Scandalously Wed to the Captain

by Joanna Johnson

  ‘He said...’ She hesitated, grey gaze fixed immovably on his as if trying to read something in the darkness of his eyes before she took the plunge and committed herself to her fate. ‘He said he thought your heart was in my keeping. Why would he say that?’

  A powerful blast of winter air worried at Spencer’s clothes, trying to wrench the hat from his head and the coat from his back, but he hardly felt a thing as he stared down at the wife who had changed his life beyond recognition. She stood firm, rapt attention on nothing but him despite the tutting of passers-by and the rain steadily seeping through her black cloak, chin up with bravery that dared him to return its challenge. It was the moment for honesty, even if the prospect of winning or losing Grace’s good opinion for ever now rested on a knife-edge with no guarantee which way it would fall. There would be no better time to abandon himself to his destiny and so he surrendered to it, finally giving himself up to whatever future his wife held in one small hand.

  Spencer took a deep breath, squared his shoulders—and leapt into the fray with all the courage he possessed.

  ‘Because it’s true. Everything that I have, everything that I am—it’s yours, Grace, if you want it. Body and soul, I am yours.’

  There was a beat of silence, only rain trickling into the gutter in limitless streams.

  And then—

  Grace was as light as a feather in his arms and Spencer almost groaned aloud at the relief of touching her again. Her warmth through her soaked gown, the fragility of her frame, even the damp scent of her hair bewitched him all over again and as he cradled his wife against the solid breadth of his chest Spencer felt the tension that had held his muscles taut and aching for so long vanish without trace. The desire to keep her there for ever as a prisoner in his embrace overwhelmed him in an unstoppable tide, but surely a prisoner would not have thrown themselves so willingly into the arms of their captor—Grace nestled against him by choice, his dumbfounded mind knew with growing wonder, and he couldn’t restrain himself from cupping her cold face in both hands and leaning down to cover her curving mouth with his own.

  He drank her in as though she was the most expensive wine, although he knew he would now have no need of any such oblivion ever again. With Grace at his side he would be able to deal with his pain, confront it head-on and never allow it to consume him with its cruelty. The bitter sea in which he had been drowning for the past two years would run dry now Grace had hold of his heart, keeping it safe from all harm until the day they would be parted only by death.

  His saviour stretched up on her tiptoes to wind her arms about his neck and pull him closer, her sweet lips stealing all words from his mouth. There was nothing Spencer could do but submit to their gentle insistence as the rain fell unceasingly down upon their heads and scandalised glances mixed with offended whispers fluttered unnoticed around them, unable to force their way into the bubble of pure joy the Captain and his wife stood within, locked in each other’s embrace.

  Grace swayed in his arms like a reed in a breeze and Spencer dropped his hands to grip her waist as she drew back a fraction, looking into his face with such dazed elation he had to battle the urge to pull her lips back to his. Instead he cradled her carefully, his breath still coming fast as Grace placed her hands on his cheeks to bring his forehead to rest on hers.

  Nose to nose they merely watched each other for a long moment, almost afraid of the new truth that passed unspoken between them until Spencer pecked a kiss on to the end of Grace’s pink nose to make her giggle, a sound more delightful than any he had ever heard before.

  ‘When I saw you with Henry Earls, I thought—’

  She interrupted him with a swift kiss of her own, mischief and pride mingling in her eyes to make them sparkle.

  ‘You thought wrong. Henry was most displeased when I told him I wanted nothing more to do with him, or to spend another moment in his company.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Pride kindled inside Spencer’s chest and he felt his admiration for this strange, spirited creature grow.

  ‘It is. I’ve never seen him more surprised than when I refused to approach you on his behalf with the idea of investing in some of his schemes. He seemed unable to grasp the thought that I might care for you and quite speechless when I told him—’

  Grace hesitated for a moment, fresh colour lighting her cheeks to make Spencer adore their softness all over again.

  ‘What? Told him what?’

  ‘That I didn’t merely care for you. In fact—that I love you.’

  Spencer’s entire existence ground to a halt as Grace’s voice echoed in his ears, his every last hope and most precious dream distilled into those three short words. They were everything he had ever wanted, without even knowing it, and now he had heard them he could scarcely believe the shining truth.

  ‘Do you truly mean that?’ His eyes searched Grace’s face, suddenly earnest as he watched her confirm his wonder with one shy nod.

  ‘I do. There’s nobody in this world that will ever come close to you.’

  She gave a little squeak as her feet left the ground, but her surprise turned to a laugh of radiant happiness as Spencer lifted her with effortless ease to hold her against his chest. Her little hands came to rest on his shoulders and she laughed again as he spun on the spot, her wet cloak flaring and skirts flying in the most undignified manner imaginable. An elderly couple hurried past them with eyes firmly averted and two well-dressed ladies huffed by with clearly audible mutters of ‘unbecoming’ and ‘shameful’, although nothing else seemed to matter one jot as the Captain and his unexpected bride clung together and knew, beyond any possible doubt, that their suffering was over. Never again would Grace feel unwanted and scorned, too afraid to trust in the love of another; Spencer could grieve his losses without the cold fingers of guilt and regret snaking their way down his spine. In each other they had found what they had always needed—and so in two souls a fire blazed that no power on earth could extinguish.

  Suddenly aware of his impulsive actions, Spencer carefully set Grace back on her feet and looked down at her, a little shamefaced at his lack of control.

  You’ll be for it now.

  Declaration of love or no declaration of love Grace still had her standards, and he had once again exposed her to the disapproving mumbles of the ton.

  ‘Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I suppose we’ll have our first argument now as a truly married couple.’

  His wife smoothed down the damp silk of her gown and twisted a wet ringlet back into place, the very image of a fastidious, well-bred lady—until she shot Spencer a gleam of pure mischief that fled straight to his bounding heart. ‘Do you know, I really don’t mind. You can do that again if you wish.’

  Spencer blinked, amused and surprised in equal measure even as he itched to catch up the little imp before him and hold her closer once more. ‘I thought you didn’t like scenes. What about society?’

  ‘Hang society. What’s that to us?’

  Grace smiled at the shock in his face and reached up to kiss him again.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  check out this other great read

  by Joanna Johnson

  The Marriage Rescue

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Their Mistletoe Reunion by Christine Merrill.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

  You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/Harlequi
nBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Their Mistletoe Reunion

  by Christine Merrill

  Chapter One

  After six months, it still felt strange to be home.

  It was even stranger to be holding a sword again. During one particularly savage battle Jack Gascoyne had prayed that if God kept him safe till sunset he would never pick up a weapon again.

  Had he been in Navarre? Or had it been Valencia? When he tried to remember individual battles, they ran together in a bloodstained blur. It hardly mattered. He had broken the promise quick enough and continued fighting through the carnage of Waterloo.

  Now the war was over and the foil he held felt like a toy compared to his cavalry sword, flimsy and useless should he actually need to defend his life.

  He should not even be considering such mayhem. He was on Bond Street at Angelo’s Academy. His opponent, Frederick Clifton, was no real threat. Other than growing taller, Fred was every bit as soft as he had been fifteen years ago, when they’d still been pretending that sticks were swords. Even this thin blade would slice through him like butter, should Jack decide to apply his skill.

  It would serve the fellow right. He’d wounded Jack in a way that was far more painful than a sword slash and the cut had not healed in five years. Damage to the heart did not always scar over with time, as he had been promised. This hurt had stayed fresh and painful, bleeding the love out of him until his soul was cold and dead.

  While Jack’s spirit had rotted, Fred was still happy, healthy and completely oblivious to the pain he’d inflicted. He thought they could fall easily back into the role of childhood best friends as if nothing had happened between them, before or after the war. ‘It is good to have you home again,’ Fred said, his expression warm and sincere.

  ‘It is good to be home,’ Jack said automatically. It was what everyone wanted to hear from him, but he wondered if it was true. After all he had seen, London at Christmastime had an unreal quality. It was like staring at his old life through a sheet of ice.

  ‘I had hoped to see you sooner, of course.’ There was a hint of reproach in his friend’s voice, a reminder of duties that had been forgotten. The Cliftons had considered him family, before he’d gone away. Family was supposed to stay in touch.

  But he had one of his own to contend with. ‘I apologise. There was so much to do. Visiting my brother...’

  Fred nodded and gave a practice lunge to test the balance of his weapon before facing him to make a bow of acknowledgement and a swishing salute of his blade. ‘And how is Sir Robert?’

  ‘As disappointed in me as ever,’ Jack said, returning the salute. The relationship between him and his elder sibling could not quite be called an estrangement, but it had never been easy.

  ‘No pride for the honour you did your uniform? No relief at your safety?’ Fred said, surprised as they raised their swords to fight.

  ‘Nothing obvious,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Do not let him trouble you. He was always thus. And you still have friends who love you dearly and are eager to add to your acquaintance.’

  ‘You are speaking of your fiancée,’ Jack said.

  Fred began the bout with a direct attack that was easily parried. ‘I wrote to tell you of the engagement. I received no answer.’ There was a hint of petulance in his tone, to remind Jack again where his obligation lay.

  ‘I meant to congratulate you in person.’ Parry and riposte. The action of his sword was strong and sure. But it was a weak conversational counter, since he’d given no indication thus far that he knew or cared about Fred’s plans to marry.

  ‘Thank you,’ Fred replied, obviously distracted since he’d failed to block Jack’s blade as it touched his shoulder. ‘Miss Forsythe is eager to see you, since I have spoken of you often.’

  ‘I am sure she is a lovely girl.’ Jack’s jaw clenched. Was Fred really dead to the irony of expecting good wishes from the man whose hopes he had ruined? He followed up his first attack with a second, to the stomach, the force of which was met with a woof of expelled air.

  Fred straightened to regain his wind, then dropped back into fencing stance, advancing. ‘And it surprises me that you have not enquired about Lucy.’

  Just the mention of her name shattered Jack’s concentration and allowed Fred to score a touch, directly to the centre of his chest. If he had been so careless in any of the last five years, he would not be alive to be so troubled by the memory of her.

  ‘How is she?’ he managed to say, trying to pretend that the answer did not matter to him.

  ‘Much the same as she ever was. If you come home with me for Christmas, you may see for yourself.’

  The ice around him cracked and, for a moment, everything was unbearably real. Jack did his best to keep a calm tone and a neutral expression. ‘Your sister is still with you?’

  Fred laughed. ‘Where else would she be but at home?’

  ‘I thought...perhaps she had married by now.’ He had done his best to think of nothing but that. There had to be something that put her firmly out of reach and out of mind. It was clear by the rush of blood he felt at the thought of her that time and distance had done nothing to change his feelings.

  Her brother laughed again, scoring another touch against an opponent who was suddenly without defences. ‘For the moment, at least, she is still unattached. But not for want of trying on my part. I found her several men who would have done nicely and she refused them all. But it seems she is finally about to settle. The local Vicar has been the front runner for her affections for some time.’

  ‘The Vicar.’ A man of God was exactly the sort of husband Jack would have expected Fred to choose for Lucy. Someone quiet, proper and altogether wrong for the girl he remembered.

  ‘She has put the fellow off for so long that I was worried she meant to stay on the shelf. But things are coming to a head and I expect we will have good news on that front before Twelfth Night.’

  ‘That is good to know,’ Jack replied. ‘She was a lovely girl.’

  ‘Still is,’ Fred corrected. ‘I rather fancy the idea of a double wedding. But I cannot make her decision for her.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Jack said, pleased that there was no trace of bitterness in his voice. ‘She is of age now, is she not?’

  ‘Two and twenty,’ Fred replied. ‘Well past time for her to settle down. But she is still the most obstinate creature imaginable and refuses to be rushed.’

  When he’d last seen her, she had been nothing of the kind. She’d been as eager and impetuous as he had been, both of them hurrying to arrive simultaneously at some place they’d no right to go. To drive the thought away, Jack renewed his attack with a grunt of exertion and a thrust to the gut that would have ended his friend if it were not for the button on the end of the blade.

  Fred gasped in approval and surrendered his weapon. ‘Well done. Did you learn that in Portugal?’

  ‘Spain,’ Jack said.

  ‘You must teach it to me. In exchange, I will provide you with the finest Christmas dinner to be found in any of the north counties and a stocked cellar as well. Good food and good company. It shall be just as it was in our youth.’

  ‘It sounds delightful,’ Jack said, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He’d meant to tell Fred to go to the devil, if such a thing was suggested. His plans for Christmas Day were far darker and lonelier than anything Fred could imagine. But if there was still hope...

  There was not, he reminded himself. Though Lucy was not already married, she had found someone who might make her happy. She would be wed soon enough. He’d not heard a word from her in five years to hint that she wanted to renew what they’d shared or wished to see him again, even over a holiday table. But it seemed he was as big a fool as ever he had been and could not resist one last look at the only woman he would eve
r love.

  Copyright © 2019 by Christine Merrill

  ISBN-13: 9781488047657

  Scandalously Wed to the Captain

  Copyright © 2019 by Joanna Johnson

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either 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. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com