Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2)

by Rose Gordon

  HER RELUCTANT GROOM

  Rose Gordon

  HER RELUCTANT GROOM

  Amazon Edition

  Copyright 2011 C. Rose Gordon

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, events and locales are product of this author’s overactive imagination. If any name, event and/or locale did exist, it is purely by coincidence it appears in this book.

  This book may not be reproduced by any means, including but not limited to, mechanical, Xerox, digital, auditorial and/or in print.

  If you obtained this copy illegally, please respect the author and her time enough to purchase a copy.

  It should also be noted, this book was not written with the intention of being submitted for consideration to be converted into a history textbook. Please do not treat it as such. If you do, your education will be sorely lacking.

  Other Titles Available

  SCANDALOUS SISTERS SERIES

  (Now Available)

  Intentions of the Earl (Book 1)

  Liberty for Paul (Book 2)

  To Win His Wayward Wife (Book 3)

  GROOM SERIES

  (Now Available)

  Her Sudden Groom (Book 1)

  Her Reluctant Groom (Book 2)

  (Coming Soon)

  Her Secondhand Groom (Book 3)

  Her Imperfect Groom (Book 4)

  Prologue

  London

  March 1815

  Emma Green’s eyes shot open as her feather mattress dipped under the heavy weight of a man sneaking into her bed. Her body stiffened in fear as he settled in close beside her.

  “Emma, wake up,” a masculine voice whispered.

  Emma clenched her eyes shut as tightly as she could, willing this vile man to go back to his own bed. Or at least to go bother her sister, his wife.

  Gregory Thorne, Duke of Hampton and her brother-in-law, placed his clammy and calloused hand on her shoulder, sending chills down her spine. “Wake up, girl.” His voice was a bit louder than before as he fiercely shook her shoulder.

  “Get away from me,” she hissed, swatting at his hand.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Not this time. You've put me off long enough. Not anymore.”

  Bile rose in her throat and she kicked at his legs under the covers, only tangling the sheets around her legs more. “Get away from me,” she yelled, trying her best to break the hold he had on her.

  Gregory made a tsk, tsk noise. “Now, now, Emma. It won't be so bad. Just lie there like a good girl. It'll be over soon enough. And who knows? You might like it.”

  “Never,” she spat, hitting his forearm with as much force as she could with the heel of her left hand.

  His other hand came up, and he roughly closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from hitting him again. Rolling his heavy body on top of hers, he shoved her hands high above her head and held them down. Transferring her left hand into the same hold as her right, Gregory tightened the fingers of his left hand around both her wrists and used the fingers of his right hand to roughly stroke her face. “Oh, Emma,” he whispered. “How I've longed for you since the day I married your sister. And now, after thirteen years, you shall be all mine.” He lowered his head to place a wet, sloppy kiss on her lips.

  Emma moved her head just in time to cause his repulsive kiss to land on her cheek rather than her lips. She cringed at the sensation of his slug-like lips on her skin and tried to yank one of her hands free from his bruising grasp. “Let me go,” she said, squirming under him.

  The weight of his disgustingly naked body kept her pinned to the bed as his hand brutally squeezed her breast so hard she winced. “So soft. So luscious. So firm. So unlike Louise's.” He sneered in distaste, then squeezed again, sending sparks of pain shooting through her.

  Catching him somewhat unaware due to his current interest in her aching breast, she jerked her elbows forward and very nearly knocked him on the top of his head.

  He tightened his grip again, almost crushing the bones in her wrists. “Don't do that again,” he said sharply, adjusting his body so more of his weight was on the top half of her. “I know you've spread your legs for Sinclair. You can do the same for me.”

  He repositioned himself to put more weight on her upper body in an effort to hold her wrists steady. Taking advantage of that small bit of fortune, in one quick motion, Emma brought both knees up to connect directly with Gregory’s groin.

  A loud cry escaped Gregory's throat, and his hands immediately released their grasp on her body and flew between his legs as he rolled off her and to the side.

  Emma wasted nary a second and scrambled out the other side of her bed. She threw on her dressing robe and started for the door, only to be halted by her sister.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Louise snapped; her arms across her chest. Her dark green eyes darted from her escaping sister to her husband, groaning in pain on the bed. “What have you done, Emma?” Her tone was full of bitter hatred, and not for her husband. No, all that bitterness was directed straight at Emma.

  “Nothing, Louise.” She knew her sister wouldn't care one way or the other what went on in that room tonight. Louise only cared about herself. She didn't care if her husband had affairs, only that he kept them discreet. For as long as Louise had been married to the duke, he'd tried to make amorous advances toward Emma. She'd never given him any indication she was interested in an affair with him, but that didn't matter. He continued to make advances all the same. She cringed.

  “Good,” Louise said crisply.

  “Get out,” Gregory wheezed.

  Louise pursed her lips. “Very well.”

  “Not you.” His icy stare moved to Emma. “Her.”

  Emma's heart raced. She'd always hated coming to London and staying with them. But the fact remained she had nowhere else to go. After her parents had died in a carriage accident eight years ago, Louise and Gregory were the only family she had left.

  “Very well,” Louise said with an annoyed huff. “I'll show her to a different chamber for the evening.”

  “No,” Gregory said tightly, still clasping his privates as if he were afraid they'd fall off if he let them go. “She's not to spend another night in my house. Ever.”

  Emma sucked in a hard breath. Was she actually being thrown out? She had nowhere and no one to go to. They knew that. At seven-and-twenty, was her virtue really worth anything any longer? She'd long ago passed the marriageable age. She was a firmly-on-the-shelf spinster now. Did such things as virginity and purity matter any longer? She glanced at her naked brother-in-law and knew the answer instantly. Yes. Yes, it all still mattered. She may never marry or have true love or any of that other stuff that was only meant for fairy tales, but there was no way she'd give her virtue to him. Not even if it meant she'd have a bed to sleep in, food in her mouth, and a roof over her head. He was not worth it.

  “Well, you heard him,” Louise chirped, grabbing whatever she could get her hands on from Emma's vanity and tossing it into her reticule. “Out with you.”

  Emma stared at her sister in shock. They'd never been close as children. Then, nearly thirteen years ago, the last threads of a sisterly bond had been snipped when they'd gotten into a string of quarrels involving Louise's treatment and eventual jilting of their long-time friend Marcus Sinclair. Emma knew her sister didn't like her and never would, but seeing her so happily humming as she carelessly tossed Emma's belongings into her reticule with the intent of throwing her out at nearly midnight caused her heart to ache anew. “Louise,” she whispered, praying her sister wasn't truly going to throw her out this way.

  “Suck in that lower lip,” Louise said
coldly. “You brought this upon yourself. Now, I'd advise you to put on your fanciest gown so when you leave here and go straight to Marcus—like we all know you'll do—you'll look nice. Then he'll start to pay you for the favors you've been freely giving him.”

  Emma's lower lip quivered, and she bit down on the inside of her mouth to make it stop. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing how upset she was at their cold words and harsh treatment. “Louise,” she said again. “I truly have nowhere to go.” She hated admitting such a thing, even if it was true.

  Growing up in the country, she'd never had an abundance of friends. Marcus and Olivia Sinclair and their cousin, Caroline, had been her only friends over the years. Olivia, however, was unfit company for a dog, and she'd actually left the country not long ago, or so Emma had heard. Caroline had married a year before, and though Caroline and Emma were still close, it felt different somehow. That only left Marcus, the man she'd spun romantic daydreams in her head about since she was practically still in leading strings.

  She'd always fancied herself in love with him, even when he became engaged to her sister, and even continued to feel the same after his horribly disfiguring accident. She couldn't seek refuge with him though. He'd been nice enough to her in the past thirteen years when she'd gone to his house to visit Caroline or put up with Olivia's dreadfulness as an excuse to see him. But now that he lived alone, he'd probably not let her past the front door. Nor had she tried. The contempt he must feel for her being the sister of the woman who had jilted him, and brought him a lifetime’s worth of embarrassment and misery. Surely, he would always keep her at arm's length.

  Louise handed Emma her excessively heavy reticule. “Here.” She smirked. “I advised you to change, and as usual you didn't heed my instructions. Too late now. Out.”

  “Louise, be rational. It's barely midnight. I can't go out there like this.” She gestured down to the dressing robe she wore over her nightrail.

  Louise shrugged. “Go to Marcus. He's only a few hours’ ride from here. He won't care what you're wearing. I imagine he'll have it off you in less than a minute anyway,” she added flippantly.

  Emma ground her teeth. “Despite what you think, I've not been carrying on any type of affair with Marcus.”

  “I don't believe you,” Louise said flatly. “But that matters naught. What matters is that you leave now.” She sighed. “If the problem is you lack the funds to hire a ride to Dorset, then perhaps you could take a hack a few blocks over to Watson Townhouse and see if your friend Caroline will loan the money to you.”

  Emma's hand tightened on the strap of her reticule as she glanced into the menacing eyes of her sister. “You really want me to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  That was all it took, just one word.

  Emma put the strap of her reticule on her shoulder, and without a backward glance to either of the two beings who had done their best to make her miserable these past eight years, she left the room, walked down the hall, descended two flights of stairs, and walked straight out the front door.

  Chapter 1

  One Week Later

  Dear Marcus,

  I am writing to you to prevail upon your lasting kindness one more time, dear cousin. Emma has come to stay with Alex and me for reasons I am not at liberty to disclose. And while I love her dearly and enjoy her company more than just about anyone else's, I have gotten myself into a predicament and need your help.

  Later this week, I shall be hosting my first house party! It is only for close friends and family, but Emma has declared she has no interest in participating and plans to spend the ten days secluded in her room. Now, Marcus, do not put the paper down! I am not asking you to attend. I know you'd sooner gouge your own eyes out than attend a social event, which is why I would like you to convince her to stay at your estate for the duration of the house party. She currently doesn’t have a chaperone, but I trust that shall not be an issue as I know you think of Emma the same as you think of me and will take care to make sure she is safe and her reputation well-guarded.

  We both know she’d never come to you to ask for any sort of favor, so please do this for me, Marcus. I am the one asking, not her.

  I will be sending her to Ridge Water on an errand Wednesday afternoon. That should give you plenty of time to think of a viable excuse for her to stay.

  I thank you so much.

  Yrs,

  Caroline

  Marcus, Earl of Sinclair, looked down at the missive in his hand and fought the urge to crumple it and then see if he could remain sitting in his chair and throw it directly into the rubbish bin thirty feet from his desk.

  “Bad news?” Patrick Ramsey, Viscount Drakely, asked from the other side of his desk.

  Marcus twisted his lips. “Not bad exactly. But not good, either.”

  Patrick reached forward for the missive, and Marcus made it easy for him by sliding it across the desk. He had no problem feeding the younger man's curiosity. The two had been close friends for thirteen years. Patrick knew all about Marcus' past with Louise and Emma. In fact, he knew more than anyone else since the two had met the day of Marcus' horrific accident. Marcus was convinced if not for his friend’s interference that day, he would not be alive.

  Patrick's lips moved and his eyebrows rose as he scanned Caroline's missive. “Are you going to let her stay?”

  Marcus scrubbed his scarred face with his equally scarred fingers. Caroline had said she didn’t have a chaperone, and heaven knew between the three female staff members he employed, not a one had the time—or suitability—to act as a proper chaperone. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Ah, but you will anyway. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Marcus jerked his gaze away. “Caroline has never asked me for a favor before.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Patrick said slowly. He idly tapped the missive from Caroline on his thigh. “So your agreement to invite Miss Green to stay is only because Caroline asked it of you? It has nothing to do with your attraction to Miss Green, and this being the perfect opportunity to spend time with her?”

  “Don't I owe Caroline a favor for all the hell my family put her through?”

  Patrick put the parchment back on Marcus’ desk. “I suppose so,” he said casually. “But what if it were Miss Green asking?” His eyes held an unusual sparkle. One that gave Marcus pause. Patrick had been nearly expressionless since his wife died in childbirth almost five years ago.

  Marcus shrugged. “I supposed I'd let her stay then, too,” he said, annoyed.

  “Of course you would,” Patrick agreed jovially, the gleam in his eye still present. “You're probably just irritated she's been staying with Caroline and her husband and didn't come here in the first place.”

  Dropping his head to hide his scowl from Patrick and his eerie perceptiveness, Marcus pretended to take a sudden interest in his ledger. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a mite disappointed she hadn’t seen fit to come to him if she were in trouble; but he couldn’t blame her for not seeking his assistance, considering his past engagement with her sister.

  Patrick chuckled. “Why do you fight it so?”

  “Stop,” Marcus snapped, piercing his friend with his gaze.

  Shrugging as if to say he really didn't care one way or the other what Marcus said or did, Patrick turned to look at his three young daughters who were playing together on the floor with whatever little trinkets they could find to entertain themselves with in Marcus’ study. “I have an idea.” He turned back to Marcus and flashed him a brilliant smile.

  “No,” Marcus said, eying the girls. “They're all very sweet, well-behaved children, but I'll not use watching your children as an excuse to keep her here during Caroline's house party.”

  “And why not?” Patrick countered, his voice laced in mock indignation. “As you said, they're very well-behaved. I have to go to London for a series of meetings to get ready for when parliament sessions begin in a few weeks. At least this way they wouldn't be stuck with
that horrid woman they call a governess.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Emma may like them as much as the rest of us, but it's not fair to anyone to do that.”

  “How so?”

  “First, it's not fair to Emma to ask her to take care of three little girls without any help for such a long time. Second, it's not fair to me to have my house suddenly overrun by the female species. And third, it won't be fair to the girls when it's time for them to leave.”

  “I see your point,” Patrick conceded solemnly. “They would miss her something terrible.”

  “Exactly.” Marcus smiled at Patrick. “Just think how difficult it would be when they cry and refuse to leave her to return to your tedious care.”

  Patrick scowled then bent his head to look at the floor. He rested his palms against his temples, scratching the sides and top of his head as he thought. Suddenly he sat up straighter than a sword. “That can be fixed.”

  “How?” Marcus asked with a scoff. “Do you plan to request Emma act like more of a dullard than you so they're actually excited to return home when you come back from London?”

  “No, no.” Patrick shook his head for emphasis. “She can be as entertaining as she wishes. She could be a one woman Astley's act, for all I care. Actually, it's encouraged. My plan is that I could ask her to marry me. That would solve everyone's problems.”

  Marcus' heart constricted in the most painful way. Patrick was a good man. He'd make an excellent husband. Just not for Emma. No, actually he would. He'd treat her right and take care of her in a way she'd never been cared for before. The problem was Marcus. He'd always known Emma would marry, but the thought of her marrying his closest friend was the cruelest fate of all. “I suppose you could,” he said flatly, refusing to meet Patrick's brown eyes.