A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

  A Bride

  Worth

  Taking

  by

  Rebecca Connolly

  Also by

  Rebecca Connolly

  An Arrangement of Sorts

  Married to the Marquess

  Secrets of a Spinster

  The Dangers of Doing Good

  The Burdens of a Bachelor

  Coming Soon

  A Wager Worth Making

  More romance coming soon from

  Phase Publishing

  by

  Emily Daniels

  Devlin’s Daughter

  Lucia’s Lament

  by

  Grace Donovan

  Saint’s Ride

  Text copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art by Tugboat Design

  http://www.tugboatdesign.net

  All rights reserved. Published by Phase Publishing, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  Phase Publishing, LLC first ebook edition

  July 2017

  ISBN 978-1-943048-31-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017945407

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  Acknowledgements

  For my grandma Velma, who did not live to see me do so many things, let alone publish a novel, but whose generosity, love, and inspiration has been felt by her children and grandchildren every single day. I love you, and I know you would love this one in particular.

  And to Five Guys, which I happen to be eating now, much to my very great delight. You never fail me or let me down. Also, you were the working title for this series. Here’s to you.

  Shout out, gratitude, and love to the regulars: the epic Phase Publishing team, the incomparable Deborah Bradseth of Tugboat Design, and the gracious Whitney Hinckley. All-stars all around.

  And thanks to my Musketeers for keeping me sane on this one. Well, sane enough, anyway. Chocolate helps, and you know that. Thanks, guys.

  Index

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Yorkshire, 1822

  Anthony Marksby was not at all husband material.

  A paltry statement to make at this point, given all that had passed.

  Of course, if she had considered that detail properly two days ago, it would have saved her a good deal of trouble.

  But Marianne Bray had never been a particularly intelligent creature, not even when she was a little girl. Oh, she was clever enough for the ballrooms and parties of London society, and no one would ever accuse her of being unintelligent, should they have been bold enough to attempt it, but neither would anyone invite her to an evening of puzzles and riddles. Nor would she wish to go to such an event. She had no patience for such things.

  Nevertheless, at this moment, she rather wished she had put more effort towards improving her wits and cleverness. Her situation at present was entirely of her own making because she had not been intelligent or clever enough to see the truth of the matter.

  But what girl of considerable looks and more considerable means is sensible when a handsome and dashing suitor pays her a marked degree of attention, even if it does lead to her ruin?

  Sitting confined in this poorly furnished, cheap room at the coaching inn near Leeds, she felt quite the fool, actually. What had started off as a rather grand and impulsive adventure had just as quickly turned into a waking nightmare.

  Marianne had not wanted for admirers in six years, not since her very first Season, and had a great deal too many, as a point of fact. It was something she rather prided herself on. But after spending a Season practicing a more reserved nature two years ago, which had only been natural considering the horrific events surrounding her sister-in-law and friend Annalise, she had found that she had lost a good many of her favorites to other girls with less charming natures.

  As such, she had redoubled her efforts last year to regain some of the footing she had lost. Oh, she had still been popular, immensely so, but it did not have the same gripping excitement as it had in former years. Nor was her coterie so entertaining.

  Then Anthony Marksby had come across her path. His arrival in London had caused quite a stir, particularly with him arriving so late in the Season that some of the more eager families had departed for their country homes. It had proven quite a delight to her, and to her best friend Fanny Hayes. They had grown weary of the endless strings of peacocks vying for their attention, and Mr. Marksby was fresh and exciting, and added a bit of mystery to the thing.

  Fanny was not as pretty or as popular as Marianne, and she never would be, and her fortune was really quite a pittance by comparison, but she was so skilled in the navigation of a crowded room that she drew men to her with barely a half look. Her family was set up well enough, with a fair reputation, so she could make quite an eligible match if she ever settled upon one. This past Season alone, she turned down three proposals because they did not suit her.

  Marianne herself had turned down five, but she did not generally make that public.

  The rumors took care of that for her.

  Fanny had tried for Mr. Marksby first, with her usual voluptuous and brazen ways, forgoing the subtle cuts that typically accompanied her tricks. Marianne had chosen a more coy and unaffected approach, using secret glances and hints of a smile, lying in wait for his actions to prove his intentions. She could hardly have called her behavior reserved, as she had not shown one moment of modesty in her attempts, but she had long ago learned that there was some benefit in being careful and cunning in the matter of attracting men.

  It had been a very skillful game they had all played. Fanny and Marianne had vied for the same men before, and considering they had such different ways of going about it, they never felt they were in particular competition. On the contrary, it became a sort of game to them. May the best player win, in cards and in life.

  Marianne had won Mr. Marksby, though long after the excitement and fever of the Season had worn out. He had been one of her most challenging captures yet, and would have put quite a feather in her cap.

  Then winter had come, and boredom had set in. Duncan and Annalise had gone off to Scotland to visit her cousins, taking her adorable little niece Tillie with them. Her aunt, Lady Raeburn, had taken up her past habits of travelling every three or four months, and was at present in Italy, no doubt looking for her fourth… or was it fifth?… husband. It was hard to keep track with Tibby.

  With no family and very few friends to entertain her, Marianne had been left to her own devices, which had not proven to be sufficient. One could only go to the theater and to small house parties and card parties and pay calls so much before tedium struck and there was nothing left to
do.

  Mr. Marksby had come in handy there, and after Christmas he had taken up a charge to entertain Marianne in whatever ways he could come up with, some of which were very creative indeed. She found herself growing very fond of him, and not just amused by him, as she usually was.

  Oh, she was not foolish enough to have thought herself in love with the man, not in the least bit. His habit of smoking was perfectly disgraceful to her, and she had told him so on several occasions, and he raced about in his phaeton much too wildly. Those traits, combined with his sadly-tailored clothing and his scar under his left ear, solidified the impossibility of her ever falling in love with him.

  She was not entirely sure she could love, not romantically, at least. She loved her family, and her brother’s friends had become sort of half-brothers to her, and she found herself more devoted to those people than any other creatures on earth. She would be fiercely loyal to all of them until the day she died.

  But as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she could not have cared about love at all.

  She rather found more satisfaction in being loved than in giving love herself.

  Perhaps that made her heartless, but there it was.

  She had not left Mr. Marksby under any illusion of her feelings, and Mr. Marksby made no secret of his feelings for her, which were a mad passion, fervent and burning desire, and hoping to make her the toast of London for decades to come. He was of such an attractive and charming nature that on his arm, she would have soared into an entirely unmatched level of status and reputation.

  No love, never anything so sentimental, but the base and honest confessions of his daring heart had woken something exciting and bold within her, and she had jumped at his suggestion that they run away together and marry, starting a scandalous life together that would only increase their popularity.

  It was a delicate balance, keeping one’s reputation and becoming a household name. There would have to be a period of pretended shame, but it wouldn’t last long, particularly with their elopement being declared a brilliant love match and her extensive fortune securing them entrance into any and all events. She was too desirable by half to be ignored and shamed.

  So, two days ago, they had ventured off, sneaking out right under the nose of her current companion, Mrs. Gordon, who was rather old, slow, and dim, and laughed their way out of London, their impetuous future awaiting them.

  At least, those were the ideals she had set stock by in this whole scheme.

  She’d allowed some passion, and had rather enjoyed the moments of it, but her wildness only extended so far. She might have been bold, daring, and heartless, but she would keep her virtue until they were man and wife, and hadn’t allowed him any sort of liberties that could truly compromise her.

  Tony, as she’d taken to calling him, had not liked that at all.

  And that was when things had turned.

  He’d never forced himself on her, thank heavens, but he’d lost the pretense of caring about her. He would kiss her any chance he got, sometimes quite violently, and what had once stirred something in her now only made her ill.

  He was cruel, crass, and had no aversion to hitting her, if she bothered him too much.

  She had annoyed him to such a degree hours ago that he had struck her across the face and left the room, locking her in without food or water. The first night had been spent in the coach, and the second she had been forced to share a bed with him, but he had become so drunk that he’d been unconscious the entire night and never touched her. She hardly hoped for such luck this evening.

  A knock on the door startled her and she jumped, skittering back on the bed and slamming her head into the headboard.

  “Are you decent, my love?” slurred the all-too familiar voice of her intended as he entered.

  However attractive he may have been in her eyes before, he was now disintegrated into a monster. He was unshaven and unkempt, and his eyes raked over her with indecent light and thoroughness. It didn’t matter that she had on her thickest day dress, she felt entirely and shamefully naked under his gaze. He staggered into the room and leaned against the wall, cigar in his mouth, collar of his shirt so wide open the hair on his chest might have been his weskit. And he grinned wolfishly at her from his position.

  “The company wants me to present my intended to them,” he said, winking a bloodshot eye at her. “Surely you won’t deny the gentlemen downstairs such a treat.”

  “No, thank you,” Marianne said, trying to keep her tone as stiff and haughty as she ever would. She had to make a show of a spine, no matter how imagined it was.

  He laughed wildly. “You stupid chit, I was not asking. We’ve taken a break from our games. I’ve told them some of the stories of our adventures in London, and they don’t believe I’ve actually secured you. So you will come on down, give them a bit of a show, and then, if you do it well, I shall give you dinner. And then bed. For both of us.” The glint in his eyes left no doubt as to what would follow.

  Marianne swallowed down the sudden wash of bile and tried to tuck herself into the headboard more tightly. “Did you lose at the tables?” she asked, unable to keep the bite out of her tone.

  “‘Course I did,” he snorted as he sauntered over. “That’s why I have no money, and why I’ll need all of yours, darling. My wild, passionate, cold-hearted heiress, that is why you will do for me quite well.”

  He seized her wrist and yanked her towards him, her loose hair falling over her eyes like a thick, black veil. She resisted, twisted and thrashed, but he was stronger. He tossed her hair behind her, pulled her up to him and kissed her deeply, the taste of his sour, ale-strewn breath seeping into her.

  Disgust and rage rose within her and she bit down hard on his lip. He yowled in protest and shoved her against the wall, her head cracking back on the corner of the aged bureau. She crumpled into a heap on the floor, and he kicked her repeatedly, spewing forth streams of curses as his boot repeatedly met her ribs and her face, which she shielded as best as she could.

  “You’ll pay for that, my minx,” he rasped, staggering away. “Put on your best frock and be downstairs in ten minutes, or you’ll get the worst of me, dearie.”

  The door slammed behind him, and for only the second time this whole trip, Marianne gave herself up to desperate tears as she cradled her own head as best as she could. She made her way back up to the bed and curled up into a ball, willing the world to shut itself out. How had she been such a blind fool?

  She could not escape, not from this inn and not from him. The windows did not open, and she could not break them, she’d already tried. The door to her room opened up into a landing just above the common room, perfectly within the view of everyone. She’d never make it out while he was down there, and she was not a girl with endurance for physical activity. Why had she never become a great walker?

  She was trapped here, trapped with him, and he would ruin her, then marry her. Not that the order of events would make any difference once her brother found out.

  She groaned and covered her face with her hands. Oh, Duncan…

  Her brother had always been kind and generous with her, if a bit heavy handed and overbearing, but he had given her freedom, despite his concerns for her behavior. He did not deserve the hell that would come crashing down about him.

  And Annalise! She had only just gotten into the good graces of Society, which Marianne had long given up arguing and resisting, and now it would all be wrong again.

  Even Tibby would be ashamed, and might actually cut her off this time. She was always threatening to, and had been for years, but it was entirely possible that she would at last follow through with it.

  Overcome with shame, regret, pain, and fear, Marianne clutched at her suddenly quaking abdomen and sobbed, burying her face into the counterpane.

  The door to her room suddenly burst open and she jumped back again with a surprised scream, crossing her arms over her chest, trembling and eyes wide.

  The sight that met
her eyes was at once dearer than anything she had ever seen and infinitely the worst.

  Colin and Kit Gerrard stood there, expressions thunderous, both in an eerily matching state of disarray, chests heaving with exertion. Colin still wore a hat on his head, but Kit’s was long gone and his hair was disheveled.

  The Gerrard twins were not identical, but in this moment, they might as well have been.

  Her brother’s best friend, who had always been a favorite of hers, and his brother, a man doomed to ever torment her, stared at her for the space of several heartbeats, and she stared back at them. They showed no pleasure at seeing her, which meant they knew exactly what she had been about. Yet they were here, which meant they cared enough to come for her.

  Marianne slowly and awkwardly slid from the bed, wincing and gasping at the sudden searing pain in her ribs, the wince drawing forth further pain in her jaw and cheek. She bit her lip and straightened, sniffing back the last of her tears, and turned to face them. She trembled like a dried leaf in the wind and her fingers toyed anxiously with each other.

  A muscle in Kit’s jaw ticked ominously. Colin removed his hat and tossed it into the corner, and started stripping off his gloves, still looking at her steadily.

  Was she supposed to run to them as she wanted to? Or was she to stand judgment first as she deserved to?

  A stray tear rolled down her throbbing cheek, but she made no move to brush it away.

  She couldn’t move at all under the combined force of their storming expressions.