by Mary Brendan
Lady seeks kind gentleman to offer protection…
When a mysterious lady advertises her charms in the newspaper, there’s no way Viscount Blackthorne will allow his rash friend to attend the twilight rendezvous. Taking his place, Blackthorne is surprised by the reluctant beauty who appears—she’s far from the scheming courtesan he was expecting.
Elise Dewey must protect her foolish sister by posing as “Lady Lonesome” in her stead. She’s shockingly stirred by the imposing stranger who waits for her in Vauxhall Gardens—but their liaison has been observed… Unless Elise accepts the viscount’s bold proposal of marriage, they will all be plunged into scandal!
“If you do not let me pass this instant,
I shall scream and accuse you of behavior most unbecoming to a gentleman.”
Elise clung to her indignation in the hope that it might subdue her rising panic.
“Indeed?” He sounded bored. “And I shall accuse you of behavior most unbecoming to a lady. But I think we both know you are not a lady.”
As she backed away from him, darting glances to and fro, Alex swept back his jacket to plunge his fists on his hips. He was tied between impatience and intrigue. Novice Jezebel maybe, but she had perfected the persona of a prim maiden, and it was definitely not the reaction he was used to arousing when he was stranded with a woman in the dark.
“Are you saying you aren’t Lady Lonesome?” he demanded.
“Do I look as though I might adopt such a ridiculous sobriquet?”
* * *
A Date with Dishonor
Harlequin® Historical #1157—October 2013
Author Note
Most young women dream of finding a perfect mate. In reality, the quest for “the one” is rarely easy, and never more so than in Regency England’s polite society, where etiquette and social class presented barriers to ill-starred lovers.
In A Date with Dishonor, Elise Dewey would sooner forgo marriage than endure the sort of mésalliance that caused her warring parents such unhappiness. But she is persuaded to move to town to assist her sister’s search for a husband despite her misgivings that Beatrice is going about things in a hazardous way. When her sister’s unorthodox methods of attracting a man cause a calamity to befall them, it is innocent Elise who bears the brunt of the disgrace. Alex Blackthorne is a womanizing rogue—just the sort of fellow Elise has tried to avoid—yet now she is at his mercy, sensually enslaved by the charismatic viscount, despite their families having tangled tragically in the past.…
The second novel in the series will feature Beatrice as the heroine. She has been unlucky in love, and has been taught a hard lesson about taking risks with her reputation and virtue. At the age of twenty-five, she seems content to live quietly in the countryside with her beloved papa. Then an old flame turns up out of the blue, reigniting in Beatrice a yearning she believed she’d conquered long ago.
I hope you enjoy reading about the Dewey sisters’ tears and laughter while looking for love as much as I have liked writing the stories for you.
A Date with
Dishonor
Mary Brendan
Available from Harlequin® Historical and
MARY BRENDAN
*Wedding Night Revenge #203
*The Unknown Wife #205
*A Scandalous Marriage #210
*The Rake and the Rebel #211
ΔA Practical Mistress #865
ΔThe Wanton Bride #894
§A Date with Dishonor #1157
*The Meredith Sisters
ΔThe Hunter Brothers
§The Dewey Sisters
Did you know that some of these novels are also
available as ebooks? Visit www.Harlequin.com.
MARY BRENDAN
was born in north London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor, she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
‘Hell’s teeth, give it up, man. Can’t you see how vulgar it all is?’
The weary censure had been directed at a gentleman who gave no more response than to deepen the furrow in his brow. He leaned forwards, resting his chin in his cupped hands, absorbed in his reading.
Viscount Blackthorne adjusted his neckcloth with nimble fingers but, when his friend continued frowning at the newsprint spread on the table, he turned impatiently from his reflection to whip the offending paper out from under the fellow’s elbows. Having efficiently folded the gazette, his lordship tossed it on to a wing chair.
Hugh Kendrick huffed in indignation, lolling back in his seat with a sulky expression. ‘Well, something’s got to be done, Alex. If I don’t offer to pay Whittiker soon, the odious skinflint will dun me. Then everybody else will pitch in. Only needs one of ’em to start the ball rolling and my desk will be groaning under the weight of writs.’ His glum face again sought the support of his hands. ‘If I end in the Fleet my mother will have a fit, and Toby...’ the mention of his older brother caused his mouth to twist in a grimace ‘...no doubt Toby will demand a dawn appointment on Clapham Common because I’ve sullied the family name.’
‘Don’t be so damned melodramatic.’ Alex Blackthorne’s lack of sympathy held a hint of amusement. A moment later he was once more contemplating his appearance, long patrician fingers dusting an immaculate broad shoulder encased in charcoal superfine. ‘You’re not the first man to have let a woman make a fool of him and bring him close to ruin.’
‘You wouldn’t let it happen to you.’ A look of begrudging admiration shaped Hugh’s features.
‘No...I wouldn’t.’ Alex grinned lopsidedly at the glass, but decided not to rub salt into his old friend’s smarting wound by elaborating. He’d already given him his opinion, on numerous occasions, on the subject of idiots who allowed courtesans to fleece them.
Hugh sprung to his feet, snatching up the gazette. ‘I reckon it’s a sound idea and I’d found one that seemed just the ticket. Here, I’ll read it to you...’
A protracted muttering accompanied Alex raising his deep-brown eyes heavenwards.
Ignoring his friend’s weary cursing, Hugh began, ‘Lady Lonesome, desperate to free herself from the constraints of a cruel guardian, seeks kind gentleman to offer protection from...’
A snort of laughter curtailed Hugh’s recitation. ‘Methinks the lonesome lady is keener on a plump wallet than a kind gentleman.’ Alex quirked an eyebrow. ‘You should suit each other well. She’s after the same thing you are.’
‘Ah...ha!’ Hugh exclaim
ed in triumph. ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Had you let me finish...’ He shook the paper in emphasis, then resumed, ‘...she seeks a kind gentleman to offer protection...’ a dramatic pause preceded ‘...from fortune hunters as an income of two thousand pounds per annum is available to an applicant able to convince her he is in possession of sincerity and a desire and capability to be a caring husband and father.’ Hugh looked up with an expectant smile. ‘She sounds rather sweet and—’
‘And she sounds rather pregnant.’
Hugh’s jaw sagged. ‘You think...because she requires the fellow to be a good father...?’
Alex shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time desperate parents attempted to buy back a girl’s sullied virtue by getting a ring on her finger.’ He chuckled at the astonished look his comment had provoked. ‘Come on, Hugh,’ the Viscount ribbed gently. ‘If anyone should know that, it’s you.’ Alex watched his friend colouring miserably, but felt unremorseful. Hugh was a good friend, but it was high time he toughened up. Alex knew he might not always be around to save the fellow from his niceness and naivety.
A year ago Hugh Kendrick had been burdened with the task, and the cost, of salvaging his sister’s reputation when she’d allowed a callous charmer to compromise her. Toby, her brother and legal guardian, had refused to chip in a penny piece to protect their widowed mother from the shame that would have besmirched them all had his sister’s disgrace become common knowledge.
‘Never mind, Lady Lonesome’s cash will come in handy.’ Alex patted his friend’s shoulder. Despite his mockery, he was beginning to find it all quite intriguing. He relieved Hugh of the paper and read for himself her requirements in a mate.
‘Why in heaven’s name would she need to advertise for a husband if she’s a modest heiress?’ He shot his friend a darkly humorous glance. ‘If she’s not a fallen woman, perhaps she’s way past her prime and has ample girth and greying hair.’
‘I don’t think I care overmuch either way,’ Hugh responded mordantly. ‘She can be as fat or faded as she likes. It’s the colour of her money I’m interested in.’
‘You and a hundred other fellows with pockets to let who’ve read that.’ Alex returned the paper to his friend. ‘You know I’ve said I’ll lend you the money.’ His tone quietened, growing serious. ‘You’ve not yet come to such a sorry pass that you’ll need to rear another man’s bastard, or risk getting leg-shackled to an old crone with a few pounds in the bank.’
‘And I’ve said I won’t take your money...not again.’ Hugh turned his head to conceal his florid cheeks. Alex had paid off his debts once before. On that occasion he had been blameless for the mess he’d been in: a victim of his sister’s folly. Sarah had since settled with a husband in Cheshire and Hugh thought his money...Alex’s money, he mentally corrected himself...very well spent. But he’d sworn never again to take advantage of his friend’s wealth or generosity, and he didn’t intend to go back on his word.
Besides, he was twenty-nine, and for some while had been contemplating the benefits of settling down with a wife. He was the youngest son of a baronet and had few prospects and fewer responsibilities. For some months he had been feeling the lack and wondering whether a wife and children might fill a gap in his life.
‘She might be personable and sincere,’ Hugh insisted optimistically, having again studied the advertisement. Instead of considering a wife as a pretty appendage, he was beginning to properly value an advantageous match and a lifelong companion.
‘True...and I might be the Prince Regent...’ Viscount Blackthorne intoned repressively.
* * *
Elise Dewey’s complexion drained of blood till it resembled the colour of the parchment on which she’d been writing. She was used to her older sister’s hare-brained schemes to get rich or get wed, but so far Beatrice had put none into action. Whilst writing to her friend, Verity, Elise had been listening with scant attention to her older sibling’s chatter. But then Bea had waved at her the proof that this plot was no idle boast.
‘You are joking, of course,’ Elise finally burst out in a hushed tone. She gazed aghast at the gazette that Beatrice had been flapping in the air.
‘No, I’m not!’ Bea retorted, dropping the newspaper back to the table. ‘It’s the only way to get away from here. It’s not my fault our parents have got us in such a mess. I’m twenty-three soon and I want a husband before I get any longer in the tooth. With no portion, and no means for a social life in this dreary neck of the woods, it’s the only way to do it. How are we ever to meet gentlemen if we can’t afford to go out?’
‘And how are you to explain away the fact you’ve not got two thousand pounds or even two hundred to offer any fellow?’ Elise had jumped to her feet and marched over to Beatrice. Her eyes widened as she scanned the notice. ‘You’re mad! Utterly insane!’ Her tawny gaze sprang to her sister’s profile. ‘Have you any idea what sort of villains or perverts you might entice to our door?’
‘I’m not daft enough to give out our direction. Of course, any fellow who replies to the box number will be advised we are to meet somewhere.’ Bea avoided her sister’s angry stare and carelessly twirled a pearly ringlet about a finger in order to prove she was quite relaxed about what she’d done.
Elise could tell Beatrice wasn’t as insouciant as she’d like to appear. ‘And how does Lady Lonesome think such hardened fortune hunters will react when they find out she’s lied and has nothing to offer?’
That comment prompted Bea to rise from her chair and peer at her face in the mantelpiece mirror. ‘I wouldn’t say I’ve nothing to offer.’ She cocked her head. ‘When he sees me he might forget about the money...’ She smiled, proudly tilting her chin.
Elise allowed Bea her conceit. Her sister might be what society classed as past her prime, but still she was lovely to look at. Her eyes were cornflower blue, lushly fringed with long inky lashes, and her pale blonde curls always sat in perfect array about her heart-shaped face, whereas Elise’s own darker blonde mop tended to resist any maid’s attempts to style it. Of course...now there were no maids, and only Mr and Mrs Francis, their faithful old retainers, remained with the Dewey family and acted as general staff to the best of their ability.
‘If only Mama had taken me to live with her in London, I’d be married now.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘Some fellow would have offered for me. I wouldn’t care who he was...he could be old and ugly so long as he had enough standing to let me live a little before I die.’
‘But she didn’t take you,’ Elise returned shortly. ‘Mama didn’t want us. She wanted her lover, and now she is dead,’ she concluded, a catch to her voice. ‘Papa has his faults, but at least he didn’t abandon us.’
‘I wish he had,’ Beatrice hissed, spinning away from her reflection. ‘I didn’t want to be dragged to the sticks to moulder away and expire as a spinster. I’d rather have thrown myself on some rich fellow’s mercy.’
‘I don’t think you mean that,’ Elise replied, annoyed by her sister’s hint that she’d rather be a gentleman’s mistress than endure boredom.
Beatrice blushed, but her lips slanted mutinously, letting Elise know that she wasn’t about to take back her outrageous comment.
‘You’d better hope Papa doesn’t find out what you’re doing or saying!’ Elise warned, her vivid eyes widening in emphasis. ‘If he gets to know you’ve put in print he’s a cruel guardian, and that you’re touting yourself about, you really will end in a convent.’ Mr Dewey’s pet threat when exasperated by his daughters’ behaviour was to send them to take vows.
‘Even that might be better than living here,’ Bea declared theatrically.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Elise swept up the gazette and with no further ado tossed it on to the flickering fire that had burned very low in the grate for want of fuel to nourish it.
Bea gawped at the blackening paper for no more than a few
seconds before plunging downwards to try and retrieve it.
‘Don’t be so daft.’ Elise pulled her sister back from the hearth as Bea sucked a scorched digit. ‘At least we’ll get some benefit from it if it burns for a while and keeps us warm.’
* * *
‘You’ll get every penny I owe you.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed I will.’ James Whittiker stalked about the card table his low-lidded eyes on the pot of money at its centre. ‘I’ll take it out of your hide else, Kendrick.’ It was an unconvincing threat. Despite being in his mid-twenties James Whittiker was overweight and unfit, whereas Hugh Kendrick was a fine figure of a man, known to regularly attend the gymnasium. Unless Whittiker intended setting someone else on his debtor he would come off worst in a scrap. The assembly knew it and a few rumbles of mirth increased the redness veining Whittiker’s cheeks.
‘What I want to know is, when will you hand over what you owe?’ James flicked a finger at the stake money. ‘Is there any chance some of that will be yours? If so, I’ll just hover in the vicinity and relieve you of it in a while, shall I?’ His sarcasm drew another ripple of amusement; those who had been observing the play knew that Hugh was losing.
‘You sound desperate, James.’ Alex Blackthorne discarded a card on to the baize. He stretched his booted feet out under the table and settled his powerful shoulders against the chair back. ‘Having a spot of trouble selling Grantham Place, are you?’ He raised lazy brown eyes to a pink, jowly face. ‘My offer is still on the table.’
‘Take it back. I’ve no use for such a derisory sum,’ James sneered.
‘It’s the best of the six you’ve had,’ Alex answered evenly. ‘That should tell you something about your expectations where the estate is concerned.’
‘It tells me you’re a cheat and a fraudster, just like your father before you.’ Immediately Whittiker regretted having let seething frustration make him recklessly incautious. He glanced about to see a score or more pairs of eyes had swivelled his way, some viciously amused.
