The Disgraced Lords Series 3-Book Bundle

by Bronwen Evans

  Marisa was still very angry. “We should have won. His Grace took all the fun out of our game of pall-mall. Before every shot we had to discuss our strategy. Every shot! Why couldn’t he just hit the ball? It ruined the game.”

  “You’re just peeved because the two of you lost,” her sister said quietly.

  “Well, you can play with him next time.”

  “I’ll probably have to, since you sent his ball into the lake.” Helen shook her head. “Your partner’s ball! That’s why you lost. Plus you left him to fish it out.”

  “He deserved it, the pompous arse,” Marisa muttered under her breath, taking a seat in front of the refreshments tray.

  Aunt Alison cried, “Young lady! Language, please!”

  “Sorry, Auntie. I don’t know what it is about His Grace, but he rubs me wrong.” She poured her aunt and the other ladies their tea.

  “He’s a very loyal and nice man,” Portia said as she passed Robert to his mother, who’d just entered. Serena’s face was flushed, and Portia spied Christian just outside the door. No doubt his proximity was the cause of Serena’s heated expression. Since she’d risen from her bed after the birth, the pair used any moment to kiss and cuddle, wrapped up in happiness and ecstatic with the safe delivery of their son.

  Portia was ecstatic too. She was marrying Grayson in one week. Given the situation they found themselves, with the villainess still at large, the wedding would be a quiet family affair at Henslowe Court’s chapel. They were waiting for her family to arrive. She was the family’s only daughter, and she wanted her mother to share in her joy.

  It was killing her, though, as Grayson insisted they would not be intimate again until husband and wife, to make the wedding night special. As if it would not be special enough!

  She knew the men had a wager going as to whether Grayson would make it to the wedding night without succumbing to his lust. He’d be shocked to learn she’d placed her own bet with Sebastian on the outcome too. There was no way she would be alone in her bed until her wedding day. She smiled inwardly. She intended to win the bet by seducing Grayson. She was looking forward to tonight.

  —

  The men decided to stay outside after the game. They sat on the small jetty, watching and chuckling as Maitland floundered around in the lake looking for his ball.

  Maitland lost his temper for once. “If she were not your sister, I’d strangle her. No, better yet, shove this wet ball down her—”

  Sebastian laughed. “If I recall, only a month ago you were suggesting a match.”

  Maitland shivered and not because he was soaking wet. “Good God, that was a mistake. She’s a little hellion.”

  Grayson looked puzzled. “Why suggest marriage, then?”

  Maitland shook off his drenched jacket and grabbed a whiskey from the tray a servant had brought down to the jetty for the men. “I’m the last of my line, a madwoman is out to kill me, I need a son, despite her atrocious attitude Marisa is beautiful, it would align our two families, Sebastian knows I’d be good to her, she’d be marrying a duke, and a marriage could have been organized quickly without any fuss.” He ticked off the points on his fingers as he spoke.

  “Just what Marisa wished for her wedding—no fuss,” Sebastian added sarcastically. “I suspect when the announcement comes that she’s to wed Lord Rutherford, she’ll be expecting a huge wedding. Therefore, we need to catch our villainess quickly. I won’t be able to ensure her safety once she weds.”

  Christian strolled back to the jetty from the house, a jauntiness in his stride. He was still over the moon about the safe birth of his son. “Marisa is pouring tea, but she’s still angry at you. What are you all laughing at?”

  Grayson replied, “Maitland. Did you know he’d suggested a match with Marisa?”

  “Why?” Christian asked as he accepted a drink and sat down next to Grayson.

  “Why do you think? He thought it prudent given he has no son and is an only child.”

  “I merely selected the wrong woman,” Maitland opined. “Marisa’s much too spirited. Perhaps her sister, Helen, would suit.”

  Sebastian parried, “I wouldn’t let any sister of mine marry you. I want them to be happy, to find love.”

  Maitland shook his head slowly. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Love. It’s simply an imbalance of the brain and soon wears off. A quiet, demure woman is what I need. I shall live quite happily without ongoing hysterics.”

  Grayson shook his head. “No, Maitland, you’re wrong. Portia’s love has taught me that you don’t marry the woman you can live with. You marry the woman you cannot live without.”

  “Never a truer word have you spoken, Grayson.” Christian raised his glass. “To love—it makes us better men.”

  They sat in companionable silence, except for Maitland’s mutterings about “the world gone mad” and “Libertine Scholars succumbing to love…ridiculous.”

  It was Sebastian who broke the serenity of the moment by standing and shielding his eyes from the late-afternoon sun.

  “A rider’s coming, and at quite a pace.”

  Grayson bolted to his feet along with the other men, and they all took off at a run toward the house.

  —

  The rider carried a missive from Arend that suggested all the Libertine Scholars and their families head back to London.

  After dinner the men were in Christian’s study discussing the note.

  “It’s definitely Arend’s handwriting. I’d recognize his terrible script anywhere.”

  Grayson took Maitland’s word for it, as his attention to detail was well known. “Do we go?”

  Christian cursed out loud. “I don’t like it. The women are safer here, where we can patrol the grounds. London is too crowded. It’d be easy for killers to hide and blend in.”

  Sebastian put in, “I agree. You know we will never be able to keep the women indoors. They will want to go visiting or shopping.”

  “I can’t go. Portia’s family is arriving in a day or two for the wedding. I’m not changing the arrangements. I’m not waiting a moment longer to wed her.”

  “That couldn’t be because of a vow of abstinence you’ve taken?” Maitland joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I can’t go either. Robert’s too little to travel, and I’m not leaving him and Serena behind.” Christian’s tone and face showed there would be no changing his mind.

  Maitland looked across at Sebastian. “That leaves you and me. Arend wouldn’t ask us to come unless it was important.”

  Sebastian shifted uneasily in his chair. He thought for a few moments before saying, “I’ll go up to town with Maitland. I’ll take Beatrice and the girls with me. If Marisa gets her proposal, it should be announced properly, or the ton may think there is something scandalous about the union. I don’t want that for her.”

  “Thank you, Sebastian. If when you two reach London you need our help, then we will consider coming.” That settled, Christian changed the subject. “Before you leave, let’s see if any of you can beat me at billiards.”

  —

  Almost three hours later, Grayson climbed the stairs to his room. He would have stayed up all night, but the men’s ribbing compelled him to leave the billiard room. They knew as well as he did that he was staying downstairs to avoid temptation, as he’d have to walk past Portia’s door to get to his bedchamber.

  He wished he’d never tried to be honorable and stay out of her bed until their wedding night. It was absolute torment because he got to see her every day. Her smile sent his blood pumping. Her voice sent heat flaming over his skin. Her casual touch made him as hard as rock, and he kept having to hide behind high-backed chairs.

  His feet slowed as they reached her door. He stood for one moment, undecided. Then he straightened his back and strode determinedly past. What would she think if he went back on his word?

  He opened his bedroom door, not looking forward to another night of tossing and turning. Although erotic dreams of Portia were quit
e pleasurable, he much preferred and in fact craved the real thing.

  There was a low fire in the grate, but he couldn’t see Timmins, his valet, anywhere. He stomped to his dresser and discarded his cravat. Only then did a soft sigh reach his ears, and he turned to look toward the bed. Portia lay naked across his sheets, her fiery hair falling around her milky shoulders and across his pillows.

  All the blood in his body fled south as his mouth dried.

  She pushed herself up onto her knees and crooked her finger at him. She looked like a seductive goddess, and he didn’t need any further encouragement. He started discarding his jacket as he moved toward the large four-poster.

  She crawled to the edge of the bed and began helping him out of his clothes.

  “I doubt I’ll ever enjoy losing a wager so much,” he managed to get out.

  She pressed her lips to his bare chest, just above his heart. “That’s all right, my darling. You may have lost, but I will have won my wager.”

  Grayson picked her up and threw her on the bed, his body following her down to press her deep into the mattress as she squealed in delight. He kissed her soundly before whispering in her ear, “I’m thankful you’re such a clever woman.”

  As he moved down her body, his lips leaving a trail of heat that only having Grayson buried deep within her would extinguish, he added, “Let me show you just how thankful I am.”

  In loving memory of Nana, who was proud of all I have achieved, even if my books were a tad too saucy for her delicate tastes. December 2014 at 103 years of age. RIP.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to acknowledge the patience of the Loveswept team, in particular, Sue Grimshaw, while writing this book. Without their silent support during a very difficult period I’m not sure this book would ever have been finished. I love writing for Loveswept, and I’m so appreciative of Sue and her team. Thank you.

  BY BRONWEN EVANS

  The Disgraced Lords Series

  A Kiss of Lies

  A Promise of More

  A Touch of Passion

  A Whisper of Desire (coming soon)

  PHOTO: © MALCOLM BROW

  BRONWEN EVANS is a proud romance writer. Her works have been published in both print and eBook formats. She loves storytelling, and her head is always filled with characters and stories, particularly those featuring lovers in angst. Evans is a two-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in sunny Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, with her dog, Brandy. She loves hearing from readers.

  www.bronwenevans.com

  Facebook.com/BronwenEvansAuthor

  @BronwenEvans_NZ

  Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the Disgraced Lords series:

  A Whisper of Desire

  by Bronwen Evans

  Coming soon from Loveswept

  Chapter One

  “Come, my love, don’t play coy with me. You have teased me mercilessly all evening,” a youthful tenor voice from the other side of the rosebushes spoke with undisguised eagerness.

  Maitland Spencer, the fifth Duke of Lyttleton, sighed and stubbed his cheroot under his expertly polished shoes, counting out the twists—one, two, three—before staring into the dark night.

  Was it too much to ask for a quiet moment away from the noise and heat of a crowded ballroom? Lord Dunmire did have an exceedingly beautiful garden. Instead, his peaceful moment was broken by what appeared to be an illicit liaison. He should know; he’d had his fair share.

  The ball, held in the large Governor Square townhouse behind him, was enough to send a man mad. Mothers throwing their daughters in his path had driven him to hide in the garden. All the twittering nonsense and malicious gossip meant he often had to bite his tongue to stop from issuing a very rude and uncivilized response. He never knew what to say in these social situations. The ton never wanted to discuss the truth of anything, and he couldn’t seem to muster the art of lying. For instance, this evening, Lady Arielle had asked him if he liked her new broach. It was a large gold figurine with a central emerald. Apparently he was supposed to say something, like the emerald matched her lovely eyes. His response of “No, it looks like a gargoyle with one eye” wasn’t the done thing, yet it was the truth.

  Now he’d have to return to the overheated rooms or announce his presence. Perhaps he’d just go home, but he’d promised his friend Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, that he’d stand as an extra guard for his sister, Marisa.

  A woman’s voice on the other side of the rosebushes brought him back to his predicament: Should he stay and hope they left soon, or creep away unnoticed?

  “My Lord Rutherford, I’m not sure your intentions are honorable,” and then she giggled. “I’m a tad angry with you. The rumor is you’re going to propose to the Coldhurst chit.” Maitland halted. Rutherford was expected to make an offer for Marisa’s hand.

  A rustle of silk followed as if she was pressing herself into his arms. “You’ll find I’m much more woman than that virginal miss will ever be.”

  “Charlotte, my love, men do prefer virgins for wives,” Rutherford offered cruelly in response. “Besides, my father told me that one never marries one’s mistress.”

  “I prefer the term lover. Respectable widows with large estates make even better wives. They know what a man wants in the bedroom, while bringing riches that enhance their husband’s standing.”

  Maitland almost found himself nodding in agreement with her practical advice.

  “I’m certainly standing to attention at the moment,” Rutherford answered. When no reply was offered from Charlotte, he continued, “The Coldhurst girl brings a very large dowry. However, never fear, even when I wed I intend to carry on my life as usual. The girl’s completely besotted with me, and I give her every reason to think I reciprocate those feelings. She’d never for one moment believe I have a mistress. Her brother thinks I love and respect her.” He stopped talking and Maitland could hear more kissing. When they came up for air Rutherford’s next words made Maitland’s temper, which was usually difficult to rouse, flare to life. “The only reason I’ve agreed to the marriage is to get my father to stop hounding me about producing a future heir, given I’m his only son, and to gain access to my funds. I receive ten thousand pounds upon my wedding day, plus any dowry my wife brings. Father thinks marriage will settle me down.”

  “If Lord Coldhurst ever finds out you don’t…Aren’t you scared of a duel, especially with a man like the Marquis? He killed young Baron Larkwell in the last one.” She pressed closer. “Besides, I have more money than we’ll ever need. Why not marry me.”

  He chuckled. “I do want an heir, my dear. You were married to Lord Marshall for almost seven years and you produced no issue. Plus, you are five years older than I.”

  “Age is irrelevant when you’re lying down,” she replied seductively.

  “But not when children are required. You don’t have another seven years.”

  “You are such a bastard.”

  His voice held a smile. “But that’s why you love me.”

  Soon there were no more words, simply moans and breathless entreats.

  Maitland wanted to slip quietly away, but he now had a dilemma. Lord Coldhurst was his friend, his good friend. He remained where he was, his hands clenched at his sides. Bloody Rutherford. His best friend’s sister, Lady Marisa Hawkestone, was in love with this rogue, and was expecting a proposal. What she saw in this cad he didn’t understand. The lad was only two and twenty and still sowing his wild oats. He didn’t blame the lad for that, but what he did find utterly contemptible was professing to a love that he did not feel in order to trick Marisa into marriage. A marriage of convenience was perfectly acceptable, it’s what Maitland required, an emotionless arrangement, as long as both parties knew where they stood.

  To profess love in order to trap a person into marriage was…well, he’d say it again, contemptible. Rutherford was, in essence, playing with Marisa’s
feelings. No one deserved that.

  How had this young whippet fooled her? Maitland had always thought Marisa an intelligent girl. Worse still, how had Rutherford fooled Sebastian?

  What hurt his pride and honor more was that Sebastian, just a month ago, had thrown scorn on Maitland’s suggestion that they align their two houses and that he should offer for Marisa’s hand. Maitland knew he was called “the Cold Duke” within the ton. He was the first to admit that he struggled with social niceties, but he would give Marisa a good life. She’d want for nothing. She’d be a duchess, for God’s sake, married to an extremely wealthy man in his prime.

  It was time he married. Maitland was conscious that he was the last of his line and, with a madwoman hunting him and the other five Libertine Scholars, it was more than time he took a wife and beget the heir and the spare.

  Yet, Sebastian, his supposed friend, saw a marriage to him, a duke, as not appropriate for Marisa.

  The sound of lovemaking coming from the other side of the bushes faded as he thought about the woman from his father’s past who was targeting him and his friends. They still had no idea who she was or exactly why she wanted revenge.

  His father had always been a cold bastard and Maitland could well believe the previous Duke of Lyttleton had been party to some heinous act. But why take it out on him, the son who had tried to live a respectable, honest life? It just didn’t make sense.

  The cries of a woman in the throes of ecstasy brought him back to the present. Logically he should walk away and simply inform Sebastian as to what he had learned this night. Once Sebastian knew what Rutherford was up to, he’d never let him marry Marisa. A marriage to this utter cad would see Marisa in misery. She thought Rutherford loved her.