by Mary Balogh
Dear Reader,
I am very delighted that Heartless (with its companion piece, Silent Melody, to follow next month) is being republished in this lovely edition. It has one of my all-time favorite heroes. The story is set in eighteenth-century England, an earlier era than my usual Regency setting. I made the change deliberately so that I could dress up my characters in all the splendid plumage of the time. Lucas Kendrick, Duke of Harndon, has just returned from Paris, undisputed center of the fashionable world, having unexpectedly inherited his title and position as head of the family that had spurned and exiled him many years before. Now he has power to wield and old scores to settle, and he looks upon his world with a cold and dangerous cynicism.
I enjoyed creating that very masculine aspect of his character, but I positively reveled in clothing him in all his Parisian splendor. He attends a ball early in the book in a wide-skirted scarlet coat and a gold waistcoat, both sparkling with gold embroidery, while white lace froths at his neck and wrists. He wears satin knee breeches with white stockings and jeweled shoes with high red heels. His long hair is powdered and crisply curled at the sides and bagged at the back, and he wears cosmetics and carries a fan. But he also carries at his side a jewel-hilted sword with which he is said to be more than ordinarily adept, and for all the languid grace of his manner, there is that look in his eyes—a look he soon directs across the ballroom at Lady Anna Marlowe.
And so begins a passion-fraught love story that kept me pounding the keyboard until they had found their happily-ever-after. I hope you enjoy seeing the two sides of Luke as much as I did creating them. And I hope you consider Anna a worthy heroine for him.
Mary Balogh
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF MARY BALOGH
Longing
“Balogh capture[s] the allure of the land and the culture of the proud people of Wales . . . a very different sort of historical romance. Ms. Balogh’s writing has a very lyrical quality to it which draws out the feelings of yearning so that the reader can palpably sense them . . . pretty powerful.”
—The Hope Chest Reviews
“A particular favorite of mine.”
—The Romance Reader
Beyond the Sunrise
“Thoroughly enjoyable.”
—New York Times bestselling author Janelle Taylor
“Balogh’s . . . epic love story is a winner . . . absorbing reading right up until the end.”
—Publishers Weekly
“High intrigue, daring exploits, a passionate love affair, what more could you want in a romance? Balogh gives us a humdinger of a tale set during the Napoleonic Wars. Great fun. Highly recommended.”
—Manderley Magazine
“Beyond the Sunrise is an utterly absorbing, powerful tale of a love that was once doomed and yet blooms again amidst the intrigue and ordeal of war. With infinite care and deft plotting, Ms. Balogh spins an intricate tale with the skill of a master weaver. She draws you into the era by evoking the aura of the war and the passionate emotions of her characters. If you have never read another book by Mary Balogh, then Beyond the Sunrise will be your introduction to a writer of remarkable talents.”
—RT Book Reviews
FURTHER PRAISE FOR AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR MARY BALOGH
“One of the best!”
—New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn
“Balogh is today’s superstar heir to the marvelous legacy of Georgette Heyer (except a lot steamier)!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Elizabeth Phillips
“With her brilliant, beautiful, and emotionally intense writing, Mary Balogh sets the gold standard in historical romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz
“When it comes to historical romance, Mary Balogh is one of my favorites!”
—New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James
“Mary Balogh has the gift of making a relationship seem utterly real and utterly compelling.”
—Mary Jo Putney
“Winning, witty, and engaging . . . fulfilled all of my romantic fantasies.”
—New York Times bestselling author Teresa Medeiros
“Mary Balogh just keeps getting better and better . . . interesting characters and great stories to tell . . . well worth your time.”
—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“Mary Balogh is a superb author whose narrative voice comments on the characters and events of her novel in an ironic tone reminiscent of Jane Austen.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Mary Balogh reaches deep and touches the heart.”
—New York Times bestselling author Joan Johnston
“A writer whose books belong on every romance shelf.”
—RT Book Reviews
ALSO BY MARY BALOGH
THE SURVIVORS’ CLUB SERIES
The Proposal
The Arrangement
The Escape
Only Enchanting
Only a Promise
THE HUXTABLE SERIES
First Comes Marriage
Then Comes Seduction
At Last Comes Love
Seducing an Angel
A Secret Affair
THE SIMPLY SERIES
Simply Unforgettable
Simply Love
Simply Magic
Simply Perfect
THE BEDWYN SAGA
Slightly Married
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Dangerous
THE BEDWYN PREQUELS
One Night for Love
A Summer to Remember
THE MISTRESS TRILOGY
More Than a Mistress
No Man’s Mistress
The Secret Mistress
THE WEB SERIES
The Gilded Web
Web of Love
The Devil’s Web
CLASSICS
The Ideal Wife
The Secret Pearl
A Precious Jewel
A Christmas Promise
Dark Angel/Lord Carew’s Bride
The Famous Heroine/The Plumed Bonnet
A Christmas Bride/Christmas Beau
The Temporary Wife/A Promise of Spring
A Counterfeit Betrothal/The Notorious Rake
Irresistible
A Matter of Class
Under the Mistletoe
Longing
Beyond the Sunrise
Silent Melody
SIGNET ECLIPSE
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Published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC. Previously published in a Berkley edition.
Copyright © Mary Balogh, 1995
Excerpt from Silent Melody copyright © Mary Balogh, 1997
Excerpt from Only a Kiss copyright © Mary Balogh, 2015
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and al
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Balogh, Mary
Heartless/Mary Balogh.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-698-15630-2
I. Title.
PR6052.A465H43 2015
823'.914—dc13 2015004808
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
CONTENTS
Letter to Reader
Praise
Also by Mary Balogh
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
An Excerpt from Silent Melody
An Excerpt from Only a Kiss
About the Author
1
“FAITH, child,” Lady Sterne said to her goddaughter, “’tis time you gave some thought to yourself. Always it has been your family—first your mama, may God rest her soul, and then your papa, may God rest his, and always your brother and the girls. Well, now, Victor is of age and has come into his inheritance, Charlotte has married, Agnes is as pretty as a spring meadow and is like to marry as soon as we have presented her to some eligible gentlemen, and Emily . . . Well, you just cannot make yourself a martyr to your youngest sister. ’Tis time you looked to your own interests.”
Lady Anna Marlowe smiled and watched her younger sister at the other end of the gallery being fitted out for fashionable clothes suitable to be worn in London. Bolts of fabric, mostly silks and shimmering satins, were piled on tables, some of them partly unrolled. There was some excitement about the scene and about the anticipation of seeing the clothes made and worn, she had to admit.
“Agnes is eighteen, Aunt Marjorie,” she said. “I am five-and-twenty. On the shelf, one might say.”
“And I vow that is where you wish to stay,” Lady Sterne said sharply. “Life slips by fast, child, and increases in pace as one gets older, I swear. And life can become filled with regrets for what one might have done in the past but did not do. ’Tis not too late for you to seek a husband, but in another year or two perhaps it will be. Men do not look for breeders among women who are staring thirty years in the face—and men of course look for breeders when they choose mates. You have a great deal of love to give, Anna. You should now be looking to giving it to a husband and to receiving love in return—and position and security.”
That last point hit home. Victor, Anna’s only brother, had recently celebrated his twenty-first birthday. With university days behind him and his title still new to him—he had been the Earl of Royce since Papa’s death a little more than a year ago—he was soon to return home to take up his responsibilities there. And he was newly betrothed. Where did that leave her? Anna wondered. And Agnes and Emily? Suddenly their home did not seem quite home any longer. Not that Victor would turn them out, or Constance for that matter. But one did not like to intrude on a newly married couple in their own home—especially not in the status of spinster sister.
She was a spinster. Anna clasped her hands rather tightly in her lap. But she could not marry. The thought brought with it the familiar shortness of breath and coldness in her head. She fought off the dizziness.
“I brought Agnes to London at your urging, Aunt,” she said. “’Tis more likely that she will find an eligible husband here than in the neighborhood of Elm Court. If she can be settled, I will be content.”
“Lud, child,” her godmother said, “I urged you to bring your sister, not send her. I intended that you both find husbands. But you most of all, Anna. You are my godchild—my only one. Agnes is nothing to me except the daughter of my dear Lucy. For although you are all sweet enough to call me aunt, I am no such thing, you know. I see that Madame Delacroix has all but finished with her measurements.” She got to her feet. “I will have you, too, decked out properly for town, my dear. Excuse my bluntness, but you look quite rustic. Even your hoops— they should be twice the size they are.”
“Large hoops look quite ridiculous,” Anna said. Ridiculous, but wondrously feminine and pretty, she thought treacherously. And her godmother had just reminded her that there was no real tie between her and Agnes. Could she be expected to take Agnes about to all the social events at which it was to be hoped she would attract a husband? Was not that Anna’s responsibility? And would not it be wonderfully exhilarating to dress fashionably and to go about in society just a few times? Just for a short while?
I will return. And of course you will be here when I do so. You will remember, my Anna, that you are mine? Body and soul? The voice was as vivid in her head as if the man who had uttered them stood at her shoulder and spoke the words now. They had been spoken a year ago at Elm Court. A long time ago and a long way away. He would not come back. And even if he did, it would surely do no harm to enjoy herself a little before he did. She was only twenty-five. And really there had been very little enjoyment in her life. Surely just a little. . . . It was not as if she was going to be in search of a husband, after all. She knew very well that she could never marry.
“Well, perhaps,” she said, getting to her feet to stand beside Lady Sterne, “I could have a few new clothes made so that I will not shame you if I do venture out with you once or twice.”
“Lud, child,” her godmother said, “’twould be difficult for you to do that when you have such beauty. Nevertheless, fashion is of importance. Come.” She linked her arm through Anna’s and moved her forward across the room. “Let us proceed before you change your mind.”
Agnes was flushed and bright-eyed and was exclaiming that she could not possibly need all the clothes Madame Delacroix claimed to be the bare essentials for a young lady of quality making her first appearance in society. Anna’s heart went out to her sister. She was eighteen years old and had been in mourning for two years—first for Mama and then for Papa. Even before that Mama had been ill with consumption and Papa had been—well, he had been ill too. And there had been the poverty. There had been very little chance for Agnes to enjoy her youth.
“Lud, child,” Lady Sterne said to Agnes, “’twould not do at all, you know, for you to be seen in the same dresses time and again. Madame knows her job. Besides, she has had strict instructions from me. And now ’tis Anna’s turn.”
Lady Sterne had insisted from the start that she would bear all the expenses of the few months to be spent in London. It would be a dream come true for her, she claimed, to have two young ladies to take about and introduce to society. She had never had children of her own. Anna had brought some money with her—Victor had insisted that she take some from the estate though it would be years before he could expect to make it prosper again. And perhaps he never would if . . . But Anna refused to pursue the thought. She was not going to think about any of that for a month or two. She was going to give herself a chance to hea
l a little. She had told her godmother that she would keep a strict account of all that was spent on her and Agnes, that she would consider it a loan to be repaid when she was able.
And so, after all, she found herself being taken into the capable hands of Madame Delacroix and measured and poked and prodded and pricked and draped. It seemed that she stood still for hours while discussing with the two older ladies fabrics and trimmings and designs for petticoats, stomachers, open gowns, closed gowns, sack dresses—it was all very dizzying. She was laced into stays far tighter than she was accustomed to and looked down in some embarrassment—and some fascination—at the way they pushed up her breasts, making them seem larger and more feminine. And she was tied into whalebone hoops so wide that she wondered how she would pass through doorways.
She enjoyed every moment.
How wonderful it was, she thought, to feel young and free. Not that she was either in reality. Youth had passed her by. And as for freedom . . . well. She felt slightly nauseated for a moment when she remembered how very much she was not free. If he should come back from America as he had sworn he would . . . But she was not trying to break free forever. Merely for a couple of months. Surely he would not begrudge her that much time even if he knew about it.
How wonderful it would be to feel youthful and free for two whole months.
“I vow, child,” Lady Sterne said when the fitting was finally over, “the years are falling off you by the minute. You have had a hard time and have remained devoted to your family throughout. Now is the time for yourself. And ’tis not too late. As I live, I am going to find you a very special husband.”
Anna laughed. “’Twill be enough to attend a few balls and concerts, Aunt,” she said. “I will remember it all for a lifetime. I have no need of a husband.”
“Pshaw!” said her godmother briskly.
• • •
“Egad, but you made us all look like bumpkins tonight, lad,” Theodore, Lord Quinn said, slapping his thigh with delight as he seated himself in a deep chair in his nephew’s library and took a glass of brandy from a valet’s hand before the man was dismissed. He laughed heartily. “’Twas the fan that really slayed ’em.”