Seducing the Bride
Brides of Mayfair
Book 1
Michelle McMaster
Seducing the Bride
Copyright © 2016 by Michelle McMaster
Digital Edition ISBN: 978-0-9947817-2-7
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Art by The Killion Group, Inc.
Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Prologue
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Dear Reader
Other Books in the BRIDES OF MAYFAIR Series
Excerpt — TAMING THE BRIDE
Short Story Collections by Michelle McMaster
About the Author
Prologue
Isobel stepped back into the dark hallway of Hampton House, her family’s London home, and covered her mouth with her hand.
The shock and fear of what she’d just witnessed made her dizzy…
Her guardian, Mr. Langley, lay dead on the floor of the library.
Sir Harry Lennox—her father’s distant cousin—stood over him with a blood-stained knife.
Her worst nightmares were coming true.
Sir Harry had sworn he would have both her and the Hampton fortune eventually. Since her parents’ deaths a year ago, Langley had looked after Isobel’s affairs—protecting her from gold diggers, swindlers and worse.
Now the poor man was murdered…all because of her.
Her eyes watered with hot tears of grief, but she kept her head. She dared not make a sound. But Sir Harry couldn’t kill her—not now. He would want her alive, at least until he forced her into marriage. After that, who knew what her fate would be? Once he gained control of the estate as her husband, Sir Harry could keep Isobel a virtual prisoner.
She’d be damned if she spent the rest of her days as Sir Harry’s plaything, and she’d be damned if she allowed him to get his greasy fingers all over the Hampton estate.
There had to be a way to outwit him. But right now, she had to stay alive. Isobel stepped backward gingerly, her slippered feet as silent as a cat’s. But in the dark hallway of the townhouse, she bumped into a potted fern on a stand. It knocked softly against the wall, but it was enough to turn Sir Harry’s attention from the knife he wiped down with a handkerchief.
Fear spiked in Isobel’s gut as he moved toward the library door.
Then her feet froze in place to the floor as Sir Harry’s taunting voice called out, “Isobel, my darling girl. So happy you could join me, though it is quite late for you to be up.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was near to three in the morning.
“Happy?” she demanded, incredulously. “You’ve just killed a man…and you dare to say you’re happy?”
Sir Harry shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. His tall figure, dark hair and eyes would have made him handsome if not for the black heart that matched his looks. “I am happy, Darling.”
“Don’t call me that,” Isobel spat.
“Come now,” he warned, “we’re not even married yet and you’re already acting like a shrew. But I shall soon cure you of such disobedience.”
“We shall never be married, Sir Harry,” she insisted. “That I can promise you. Nor shall you ever have control of my family’s estate.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, my dear,” he said, slowly walking toward her. “Langley can’t protect you anymore. Your father never should have inherited the estate anyway. It should have gone to my father, and then to me. But as you can see, I’m in the process of fixing all that. Hampton Park will be mine, the London townhouse will be mine, and and so will you—one way or another. Now, Isobel, you should be getting back to bed. I urge you to forget whatever it is you think you saw tonight.”
Sir Harry came to stand before her, still holding the knife in his hand. Dark, penetrating eyes bored down into hers, with all the malice of the devil himself. His free hand snaked around Isobel’s waist and pulled her roughly against him. “But first, I should like a taste of what’s to come,” he said, lowering his mouth to hover dangerously over hers. “You will learn to please me….”
Revulsion, anger and hate burned in the pit of Isobel’s stomach. Using all the strength her body possessed, she kneed him hard in the groin.
Sir Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he doubled over, bellowing like an angry bear. He fell to his knees in agony.
It was just the chance Isobel needed.
She ran to the front door, unconcerned at her state of dress. She would take her chances out on the dark streets of London, no matter if she only had a nightdress, housecoat, and slippers to keep her warm.
As she flew down the steps toward the cobblestone street, she heard Sir Harry call out through the open door of the townhouse. “I’ll find you, Isobel! And when I do, I shall make you pay.”
Isobel refused to look back. Instead she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 1
Lord Beckett Thornby looked down at his cards, hoping that somehow they had changed into a winning hand. Alas, they hadn’t.
He sat at a table in London’s newest gaming hell, Mrs. Barbary’s at No. 16 King Street, St. James. The establishment had no sign hanging outside, or anything else to indicate the type of business, just a brightly painted green door, and was known among the ton simply as ‘Barbary’s.’
Everyone who was anyone could be seen there, laughing, drinking, and betting til the wee hours of the morning.
For Beckett, this was his last chance. His solicitor had recently informed him that the family funds—what little there was left after his father’s disastrous investments—had finally run dry. Beckett would soon have to put the Covington Place townhouse up for sale. His mother would be crushed.
The Dowager Viscountess Thornby was currently visiting her sister, Petunia, and her husband, Sir Charles Bampfylde at their home on Gloucester Street. He only hoped Aunt Petunia would take his mother in and let her live with them after he broke the news. Beckett could look after himself. He could always stay with his friend Alfred, Lord Weston, at his townhouse in Warwick Square.
Beckett glanced across the room and saw Alfred at the Hazard table, which made his mood even darker. Damnation, why couldn’t Alfred stick to cards like he was doing? At least you had more of a chance at winning something.
Of course
he was losing badly right now, so perhaps Alfred had the right idea.
One of the ladies of the house slowly sauntered by his table. She wore a daring gown of lavender silk with a low bust line which left little to the imagination, but then again, that was the whole point for the girls at Barbary’s. Augusta—that was her name—gazed at him with heated green eyes and flirtatiously twirled a tendril of auburn hair around her finger. Damn, but she reminded him of Cordelia…yet another thing to solidify his bad mood.
Augusta ran a gloved hand across Beckett’s shoulder, lingering beside him. “If you win,” she said seductively, “will you buy me a new bauble?”
“Of course,” Beckett replied, though after tonight he doubted he’d be able to afford the price of a ribbon to tie up her stocking.
He supposed he should get used to women like Augusta, as no woman of good breeding would have him now. An impoverished viscount wasn’t much of a catch in London’s Marriage Mart.
Cordelia—his former fiancée—had opened his eyes to that unwelcome fact.
“Damn,” Beckett said under his breath, tossing his losing hand on the table. Meanwhile, Sir Benjamin Danvers looked quite pleased with himself, and why wouldn’t he be? He’d just won a large sum of money.
Beckett wasn’t surprised to see Augusta now hanging off Sir Benjamin’s arm, looking up at him adoringly, and flattering him with compliments.
“How fickle is woman,” Beckett muttered to himself as he crossed the room to join Alfred at the Hazard table.
They watched with the rest of the crowd as Lord Cranford cast the dice and rolled the same number he’d rolled just previous to that—which was known as the chance. The spectators around the table erupted in cheers as Lord Cranford won the round.
“Damn!” Alfred said. “He’ll be at it all night, now. I’ll never get the dice back.”
“It’s probably for the best,” Beckett replied. “Seems luck has run out for both of us tonight, Alfred. Though I hope we still have funds to hire a cab, otherwise we shall have to walk home.”
They retrieved their hats and coats and headed out the door. King Street was fairly quiet at this hour of the night, but for a carriage or two passing by. A fine mist dampened the air.
“I lost almost everything I came in with,” Alfred said. “But I think I still have enough for that. Don’t tell Great Aunt Withypoll I’ve been gambling again—she’ll cut me off, and we’ll both be paupers.”
“About Aunt Withypoll,” Beckett said, “do you think she’d mind if I came to stay with you for a little while?”
They walked to the corner and stopped beneath a streetlamp, waiting for a cab to come by.
“I don’t see why not,” Alfred replied. He was his great-aunt’s favorite nephew, and she allowed him to use her London townhouse as his main residence. “Is there something wrong with your house?”
“Yes,” Beckett said flatly. “It shan’t be mine much longer. I shall be forced to sell, I’m afraid. I’m hoping Mother will be able to go and live with Aunt Petunia and Sir Charles until I get things sorted out.”
“It’s that bad, is it?’ Alfred asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Beckett said. “My funds are all but exhausted. I was hoping to win something tonight to get me through the month, but we know how that turned out.”
“Damn, Beckett—how are you going to find a wealthy bride now?” Alfred said. “When word gets out that Lord Beckett Thornby is poorer than a church mouse, the Mad Mamas of the Marriage Mart won’t let you anywhere near their daughters. After Cordelia broke your engagement, you should have accepted Aunt Withypoll’s offer to find you a wealthy bride. You could be married now with a baby on the way.”
“Married—to Lady Hortense Higginbotham?” Beckett said, wincing. “I tell you, I did not know it was possible for a woman to giggle uninterrupted for almost an entire day—without hurting herself.”
“I’m sure you could have gotten used to it,” Alfred said.
“I didn’t see you offering for her hand.”
“Well, I am not desperate for a rich wife, as you are,” Alfred pointed out.
Beckett said, “Yet. You may well end up in my shoes one day, trying to sell yourself to the highest bidder in order to survive.”
He leaned up against the cold lamppost as the mist dampened his coat, marveling how the weather matched the mood of the evening perfectly.
He heard a strange sound and cocked his head to listen.
Was someone moaning?
“There it is again,” he said.
“There what is again?” Alfred asked.
“Shh!” Beckett hissed.
The two men listened intently as the sound seemed to emanate from a pile of rubbish alongside the gutter. It sounded like an animal in distress. Beckett crept toward the source of the sound, and in the dim lamplight, he saw a bedraggled cat hunching over a pile of fish heads in the trash-strewn alley.
Beckett held out his hand to the animal, carefully moving closer to it. But as he neared, the skittish cat sprang away, revealing a sight that made Beckett stumble backward in surprise.
He saw the face of a young woman lying motionless, surrounded by a stinking pile of rubbish that covered her like a vile blanket. Her eyelids were closed and dirt smeared her cheek…but even in such a condition, she possessed an ethereal beauty that made his gut tighten.
A small bare foot stuck out from under a ripped sack. The girl’s only clothing was a dirty, damp nightdress, which was molded like a second skin to her body beneath. She looked like a doll that had been thrown away by a careless child.
A surge of protectiveness rushed through Beckett’s veins, and he fought against it. He didn’t want to feel anything for any woman, least of all this mysterious girl. And yet the urge to take her into his arms, to shield her from whatever had brought her here lingered. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her face.
“It looks like some unfortunate trollop has been thrown out for the night,” said Alfred. “Cover her back up and let’s go.”
“What?” Beckett demanded.
“You heard me.” Alfred stepped back and crossed his arms. “Let’s go. I’m tired and I’m wet, now leave the wench where she belongs, in the gutter.”
“Alfred, are you blind?” Beckett asked. “She’s not from the gutter. Look at her nightdress. It is exquisitely made. And besides, streetwalkers usually don’t ply their trade wearing only a nightgown and no shoes.”
He checked her pulse and found it strong.
“Perhaps, but what would you have us do, Beckett?”
“We can’t leave her here. God knows what might happen to her if we did,” Beckett said.
“Try to wake her and see if she’s alright. If she is, we’ll go on our way,” Alfred suggested.
Beckett touched her shoulder and gave her a little shake. “Miss? Miss—are you alright?” She gave no response. He checked her breathing and found it unencumbered.
Looking up at his friend he said, “She is unconscious, but I don’t see any other signs of injury. Perhaps she fell and hit her head. We must get her home. I’d call the doctor, but I don’t have any money to pay him. Now, you lift her shoulders and I’ll take her feet.”
Alfred groaned, putting his hands under the girl’s arms and lifting her upper body. Beckett took her ankles.
“This is a bad idea, old man,” Alfred warned.
“Your problem is—you never want to do anything heroic,” Beckett said.
“No,” Alfred corrected, “I never want to do anything utterly stupid, that’s all. I still remember how you insisted it was our duty as officers to save those kittens from Napoleon’s guns in Salamanca. It wasn’t enough that you’d rescued a convent full of virgins, oh no! You had to save their cats, too. I still have the scars from that little escapade. And then there was the cow that we helped to give birth—a very messy episode, as I recall.” Alfred shifted the girl’s weight and added, “And need I mention the irate goose who tried to peck us to
death when we rescued its eggs from being Wellington’s breakfast?”
“Quit complaining,” Beckett said. “You couldn’t turn your back on any of those creatures any more than I could—just as you can’t turn your back on this poor girl now.”
The girl’s head drooped to the side. A mass of damp honey-blond curls fell away from her face and revealed a nasty bruise near her hairline.
The thin nightdress clung wetly to her body, so that it was almost invisible. Beckett wanted to be a gentleman and avert his eyes from this involuntary display of her charms. He wanted to ignore the effect such sweetness was having on his own body. He wanted to tell himself she was just another stray, like the swan he had found walking down the middle of the Strand, or the sick, weakened puppy he had nursed back to health. But she wasn’t.
Her innocent beauty had quiet an effect on him.
A coach turned the corner onto King Street and Beckett said, “Flag it down, quick.”
The vehicle slowed beside the curb and stopped, the black horse stomping its hoof impatiently. Steam blew from its nostrils into the cold, damp night. The two men gingerly placed their silent cargo inside, under the driver’s suspicious gaze.
“My dear cousin is ill,” Beckett lied. “Please take us to Number Ten, Covington Place. There we can properly look after the young lady.”
As the vehicle rumbled down the street, Beckett gazed at the girl across from him. What was he doing rescuing this strange girl in the middle of the night? This was no stray kitten he was bringing into his home. She could be anything from an innocent lost lady to a dangerous murderer, for heaven’s sake. And yet, he’d never been able to turn away a creature in need. But would he later regret this penchant for rescuing strays?
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 1
