Giving in...
To their unlikely attraction
When Alaric Defford, Lord Stafford, bursts into her life, widow Marianne Turner is shocked by their instant connection. She never expected to feel this way for another man, especially one so formidable and arrogant! Having vowed never to love again, Marianne hides behind the fact she’s a completely unsuitable match for him. But her resolve is tested when Alaric’s injured and nursing him back to health reveals a warmer, more passionate side to the viscount...
“I can be a good patient,” Alaric told her with an altogether too-disarming grin.
There was still a hot promise in his gaze, so she avoided it. There could never be anything between a lord and a humble widow they would not need to be ashamed of afterward. “I doubt you know how to be patient in any sense of the word, my lord,” Marianne forced herself to say lightly.
“And I am trying so hard to be humble,” he told her half seriously, and she nearly laughed. She could not imagine a less humble man if she ran through a list of every hotheaded and entitled officer she had ever met, from the Duke of Wellington downward.
“It could take a lifetime,” she argued, and it felt heady and a bit too intimate when he smiled as if he knew he was naturally arrogant and impatient but, given the right incentive, he could be a lot less lordly and very human indeed.
“I will need a lot of help, then,” he said huskily, and all the images in her head earlier were hot in his piercingly blue eyes as he gazed back at her.
Even his mouth looked firm and rather inviting as the notion of what that help might involve sang between them. He was an invalid, for goodness’ sake. And even when he was well, he would still be a viscount.
Author Note
Welcome to the second of my books about the Yelverton siblings. Marianne and Alaric’s unconventional love story has been intriguing to write as they are totally unsuitable for one another but end up falling in love despite all the barriers of rank and fortune that should keep them apart.
I love writing about families and the Yelvertons are especially close to my heart because they share such a strong bond and are all determined to live life on their own terms. I do hope you enjoy Marianne and Alaric’s story and maybe you will join me for Viola Yelverton’s love story, which will be coming soon.
ELIZABETH BEACON
Unsuitable Bride
for a Viscount
Elizabeth Beacon has a passion for history and storytelling and, with the English West Country on her doorstep, never lacks a glorious setting for her books. Elizabeth tried horticulture, higher education as a mature student, briefly taught English and worked in an office before finally turning her daydreams about dashing piratical heroes and their stubborn and independent heroines into her dream job: writing Regency romances for Harlequin Historical.
Books by Elizabeth Beacon
Harlequin Historical
A Rake to the Rescue
The Duchess’s Secret
The Yelverton Marriages
Marrying for Love or Money?
Unsuitable Bride for a Viscount
The Alstone Family
A Less Than Perfect Lady
Rebellious Rake, Innocent Governess
One Final Season
A Most Unladylike Adventure
A Wedding for the Scandalous Heiress
A Year of Scandal
The Viscount’s Frozen Heart
The Marquis’s Awakening
Lord Laughraine’s Summer Promise
Redemption of the Rake
The Winterley Scandal
The Governess Heiress
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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
Excerpt from A Royal Kiss & Tell by Julia London
Excerpt from From Cinderella to Countess by Annie Burrows
Chapter One
Viscount Stratford hardly noticed the rain-sodden countryside he was riding through or the cloud-veiled hills slowly emerging from the gloom.
Confounded storm, Alaric thought briefly as urgency drove him relentlessly on.
Finding his niece was all that mattered and last night’s rain had cost him precious hours. He spent the time pacing a wayside barn impatient for even a glimmer of light and how could he sleep when his niece was missing in a deluge? At this time of year nights were short, and the rain had finally stopped, but at this very moment Juno could be wandering alone and lost and soaked to the skin in the hills—even if she had been taken in by strangers would they be kind to her or use her to make money? He shook his head to try and shake off an image of his naive niece held for ransom by hardy rogues, or lying hurt and feverish somewhere and needing him. So badly it hurt to think that he had failed her yet again.
How had he ever managed to persuade himself it was a good idea to leave Juno in his mother’s care while he went to Paris to try and be useful to the Duke of Wellington in his new role as British Ambassador to France? The Royalists and even some former Bonapartists might fawn on the Duke, but it was Bonaparte’s former capital, for goodness’ sake. It beat Alaric how anyone thought it a good notion to put one of the defeated emperor’s foes in such a post, but never mind that now. Juno was all that mattered and thank goodness his London agent had sent warning all was not well so he was already on his way home when she ran away.
And who can blame her when her life was intolerable and you were busy being self-important elsewhere, Stratford? What a fine guardian you have proved to be.
No wonder his orphaned niece had run away to find her former governess, who was now living in the still-sleeping town just visible in the distance. What comfort had Juno ever got from him or his mother?
None at all, the relentless voice of his conscience condemned him once again.
Even thinking about the Dowager Lady Stratford made the weariness of his days on the road between here and Paris lie heavy on his shoulders and he tried to shake it off. But now that Juno had run away from the only family she had left he could not escape the truth any longer. Since he inherited this wretched title he had neglected his niece and driven himself to places he did not really want to go and done things he had no need to do just so he did not have to think about the dratted woman and all the cold places she had left in his life. Which made him a coward, he concluded as he eyed the sleepy Herefordshire town up ahead.
Even if she was not so fond of Miss Grantham, he could see why Juno would set out for this quiet and out-of-the-way place so far from fashionable Mayfair. His mother would sooner walk barefoot down New Bond Street in rags than come here to make her granddaughter return to Stratford House and do as she was bid. So of course Miss Grantham had looked like Juno’s best ally in a crisis. The lady had taught, guided and cared for the girl for four years and he had not. His own niece
did not feel she could ask him for help when his mother decided to ignore Juno’s objections and marry her off against her will to a rich middle-aged peer who was willing to pay the Dowager Lady Stratford handsomely for a young wife and the prospect of an heir as soon as he could get one on her.
‘Over my dead body,’ Alaric vowed as impatience and guilt made the distance between here and Broadley seem endless.
His horse had to pick its way past ruts and potholes full of floodwater and it would be reckless and cruel to try and spur him on. How dare two selfish aristocrats try to impose such a repellent match on such a young and diffident girl? And what a fool he was to think it would do his shy niece good to meet people her own age who would teach her to take life less seriously. He had only ever wanted her to make a few friends and see that under all the show and sparkle, the polite world was made up of human beings with all the faults, virtues and foibles of their kind. It was never his intention to marry her off so young and especially not against her wishes.
He thought he had made that very clear to his mother when he financed an extravagant new wardrobe for her and Juno and told his staff to make Stratford House ready to launch his niece in style. It was a rite of passage, he had reasoned, an experience Juno would have to go through sooner or later, so she might as well get it out of the way rather than build it up into a dreaded ordeal. And society would expect the only child of the last Viscount Stratford to make her curtsy the moment she was old enough. Alaric did not want whispers there was something wrong with the girl and her family were keeping her close to make her debut seem even more daunting if they put it off until she was older.
He knew Juno was a bright girl who could talk happily enough when she felt at ease with her company because he had heard her laughing and chattering to Miss Grantham on their walks around the park and pleasure gardens at Stratford Park. He even got past her wariness and shyness himself now and again, but they were not close enough to be easy together very often. He had to blame himself for that, as well as so many other things that had gone wrong with Juno’s life while he was not looking.
There now, he was on the outskirts of the town he had been aiming for ever since he grimly ordered a fresh horse and set out from Stratford House. At least the place was small enough for him to find the centre easily so he rode his weary and very muddy horse as fast as he dared into the stable yard of the posting inn and tipped a sleepy groom to tend to the animal as it deserved after such stalwart service.
‘Do you know of a Milton Cottage?’ he asked as the groom yawned, stared sleepily at such a filthy gentleman and scratched his head as if he had never seen the like of him before.
‘Aye.’
‘Where is it then, man?’ Alaric demanded, impatience and terror making him sound harsh. It was either that or fall into the nearest haystack and sleep for a week, but he could not do that until he knew Juno was safe and sound.
‘Up yonder.’ The man pointed at an area of more prosperous-looking houses to the east of the town and backing on to yet more hills and heath.
‘What street?’ Alaric demanded, not wanting to waste time wandering about in the sleepy streets looking at every house along the way.
‘Hill side of Silver Square—see them little houses almost out of the town by the Big House beyond, governor?’ Alaric nodded. ‘About in the middle is Milton Cottage.’
‘My thanks,’ Alaric said and tossed the man another coin before striding off as fast as he could go. The sun was nearly up at last so that would have to do. He could not wait for a respectable hour to find out if Juno was safely with her former governess.
It was hardly a square at all by London or Bath standards. The only house worth a second glance was the large one taking up the whole of the south side of the so-called square with one row of cottages at a right angle to it and another one ranged opposite. The rest was open to the view of the western plain and he could see a hint of distant hills and thought it was probably a fine prospect on a clear day. Today only the odd shaft of sunlight managed to peer past the hurrying clouds left over from last night’s downpour. Alaric frowned against the brilliance of one of those bright rays of light as he knocked on the highly polished brass knocker loudly enough to tell whoever was supposed to answer it to get out of bed and do their duty.
He was lifting his hand to do it again and never mind the respectable ladies sleeping within who had a right to sleep for several hours yet, he had to know if Juno had got here safely. At last he heard movement inside and bolts being drawn back, then a key turning in the lock. About time, he huffed to himself, and glared into the narrow crack of space at the stranger warily peering back at him.
Alaric blinked to make sure he was not seeing wonders conjured up by his weary mind instead of a much plainer truth. No, she was still there, staring back at him as if he was about the worst thing she could imagine opening a door to at any time of day, let alone this one. Ye gods, what ailed him? He had never been the sort of low and lusty fool to ogle and squeeze the maids whenever he managed to catch one alone in a dark corner. He despised masters who preyed on local girls and left a trail of little bastards and ruined lives behind them. Yet even as he was ordering himself to look away and think why he was here and how urgent it was to find Juno his eyes were eating the woman up as if she was the best thing they had ever seen and they could not get enough of her.
A shaft of that curious sunlight darted into the corridor through an open door behind her and added a shine of gold to her honey-coloured hair. She had eyes of a clear, light blue he refused to call forget-me-not because it would be a cliché and there was nothing weary or shopworn about them. Still, he could not think of a better description, so it would have to do for a worn-out fool like him. It was not as if he was going to write poems to a housemaid, so it hardly mattered what colour he called her fascinating blue gaze. Still, his mind would not let go of the delightful picture of this tall and slender female blinking back at him in the early morning light.
She must have slept in her dark-coloured gown and her hair was tumbling down her back and made him want to reach out and find out for himself if it was as softly full of life and as silkily touchable as the brown-and-gold mass looked from here. Her face was a nearly perfect oval and she had finely cut features and a haughty nose, but it was her mouth—generous and still half-asleep and unwary as if it had not yet caught up with the rest of her—that did the most damage. It drew his gaze like a magnet and made him yearn for things he had no right to yearn for. He tried to dismiss the idea of kissing her unguarded lips properly awake as he wondered how such a definite, determined-looking female managed to take orders and skivvy for her so-called betters. And how would it feel to kiss that soft and sleepy mouth until the differences between lord and maidservant faded away and he felt as if he had come home at last to a place he was made for and fitted perfectly.
* * *
Stiff and still half-asleep, Marianne Turner was woken by hammering on the door and stumbled to open it before whoever was out there could knock again. On her way here hope won over weariness for a heady moment, then reason told her if this was the lost girl she had a very heavy hand with a door knocker. Marianne sighed with tiredness and disappointment as she drew back the bolts and unlocked the door as quietly as she could. The impatience of whoever was out there had made her fumble, which said a lot about impatience and people who used it as a weapon to get their own way.
‘About time,’ a deep masculine voice grumbled as soon as she had the door open a cautious few inches to eye up the stranger on the doorstep and shake her head in disbelief. He made it sound as if she was incompetent for not coming sooner when he was being rude and demanding at an outrageous hour of the morning.
‘What do you mean by thundering on a lady’s door at cockcrow? You will wake up half the street.’ She blinked at the unshaven, mud-spattered and very male idiot standing on the doorstep as if he had every right to go where he chose
and wake up anyone he wanted to and never mind the time. She glared at him and, goodness, there was an awful lot of him to glare at, wasn’t there? ‘You must have heard me trying to get the door open—have you no manners at all?’ she demanded.
‘Not with incompetent bunglers. Now hurry up and let me in, then go and tell Miss Grantham I need to speak to her,’ he demanded as if she should scurry about at his bidding and curtsy as if her life depended on it all the while and she was not doing that either.
‘No,’ Marianne said grumpily and refused to be awed by his height and powerful build.
Luckily, he could have no idea Fliss Grantham was not upstairs fast asleep in her maidenly bed. In fact, Fliss had been marooned up in the Broadley Hills by last night’s storm and at least Miss Donne’s maid had told Marianne’s brother, Darius, about a shepherds’ hut up there where they could take shelter from the deluge. Secretly Marianne had been delighted that the stubborn pair would now have to admit the powerful attraction between them that had been so obvious from the start. They would have to marry after a night alone in the hills so that was one reason to be cheerful this morning, now she came to think of it. Except this ill-mannered, unshaven and travel-worn stranger had thrust his very muddy boot in the door while she was busy thinking about Fliss and Darius, so now she could not slam it in his face.
Oh, and Fliss’s former pupil, Juno Defford, was still missing after a night of heavy rain. She had far more important things to do than wonder how it might feel if this arrogantly masculine fool was clean, had shaved and was as fascinated by her as she was in danger of being by him, if she did not wake up properly and get back to real life.
‘Go away and take a bath and shave, then come back at a civilised hour,’ she ordered the man impatiently. ‘But only if you intend to ask civil questions when you get here, mind. Throwing demands about as if the rest of us cannot wait to obey you sets people’s backs up and we have enough to worry about already.’
Unsuitable Bride For A Viscount (The Yelverton Marriages Book 2) Page 1