Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  “Don’t say such morbid things!” Sophie hissed.

  “Even then, remember you carry my name now. You’ll be a rich widow.”

  “Don’t even think it, Julian.”

  “That’s my fiery angel. But it might help to look a bit paler. Officers have a soft spot for fragile women.” Julian nodded in the direction of the man approaching them.

  “Good day,” the man said. He was dressed in the uniform of the city guard. “We’re just checking traveling papers.”

  “Why is that?” Julian asked blithely, handing the packet of papers to him.

  “An Italian count reported a great fortune in diamonds was missing. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He scanned the documents. “Lord Burke, Lady Burke, you may be on your way. Felicitations on your marriage.”

  Sophie managed a smile, thankful for what little protection the veil gave her. She felt the carriage move forward slowly. She allowed herself to relax. They were nearly through. Then she heard it.

  “That’s her! Stop the carriage.” There was confusion. She looked back to see di Brazzo himself and his men parting the crowd on their big horses. A shot rang out, chipping the side of the carriage.

  “Get down!” Julian threw himself at her, forcing her onto the floor of the fiacre. “Keep driving,” he yelled to the driver. “We’ve been cleared to pass. They are too late.”

  Real fear coursed through Sophie. She thought about St. Just, Truesdale and Mathison up there. She heard other shots. A horse whinnied in agony. “Please don’t let that be one of ours,” Sophie prayed.

  The carriage had stopped moving. That was a bad sign.

  She felt Julian’s hand on her arm. “Get up, darling.” She sat up and saw the reason the carriage had halted. A city guard held the lead horse by the halter. St. Just was beside them, flanking the carriage. She glanced at Julian. He was unharmed, thank goodness. His eyes were the color of cold steel.

  “Count di Brazzo, to what do I owe the pleasure of your disruption on my wedding day?” Julian’s tone conveyed his dislike of the man.

  “Your wife?” The count stared at Sophie in disbelief. She could feel his eyes boring through her, radiating menace. “She is none other than a thief who stole jewels from me. She should hang for her crime against nobility.”

  “I will not sit here and have my wife insulted.” Julian’s indignation was real. He turned to the officer holding the horse. “Take your hands off the horse. Is this the way Englishmen are treated abroad? We were told we were free to pass.” Julian fixed the other guard with a steely stare, forcing him to intervene.

  “I’m sorry, Count,” the man stammered. “Lord and Lady Burke have been cleared to pass. Surely, you’re mistaken.”

  St. Just drew his pistol and aimed it at di Brazzo with deadly intent. The nice young man who had given her a bouquet of white roses had transformed into a merciless warrior. “You are obstructing an agent of the crown. No one in England will convict me for shooting you.”

  Sophie sucked in her breath. This was all her fault. This was hers to solve. Julian could scold her later. She slipped the little gun from her pocket. Everyone was too busy staring at St. Just and di Brazzo. A quick shot near the horses would startle them. No one would be able to hold them back. “Brace yourself, Julian,” she said quietly right at the last. Then she fired quickly, her gun hidden in the palm of her hand and tucked back into her gown before anyone was sure what they saw. In any case, the horses leapt forward, tearing free of the shocked officer.

  The carriage sailed past the crowds and out into the countryside. Mathison and Truesdale closed ranks behind them, turning their horses to face any would-be followers.

  They’d made it! Sophie tossed off her veil and let out a whoop of delight, thrilling in the wind blowing her hair about her. She looked back to see Truesdale give Julian a salute and ride back into the city.

  “I told you…” Julian began.

  “Would you rather have had your friend shoot the count? This way was much simpler,” Sophie interrupted, smiling her joy. It seemed that in leaving the city, her burdens had been lifted.

  Julian couldn’t stay angry with Sophie for long. The look of radiant happiness on her face, so much like the look that had first attracted him to her on the ballroom floor, was too hard to resist. He pulled his bride of two hours across the carriage and into his arms. He kissed her hard on the mouth. “You are a delightful minx, Lady Burke. Life with you will always be an adventure. I will have to learn not to underestimate you.”

  Sophie laughed up at him. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Epilogue

  Three months later, Tower of London

  Julian and Sophie stood amidst a small, private gathering of family and friends in the Tower’s jewel house. Among the group was King George IV and other members of the royal family. Julian’s brother, the Earl of Dunsmore, stood soberly next to Julian. It had taken Sophie a little time to get used to the fact that Julian had a twin, an identical twin. They looked impossibly alike. But Julian was a born adventurer and Dunsmore was far more reserved.

  There was a hushed silence as the king’s brother, the Duke of Clarence, began the short ceremony. “Two centuries ago, a treasure was lost to England. It recently resurfaced, and we knew we had to send the best to get it back. Julian Burke has returned triumphant. As of today, the diamonds have been restored to their rightful place.” With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the curtain to be pulled back, revealing the diamonds. The group clapped politely.

  Dunsmore leaned over to Sophie and Julian. “It looks like it always did,” he whispered quietly.

  “But those were paste,” Julian said.

  “I know. Still, rather anticlimactic,” Dunsmore mused, “especially since we can’t tell anyone about it. What do you think happened to the fakes?”

  Julian smiled. “St. Just wrote from Italy to tell me he recovered them while visiting the count di Brazzo’s palazzo in Florence.”

  “And he never knew he had the fakes?” Dunsmore queried. “Amazing. What else did St. Just have to say? Is he still wooing his way through the continent?”

  “That appears to be the case,” Julian replied obliquely.

  Dunsmore snorted. “It’s been two years. Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

  Julian shrugged. “He’ll come back when he’s found what he’s looking for.”

  Beside him, Sophie squeezed Julian’s hand. Now that she had Julian, she could imagine how empty her life would be without him. It pained her to think of the young viscount searching for a way to be whole. She could only hope that his time would come, that love would find him again.

  “If we could have your attention once more.” This time it was the king who spoke. “Julian Burke, come forward, please.” Julian cast a curious glance at Sophie. She merely shrugged.

  “For services rendered, you should be paid. But what does one give someone who has everything?” The little group laughed politely at the monarch’s humor. “Burke has more money than what’s good for him, has a wife far lovelier than he deserves. The one thing you don’t have is a title, for what it’s worth. We’ll have an official ceremony later, but as of today, you are now elevated to the rank of viscount. You’ll have to let me know which name you’ll attach to it. You’ve got several estates already to choose from.”

  “That’s easy.” Julian fixed Sophie with a smile. “It will be Leighton, for the estate where my wife has started her horse farm.”

  Sophie beamed while those around her applauded. When she had set out to retrieve the jewels, she’d known the risks such a venture held. She had never imagined the rewards.

  The Viscount Claims His Bride

  By Bronwyn Scott

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapt
er 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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  London, June 1820

  Valerian Inglemoore, the Viscount St Just, had a secret, a dreadful secret that caused him to tremble in guilt and self-loathing as he stood alone on Lady Rutherford’s veranda, gazing at the paper lantern-lit garden beyond the balustrade, but not really seeing it.

  His secret was all consuming, too consuming to spare a glance for the elegant town garden with its fountains and well-laid paths that wound through knot gardens and small privet hedges.

  Under normal circumstances, the garden would have been quite enticing. But tonight, his secret was nearly too much to bear. He was twenty-one and he was in love with Philippa Stratten, Baron Pendennys’s daughter, and she was in love with him. She was to meet him here tonight.

  But nothing would ever come of it.

  That was the secret.

  Tonight, he was breaking it off with her, at her father’s request. Tonight, he had to convince her after two months of stolen kisses and clandestine meetings that his affections were nothing more than a young man’s fleeting fancy. He didn’t know how he’d manage. He loved her so much.

  After tonight, he’d never take her in his arms, never feel her run her fingers through his hair, as if it were the rarest silk. The last two months had been heaven. He’d danced with her at her début in April and every night since. They’d made a habit of heated kisses in curtained alcoves, and taking long walks in gardens during Venetian breakfasts and afternoon teas. It had been simple enough to manipulate time alone with her. He was an avid botanist as well as a horseman. It was plausible enough to say they were going off to look at a certain variety of flower or to see a new colt in the stables.

  Oh, yes, they’d fallen madly in love with each other. One could almost say it was love at first sight except that he had known Philippa for years. She was his best friend Beldon’s sister. The threesome had spent school holidays roaming the Cornish coast together. He’d known since his first visit home with Beldon that his heart could belong to no other.

  Behind him, the Rutherfords’ ballroom played host to three hundred of London’s finest dancing away the night in their silks and satins, champagne never more than a footman’s tray away. But he cared not a whit. His heart was breaking.

  ‘Valerian.’ A familiar, dear voice spoke his name in the darkness. He drew a final breath, praying for the strength to give her up. It would be for her own good, although she’d never believe it.

  He turned towards the sound of her voice, letting her beauty overwhelm him as it always did. The effect was no less devastating tonight. This evening, her beauty was at its zenith, shown to perfection in the pale blue fabric of her gown. In the moonlight, the fabric appeared to shimmer when she moved. A soft summer breeze drew the thin fabric of her gown against her body, reminding Valerian of the fine figure beneath the filmy layers of summer chiffon.

  ‘Val.’ She whispered his name in response, moving towards him, her hands outstretched. ‘I could hardly wait.’ She wore a gentle smile on her lips, a soft look for him alone in the blue depths of her eyes. It was intoxicating to think the excitement that simmered beneath the surface of that gentle smile and soft look were all for him.

  He savoured it. After tonight, he would not feel such joy again.

  She slipped her gloved hands into his, expecting him to take her in his arms as he usually did. He swallowed hard against the temptation. He’d come out here to do his duty to her family, a family which had loved and harboured him since his adolescence. They’d asked him to give her up for sake of their finances and her future. It was a difficult task at best. Her merest touch, her slightest affection, made it Herculean.

  The embrace did not come. He could not give it to her as much as he desired to take her in his arms and feel her against him. To do so would be to fail the family in the only thing they’d ever asked of him. As a man of honour, he owed them more.

  She looked up into his face, reading him aright, unconsciously warning him to better school his features if he was to carry off his task believably. ‘Aren’t you happy to see me?’ Philippa began.

  ‘Of course I am happy to see you. I am always happy to see a dear friend,’ Valerian said, hoping Philippa didn’t hear the unspoken lie. He’d always seen her as much more than a friend.

  ‘Then kiss me. I’ve waited all day for you, for this moment.’ She flirted, trying to press up against him, to make him take her in his arms.

  He was too skilled for her untutored efforts. ‘Philippa, stop. We have to talk.’

  ‘Here?’ She glanced around curiously, disappointment evident on her features. Valerian wondered what she’d been expecting that this location was not suitable. Certainly, she wasn’t expecting what he had to tell her. Her father, Baron Pendennys, had indicated that Beldon and Philippa were completely in the dark about the family’s situation.

  The balcony was mostly empty, but there were a few couples strolling about. It wasn’t nearly as private as he’d hoped. Valerian shook his head. ‘No, not here. Come walk in the garden with me.’

  They found a bench settled among rhododendrons in full bloom and sat. Valerian kept her hand. He nodded towards a bower of roses across the pathway. ‘The roses are lovely. I hear Lady Rutherford has imported a special yellow rose from Turkey.’

  He was stalling and he knew it, putting off the news as long as he could, storing up every memory of her—beautiful, innocent Philippa, believing in the purity of his love when he’d come to prove her beliefs ill founded and her heart played falsely. It would be years before she would understand this was a sham designed to protect her family.

  ‘What is it, Val? You didn’t come out here to show me roses,’ Philippa coaxed.

  ‘I spoke to your father earlier this evening.’

  Her face lit with joy. A little cry of delight escaped her lips. She clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. He replayed the words in his head the way she would hear them. He knew he’d mis-stepped. She thought he had come to propose. He must be more careful, more convincing.

  Valerian shook his head in warning. ‘No, Philippa, it is not what you think. Your father has told me of your betrothal to the Duke of Cambourne. He accepted an offer for your hand this afternoon.’

  Philippa furrowed her brow, disbelief and confusion warring across her face. His words had achieved their goal. This pronouncement was so far from what she’d expected she couldn’t even be angry. She couldn’t get angry with him until she put the pieces together. The poor girl hadn’t even known Cambourne was interested, although the betting book at White’s had been full of wagers over when the widower Duke would make his move. The men about town had privately acknowledged Cambourne’s interest in the Season’s finest débutante weeks ago. Valerian had hoped to wait out the storm. He might have succeeded if the Baron’s need for funds hadn’t been so desperate.

  ‘Cambourne? You must be mistaken, Val.’ She was all naïve logic, standing up and shaking out her skirts, convinced she only had to march into the ballroom and explain the situation to her father. ‘He loves you. Nothing would please him more than to welcome you into our family. He would want this for me, for us.’

  ‘Wait, Philippa.’ Valerian kept his voice even and cold, not betraying the emotion threatening beneath his hardening veneer. ‘I came out here to encourage you to accept Cambourne’s offer.’

  ‘What do you mean? You want me to marry Cambourne?’ Philippa exclaimed, horrified. ‘He’s old enough to be my father! I don’t love him. Beyond a few dances, I hardly know the man at all.’ Her infamous temper started to show now that the initial shock had p
assed. Valerian did not relish being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue.

  ‘You have the rest of your life to get to know him, Philippa.’ Valerian dismissed her argument with callous disregard. ‘He’s an excellent catch for you, if you think about it.’ Valerian made a show of ticking the other man’s merits off on his gloved fingers. ‘He’s from our part of the world. You’ll still be close to home and your family. He’s wealthy. He loves horses as you do. He’s not a cruel or unattractive man. You could find happiness with him. He will offer you stability and security.’

  ‘But not love,’ Philippa fired back. ‘Here you are, laying out his assets like a business merger. But the only one I care about is love. He can’t possibly love me. He doesn’t know me. You know me, Val. If those criteria are so important to my father, then why won’t you suit? You live in our part of the world, you love horses, you’re kind and attractive, you have money. Under those conditions, I don’t see why your offer isn’t as good. What was wrong with you, Val? Let me talk to my father. We’ll be engaged by midnight. You’ll see.’

  Valerian looked into the azure depths of her beseeching eyes. It was deuced awkward playing the jilt. If he was successful, she’d walk out of the garden thinking he was unaffected by the turn of events. She’d never know he’d carried a ring in his pocket for the last two weeks, hoping against hope that Cambourne’s suit would come to naught.

  The ring was still there, in the left pocket of his evening coat. And there it would remain. He strongly doubted he’d ever give it to another. It was slow torture to outline Cambourne’s merits to her, to offer her reassurances that all would be well when in fact he didn’t think he’d ever be well again. His stomach was churning.