into Marriage
English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses
Safe in the Earl’s Arms
A Captain and a Rogue
Forbidden to the Duke
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Excerpt from The Flapper’s Fake Fiancé by Lauri Robinson
Chapter One
She ached to stay alive.
Vivian put one foot in front of the other, her arm linked in her older companion’s for support. The morning’s rain still lingered in puddles and Vivian knew she would mark her half-boots with mud. She’d not left her home in three months and she was going to take a stroll with Mavis, or else.
She wished to be wearing her new dancing slippers, but that had been a frivolous purchase. Another pair to wear when she was alone, then hide away so no one would know how much she wished to attend soirées.
Her former governess gave her a sideways glance and Vivian smiled. They could do it. She could do it.
They walked down Park Lane, then turned so they could stroll past the town houses and return to their own home.
Vivian’s heart pounded. Perhaps the words the physician had told her mother had been correct. Perhaps she should accept that she would not live to see another birthday.
She didn’t really notice the town coach slowing at the side of the street. Two liveried men guided the horses to a stop. Drivers and horses were routinely going about their work. One of the coachmen dismounted as Vivian and Mavis walked alongside the carriage.
Mavis stepped close to the vehicle, avoiding a deposit from a horse.
The door swung open—there were no steps beneath it. Before Vivian could react, the door crashed into Mavis’s head.
Thwack.
Mavis’s bonnet bounced from her head as silver hair splayed out and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Life blasted through Vivian’s limbs. She called out her companion’s name.
Mavis stirred.
‘My pardon.’ The man who’d opened the carriage door rushed the words, while his clasp on both of Vivian’s arms lifted her aside as effortlessly as a chess piece.
He knelt over Mavis, assessing her injuries. Mavis moaned.
Fear clutched at Vivian, freezing her movements.
‘Jasper. Go for the physician,’ he shouted to the coachman. Then he lifted the older woman up, his movements swift, minimal and controlled. The shoulders of his coat tightened, but no strain showed on his face.
The servant slapped the ribands and the horses galloped away.
The stranger carried Mavis and, in only a few long strides, he was over the threshold of one of the town houses.
Vivian stood, still grasping what had just happened. She clasped her bonnet strings, staring after the man who’d dashed away with her dearest friend in his arms.
She’d not thought someone with such long legs could have changed direction, crouched, stopped, then raced into action again. She’d watched, confusion flittering through her mind at what was happening in front of her.
She pulled her thoughts together and gathered all her resources. Then she rushed as fast as she could to the doorway without having any idea whose house it was. Nothing mattered but that she help Mavis.
Once inside the entrance, she noticed everything about the home gleamed, which somehow eased her fears.
A butler, mouth open, stared at her as she stopped in the entry. He didn’t seem to know whether to run after his employer, or attend to her.
‘Where’s Mavis?’ she asked.
He pointed to the stairway. ‘Door on the right.’
She grasped her skirt in both hands and ignored all the things Mavis had taught her about being a proper lady. She ran up the stairs, her breaths coming quickly from the effort, reticule bouncing.
At the top, she shot through the open door, the butler following in her wake.
Mavis was on a sofa. The tall man stood over her, knees bent, and his shoulders obscuring Mavis.
Vivian moved to the left, reassured to see her companion awake.
‘Just a bump. A bump.’ Mavis reached up, her gloved hand touching her nose. When she pulled back her hand, she saw the blood, wavered, and slumped against the cushions.
The black-coated man whirled to the butler. ‘Waincott. Fetch Mrs Rush.’
The servant retreated, following the order.
The man saw Vivian. He moved forward, his touch skimming Vivian’s arm, reassuring her. ‘My housekeeper will help. She’ll know what to do until the physician gets here.’
His attention returned to Mavis as she stirred again.
Moments later, an older female rushed past Vivian. ‘Let me see to her.’ She carried a bowl of water. ‘Stand back, Everleigh.’
She put the container on a table and
bent over Mavis, who was mumbling about the pain.
‘What day is it?’ The housekeeper sloshed the cloth in the basin.
‘The day I got whacked on the head.’
‘Yes.’ The housekeeper touched Mavis’s chin, moving it a bit so she could examine her closely. ‘Your nose has already stopped bleeding. You’re going to have the biggest black shiner I ever saw. Let me wipe away the blood to see the damage. Next, we’ll work on a good tale for you to tell about getting thumped by a jealous debutante.’
Mavis laughed.
The housekeeper directed a comment to Vivian. ‘Leave it to me. She’s got a drop of blood on her clothes. I want to get it out before it sets.’
‘Will she be fine?’ Vivian asked, her clasp tight at her chest.
‘Most certainly I will,’ Mavis answered, her voice gaining strength. ‘Give me an instant to catch my breath, Vivian, and we’ll take our leave.’
The man in the black frock coat fixed his ice-blue gaze on Vivian. In seconds, she felt he’d beheld her so closely that she could have left the room and, had he been an artist, he could have sketched a complete likeness of her.
Then he spoke to Mavis. ‘You’ll not be leaving until the carriage is back, the physician has seen you and my coachmen can escort you home. And only then if the physician is convinced it is safe.’
The lady who’d rushed to Mavis’s side wrung out a rag, splashing water in the bowl. ‘I’ll be the judge of when she’s able to move.’ She stretched the cloth wide. ‘Us vixens got to stick together.’
Mavis chuckled.
When she realised her friend could laugh, Vivian’s strength waned as quickly as a marionette with its strings removed.
‘I need to sit, sir.’ She gazed up at him.
She felt his fingers clamp on both her arms again as he pulled her to him, keeping her aloft by the power in his hands and his gaze. ‘Were you injured?’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not until you grasped my arms.’
She almost stumbled he released her so fast. Her breathing took all her strength.
She saw a force in front of her that she’d never bet against and her knees weakened again. Then his eyes warmed, consoling her.
His arm caught her waist and his broad shoulders were no longer imposing, but bolstering. He guided her into a library smelling faintly of tobacco. Leading her to a chair big enough for her to curl up and sleep in, he released her, moving slowly so he would be ready should she fall. She could feel his touch in a different way than she’d felt anyone else’s.
‘You’re shaken from seeing your companion’s blood,’ he stated.
She shook her head, and let herself slide into the chair. ‘No. I’m just...’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘I’m dying. I saw the letter my mother wrote my aunt before she sealed it. It’s a secret. Mustn’t let anyone find out.’ She settled and held an extended index finger to her lips in a mock command to shush him. ‘There’s no hope. Nothing can be done.’
For all the weakness she felt in her bones, she could see the opposite in him.
He stood solid—a man who could make Almack’s patronesses fluster. He had more strength in his voice than she could ever remember having in her whole body. But at this moment, his gaze told her he would use all his resources for her comfort and the knowledge rushed through her with intensity.
‘I overtired myself.’ She sat straighter. ‘We would be pleased to allow your carriage to see us home later. We’d much appreciate it.’ She emphasised, ‘I would much appreciate it.’
‘Would you like water or...’ he observed her expression ‘...or brandy?’
She waved away the drink. ‘I’m worried about my companion.’
‘She is in good care. My housekeeper, Mrs Rush—well...’ he shrugged, smiling ‘...you’d have to know her. And I much regret the accident.’
‘As long as Mavis recovers, I’ll forgive you.’ She met his deep blue examination. She saw his knowledge that he’d already been forgiven.
‘Then we must see she recovers.’ He walked to a decanter, touched the stopper, then looked over his shoulder at her. ‘You’re sure?’
She nodded. ‘I need to rest. Being ill is tiresome.’
‘What illness do you have?’
She reached to pull up the shoulder of her gown. Her clothes all seemed to fall from her body.
‘I had an accident involving a horse where my sides were bruised and I’ve never got over it. I take more and more medicines and I get weaker and weaker. The physician said my bile is building. He claims my humours are in severe disorder... Hope is diminished. He doesn’t expect me to recover.’ She forced a smile. ‘That is what my mother wrote my aunt. The doctor tells me, “These things take time. We’ll have you dancing soon.”’
‘I can have my physician speak with you after he sees to your friend.’
The idea tempted her. A chance. ‘Who is the physician?’
‘Gavin Hamilton.’
She waved the idea away, trying not to show emotion. ‘I’ve seen him already. Not long after Mother’s doctor became concerned. Hamilton could find nothing wrong with me. He said I should recover completely. My mother’s physician was furious that we had consulted someone else. He said the man was insensible to not see the obvious. He increased the dosage of my medicinals and hot plasters. I have enough Fowler’s solution to begin my own apothecary shop.’
‘You must speak with Hamilton again. He’s the best physician in London. It should hurt nothing. Give the man something pleasant to do, to have a patient as charming as you.’
She laughed and let her eyelids fall while shaking her head. ‘Mother’s doctor has been treating the family since before she was born. She trusts him.’
He crossed to her.
‘You will let Hamilton be the judge of that,’ his words commanded softly.
‘He cannot help me.’
He reached up, brushing back a lock of her hair and she knew he felt dampness on her skin.
His touch soothed her.
‘This chair is so comfortable.’ She grasped the leather. ‘It has the scent of a new pair of riding boots. I could fall asleep here.’
‘I don’t know about the scent of a chair.’ She noticed his hand brushing her forehead again. ‘But the lady sitting in it smells of roses and is quite lovely enough to be the entire garden.’
She let her lips turn up in acknowledgment of his compliment. ‘I do not mind being ill so much.’ Biting her lip, she hid her expression from him. ‘I just wish I had more time to live. I’m never allowed to attend any soirées now, as my mother fears the exertion will make me worse and refuses all invitations.’
He reached behind him and pulled up a foot rest, sitting on it.
He clasped her hand. Even through her doeskin gloves, his touch transferred strength into her body.
‘You should dance. You should live each second,’ he spoke, the same timbre in his words a father might use in speaking with a favoured child.
‘After the accident, my mother has seen me guarded and fussed over more than any newborn infant. She cries if she sees me dancing, afraid I am overtiring myself and preventing my recovery. Mother is napping now, or I would not have been allowed to leave the house.’
‘She loves you dearly. I have not had an occasion where I could be treated so.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t like it.’ She shuddered. ‘Although it’s easy to fall into the trap of having lemonade brought to you before you raise your arm, or a shawl before the air has a chill. After my accident, Mother hired two maids more for me.’ Vivian laughed.
‘Can you imagine, trying to rest while having a maid staring at your every movement so she might give you a handkerchief or anything you want? One day, I said I must have a pair of new gloves. I sent one servant to Bond Street and I sent the other to purchase confectioneries.’ She let ou
t a satisfied breath. ‘I had an afternoon to myself. Then when they returned, we admired the gloves and ate the treats.’
‘Your mother wants the best for you.’ His voice rumbled and she relaxed, wishing she could sit and listen to the roughened softness for hours.
He still held her hand and she realised she felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to another person—even Mavis. This was the first time being ill had had a benefit.
Vivian decided she had earned some licence because of the accident and her trials. She stowed propriety away. He sat much too near, she supposed, for only just meeting her. And she was ill. And he did have an interesting appearance, although not precisely handsome. His chin, maybe it was a bit too wide, or maybe his hair fell too straight, but, no—it suited him. She liked what she saw, especially since she’d seen him dash Mavis up in his arms.
She could not even let herself think about his legs—she’d not seen oak timbers that lean and strong.
‘I wish... I just wish I could be like the others who go to soirées and waltz and flirt with kind gentlemen.’ She heard the wistfulness in her voice.
‘How do you feel,’ he whispered to her, leaning so near she could smell ambergris, ‘about flirting with an unkind gentleman?’
He moved close, closer than she’d ever been to a male other than her father.
‘I suppose if that is what’s available, I will take what I can get.’ She savoured his proximity. ‘Do you know any such men?’
‘Only one present,’ he whispered, standing and grasping her hands. He pulled her upright. ‘May I have this waltz?’
He lifted her right hand high and his flattened at her back.
‘I fear I’m too tired to dance.’ She let an apology sound in her words and she drew away, but he didn’t release her.
‘I’m heartbroken.’ His sincerity gave the words truth, whether they were true or not.
She reached to his shoulder, planning to push him back, but rested her fingers instead, feeling the firmness beneath. ‘So am I. To have such a partner, and not be able to enjoy a waltz. But I—’ His compassion touched her. ‘I don’t feel I am missing it so much now. To have been asked is as good as the dance, I believe.’