Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  ‘Rory,’ Lottie called. ‘You must be calm if you want syllabub later.’

  The pounding of his feet came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah panted from the other room.

  Lottie and Evander looked at one another and laughed. ‘Thank goodness for the promise of sweets,’ Evander said.

  ‘And for wonderful little boys who bring so much happiness.’ Lottie tilted her head grudgingly. ‘As well as a bit more noise.’

  ‘A bit?’ Evander arched a brow. ‘I think we need to try harder.’

  Lottie put her hands on her hips in feigned anger. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘Or what?’ Evander pulled her into his arms.

  His embrace was comfortable and familiar in all the best ways.

  ‘Or I’ll have to kiss you so much you won’t be able to make a peep,’ she threatened playfully.

  ‘There are worse threats in this world, my love.’

  He leaned forward and captured her lips.

  Even after all these years she loved his kisses, craving them with the same intensity as when they first wed. She leaned into him and deepened their kiss with a little flick of her tongue. He drew her more tightly to him and Lottie’s blood went hot in her veins.

  Someone cleared their throat and they leapt apart like guilty children. Andrews stood primly by, with his hands folded behind his back. ‘Forgive the interruption, my lady, but it appears your first guests are arriving.’

  Lottie and Evander shared a sheepish look at having been caught, and dutifully moved towards the door.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Evander said. ‘Thank you, Andrews.’

  Andrews gave austere nod as the gravel outside crunched under the wheels of a stopping carriage. A cacophony of voices came from outside—the occasional agreement of a man’s voice and the incessant chatter of a small feminine one.

  ‘Presumably Lord and Lady Dalton,’ Andrews said dryly.

  It was an accurate guess as Violet’s daughter, Juliette, was notorious for speaking almost without stopping. Lottie hid a smile behind her hand and the corner of Andrews’ lip flicked upwards before swiftly disappearing.

  ‘Go on and open the door,’ Lottie said. ‘We don’t need pomp and formality when it comes to friends.’

  The quirk of Andrews’ eyebrow indicated he did not agree, but he obeyed regardless.

  No sooner had the door opened than Violet and Seth were there, with little Juliette, stepping into the house along with their son, James, cradled asleep in Seth’s arms.

  ‘The thing about violets is that they are such lovely flowers,’ Juliette said. ‘More than peonies, yes?’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘Violets are perfect for pressing.’

  ‘Yes, I have always been partial to violets.’ Seth winked at his wife.

  Juliette beamed up at Lottie and Evander. ‘Lord and Lady Westix, thank you so much for having us.’ She scanned the hall. ‘Is Rory here?’

  ‘I’m certain you can find him,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Rory,’ Juliette called out.

  Her nursemaid gasped. ‘Juliette, a young lady shouldn’t—’

  But Juliette was already running past them all into the next room.

  Violet sighed with a smile and shook her head.

  Lottie embraced her with a laugh. ‘I assure you, it’s nothing Rory isn’t already doing. They’re just excited.’

  ‘I know.’ Violet smiled. ‘Thank you so much for inviting us. Binsey is such a lovely village. We drove through it on our way to the manor. I can see why you two enjoy your stays here so much.’

  James shifted against Seth’s shoulder and lifted his head. His dark hair was mussed, with the left side jutting upright, and he slowly blinked his dark blue eyes open.

  ‘Are you still tired?’ Seth asked softly.

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Do you want to rest?’

  James lowered his head to Seth’s shoulder once more in response.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Seth chuckled.

  ‘Come, I’ll show you to the nursery, where we can speak of masculine pastimes like teething and tantrums.’ Evander waved for Seth to follow him.

  Outside, another carriage arrived.

  Within minutes Eleanor and Charles were striding through the door, confident and smiling, their skin tanned golden from their latest adventure. Their son, Simon, walked in front of them, leading them into the house with his nursemaid hovering nearby.

  Perhaps it was the fact that their little Simon travelled with them around the world, but the boy was incredibly independent, always insistent on doing things himself.

  Lottie and Violet embraced Eleanor and Charles.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’

  ‘Thank you for having us, little sister.’ Charles grinned at her, his teeth bright white against his tanned skin. ‘It’s been an age since I’ve visited Huntly.’

  ‘Where’s Rory?’ Simon said.

  ‘Juliette is here as well,’ Violet said, and Simon’s eyes lit up.

  ‘You can go and find them, but mind yourself,’ Eleanor said.

  The little boy nodded and darted off to find the other two. A feat easily accomplished, based on the chatter and giggles coming from one of the back rooms.

  ‘Should we be worried about them?’ Eleanor asked.

  ‘Most likely,’ Lottie replied, and they all laughed. ‘Especially once Alice and George and Caroline and Rawley arrive with their little ones,’ she added.

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased they’ll be joining us,’ Violet said.

  ‘Yes, but not until this evening,’ Lottie replied. ‘Evander’s mother will arrive tomorrow as well.’

  Evander and Seth appeared on the stairs and Charles regarded them with a wave. ‘I suppose this means I won’t be left alone with the ladies after all.’

  ‘Pity for you,’ Eleanor teased him with a smile, which earned her a playful wink in return.

  While the children played, the newly arrived couples found their rooms and freshened up after their travels, leaving Lottie and Evander alone for a brief moment.

  He drew her into his arms once more. ‘Thank you for co-ordinating this. I believe it will be the most successful house party of all time.’

  She smiled up at her handsome husband. ‘I’m so happy to finally have everyone at Huntly Manor at the same time.’

  ‘I know how much you love it here.’ Evander ran a hand down her cheek and she turned into his touch.

  ‘At one time it was simply coming here that made me happy, but now it’s more than that.’

  ‘Is it?’

  He lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. Chills of pleasure danced over her skin.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ she agreed. ‘It’s you. And Rory. And the way you two make me laugh.’

  Evander leaned back and grinned at her. ‘I’ll remind you of that when we next engage in a game of tag.’

  ‘Not in the drawing room again,’ she admonished with a tease.

  ‘No, not again.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘And maybe next time you’ll join us.’

  ‘I confess it did look terribly fun.’

  ‘The best.’ Evander kissed her. ‘I love you so very much, Lottie.’

  ‘And I love you, Evander.’ She cradled his face in her hands. ‘Thank you for this life and for such happiness. Thank you for never giving up on me.’

  ‘My love, waiting for you was worth every moment. I’m just glad I was finally able to convince you to marry me.’

  Lottie melted into his embrace. ‘As am I.’

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9780369710994

  How to Wed a Courtesan

  Copyright © 2021 by Madeline Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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  “I’m sorry I did not get there sooner.”

  “You saved my life. Don’t apologize.”

  Rachael smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “The marriage would have been called off anyway, even if Tenney had not been so malevolent. I would never have been able to disrobe in front of him.”

  “A man worth his salt wouldn’t care about the marks.”

  Devlin didn’t care if the scars were hideous except for the part of them that hurt her.

  “Thank you for your kind words.”

  “Honest ones.”

  “Delivered with kindness.”

  She reached to the lapel of his coat. “I must thank you. You are a rake on the outside, but a knight on the inside.”

  “I would say there is a lot of night, but not the kind you are thinking of. Do not place too much store in me. If Tenney loved you, he’d just be thankful you are alive.”

  He was.

  The knowledge lodged in him with such strength his breath caught.

  This would not do. She was not a woman for a rake and he had learned his lesson.

  Author Note

  The idea for the missive Rachael receives in this book originated after I read a letter written by a man who died in the 1800s. He was writing to his intended. They never wed. I really couldn’t grasp the words at first, just as Rachael couldn’t in this story.

  I’m not certain about what happened to the woman who received the letter, but I’m convinced that the dissolution of the betrothal was the best thing that happened in her life. One source said she later married and had a large family.

  Writing this book was an opportunity for me to imagine her happily-ever-after.

  A Cinderella for the Viscount

  Liz Tyner

  Liz Tyner lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her, visit liztyner.com.

  Books by Liz Tyner

  Harlequin Historical

  The Notorious Countess

  The Runaway Governess

  The Wallflower Duchess

  Redeeming the Roguish Rake

  Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

  To Win a Wallflower

  It’s Marriage or Ruin

  Compromised into Marriage

  A Cinderella for the Viscount

  English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses

  Safe in the Earl’s Arms

  A Captain and a Rogue

  Forbidden to the Duke

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter 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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  CHAPTER ONE

  The night was a success, in spite of his beloved aunt’s pianoforte song, which she’d composed just for the occasion. The supposedly short piece had been the opening music and had lasted just shy of one hour—or that was how long it had felt to Devlin.

  Now the guests gathered for the La Boulanger. His mother always ended her events with a dance easier for tired feet.

  Devlin stood at the edge of the room, knowing the wide circle of dancers would likely take up most of the area. He noticed Miss Albright standing at the other side. One woman he’d not partnered. She seemed content to stand behind everyone. Almost hiding near the curtains by the window.

  Their eyes met as he caught her stifling a yawn and her cheeks coloured. He acknowledged her with a nod to say he understood and took no offence, before he glanced around the room so she would not feel singled out.

  He should have spoken with her during the soirée, but he’d just not seen her earlier—which seemed impossible. Perhaps she’d arrived late. Or maybe she’d spent the evening wandering in the gardens.

  Now she touched her necklace, pulled it to the side, then returned it to the position where it had originally rested at the top of an extremely demure bodice. She stared off into the distance, absently rubbing a ring, a bauble that overwhelmed her finger. Not what he would have chosen for her. Not what she would have selected for herself, he wagered.

  He imagined she was thinking of a man now and whoever the man was—he wasn’t in attendance. Possibly the one who’d given her the jewel.

  Priscilla Tremaine twirled by Devlin, covering him in a cloud of perfume and interrupting his perusal of Miss Albright. Priscilla danced with her beau, Baron Bomford. The Baron took her hand as he stumbled, chuckled loudly and then almost tripped over his own boots. Priscilla laughed, her bosom quivering. Her partner paid more attention to Priscilla’s chest than he did his feet.

  Devlin put his glass on the table, his attention riveted on the couple as they finished their rotation around the room.

  The dance needed to end sooner rather than later. Priscilla and the Baron were likely to embarrass themselves. Bomford was hearing a different song from the one the musicians played.

  Then Bomford turned in the wrong direction and Priscilla reached out to correct him, shoving him into the steps. The Baron jumped a few feet to catch his balance, but stumbled, his arm splayed towards Miss Albright.

  Miss Albright caught his sl
eeve, trying to keep him upright, but he took another step, reached with his free arm and grabbed a side table, pulling a scarf which covered the tabletop.

  A lamp on the table wobbled, its flame flickering. Devlin couldn’t hear the music or comprehend anything else in the room but the flame inside the glass globe, the oil and the dislodged fabric under the base.

  Then the table stopped moving. Devlin’s shoulders relaxed. The lamp rested completely immobile. Safe. The oil inside burning softly.

  Everyone in the room watched Priscilla and her partner, including the musicians. The room echoed with silence.

  The Baron noticed everyone had ceased talking. ‘My apologishes.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his brow, then took a reverse step, bumped into the table, reached out his arm and this time knocked the lamp askew. It rolled off the table and Miss Albright’s skirts fluttered as she stepped aside.

  Devlin saw all the flammable fabrics. The scarf from the table. The curtains. Miss Albright’s skirt. The lit wick. All too close to Miss Albright.

  He darted forward as the globe shattered, its glass collapsing into shards. The bowl of the lamp cracked, oil leaking into a puddle. Flames flickered at the wick, which would be easily extinguished with a stamp of his boot. Not yet igniting the oil.

  Then Bomford turned, grabbing a glass from Lord Wilberton’s hand. ‘No,’ Devlin shouted, lunging as he spoke. But it was too late. The Baron flung the alcohol in the glass on to the flames, splashing wide of the curtain, across the oil and over the wick, and sending the now-burning oil on to Miss Albright.

  Devlin was already across the room when the liquid splattered across the flame and reached Miss Albright’s skirt, igniting the flicker into a flash.

  He knew what was about to happen before the flame began to take the light silk that covered her body. In two strides he had ripped the curtain from the rod, tackled Miss Albright and threw himself forward. He thrust the heavy fabric around Miss Albright to extinguish the fire. He wound the material tightly, forcing her into the wall, suffocating the flames, and slid her down to the floor. One of her arms splayed out. The other wrapped around his neck and her fingers grasped a handful of his hair. He pressed the curtain even closer, using his body as a shield, ignoring the other guests, only minimally aware of the people behind him.