Dashing Rogues: A Historical Romance Collection

by Dawn Brower, Amanda Mariel

  “I do love you so.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “This is everything I wanted and didn’t dare wish for. But I’m so glad fate stepped in and allowed us to find our way to each other.”

  “Me too.” He pulled her closer to him. “I love you.”

  Everything else could wait. This was what he found most important. Her and their life together—the rest of the world would be there when they went searching for it. Rosanna was, and always would be, his home. Wherever she was, he’d not be far behind. Surrender had never been so sweet…

  ABOUT DAWN BROWER

  Dawn Brower holds a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology, a Master of Arts in Education, and a Master of Arts in Liberal Arts with concentrations in Literature, History, and Sociology. She works as a substitute teacher and enjoys the flexibility it gives her to concentrate on her other endeavors.

  * * *

  Growing up she was the only girl out of six children. She is a single mother of two teenage boys; there is never a dull moment in her life. Reading books is her favorite hobby. While she loves all genres she focuses most of her writing on historical and contemporary romance.

  * * *

  There are always stories inside her head; she just never thought she could make them come to life. That creativity has finally found an outlet.

  For more information visit her website at: http://www.authordawnbrower.com/

  ALSO BY DAWN BROWER

  Broken Pearl

  Deadly Benevolence

  A Wallflower’s Christmas Kiss

  A Gypsy’s Christmas Kiss

  Snowflake Kisses

  * * *

  Begin Again

  There You’ll Be

  Better as a Memory

  Won’t Let Go

  * * *

  Enduring Legacy

  The Legacy’s Origin

  Charming Her Rogue

  * * *

  Scandal Meets Love

  Love Only Me (Amanda Mariel)

  Find Me Love (Dawn Brower)

  * * *

  Bluestockings Defying Rogues

  Earl of Harrington

  A Lady Hoyden’s Secret

  * * *

  Marsden Descendants

  Rebellious Angel

  * * *

  Marsden Romances

  A Flawed Jewel

  A Crystal Angel

  A Treasured Lily

  A Sanguine Gem

  A Hidden Ruby

  A Discarded Pearl

  * * *

  Novak Springs

  Cowgirl Fever

  Dirty Proof

  Unbridled Pursuit

  Sensual Games

  Christmas Temptation

  * * *

  Linked Across Time

  Saved by My Blackguard

  Searching for My Rogue

  Seduction of My Rake

  Surrendering to My Spy

  Spellbound by My Charmer

  Stolen by My Knave

  Separated from My Love

  Scheming with My Duke

  Secluded with My Hellion

  * * *

  Heart’s Intent

  One Heart to Give

  Unveiled Hearts

  Heart of the Moment

  Kiss My Heart Goodbye

  Heart in Waiting

  * * *

  Broken Curses

  The Enchanted Princess

  The Bespelled Knight

  The Magical Hunt

  * * *

  Ever Beloved

  Forever My Earl

  Always My Viscount

  Infinitely My Marquess

  LOVE ONLY ME

  AMANDA MARIEL

  For my daddy—you will always be in my heart and the first person I think of when horses are mentioned.

  CHAPTER 1

  SUFFOLK, England

  April 1812

  * * *

  LADY NARISSA GOODWIN had never been the conventional sort. Raised by her gambler father, she’d grown up around card games, horse races, and drinking. As she strolled across the turf at Newmarket, ready to ride her horse Merlin, she glanced at the crowd of spectators gathered for the race. Narissa could not be more ready for the days’ events. A grin spread across her face.

  Gentlemen lined the course dressed in fine day coats and breeches, their cravats starched and tied expertly. Bookmakers collected wagers and called out odds while jockeys mounted their horses and prepared for the race. The thrill of the day vibrated in the air. A slight spring breeze cooled her skin and the sun shone brightly. There could not be a more perfect day for a race.

  Her gaze stopped on a group of ladies who peered at her with disapproval radiating from their eyes. Narissa paid them no mind as she turned her attention back to the turf. Before long, she would be racing along the course, Merlin’s hoofs pounding beneath her. A controlled wildness one would have to experience to understand, and she thrived on it. She cared not what a group of dull ladies thought about her.

  Papa’s words echoed in her head, ‘You have but one life. Live it on your own terms, Poppet’. Narissa did just that, she raced with the best, ran her own gaming hell, and lived by her own set of rules—society be damned. She notched her chin confidently as she took Merlin’s reins.

  “Thank you,” she said to the groom.

  He offered a smile and nod before she glanced back at the crush of people assembled beyond the track. A few ladies standing closer to the turf than ladies normally did had been watching her, but turned away when she caught their gaze. She recognized one of them, Lady Ophelia, wife of an earl. The lady frequented Narissa’s gaming hell, Fortuna’s Parlor, named after her first thoroughbred. A gift from her beloved Papa for her thirteenth birthday.

  At the club, Lady Ophelia went out of her way to chat with Narissa. Funny how differently the lady treated her in public, but then, many of her patrons acted in the same manner, save for a few close friends.

  Most of the ton’s ladies kept their parlor doors closed to Narissa and shunned her on the streets, but the gentlemen did not share their sentiments. Rarely did a man shoot her a disapproving glare or speak out against her. In fact, they tended to act as if she belonged among them, allowing her to join their card games and such. Perhaps it was a result of having known her Papa. Perhaps it was the source of the ladies scorn for her? Regardless, she did not give a whit.

  She nudged the chestnut colt into motion. Narissa had been anticipating this race for months. Excitement thrummed in her veins as the well-muscled horse moved beneath her. She’d been born for this. Leastwise that is what Papa had always said, and she most certainly believed it.

  The thrill of racing was in her blood the same as it was Merlin’s. Together, they were a force the likes of which the ton had not seen before. All of England would soon know it. Merlin ran fast and free like the wind, a born racer. Her own spirited nature only served to compliment the thoroughbreds. Together they were unstoppable. Drawing him to a halt at the starting line, she stroked the animals’ neck. “Let us show them what we are made of,” she whispered.

  Papa crossed her mind and she glanced up at the heavens. She’d give anything for him to be here now. He would be exceedingly pleased. Merlin had been bred from Papa’s prize stallion, and it had been his dream to race the horse. Together they had started the horses’ training. After Papa passed away, she was determined to see his dream brought to reality.

  She closed her eyes. Papa, I hope you are watching. A gentle breeze wrapped around her as if in answer, and her chest tightened. She missed him dearly—always would. In her heart she knew he was watching, cheering, as he would at Epsom, and she found a measure of comfort in the knowledge. Papa had always been her champion.

  She turned her attention to the other riders lining up for the Two Thousand Guineas sweepstakes race over the Riley Mile. The twelve-horse field looked impressive, though it did not shake her confidence in Merlin. He could out run all of them. The bookkeepers had picked him as the favorite. She’d heard the
frenzy of betting with many gentlemen placing wagers on her mount. She, too, had bet on Merlin for the win.

  Even now, a crowd surrounded the bookmaker, placing last minute wagers. Off to the side, a tall man with midnight black hair caught her attention. The way he studied her with his piercing blue eyes sent a chill straight through her. Who the deuce was he? And why did he take such an interest in her?

  Narissa tore her gaze away, determined not to let the stranger shake her. She bent low over Merlin, then inhaled his scent, calming herself. Nature, the mingling of hay, horse sweat, and dust—there was nothing more refreshing, more capable of bringing her into the moment.

  Merlin bolted at the signal to start. Narissa’s muscles strained with the effort required to hold him back. Heart pounding, excitement thrumming through her, she focused on the course awaiting the perfect time to loosen her hold on the reins, and unleash Merlin’s full speed. Yes, this is what she lived for—the thrill of competition. The satisfaction found in victory. And make no mistake, victory would be hers.

  SETH BLAKEY, Duke of Blackmore, could not take his attention from the turf. Not that he wished to as his own horse, Highflier, was among the racers. However, it was the lady rider that held him captive. Where had she come from? And what the devil was a female doing jockeying at Newmarket? This was a competitive male field, not suitable for the gentler sex.

  Prying his attention from her, he looked at the whole field of horses. Highflier had the lead by a head. His competition, a well-muscled black, fought to close the gap, while the rest of the horses ran in a cluster a few furlongs behind. The woman trailed the field at the back of the pack, though not by any great distance.

  Calls of ‘Come on’, ‘Go, Merlin, go’, ‘Come on Highflier’, and ‘Move Gypsy Dancer, filled the air around him. A frenzy of chants and curses from the crowd rang out from the sidelines as the horses approached the final stretch.

  Seth remand silent, his focus on the woman whose mount was over taking the field with a burst of speed. Merlin took to the inside, passing the cluster of trailing horses before closing the distance on Highflier and the black who remained neck in neck with him. Bloody hell, the woman could ride. And she’d not used the whip at all.

  For the first time since the race began, he saw the real possibility of losing. Something he could not abide. He leaned closer to the rail and bellowed, “Move it Highflier. Use the damn whip!” His gaze skittered between the three horses battling it out for the lead.

  “Come on Highflier!” he yelled as his horse and Merlin pulled ahead of the black, nose and nose. Not only did he stand to lose the prize purse, but he’d also bet ten thousand pounds on Highflier winning. “Use the whip, dammit!” He screamed across the turf at his own jockey as Merlin pulled into the lead. What the devil was his rider doing?

  Pulse thrumming, he tossed his program to the ground as Merlin raced across the finish line leaving Highflier in second place. Merlin and his female rider were not among the initial field of entrants, but were late editions added only this morning. A complete surprise that left him at a disadvantage, not that he would have scratched Highflier from the race—he could not have even if he’d wanted to.

  Bloody hell, he should have won. Who the hell was the woman? And where had that horse come from? Determined to find out, Seth moved toward the finish line.

  “Your Grace,” a baritone voice called after him.

  His irritation increased as he turned toward the man. “Lord Stanford.” The older man smiled, his brown eyes sparkling, the skin at their edges creased with age.

  “Your horse ran a fine race, today. If not for Merlin, you surely would have won.”

  Seth swallowed. He did not need nor want a reminder of what had just occurred. Though he did have unanswered questions. “Who is the woman that rode Merlin?”

  Lord Stanford glanced to where the jockeys now congregated. “A true hoyden that one. Lady Narissa Goodwin. She’s a rare breed, beautiful and brazen. There should be more like her.”

  Goodwin. Where had Seth heard that name? He looked at the beauty that had dismounted and removed her riding cap, revealing tightly bound chestnut locks. “Lord Haddington’s daughter?”

  “Indeed.” The older man clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Ladies like her breed excitement. They keep a man young, you know.” He flashed a fine set of crafted ivories. “In my day they ruled society.”

  Seth disagreed with the old man’s musings, though he kept his opinion to himself. Women like Lady Narissa were foolish. They would bring a man to ruin and had no care for their own reputations or safety. It mattered not to him, for he had no desire for lasting connections. Though he may have a short-term use for this particular hellion. “If you will excuse me.”

  Lord Stanford gave a nod before turning away.

  Seth strolled through the crush of spectators, toward Lady Narissa. A crowd of gentlemen surrounded her, offering their congratulations and complimenting her skill as well as her mount. He stopped short of reaching her to watch the frenzy and wait for his opening. Squinting against the sun’s rays, Seth studied her from the shiny braided mass of hair at the back of her head to her boot-clad feet.

  Her golden eyes twinkled against her tanned skin reminding him of fine whisky. Full pink lips grinned at her crowd of admirers, emitting whimsical laughter now and again as the gentleman spoke. She could not be much over five feet tall. An imp of a woman, but Lord Stanford had been correct. Lady Narissa was indeed a beauty. The fact only served to rankle him more.

  She said something he could not make out, then began moving away from her admirers. This was his chance. Seth sprinted after her, calling out her name, “Lady Narissa.”

  “I truly must be—” Her gaze caught on him, brows creasing. “Have we meet?”

  “No. I am the Duke of Blackmore, Seth Blakey.” He offered a friendly smile, his annoyance at having lost the race forgotten the moment he drew near her.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” She glanced down, swiping a hand over her dusty riding jacket. “Perhaps we will become better acquainted some other time.” She turned to take her leave.

  How dare the vixen dismiss him? “Wait,” he said in a firm tone he hoped brokered no argument.

  Scowling, she returned her attention to him. “I haven’t the time for games right now.”

  “Very well then, I will cut straight to the point.” He rocked back on his heels. “I want you to ride Highflier at Epsom.”

  “I will be riding, Merlin. Good day, Your Grace.” She turned on her heels and began to march away.

  “I will give you five thousand pounds,” he called after her.

  “Keep your blunt.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. The sway of her hips confident as she grew smaller in the distance.

  Had he ever met a more self-assured, infuriating woman? She acted as if he were below her. A bothersome pest circling her tiara. Yet, he found himself captivated, wanting to know more about her. A foolish notion, he was certain.

  Seth kicked at the ground, causing a plum of dust to fill the air. Let the hellion ride Merlin. It would make no difference to him. He’d train more speed into his mount. Find a more skilled rider. Do whatever was necessary to win at Epsom. As it were, his horse had nearly won. If he trained him a bit harder, Highflier could, no would, beat Merlin. In the meantime, he would keep an eye on Tattersall’s offerings. The she-devil would not best him at Epsom.

  Not unless she changed her mind and rode for him.

  CHAPTER 2

  LONDON, England

  * * *

  NARISSA STROLLED across Madam Josephine Debroux’s shop, a smile curving her lips when she found Josephine relaxing in her office.

  “Do tell.” Josephine, repositioned herself on the gold brocade chair she’d been lounging in. “Did you find victory?”

  Narissa took the chair opposite from her modeste, who was in truth, more of a friend. “The competition was stiff, but the odds favored Merlin.” She paused, meeting
Josephine’s warm gaze. “We were victorious indeed.”

  A wide grin spread across Josephine’s face, her warm gaze sparkling. “I knew you would be. Never doubted it.” She beamed. “Your Papa would be so proud. Let us celebrate.” Josephine strolled from her office to the dress shop door and turned the lock.

  Narissa stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her green dress. She had bathed and donned a frock hastily before coming to Madame Debroux’s, intent to see her friend and check on her gaming hell. When Josephine returned to the office, Narissa said, “Then let us go above stairs and have a scotch. I dearly wish to check on my club.”

  Josephine gave a nod, signaling for Narissa to lead the way.

  Narissa strolled through the shop to the door hidden behind the fitting room that displayed the name of her secret, all female gaming hell, Fortuna’s Parlor. The letters scrolled in black across a brass plate. In the rear of the building, another door led into the club, but it bore no sign in order to maintain secrecy. All the same, her members were familiar with it as well as how to gain entry.

  Narissa had made a fortune gambling with her pin money before papa passed away. After his death, she came up with the idea for Fortuna’s Parlor. During a fitting for new riding clothes, she shared her desire to open a female gaming club with Josephine—her long time modest. Josephine offered to rent Narissa the space above her shop, and Fortuna’s was born.

  Now Narissa did all she could to guard her club and see it flourish. She catered to societies upper crust ladies and their need for both adventure and secrecy. All the while, Narissa watched her fortune grow while doing the things she most enjoyed. She’d managed to carve out her own version of a perfect life.