Sweet Summer Kisses
Contributors:
Erin Knightley
Aileen Fish
Lily George
Marie Higgins
Elizabeth Johns
Heather King
Bess McBride
Cora Lee
Susana Ellis
Copyright © 2015 by:
Erin Knightley
Aileen Fish
Lily George
Marie Higgins
Elizabeth Johns
Heather King
Bess McBride
Cora Lee
Susana Ellis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
Introduction
Sweet Summer Kisses
Bluestockings and wallflowers seek happily-ever-afters. Only handsome, respectable and deeply romantic persons need apply. Dukes and marquesses will be given special consideration. Apply within.
This anthology contains nine fun, heart-tugging, and wholesomely romantic Regency novellas that are as sigh-worthy as they are sweet, brought to you by USA Today and national bestselling, award-winning authors.
Deceived by a Duke by Erin Knightley, USA Today bestselling author
When strangers meet during a summer sojourn to the continent, love soon blossoms under the Spanish sun. But things aren't all what they seem. When Libby discovers her English gentleman isn't at all who she thought he was, can their new relationship survive the shock of being . . . Deceived by a Duke?
Captivated by the Wallflower by Aileen Fish, USA Today bestselling author
Finding the perfect husband for wallflower Lady Susan is a means to an end for Viscount Knightwick. Falling in love is not part of his plan. Can he keep his heart safe while making hers happy?
A Most Suitable Match by Lily George, national bestselling author
Can confirmed bluestocking and matchmaker Louisa Bradbury compose her own happily ever after with Thomas, the wallflower of the rich and powerful Wright family?
Stealing the Duchess by Marie Higgins, national bestselling author
When Julian Stratford seeks out to steal the duchess as an act of revenge, he mistakenly steals the wrong sister—a wallflower, no less. As they work together to try and solve the mystery, they soon discover that not only are their lives in danger, but so are their hearts.
First Impressions by Elizabeth Johns, national bestselling author
A widower earl, still in need of an heir, reluctantly sets off for London in search of a wife. He infinitely prefers the role of recluse to that of dashing beau. The Season’s Incomparable prefers books to balls, and cannot wait until the Season is over. Their initial prejudices prevent them from feeling they would suit, but an unlikely source may give them another chance…
Treasure Beyond Words by Heather King
Having trusted the wrong man, bluestocking Amelia Burcott is forced to seek employment as a governess in order to support herself. Little does she realize, when she joins the household of the Earl of Raftesbury, that he has a secret as great as her own and needs the right woman to help him conquer his past.
The Earl’s Beloved Match by Bess McBride, national bestselling author
Bluestocking Cora Prentice has no intention of marrying…ever. Tobias, the Earl of Momford, has no intention of marrying…ever. But Aunt Mimi has other plans for them as she sets out to make a match between her goddaughter and her adopted nephew!
Save the Last Dance for Me by Cora Lee, award winning author
When Lady Honoria Maitland reunites with her old friend Benedict Grey, she proposes an arrangement: a faux courtship that will smooth wallflower Benedict’s re-entry into society and appease her dying father. But Honoria’s clever plan failed to account for Benedict’s heart...or her own.
The Third MacPherson Sister by Susana Ellis
Rebecca’s older sisters took the ton by storm while she herself has failed to attract a suitor in four Seasons. Miles is pondering his urgent need for a wife when Rebecca lands in his lap in the nave of Bath Abbey. A match between them seems ordained by the heavens… except for the little matter of his past history with her sisters.
Deceived by a Duke
An All's Fair in Love Novella
Erin Knightley
Copyright © 2014 by:
Erin Knightley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
Dedication
To my parents, for inspiring Libby’s multilingual response to Philip’s very important question. And because your 44 years of marriage (and counting!) is very inspiring, indeed!
And for Kirk, even though it’s a pretty good bet that, after all these years, you’re not really a duke masquerading as a gentleman. Although, if you are, I’d totally be cool with it!
Chapter 1
“Explain to me again why staying in this hovel and being called ‘mister’ by those well below the both of us is a good idea?”
Philip Dain, Duke of Gillingham, sent a withering look to his brother, who was draped across the room’s only sofa like Caesar awaiting peeled grapes and palm fronds. Philip possessed the obligatory fraternal love for Nigel, and he even liked the man from time to time, but after five days of travel over both land and sea, his brother was riding Philip’s last nerve.
Sweeping his hand to encompass the classic furnishings, freshly papered walls, and crystal-and-gold sconces, Philip said, “I believe your definition of hovel needs some adjustment. This is one of the finest inns in the city, if not all of Spain.”
“Which is precisely why we should have rented a townhouse, like any normal civilized gentleman.”
Philip lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Remarkably, I am both a civilized gentleman and satisfied with our accommodations. As for the second part of your question, you know full well that I wanted a true holiday for once in my life, without people scrutinizing my every move or bowing and scraping and ‘Your Gracing’ me every time I turn around.”
Nigel snorted, propping one booted foot up on the immaculate oval table before him. “Yes, yes. Poor Duke, so tired of always getting everything his heart desires.”
If ever Philip had entertained any doubts about the plan he and his mother had concocted in regards to Nigel, they would have been obliterated in that one moment. Only a spoiled, self-entitled eighteen-year-old pup could conjure that sort of insolence. It was galling—especially since they had no one to blame but themselves.
Stalking to the sofa, Philip slapped his brother’s feet from the furniture. “Whether referred to as duke, lord, or mister, one must always show respect for others, including for their property.”
His brother glared up at him but didn’t defy him. Instead, he stretched out and put his hands behind his head. “As you say, Mr. Westbrook.”
It was the name Philip had settled on before they departed England. It made the most sense to use one of his lesser titles: Viscount Westbrook. His other titles—Marquis of Cuxton and Duke of Gillingham—were far too recognizable to use.
“I do say,” he retorted, “and so will you if you expect a penny before your next birthday.” He paused to suck in a deep, temper-cooling breath. He was n
ot here to be baited into arguments.
Nigel’s laugh was short and hollow. “Have no fear, big brother. You know you’ve got me by the bollocks. Not a word of your station until we touch English soil again.”
Not the expression Philip would have used, but it was accurate enough. “It was your choice to bet money you didn’t have on a game you knew nothing about. You should be grateful I’m offering even the possibility of additional funds. I can assure you, it is the last time I will bail you out of a situation like this.”
Settling on the closest chair, a neutrally upholstered wingback positioned perpendicular to the couch, Philip blew out a long breath. They had only just arrived, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. “Seville is supposed to be one of the finest cities on the continent, and it’s rebounded well in the years since the war. I’d simply like to enjoy it in anonymity so that we can be free to truly relax.”
Nigel sent a sideways glance Philip’s way, his dark-blue eyes glinting with renewed mischief. “Anonymity? Ah, I see. You wish to be able to sin in peace.”
Philip gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell his brother to shut his damn mouth, but he wasn’t going to justify Nigel’s purposeful crudeness with a response. Yes, it was the way of young peacocks these days, to strut like pigeons and banter like sailors, but that was precisely why they were here. Philip and their mother had spent so much time compensating for the trauma of the old duke’s death, which played out not five feet from Nigel’s horrified young eyes, that they hadn’t taken a firm enough hand in raising him these last three years.
It was a mistake he planned to right on this trip. First, he’d stripped them of the special treatment they would have received had the inn known Philip’s status as a duke. Next, he would spend the whole of their time here—four long weeks—being the role model he should have been all along, demonstrating the proper way to respect others. And if this little intervention somehow failed, Philip wasn’t opposed to ditching Nigel on the Channel Islands on the way home.
“Well,” he said, slapping his hands against the tops of his thighs, “I believe I’ll stretch my legs a bit after being cooped up for so long. Care to join me for a walk through the city?”
Nigel scoffed and tugged at the open collar of his shirt. His cravat was draped over the arm of the sofa, while his jacket had never made it past the table in the small entryway. “I’d sooner walk bare-arsed through the pub than get dressed again—particularly since you didn’t see fit to bring your man along.”
Patience, patience. The next four weeks were going to be the longest of Philip’s life. Nodding tersely, he said, “Suit yourself. I’ll be back within the hour, at which time we can discuss dinner.” He strode to the entryway and shrugged into his jacket. Already he was itching for the freedom Seville’s streets offered, where no one would recognize him. That hadn’t been the purpose of their trip, but it was a side effect of which he planned to take full advantage.
“Wait.”
Philip paused in the process of retrieving his hat and raised an eyebrow.
His brother pushed off the couch and stretched, his long arms nearly touching the dark wooden beam above him. “On second thought, we’re stuck at an inn with no entertainment, no decent liquor, and no females to speak of. I might as well join you. Hopefully we can find a place to purchase some respectable spirits, at least.”
Philip shouldn’t have been surprised. Nigel had been rather vocal about his disappointment when he’d discovered the inn served only ale, sangria, wine, and sherry. He waited while Nigel put himself to rights—unhurriedly—before leading the way to the street below.
The warm, damp air that greeted him as he opened the front door was exactly what he needed. It didn’t matter that he had stepped off the boat not two hours ago; the sea air was always the one thing that could calm him, no matter how frayed his nerves. Of course, the water from the Seville harbor was brackish at best this far from the ocean, but it would do.
Turning right, he set off toward the waterfront, trusting that Nigel would keep pace. The narrow street wended between close-set buildings, blocking out any sunlight that might have otherwise heated the cobblestone pavers. It would have felt like home had it not been for the foreign words spoken by those around them. The Spanish language had never been his strong suit, though his years of French lessons helped bridge the gap of understanding, if only a little.
He would have preferred to go someplace like Belgium for this trip, but the likelihood of encountering someone there who knew him as a duke was much too high for his liking. It made more sense to travel to Spain, which was close enough to make the journey worthwhile while parliament was adjourned but far enough from the more commonly traveled routes that they’d likely go unnoticed.
He kept his eyes on the road ahead as he walked, avoiding eye contact with passersby. It was a tactic he had discovered three years ago, when he’d first taken up the title and learned how often people wished to catch the eye of a duke. It was one thing for which his height was exceptionally useful.
“This city isn’t quite as dreadful as first feared,” Nigel said, his face tipped back as he took in the towering three- and four-story buildings around them. “Perhaps there is civilization here after all.”
Philip gave a little snort. “You were expecting caves and stone huts, perhaps? Seville is considered to be the cultural heart of Spain.”
“My, what a distinction,” his brother said, sarcasm dripping from the words like melted wax.
“I assure you, brother—England isn’t the only country in the world with a rich heritage of artists, musicians, and philosophers.”
A sharp jerk at Philip’s sleeve brought him up short. He turned to find a thin, dark-haired street merchant with a scarred cheek and missing front tooth. The man utter a few terse words, then gestured back toward a vegetable cart Philip had just passed. Apparently the vendors here weren’t afraid to be aggressive. Pulling his sleeve from the man’s grasp, Philip held up a hand and said sternly, “No, thank you.”
Not taking the hint, the merchant shook his head and spoke again, this time more fervently. If this was how all the city’s vendors were, this was not going to be a pleasant trip.
“Let me guess,” Nigel said, his hands at his hips as he observed the exchange. “One of Socrates’s contemporaries?”
Philip spared a scowl for his brother before turning back to the man. His brow pinched in displeasure. “No hablo español.” It was exactly one third of his Spanish vocabulary, along with “My name is” and “A pint of ale, please.”
Instead of backing away, the man began to speak slower, exaggerating each syllable as though it would magically overcome the language barrier. He moved his hands in worthless gestures that didn’t help in the least. People were beginning to stare—something Philip hated. He started to turn, wanting nothing so much as to leave the earnestly speaking man and the gathered gawkers behind.
“Wait!”
The single English word, spoken in a high, clear feminine voice, instantly captured his attention.
He glanced in the direction from which the voice had originated and saw her at once: a blond-haired, fair-skinned young woman who stood out among the crowd. Her white-and-blue gown was of superior quality, as was the fashionable bonnet perched at a jaunty angle atop her golden curls. She possessed the sort of features poets and dreamers loved to go on about, but Philip settled on one word: lovely.
“Yes?” he said, quite at a loss of how else to respond. He sensed more than saw his brother’s piqued interest as the younger man sidled closer to him.
The woman stepped forward, her wide-set, cognac-colored eyes meeting his without the least amount of hesitation. Everything about her shouted well-born miss, yet she clearly had no compunction about speaking to a man to whom she had not yet been introduced. “He’s trying to tell you that you dropped some coins beneath his booth. He would have brought them to you, but he didn’t wish to lose you in the crowd.”
&nbs
p; Philip glanced back at the man, who now looked slightly annoyed. He’d been trying to act honorably, and Philip had written him off. Turning back to the girl, he said, “Am I to assume you speak the language?”
She grinned, revealing a perfect row of white, slightly rounded teeth. “I do, though not half as well as I speak French and Italian. Or Latin, for that matter. It’s terribly ironic that the first time I should leave England, it should be for Spain instead of France or Italy.”
“Libby,” her companion said, her voice vaguely chiding. “We really should be on our way.” The other woman was tall and somewhat older, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with neat dark hair and pretty blue eyes that seemed to size him up in a glance. She didn’t look terribly impressed.
“Please,” he said, interrupting the woman’s attempts to hurry Libby away. “I simply wish for my apologies to be conveyed to the poor man. If you would, please tell him he may keep the coins as my thanks.”
With a small nod, she glanced to the merchant and spoke, her words a jumble of tongue-rolling Spanish. Until that very moment, Philip had never considered the Spanish language to be particularly appealing. Clearly he’d been wrong.
The vendor raised his bushy brows at their translator, then offered Philip a wide grin and a sound slap on the shoulder. More foreign words poured forth before he hurried back to his cart. A young boy manned the leafy green vegetables, his arms akimbo with his knobby elbows poking through the holes in his sleeves. The vendor gave him a fierce hug before directing the child to retrieve the money.
Nigel shifted, his blue gaze settling squarely on the girl, Libby. “You were holding out on us,” he said with what Philip could only imagine was his brother’s attempt at a rakish grin. “That was quite a bit more than merely passable Spanish.”
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