by Diana Quincy
He grabbed her before she could move completely away from him. “Oh, no. You are not going anywhere.” He pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
Exhilaration shot through her, happiness made her heart buoyant. “Cam, we mustn’t. Not here. This is a schoolhouse.”
“Balderdash. This is where people come to be educated.” He drew her down to the gleaming wood floor, his skillful hands moving over her, doing their magic until her legs wavered. “And, as I recall from the last time we were here, we have a most important lesson to complete.”
“As if I could forget.” She sighed contentedly, sinking to the floor with him. “I wouldn’t dream of arguing with such an accomplished instructor. After all, I am most determined to be an excellent student.”
Epilogue
THREE YEARS LATER
Leaning against the study door frame, Charlotte smiled at the sight of Cam on all fours with the twins scrambling across his back, squealing with delighted laughter.
“Neigh, neigh!” he growled in a falsely menacing voice, swaying from side to side in an attempt to throw them. His cravat was a mess from the game, and his hair was askew as usual. “I am too wild a horsey for you.”
The scene was at odds with the serious backdrop of the marquess’s study, with its Oriental rugs, dark wood paneling, and rich leather seating.
“Hold on, Caro!” Sophia garbled, her wild, amber curls bouncing, delight glowing in her soft blue eyes.
Caroline, more serious than her sister, held on with an intent expression in her golden-green eyes, her soft brown curls catching the air. Their father succeeded in gently throwing both of them to the carpet, ending the game with the girls giggling and squirming, trying to escape his tickling fingers.
“Well,” said Charlotte with a wry smile. “It is good of you not to overexcite them just before bedtime.”
He grinned at her from where he sat on the carpet, hands planted behind him as Sophia and Caroline climbed all over him as though he were a tree. “Girls, we should tell Mama to come and play horsey with us.” A naughty glint flashed in his eyes. “Do you want to play horsey with us, Mama?”
“Yes, yes!” the girls squealed in unison. They jumped up and ran to her, each tugging on one of her hands.
Laughing, she knelt to draw them both into a big hug, peppering noisy kisses along their necks. “Perhaps another time,” she said firmly, standing up. “Now you must run along to Nurse, who is waiting to give you your bath.” The girls moaned, throwing a petulant look their father’s way, looking for support.
Cam held up his hands, palms facing upward in a gesture of surrender. “We cannot go against both Mama and Nurse. They are far too fearsome.” He growled, making a sudden move toward the twins. Sophia and Caroline squealed in anxious laughter and raced out the door to where their nurse awaited them.
Watching them go, Charlotte shook her head. “You shouldn’t excite them so just before bedtime. It is not fair to Nurse.”
“Are you going to spank me for being naughty?” Cam jumped to his feet and sashayed over to pull her into his arms for a long, unhurried kiss. Her heart did a little flip, as it always did when he touched her, even after two children and three years of marriage. She finally pulled away, remembering why she’d sought him out in the first place. “The post has come.”
He eyed the letter in her hand. “Who has written to you?”
“It is from Nathan.” Her heart floated in her chest. “Why did you not tell me he is now overseeing your West Indies trading operation?”
“Fuller has expanded the business twofold since he’s been there. Hart and I have discussed eventually offering him part of the business.”
“You continue to surprise me every day,” she said softly, handing him a second letter. “This came for you.”
“For me?” Taking it from her, he tore it open. “It’s from Sebastian. His wife has finally returned home.”
“His wife?” Charlotte exclaimed, forgetting all about her brother. “Sebastian has married?”
“Yes,” he said absentmindedly, still reading the letter. “Of course.”
“Of course?” She shook her head. “When? Why did he not invite us?”
“That would hardly have been possible. It was years ago. Well before we met.”
“Sebastian took a wife years ago?” She put her hand over the letter to draw his full attention. “Why have I never heard of this before now?”
He looked up with a shrug. “You never asked.”
“That’s because I assumed—” She halted, embarrassed to voice the thought aloud.
His gaze sharpened with interest. “You assumed what?”
“That perhaps he had no interest in…um…females.”
His brows furrowed with confusion, and then shot up when he took her meaning. “You thought Sebastian was a molly?” Cam threw back his rumpled mane and shouted a laugh. “Far from it, I assure you.”
“Well, what did you expect me to think?” She put her fists on her hips. “No one ever mentions marriage around him and your family’s silence on this particular issue seems quite deliberate.”
His smile melted. “It is a sensitive matter. The marriage was not of his choosing.”
“What happened?”
“The girl was but a child and Sebastian wasn’t much older when it was arranged.” Putting the letter aside, he slipped into a chair and drew her down to sit on his lap. “He only laid eyes on her that once, on the day they married.”
She draped an arm around his neck. “Why did he consent to it?”
“He didn’t have much choice.” His deep sigh weighted the air. “The union was arranged to settle a gaming debt between my father and the Duke of Traherne.
“The Duke of Traherne?” She drew back. “Sebastian is married to the daughter of a duke and you never thought to mention it?”
“Who will one day be duchess in her own right through an act of parliament. There is no male heir.”
“Astounding. Where has he hidden her all of these years?”
“Mirabella was in finishing school and then abroad.” He nuzzled her neck. “Enough about that. Where were we?”
“It is nowhere near enough of that. I want the full story at supper.” She pushed up from his lap. “Come along, Cook won’t appreciate it if her creations are served cold.”
He grabbed her hand, pulling her back down onto his lap. “Not so fast.” He shifted to kiss her deeply. “We have not had a chance to play horsey, yet.”
“You are incorrigible.” Charlotte laughed, running her hand through his tousled hair in a hapless attempt to tidy it. “Besides, you have already taken me on the ride of my life.”
Drawing her hand from his hair, he placed a warm, lingering kiss on the inside of her palm. “Ah, but this is still just the beginning.” He gazed into her eyes.
“Let’s go for a ride, my love. A long and glorious ride.”
Acknowledgements
Writing begins as a solitary endeavor but many skilled hands are required to bring a book to publication and I must thank them:
First to my editor, Alethea Spiridon Hopson, for making this a much better book than it was when it came to her, and to my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, for bringing us together.
To Megann Yaqub for her incredible generosity and unwavering support, for reading every last word, many times over, from first draft to last, and for never failing to offer smart, insightful feedback.
To my husband, who told me I should be penning my own stories long before I thought I could, and for calling my work “art” from the very beginning. To my exceptional boys, Zach and Laith, who are the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for being patient while your mom pursued her writing dream. I love you more than I can say.
To my mother, for being unfailingly supportive of my writing, even though my books contain scenes that make her blush.
And, finally, to my father, a man of boundless intellect, who taught me everything I know about unconditio
nal love, the pursuit of excellence, and living an authentic life. My only regret is that he passed before my writing journey began. I know he would have gotten a real kick out of holding my published book in his hands. This one’s for you, Dad.
About the Author
Diana Quincy is an award-winning television journalist who decided she’d rather make up stories where a happy ending is always guaranteed.
Growing up as a foreign service brat, Diana lived in many countries and is now settled in Virginia with her husband and two sons. When not bent over her laptop or trying to keep up with laundry, she enjoys reading, spending time with her family and dreams of traveling much more than her current schedule (and budget) allows.
Diana loves to hear from readers. You can follow her on Twitter @Diana_Quincy or visit her website at www.dianaquincy.com.
If you enjoyed SEDUCING CHARLOTTE, you’ll definitely love the following excerpt from the next book in the series, TEMPTING BELLA, coming Fall 2013.
Prologue
OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND
Sebastian Stanhope’s first glimpse of his future wife came minutes before they were bound for all eternity.
He’d rushed from university in a haze of disbelief after receiving the urgent summons from his father. The stupor ebbed slightly during the long carriage journey to the bride’s ancestral home. His father sat across from him, barely acknowledging his son’s presence, his open disdain crowding the closed space.
Sebastian sucked air into his lungs, his unease growing as the coach-and-four closed the distance between him and the stranger with whom he would be forever intertwined. He should be grateful. Being joined to the daughter of a duke was a much better match than he, a mere mister, had a right to expect. And, more importantly, the alliance would save his family from certain financial ruin.
A mammoth baroque edifice rose into view, dwarfing the surrounding landscape. Sebastian’s stomach loosened, a faint cramp stirring deep in his belly. With its numerous chimneys, towers and domes, the imperious structure clearly meant to awe approaching visitors with its sheer mass.
The fortress hovered over them as the carriage jerked to a full stop on the circular drive. The heavy front doors gaped open. Sebastian alighted and strode into the clutches of a murky future, barely noticing the stone-faced butler who showed them in. Squaring his shoulders, he walked ahead of his father through the mirrored hall. His black Hessians clicked a protest against the marble floor, the sound echoing high into the endless ceilings before trembling away.
His hand went to his cravat, adjusting it even though it had been perfectly wrought that morning. He always took care with his grooming because his appearance was not extraordinary. He stood only average in height, lacking the towering elegance of his four brothers. But then again, he’d always been different from the rest of the family. His powerful build and dark features lacked the gleaming, gilded radiance, which shone off his lithe brothers. And his father.
They were shown into a massive receiving room, which smelled of beeswax and lemon. Wood surfaces shimmered, reflecting shards of sunlight from tall arched windows at the far end of the chamber. Formal furniture in the French empire style milled about the space, lions’ faces carved into the mahogany side tables seemed to mock him.
He surveyed the chamber, every muscle in his body taut, and caught sight of a girl sitting in a window seat by the arched windows. Swinging her hanging legs to and fro, she regarded them with an expression of mild curiosity.
He looked in askance at the butler, acknowledging the portly man for the first time. “Will Lady Mirabella be joining us?”
The butler nodded in the direction of the girl. “This is my Lady Mirabella. His Grace will join you presently.” He bowed out of the chamber.
For a moment, Sebastian’s mind went blank. Feeling the blood drain from his face, he turned to his father and murmured, “You cannot be serious.” The bride, apparently having already lost interest in them, turned her gaze to the bucolic scene outside her window.
Cyrus Stanhope, never a patient man, was always even less so with his third son. “It is done. You will make the best of it. One day you shall thank me.”
Nausea swelled, threatening to topple his composure. “That cannot be she.”
His father shot him an obdurate look. “You are nine-and-ten with no serious prospects. Duty requires that you do as you are bid.”
Sebastian turned back to the girl. Plain and somewhat plump, her large almond-shaped eyes were dark and her nose pudgy. His betrothed’s full heart-shaped mouth looked like it belonged on a doll. A fresh white dress matched her wintry skin.
Anxiety stretched his chest. She didn’t deserve this. The poor girl clearly had no understanding of what they all planned for her. A booming voice from the room’s threshold startled his thoughts away from the girl.
“Ah, there you are! I see you have met your future bride.” Aubrey Wentworth, Duke of Traherne, lumbered toward them. A tall man, he was almost slender except for a prominent belly which seemed too much of a burden for his bird-like legs. Sebastian had never met Traherne, but the man had a reputation for whoring, drinking and gaming. The latter was no doubt the reason Sebastian found himself in this predicament.
The duke’s bleary gaze rolled over him, his loose jowls hanging like drapes beneath a florid face. “You are Sebastian.” He bounced a bloodshot glance between father and son, seeming to enjoy the contrast between the two, between light and dark. “The boy must take his looks from his mother.”
Cyrus’ stiff lips contorted into a joyless smile. “Perhaps it is time for Sebastian to meet his betrothed. After all, there is no reason to delay.”
Traherne’s features grew more pointed. “No reason at all, it will be my pleasure to have Sebastian Stanhope as my son by marriage.”
Cyrus flushed beneath his polite mask. Narrowing his gaze, Sebastian darted a look between the two older men. Their obvious mutual dislike arced through the air. The undercurrent of an unspoken conversation – one that only the two of them seemed to understand – raged between them.
Traherne held a beckoning hand out to his daughter. “Bella,” he said, loose jowls flapping like curtains in the breeze. “Come and make yourself known to Mister Sebastian.”
The girl’s almond-colored gaze edged in on them, as though she’d just parsed that the appearance of these strangers had something to do with her. Her eyes rested for a moment on Sebastian before she rose from the window seat and came toward them.
“There now,” Traherne said to her. “This is Mister Stanhope and one day you shall be obliged to obey his commands.” She hesitated, a spark of something—mutiny?—crossed her face.
Sebastian’s gut gnarled. The poor girl. This was wrong. Abominably so. Yet, minutes later, after a stilted exchange of pleasantries, he found himself back in the carriage with his father while his betrothed rode in the forward carriage with Traherne.
“How did this happen?”
His father stared ahead. “Your betrothal settles a gaming debt. It is an incredible coup for our family.” Cyrus flicked an unseen spot of dirt from his sleeve. “I am still waiting to hear your thanks, but then again, you’ve always been an ungrateful boy.”
Sebastian braced his jaw, well aware this marriage would save the family from destitution. His father should be thanking him. “I see.” He gazed briefly out the window, not seeing anything, a winch screwing ever tighter around his future. “Traherne must owe you a great sum of blunt.”
Even now, the man could not spare him a glance. “You have no idea. Do you realize what I have done for you?” Cyrus turned a frosty gaze on his third-born son. “He has no male heir. She is to inherit it all. A special act of Parliament assures that girl will be a duchess in her own right. You will wield the power of Traherne until your own son becomes the next duke.”
Icy disbelief whooshed through him. “Why have you chosen me for this great honor? Why not Arthur or Edward?” The sons you love he wanted to say. But, of cours
e, did not.
“Don’t be absurd,” his father retorted. “Your uncle has no male heirs and that ancient wife of his is unlikely to give him one. God willing, Arthur will be the next Marquess of Camryn and Edward must be available as well.”
Ah. The heir and the spare. As the third son, this grand alliance—and the burden of rescuing the family from destitution—fell to him. The enormity of it astounded. As consort to a future duchess, untold power and prestige awaited him. Although the Traherne finances must not be particularly healthy if the duke had to resort to this farce in order to satisfy a debt.
Confusion and incredulity clouded his ability to think. Something was amiss. He shot a suspicious glance at Cyrus. Why would the father who rarely showed him anything other than cool contempt arrange an exalted marriage for him when another of his younger brothers would do just as well?
The conveyance jerked to a stop in front of a white stone structure. The chapel. For a brief moment, madness loomed and he contemplated bolting. Of course, he could never act so dishonorably as to break the marriage contract his father signed on his behalf. He would never allow his brothers, mother—or his father for that matter—to fall into the misery of destitution.
Reality and acceptance settled over him like a heavy blanket on a sultry summer day. The entire family would benefit from the alliance—his younger brothers’ place at university would be assured, long-time family servants could be properly pensioned—while he endured the consequences; a loveless marriage with no hope of escape. After all these years of suffering Sebastian’s presence, Cyrus had finally found the perfect way to exact his revenge.
The duke clapped a weighty hand on his shoulder as they entered the chapel. “I want you to know I take my daughter’s future seriously. When your father proposed this alliance between our two families, I stipulated that I would only accept you as my daughter’s husband. All of your brothers are fine gentlemen, but I quite insisted upon you.”
