A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  “Of course, Lady Sophie,” Nell said, curtsying.

  After hearing so much about James’s sister, she felt as if she already knew this girl. She wondered what Lady Sophie had heard about her. The marchioness remained frosty since her brilliant son had relinquished his political career in favor of country life. It was no secret that she blamed Nell.

  “And this reprobate is Harry Thorne,” James said.

  “It’s a pleasure, Miss Trim.” With a genuine smile, Mr. Thorne bowed over her hand.

  “There are such a lot of people here,” Eleanor said shakily.

  Simon Metcalf smiled too. “You’ll work us out eventually. At least Lydia’s the only carrot top. That makes her easy to spot.”

  “You’ll pay for that, darling,” his wife said, then looked at Eleanor. “Actually there’s even more. You must meet our daughter Rose who is safely in the nursery with Sidonie and Jonas’s daughter Consuela.”

  James’s eyes searched the room. “Where are the Sedgemoors?”

  Nell, overwhelmed with unfamiliar faces, hadn’t realized that the duke and duchess were absent. Now it struck her as ominous that Sir Richard played host in another man’s house.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked quickly.

  “Pen was delivered of a boy this evening. Cam’s upstairs with her.” Lady Hillbrook kissed Nell on the cheek with a warmth she appreciated. Now that the introductions were over, she relaxed a little. “By the way, I love your hair. Once the London ladies catch sight of it, the cropped style will be all the rage.”

  “Thank you.” Self-consciously, she touched her cap of curls. “I hope everything went well for Her Grace and the baby.”

  The duchess had been so kind when Nell had arrived at Fentonwyck in her misguided attempt to destroy James. Although it was only weeks, those days seemed so long ago.

  “Like a dream, I gather, although I suspect Pen mightn’t completely agree,” Genevieve said, behind Lady Hillbrook. “There was some concern because the baby is a little earlier than anticipated.”

  Her hug reminded Nell that not everyone here was a stranger. And James was by her side. She refused to turn tail and run at this, her first social engagement in her new role.

  “Sedgemoor’s spent most of the day skulking in his library, jumpy as a flea.” Lord Hillbrook’s saturnine face broke into a welcoming smile. “Miss Trim, you’re here on a portentous night.”

  James smiled down at Nell. He looked completely besotted, she was glad to see. His grip on her hand firmed as he faced the crowded room. “Actually we’ve had quite a portentous time ourselves.”

  “Miss Trim, do tell,” Sir Richard said. “Your life seems to be continual adventure.”

  “I think…” Nell swallowed to calm her nerves. “I think I’ve embarked upon my greatest adventure yet.”

  The guests’ curiosity surged as she glanced toward James. She wanted him to make the announcement to these people she sincerely hoped would become her friends.

  The pride in his eyes was unmistakable. “Miss Trim is Miss Trim no longer.” He paused, and she thought what a compelling parliamentary speaker he must be, with his flair for the dramatic. “Yesterday Eleanor made me the happiest of men when she became my wife.”

  Leath smiled to observe Eleanor engulfed in heartfelt congratulations. Since accepting his proposal, she’d been reticent about her fears. But he knew her well enough to guess that insecurities still plagued her.

  To ease her into life as his marchioness, he’d arranged a quiet wedding at the chapel at Alloway Chase. He hadn’t even invited Sophie, who was regarding him with shock from a few feet away. He shrugged a silent apology in her direction. Given how she’d thrown her hat over a windmill when she fell in love, she was in no position to point the finger.

  To his relief, her pretty face relaxed into a smile. He hadn’t been sure of her reaction. His mother must have confided her bitter disappointment over his recent decisions. The dowager marchioness had relented enough to attend his wedding. James had high hopes that by the time their first child arrived, she’d forget Eleanor’s humble beginnings and recall only how she’d always liked her.

  “Have you started the party without me?” Sedgemoor asked from behind Leath.

  The buzz of happy chatter faded to silence. Harmsworth approached his friend with his hand extended. “I’m so happy for you, old man.”

  “Thank you,” Sedgemoor said, ignoring the outstretched hand and embracing his friend.

  “But the spotlight isn’t just on the new addition to your family, you know. Leath and Miss Trim were married yesterday.”

  “Good God, that man steals my thunder at every opportunity,” Sedgemoor said.

  Once that might have been a sneer. Now it made Leath clap him on the back. “Congratulations, Your Grace. I thought I’d save some money and have the wedding breakfast here.”

  “Spoken like a true politician,” Sedgemoor said with a laugh.

  The room erupted into cacophony. Leath’s hand was wrung until it felt likely to drop off. People who hugged Sedgemoor moved on as a matter of course to congratulate him and kiss Eleanor. The ladies admired the delicate gold wedding ring and pestered Sedgemoor for details of the baby. The gentlemen called Leath a lucky dog and he had no reason to doubt their sincerity. After all, he was a lucky dog.

  The butler appeared at the door and cast a cool eye over the crowd. He signaled behind him and footmen began to serve champagne.

  When everyone had a glass, Hillbrook’s deep voice cut through the noise. “I’d like to propose a toast, firstly to the new generation of Rothermeres. May the son be worthy of his parents, two of the finest people it is my privilege to know.” He paused. “I’d also like to congratulate Lord Leath and his beautiful bride. May their days overflow with happiness and love.”

  “Hear, hear,” Harmsworth said.

  As everyone drank to the future, Leath’s throat closed on a lump of emotion. He reached for his wife’s hand. Eleanor glanced at him with perfect understanding and moved nearer to whisper, “I love you.”

  Sedgemoor smiled with an open joy that devastated his public reputation as a coldhearted automaton. “Thank you, my friends. I couldn’t ask for a better way to celebrate my son’s birth than to have you all here for our first Christmas as a married couple.”

  That boulder in his throat meant that Leath’s voice emerged without its usual resonance. “On behalf of my dearest Eleanor and myself, I’d like to thank you. Words fail me when I try and say how delighted I am that she consented to become my wife.”

  He was a man famous for his eloquence, but that was as much as he could manage. When he looked around the room and met the warm gazes focused on him, he realized that these people knew the way love could transform a life, the way love had transformed him. The smiles said it all.

  “Thank you, my darling,” Eleanor said beside him. Then, to his astonishment, she rose on her toes and kissed him. He hadn’t expected her to feel comfortable in this glittering milieu, but the welcome had smoothed her passage from maid to marchioness. He caught a quick taste of champagne from her lips, along with the delicious flavor of Eleanor.

  Sedgemoor tapped Leath’s shoulder as he released his wife. “Before you get settled here, old man, bring your bride to see Pen.”

  Eleanor was close enough to hear. “We don’t want to intrude.”

  Sedgemoor smiled at her. “She’d love you to visit. She’s not up to a room full of people yet, but if she finds out you’ve just been married and she didn’t have a chance to wish you well in person, she’ll curse my name.” Pride lit his face. “And I’d love to show off my son.”

  Upstairs in the duchess’s luxurious apartments, everything was quiet order. The room was elegant, made exceptional by the magnificent paintings on the walls. Leath had barely a moment to note a Titian and a Rembrandt and a Claude—and dear Lord, was that a Goya of the duchess en dishabille?

  Dressed in a pale blue peignoir, Her Grace sat in an elabo
rate bed. Her head bent over the velvet-wrapped bundle in her arms. When Leath and Eleanor followed Sedgemoor into the room, she glanced up. Her eyes rested on her husband with such love that Leath felt he and Eleanor interrupted a private moment.

  Before he could make his excuses, her smile encompassed them. Her shining black hair was caught in a loose knot and she looked tired but triumphant. “Lord Leath, what a pleasure. And Miss Trim, how lovely to see you, and with a stylish new coiffure. I’m piqued to miss out on the party.”

  Sedgemoor settled on the edge of the bed and unselfconsciously wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “You’ve had quite enough partying today, my love.”

  “Yes, Christmas came early this year.” She stared down at her sleeping, dark-haired son.

  “We’re so happy for you, Your Grace,” Eleanor said. “Congratulations to both of you.”

  The duchess smiled. “Thank you. And given you’re the first of our friends to see the Rothermere heir, you ought to call me Penelope, Miss Trim.”

  “Miss Trim no longer,” the duke said with a soft laugh. “I know the doctor said no visitors until tomorrow, but when Leath told me that he and this lady married yesterday, I knew you’d want to wish them happy.”

  The duchess’s smile widened. “How wonderful. We all hoped, of course.”

  Leath held Eleanor’s hand and he felt her start. “You did?” she asked.

  “Of course. We could see that you were head over heels in love and that once you’d sorted out your difficulties, you’d be perfect for each other.”

  “Th-thank you,” Eleanor said, and Leath saw the moment when she accepted that these exceptional people had never considered her an unsuitable marchioness.

  She stood with new confidence. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking that everyone in society would welcome his humbly born wife, but then, these days, he was perfectly happy to enjoy the approval of those who mattered and ignore the rest. Since renouncing his political ambitions, he felt ten years younger. Ten years younger and virile as a randy adolescent.

  “Come and meet my son,” Sedgemoor said softly.

  As Leath and Eleanor approached, the duchess held out the baby, who briefly opened his eyes on a soft complaint before closing them again. “Let me introduce Richard Peter Thorne Rothermere, Marquess of Pembridge.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Eleanor said softly. “Just beautiful.”

  “Yes, he is.” Leath looked into the baby’s face and couldn’t help anticipating the day when he and Eleanor had their first child. Eleanor would wear that same proud, loving, awestruck expression as the duchess. Pray God, she also regarded her husband with the same adoration as Her Grace regarded Sedgemoor.

  How he looked forward to life with this beloved woman. Every moment beckoned ahead like steps on a golden path. He couldn’t wait. As if to mark the moment’s significance, Christmas bells started to ring out across the fields from the village church.

  Eleanor touched the sleeping baby’s cheek with a tenderness he felt on his own skin, then she smiled at Leath, amber eyes aglow. “He’s a gift of love,” she whispered.

  Leath’s heart was too crammed with poignant gratitude for him to summon a smile in return. Instead he touched his wife’s soft cheek with the same tenderness as she’d touched the baby. Forgetting his audience, he stared deep into her beautiful eyes and murmured, “You’re my gift of love, Eleanor.”

  About the Author

  Always a voracious reader, Anna Campbell decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. Once she discovered the wonderful world of romance novels, she knew exactly what she wanted to write. Anna has won numerous awards for her historical romances, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice, the Booksellers’ Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence, the Aspen Gold (twice), and the Australian Romance Readers Association’s most popular historical romance (five times). Her books have been nominated three times for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award and three times for Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year.

  When she’s not writing passionate, intense stories featuring gorgeous Regency heroes and the women who are their destiny, Anna loves to travel, especially in the United Kingdom, and listen to all kinds of music. She lives near the sea on the east coast of Australia, where she’s losing her battle with an overgrown subtropical garden.

  You can learn more at:

  AnnaCampbell.info

  Twitter @AnnaCampbelloz

  Facebook.com/AnnaCampbellwriter

  To save their reputations, Miss Penelope Thorne must pretend to be married to the dashing Duke of Sedgemoor. But after one night with him, it becomes hard to tell where the game ends—and true desire begins…

  Please see the next page for an excerpt from

  What a Duke Dares.

  Prologue

  Houghton Park, Lincolnshire, May 1819

  Every young lady dreamed of a proposal from the heir to a dukedom. Especially when the heir was rich, feted, in possession of his wits, and still young enough to have all his teeth.

  Every young lady except, apparently, Penelope Thorne.

  From the center of her father’s library, Camden Rothermere, Marquess of Pembridge, eyed the girl he’d known from the cradle and wondered where the hell he’d slipped up. He straightened and summoned a smile, struggling to bridge the awkward silence extending between them.

  Damn it. He never felt awkward with Pen Thorne. Until now. Until he’d spoken the fatal words.

  Until, instead of radiating delight at the prospect of marrying him, Pen’s black eyes sparked with the rebellious light that always boded trouble.

  “Why?” It wasn’t the first time this afternoon that she’d asked him the question.

  Stupidly he couldn’t summon an adequate answer. He’d blundered into this half-cocked. It was his own fault. Knowing Pen as he did, he should have prepared a comprehensive list of reasons for their marriage before broaching the subject.

  Right now, he wished he’d never broached the subject at all. But it was too late to retreat, or too late if he hoped to salvage a shred of self-respect from this dashed uncomfortable encounter.

  “Devil take you, Pen, I like you,” he said impatiently. Despite her inexplicable and irritating behavior today, it was true. There wasn’t a girl alive that he liked so much as the chit currently regarding him as if he’d crawled out of a hole in the ground.

  He knew her better than any other girl too, even his sister, Lydia. Through their childhood, he’d rescued Pen from a thousand scrapes. She’d been a hellion, riding the wildest horses in her father’s stables, climbing the tallest trees in the park, throwing herself into brawls to defend a friend or mistreated animal. Cam had long admired her spirit, loyalty, and courage.

  Those were qualities he wanted in his duchess. And if she needed some guidance in deportment, he was perfectly prepared to teach her proper behavior. She was a Thorne and Thornes weren’t renowned for their prudence, but while Pen might be impulsive, she was intelligent. Once she’d become the Duchess of Sedgemoor, he was sure she’d settle down.

  Or he had been, until her unenthusiastic response to his proposal.

  “I like you too,” she said steadily, regarding him with unwavering attention.

  Cam wondered why her admission didn’t reassure. Inhaling deeply, he strove for forbearance. “Well, there you have it, then.”

  That bitter note in her laugh was unfamiliar. He could hardly believe it, but the possibility of failure hovered. Pen was clever, determined, headstrong—he’d get that out of her soon enough—and stubbornly inclined to take a positive view of events. Or at least so he’d believed until today.

  He’d also believed that she’d leap at the chance to marry him.

  Clearly he’d been wrong.

  He wasn’t used to being wrong. Confound her, he didn’t like it.

  Her voice remained curiously flat. “I’m sorry, Cam. ‘There you have it, then�
� won’t pass muster. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  From where she stood before the high mullioned window, she studied him much like a schoolmistress surveyed an unpromising student. He only just resisted the urge to run a finger under his unaccountably tight neckcloth.

  Good God, this was Pen. She wasn’t a female who put a man through hoops before she fell into harness. She’d never demand more than he could give. She’d never subject a fellow to emotional storms. She’d never lie and cheat and betray.

  She was the absolute opposite of his late mother, in fact.

  Cam was unaccustomed to feeling like a blockhead, especially with the fairer sex. By nature he wasn’t a vain man, but he’d anticipated a better reaction to his proposal. Pen’s father Lord Wilmott had been in alt to hear that his daughter would become a duchess.

  Most definitely, Pen was not in alt.

  And she bloody well should be. After all, she was a mere baron’s daughter—and a ramshackle baron at that—while Cam was heir to the nation’s richest dukedom.

  The Thornes were an old family, but had always had a justified reputation for trouble. In times of political unrest, they backed the wrong side. If they managed to lay their hands on any money, they lost it, usually in some disreputable pursuit. “Wine, women, and song” should be the family motto instead of the much more staid and highly inappropriate “steadfast and faithful.”

  The previous generation had spawned a handful of eccentrics, including an uncle who had married his housekeeper. Bigamously as it had turned out. Lord Wilmott had squandered his wife’s dowry on a succession of greedy strumpets. Pen’s aunt ran with a dissolute crowd on the Continent. Peter, Cam’s friend and the current heir, was devoted to the gaming tables and disastrous investments. If Cam’s mother hadn’t been great friends with Lady Wilmott, the families would have had little contact.

  What made Pen’s tepid response to Cam’s suit even harder to understand was that she’d always worshipped the ground he walked on. Was he a fool to presume on childhood adoration?