by Ashley March
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
Also by Ashley March
RAVES FOR ASHLEY MARCH
“Ashley March is a glorious new voice in romance. From the first page, Romancing the Countess captivated me with a smart heroine, a sexy, brooding hero, and a sophisticated romance that vibrates with sexual tension. Ashley March is the goods!
—Elizabeth Hoyt
“March’s debut novel glows with its fresh take on a traditional theme, a second chance at love. Her sprightly characters and snappy dialogue set the pace for a delectable, sensual love story. March is destined to be a fan favorite.”
—Romantic Times (four stars)
“With its addictive combination of richly nuanced characters, elegant writing spiced with a soupçon of wicked wit, and abundance of sizzling sexual chemistry, March’s exceptional debut is literary gold.”
—Booklist
“Exquisite prose and an emotional story—this is my favorite kind of book.”
—Courtney Milan, USA Today Bestselling author of Unveiled
“One of the funniest, most creative, well-written romances I have read in a long time. With characters that leap off the page, a romance that happens after the marriage, and a plot filled with twists, humor, and tons of seduction, Seducing the Duchess is an addition to my shelf that will be enjoyed many times over the years to come. Reminiscent of Johanna Lindsey and Bertrice Small, Ashley March joins the ranks of romance writers. Fans of historical romance will be eagerly awaiting Ashley March’s next book.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“A wonderful and beautiful love story of falling in love again, forgiveness, and what love can repair in any relationship.”
—The Romance Reviews
“A compelling read by Ashley March, who provides a second chance for a couple in a dismal and destructive marriage . . . will undoubtedly appeal to all fans of historical romance.”
—Romance Novel News
“A fun, entertaining read. . . . For those of you out there who, like March’s husband, haven’t read a romance, I suggest you give it a try.”
—The Colorado Springs Gazette
“A brilliant debut, with a wonderful plotline and plenty of sinfully satisfying characters . . . a wonderful story filled with all the longing, deception, and forgiveness (and of course, romance) a book reader could ever ask for.”
—Not Another Romance Blog
“Through her wonderful writing, Ms. March shows readers the true, emotional reasons behind the wrongs of the past and the genuine interest of both Philip and Charlotte to find and hold fast to their own happily ever after. This debut novel is one that everyone should enjoy!”
—The Romance Dish
“Addicting and thoroughly delicious. Our debut author has herself a great start in the right direction with a book that will make you enjoy all the little tastes of seduction and romance with a flair for licking your fingers.”
—Yankee Romance Reviewers
“One of the wittiest . . . romances I have read in quite a while. From the first page the characters just step out into your bedroom with you.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
Also by Ashley March
Seducing the Duchess
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, September 2011
ISBN : 978-1-101-54395-5
Copyright © Ashley March, 2011
Excerpt from Seducing the Duchess © Ashley March, 2010
All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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http://us.penguingroup.com
To Luke, because after deciding to make the sacrifice of actually reading a “romance” book, you’ve now become my #1 fan. Oh, and for all that “cleaning and cooking and taking care of the children” stuff, too. If you didn’t know already, I’m your #1 fan. 143, always.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my editor, Jesse Feldman. You’ve quickly become my sanity in this writing journey. You transform good ideas into brilliant ones, talk me off of ledges, and somehow make sense of all of my rambling. Also, thank you for the laugh about a certain proposed carriage scene. I’m so glad that serendipity landed me on your desk, and so very grateful to have your support and guidance.
Thank you to my dream agent, Sara Megibow, who continually manages to exceed my expectations. Every day I’m thrilled to know that I have you on my side, and I’m so proud to be part of your team. In an effort to save the rain forests by not listing all the reasons why I adore you, I’ll simply say: Thank you for everythin
g.
As always, a humongous thank-you to Anna Randol and Kat Brauer, my two amazing critique partners and fellow authors, who are soon going to rock the world. No amount of words could ever be enough to express my gratitude and happiness to see us all achieve our dreams.
Thank you to my family and friends for encouraging my new role as a romance author. A special thank-you to the Henderson-Metzgers for buying copies of my debut for the entire world, and to Lynett, who showed me how to put the baby to good use in hand-selling my books.
And finally, thank you to all the authors, book bloggers, and readers who made my first year as a romance author absolutely wonderful. Especially to Rita, Danielle, Paige, Linda, Shane, Kris, Katharine, Jeanne, Buffie, Aislynn, Kati, Ely, Alyssa, Donna, my fellow NLA agency mates, CRW authors, the RA Army, and everyone who participated in or joined the First Annual March Madness Blog Party. The romance community rocks because of you.
Chapter 1
London, April 1849
As on most every other night, Leah lay in the center of the bed and watched the shadows cast from the firelight flicker across the canopy. The steady lash of rain and wind rattled the windows in their cases, a buffer against the usual silence.
Lightning flashed through the room, and her breath caught as she stared at the illumination of silverthreaded flowers overhead. Even if the bedchamber had been suffused in darkness, she still could have recited each detail of the bed’s rococo-style construction. The fluted mahogany posts with their serpentine cornices. The shallow frieze of interwoven palmettes and draperies of lush, midnight velvet. The feet fashioned as lion heads below and the domed canopy above. When the lightning came again, Leah measured her breath, anticipating the accompanying growl of thunder.
She imagined the women who had come before her: her husband’s mother, his grandmother. Had they, too, stared at the canopy so long that they began to dream of its embroidered ribbons and flower garlands, of shimmering, silvery threads and roses turned black by the shadows? Had hours and hours passed until they imagined they could see each impeccable stitch, counting them only to forget the number when a sound downstairs erupted from the silence, startling them into awareness?
With her heart pounding, Leah waited for the sound to transform into footsteps up the stairs, to distinguish itself into the pattern of Ian’s steady, swaggering gait. How foolish she’d once been to admire the way he walked—to admire his easy grin, the golden shine of his sun-swept hair . . . anything about him. And how even greater a fool she was now to dread his arrival into her bedchamber, when she knew he would easily accept her plea of a headache. He might even be glad for the reprieve.
Still, as the echo of footsteps climbed within her hearing, she remained in the center of the bed. Neither on the left nor the right, but rigidly in the middle, as if the few feet on either side could serve to sufficiently delay the moment when he leaned across her and began stroking her breasts in solicitous, husbandly regard. He could have spared her that, at least.
Leah’s breath hitched at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Then, slowly, she sighed with relief. It wasn’t her husband. These footsteps were too hasty, the stride too short. Her gaze retreated from the door to the canopy overhead, her fingers released their stranglehold on the counterpane, and she began counting the stitches again.
One, two, three, four ...
“Madam?”
Leah’s gaze stumbled over the width of the ribbon and flew toward the direction of the housekeeper’s voice.
“Mrs. George? I apologize for disturbing you . . .”
“No, no. Not at all,” Leah called. Tearing the covers aside, she hurried across the room. Anything to leave the bed. She had already opened the hallway door and raised her arm to invite Mrs. Kemble inside when she froze, arrested by the housekeeper’s expression. Gone was the woman’s usual implacable cheerfulness; in its place was a face worn with time, each wrinkle sagging with the weight of her age. Her brows were lowered, her teeth buried in her upper lip, and the hands clasped at the front of her waist trembled as she met Leah’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, madam. There’s . . . there’s been an accident.”
Leah blinked. The housekeeper’s mouth seemed to be moving at an extraordinarily slow pace, as if each syllable struggled to escape. “An accident?” she repeated. And somehow, simply by saying the words, she knew that he was gone.
“Yes, Mr. George . . .”
They stared at each other for what seemed an impossibly long time, until Leah was certain she could have counted at least a hundred canopy stitches.
Finally, she forced the words out. Not as a question, but a blunt, sure statement. “He’s dead.”
Mrs. Kemble nodded, her chin quivering. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. If there is anything—”
Gone. Ian, her husband, was dead. Never again would she lie awake at night, waiting for him to return from his lover’s arms. Never again would she listen for his footsteps or count the stitching or bear his torturous, sensual lovemaking.
He was gone.
And Leah, who had vowed never to cry for him again, sank to her knees, her hands clutched in the housekeeper’s skirt, and wept.
“Rook to queen. Check.”
Sebastian nodded and considered the whimsical dance of the fire’s shadows as they played across what little remained of his ivory army. He slid a lonely pawn forward.
His brother uttered a low oath and planted his bishop near Sebastian’s king. “Checkmate. Damnation, Seb, that’s four in a row. Do you even realize you’re losing?”
Lifting his gaze from the chessboard, Sebastian raised an idle brow. “Yes. And I thought you’d be happy.”
James swept aside the pieces and began arranging them anew. “I’d be happy if you found a new role. Something other than heartsick lover. At least condescend enough to pretend to notice my presence. It’s only been half a day.”
“Fourteen hours.” Sebastian rolled the ivory queen between his thumb and forefinger.
Precisely fourteen hours had passed since Angela left for their country estate in Hampshire, but already he was going mad without her. In three years of marriage, they’d spent only a few nights apart. Even though their lovemaking had been sporadic since she’d taken ill in the autumn, he was still accustomed to their usual domestic routine: sitting before the fire together as she brushed her hair, discussing the day’s events. If she didn’t feel well, a kiss good night before they separated for their individual bedchambers.
James paused in the act of replacing the last ebony piece. “Fourteen hours . . . And I suppose you also know exactly how many minutes and seconds?”
With a small smile, Sebastian settled his queen upon her square and refused the urge to glance at the mantel clock over the sitting room hearth. Instead, his fingers reached below to the note he’d tucked away in the chair’s crevice. There was no need to unfold it; he’d already read the words a dozen times, enough to memorize the few short sentences she’d written.
If he breathed deeply enough, he imagined he could smell her perfume rising from the well-worn paper, the same blended scent she used for her bath.
Lavender and vanilla.
Memories wrapped around him, warm and soothing and arousing. It had been a long time since Angela had allowed him to watch her bathe, but still he could remember the heady scent of lavender and vanilla upon her naked skin, the slosh of the bath water over the sides of the tub as she bucked beneath his touch.
The corner of the note twisted between his fingers.
James nudged the first pawn into play. “I know you have Parliamentary duties to attend to, but surely they would understand if you made it a priority to see to your wife’s health first.”
“They’ll have to.” Sebastian led his own pawn out. “I’m traveling to Hampshire in a week, whether the bill’s resolved or not.”
One week. Compared to fourteen hours, it seemed a hellish eternity.
Still, he looked forward to surprising Angela;
she wasn’t expecting him to arrive with their son for at least a fortnight. He might bring her a gift as well, perhaps a little house spaniel to keep her company when the weather forced her to remain indoors. Something to cheer her, to keep her from her melancholy. Regardless of how much he tried to attend to her, she seemed so lonely at times.
Her health had never been the same after Henry’s birth, but recently she’d become more and more withdrawn. She continued to act the role of generous hostess while they were in Town, smiling and flirting as usual, but privately he could tell the London air was making matters worse. Sebastian could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. In the way the lightest touch of his fingers sometimes made her flinch, as if her skin was too fragile.
He didn’t regret allowing Angela’s departure to the countryside, but damned if he could stay away for even a week when she needed him.
Sebastian considered the row of ivory casualties at the side of the board, pieces fallen beneath James’ advance. He moved his queen’s bishop to counter James’ rook. For the first time that evening, he actually felt like making an effort to win. “Make that three days instead.”
James glanced up with a knowing look. “The night’s young yet. I’m sure given a few more hours you’ll be calling for the coach.”
A crash of thunder outside echoed the anticipatory clamor of Sebastian’s heart. He smiled. “Perhaps,” he murmured, and captured one of James’ knights.