How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)
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How To Love A Fake Prince?
The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles
Jasmine Ashford
RUSHMORE HOUSE PUBLISHERS CO.
Contents
Copyright
A Personal Note From Jasmine Ashford
Dedication
About The Author
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
HOW TO LOVE A FAKE PRINCE?
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PROLOGUE
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CHAPTER ONE
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CHAPTER TWO
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CHAPTER THREE
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CHAPTER FOUR
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CHAPTER FIVE
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CHAPTER SIX
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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CHAPTER EIGHT
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CHAPTER NINE
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CHAPTER TEN
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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EPILOGUE
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A SURPRISE FOR YOU
A BONUS NOVEL
THE EARL’S ESPIONAGE
Book Description
PROLOGUE
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CHAPTER ONE
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CHAPTER TWO
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CHAPTER THREE
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CHAPTER FOUR
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CHAPTER FIVE
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CHAPTER SIX
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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CHAPTER EIGHT
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CHAPTER NINE
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CHAPTER TEN
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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CHAPTER THIRTY
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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
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EPILOGUE
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Also By Jasmine Ashford
Acknowledgement
If You Have Enjoyed This Book…
Publisher’s Notes
Copyright © 2017 - 2018 by JASMINE ASHFORD & RUSHMORE HOUSE PUBLISHERS CO.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A PERSONAL NOTE
FROM JASMINE ASHFORD
Dearest Avid Romance Readers,
The characters within my stories have a strong faith in love, they know what they want to pursue in this Regency Era. They are constantly looking that true love really exists amid adversities.
Will they overcome these obstacles and conquer their own insecurities (or doubts?) in order to find true love?
Read the book to find out.
Thank you very much for your strong support to my writing journey!
With Lots of Love,
Jasmine
DEDICATION
“A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”
Jane Austen (1775 - 1817)
This Story Is Specially Dedicated To You, My Avid Romance Reader!
Thank you once again for getting this book and giving me an opportunity to share with you my creative side.
I am truly grateful for this gesture of yours.
I hope you will find my stories both entertaining and inspiring as much as I have enjoyed writing them.
I’m grateful for your support. I’ll continue to keep writing these stories as long as you are interested in buying them.
Have you checked out my other historical romance books series?
Click the link below to get started
*** AMAZON USA ***
Do you like what you have read?
I would want to hear from you!
Please do get in touch with me:
https://www.facebook.com/JasmineAshfordBooks/
jasmineashford777@gmail.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“There is nothing so mortifying as to fall in love with someone who does not share one's sentiments.” - Georgette Heyer, Venetia
Whenever Jasmine is feeling down, she always finds solace with this quote. It was Ms. Georgette Heyer that inspires her to the world of the Regency and Victorian.
Jasmine took the pen and the rest is history for her.
In Jasmine’s stories, you will witness how characters that are so complex are actually simple beings waiting to be connected by the Cupid’s arrow. It is just one of the many ways that love will reveal itself?
Jasmine hopes that you will find love, solace, and peace in her stories. When she is not writing, she is enjoying her precious time with her family and her faithful Siberian Husky.
Jasmine
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HOW TO LOVE A FAKE PRINCE?
THE REGENCY RENEGADES - BEAUTY AND TITLES
By
JASMINE ASHFORD
and
Rushmore House Publishers Co.
PROLOGUE
1813
The crickets were chirping, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the splash of water. Someone was up late, trying no doubt to sneak a few moments alone in the river where they could be at peace. Around her, the camp was quiet for once. Enola suspected it was near midnight, based on the placement of the moon, but she could not be sure. All that mattered was that she was alone with the campfire and nature, the documents she was meant to translate spread out in front of her. The white tents surrounding her were like ghosts, swaying gently in the breeze as the military men slept, no doubt exhausted from a day of drills.
Enola had spent most of her life living intertwined with the British; she did not know any different. Although she identified as métis and had grown up with her people, she had also spent her life in the British towns, learning and growing; playing with the British children. They were separate...and yet the same. When the war came, it seemed obvious to her that she and her people would ally with the British here in the colonies, and defend it from the Americans. Her childhood friends suddenly seemed different; everyone grew up...and grew up fast. The women became wives; then they became mothers and widows faster than she could blink, it seemed. The men went from wide-eyed adventure seekers to soldiers, to fighters, and some already to dust. It seemed a whirlwind, and she could not believe that they were still the same people. A peaceful life living in harmony seemed a lifetime ago.
“Enola.”
She jumped, visibly startled, not expecting anyone else to be awake. She liked to translate, one of the services she offered the British military, in peace, losing herself in the words as they flew through her brain. Enola spoke English, which she had learned from the British, Michif, the language of her people, French, the language of her father, and Irish Gaelic, which she had picked up from the soldiers coming over. Languages came easily to her, as if she was simply changing her clothes rather than her vocabulary. She worked on stolen documents translating coded messages, usually at night when it was quiet. During the day, she worked with the surgeon, healing as her people had done before her. It made her feel as if she was contributing to this war fought by men; an ironic “war for peace.”
“Jacob,” she said, in surprise. She had not expected him to still be awake, but judging by his slick hair, she realized it was probably him that had gone for a dip in the lake just now.
Of all the British children that she had grown up playing with, Jacob Godde was probably her closest friend. She sometimes felt like he ended where she began; as if born on the same star. Jacob was the smartest person she knew, and had been even as a child. He had seemed to breeze through school, excelling through the grades faster than she could count. He took the bar exam before most of his colleagues figured out what they wanted to do with their lives, and was quickly becoming the most brilliant lawyer the colonies had ever seen.
He was a quick thinker with a temper, but only in his words. Jacob's mind worked faster than most, and he was often quiet, trying to make his thoughts into words others could keep up with. Now he was a military commander, rising through the ranks fast, and leading attacks that he planned and was constantly praised for from the higher ups. Only Enola knew that he felt out of his depth, struggling to live up to the pedestal on which they’d placed him. Only Enola knew that he hated speaking in front of crowds, that he faked his energy every day, and that his hands shook behind his back when he inspected his troops. He was her brother; her blood, as far as she was concerned. As a woman, Enola could only do so much, but she could make sure that her family survived. She had followed Jacob from camp to camp, long after they’d lost touch with the others, trying to maintain some semblance of family that this war had ripped away.
“Do you not have drills in four hours?” she asked. Her English was almost perfect, although Jacob's Michif was just as good. “What are you doing up?”
He sat heavily beside her, the rock not comfortable, but he did not care. The dying firelight licked his pale face, almost invisible under a curtain of dark hair, and he looked exhausted, which was not surprising. “A moment's peace by the river, is all,” he said as he glanced over at her. “And you? Will the surgeon not come calling at dawn?”
“And he can handle himself for a few hours,” Enola said as she scribbled a note on the documents. Jacob smiled briefly, rubbing his face with his hand as he leaned forwards. “I am not nearly done, if that is what you are waiting for. The French like to send novels instead of notes, it seems. Most of it is just chatter.”
“No, I am just...sitting,” he said. “Thinking about tomorrow”
“What is tomorrow?” she asked, confused. “Aside from another day we are at this wretched war.”
“New troops by the dozens,” Jacob answered. “By land and by sea. I am sure that if they figured out a way to get them in by air, they would do that as well. New troops to command, to feed, to house and to assimilate into the already precarious situation we have balancing here.”
“Oh,” she said. “Because things are not chaotic enough around here.”
“They would not be if anyone else could take some damn responsibility,” he fumed. He did not mean to snap, but it was clear that the days of constant work were wearing on him.
“Kaaya waypinikew....”
“Pakoshayimoohk?” he asked her with a half smile. Enola was more optimistic than he was, and often spoke of hope.
“Nippa,” she said with a grin. She was going to tell him not to abandon hope, but if he was going to try and predict her words, she would change it up.
He snorted. “If I had my way, sleep would never be abandoned. But it appears that is not the case on this night. I have got to greet the ships at dawn, and then somehow run drills at the same time. And then God only knows when the land recruits will get here.”
“Do they come with their own officers, at least?” she asked.
“They do,” he said. “Harold Harper, known as Lord Bamber, has been pulled from his fancy desk job at British Navy headquarters to command, and then on land, a Major Holde, risen from the ranks, brings me a militia force turned sharpshooters.”
“Risen from the ranks?” Enola raised an eyebrow. “Who does that?”
“Not many.” Jacob had bought his commission of Captain, and Enola knew he could have afforded more if he had been just a little braver. However, he thought that was as high as he wanted to go, given that he had no idea what he was doing in the military.
“Well, it should be interesting,” she said, as she watched the fire. He swallowed hard and her eyes shifted to him. “Do you want some peppermint?”
“No,” he said, although he was clearly fighting the urge to vomit. He had been like this since childhood, ill if he did not have everything in perfect balance. He rose, rubbing his hands together as if he was cold. She felt equal to him; just as strong as him; and sometimes stronger, depending on the situation. Most women would not even dare to think that way, but Enola was not like most women. “I am going to try for sleep. I am fine, Enola, do not look so concerned.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you think that you emptying your stomach contents into the fire is concerning to me, you missed most of our childhood,” she said. “Now if you came to me and asked me to marry for rank or wealth tomorrow, then I would be concerned.”