A Rogue's Surrender: Regency Novellas

by Lauren Smith

  Ordinarily, he would have given his friend, Lawrence Allworthy, an amiable pat on the back and poured them both a tall glass of the fiery amber liquid his butler had just brought in. Ordinarily, they would have settled in the cushioned leather chairs beside the blazing fire and spent the night getting drunk while reminiscing about the men in their regiment and the years spent on the Continent battling Napoleon’s forces. Ordinarily, their first order of business would have been to toast their fallen companions.

  But tonight was no ordinary night. His gaze settled on the young woman with lustrous dark hair and big, brown eyes who stood quietly beside his friend. “And you, Miss Wilkinson. May I offer you tea? Refreshments? The journey could not have been an easy one for you.”

  “No, thank you.” She blushed as she spoke and then looked down at her toes, obviously wishing to be anywhere but in his study.

  James decided the rose blush was quite becoming on her cheeks.

  He leaned on his cane to slowly walk around the sturdy desk that dominated the center of the room and came to stand beside his guests. Up close, he could see that the young woman was trembling, though she did her best to hide her fear as he approached. Were his scars so hideous? He supposed they were, for even he had yet to grow used to them. They’d be most alarming to a stranger. “Please,” James said, motioning to the chairs beside the fireplace. “This will be your home soon, Miss Wilkinson. You may as well get used to it.”

  She pinched her lips and frowned lightly. “I don’t wish to be rude, Lord Exmoor. But what makes you think I wish to accept your proposal?”

  He exchanged glances with Lawrence who appeared as surprised by her remark as he was. “It was your brother’s dying request that I marry you. I promised him that I would and I intend to honor that vow.”

  Her pink blush deepened. “Do I have no say in the matter?” She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, and although she was small and slender, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, he could see that she had a full-sized, stubborn determination.

  Lawrence cleared his throat. “Miss Wilkinson, what choice do you have? Do you not wish to marry an earl? I do not know of any young woman in your circumstances who would refuse–”

  “Major Allworthy,” James said, quietly interrupting him. “I think it is best that I speak on my behalf.” He understood the young lady’s reluctance now that she’d taken a good look at him, and expected that she was now quietly swallowing her revulsion. While his leg would hopefully strengthen in time, the jagged scars etched on his face were permanent and unfortunately, too prominent to hide. “No doubt the terms of our arrangement must concern you. We ought to go over them now, for you may have some misconceptions about what... ah, I shall expect in your duties as my wife.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Perhaps we ought to speak about this matter in private. Major Allworthy... Lawrence, would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

  His friend appeared to be as uncomfortable as James was and more than eager to leave this embarrassing discussion to him. “Excellent idea. I’ll be in your library. I’m sure there’s a book I’m eager to read.” He dashed out as though his coattails were on fire.

  The girl appeared desperate to follow him out, but James placed a light hand on her elbow to hold her back. “Give me a moment of your time, Miss Wilkinson. Hear me out before you walk out of here.” He cast her a wry smile. “Or run out. I wouldn’t blame you.”

  She relented with a curt nod.

  “Please, let’s sit beside the warming fire.” He settled her in one of the chairs and took the other. She must have noticed the awkward way he sank into the soft maroon leather and stretched his leg in front of him since he could not yet bend it. But she said nothing, and to her credit, made no moue of distaste.

  “I know this isn’t easy for you,” he said, uncertain how one politely raised the issue of the bedchamber to a young woman one had known for all of two minutes. Yet, that particularly thorny issue had to be foremost on her mind and James knew he had to address it immediately. “Rest assured that I will not... er...” Bloody humiliating! In all his days, he never imagined himself in this awkward situation. Before the war, he had been considered quite the catch. Beautiful young women threw themselves in his path with tedious regularity, all of them eager to gain his notice in the hope they might become the next Countess Exmoor.

  Now, they darted away in the hope of avoiding him. All but the most desperate and browbeaten debutantes whose families were in dire need of funds to maintain their estates. He ran a hand across the back of his neck in consternation. “I promised your brother I would take care of you. He extracted my promise to marry you, for he feared your cousin would not be generous with you once he took title to your brother’s holdings. His fears obviously proved correct. What would you have done had Major Allworthy and his wife not been at hand to bring you to London?”

  Her face began to heat and he knew it had nothing to do with the heat of the flames burning in the hearth. “I would have managed, my lord. I am not your charity case.”

  “Indeed, you are not.”

  “My lord,” she said more insistently as she met his gaze. “I agreed to accompany Major Allworthy in the hope that you might help me find suitable employment.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to renege on my promise to your brother?” In truth, he liked that directness about her and the fact that she did not flinch when looking at him. “I cannot do it, Miss Wilkinson. I’m offering to make you my wife. In truth, I’d be honored if you accepted. I know I’m rather a poor specimen.”

  She quirked a soft eyebrow in what appeared to be surprise. Was she disputing the obvious? “Certainly not the husband you might have hoped for,” he continued, “but you will always be safe here and treated with honor.” He cleared his throat. “You shall have your own bedchamber, of course. And I shall not impose on you.”

  Lord! How much plainer could he state that he’d keep his hands off her?

  Her only response was a slight widening of her big, chocolate brown eyes, so he continued the uncomfortable conversation. “I am under no illusions. The war took its toll on all of us. Whatever hopes or dreams I may have had...” He motioned toward his face. “Well, I’m no longer any woman’s idea of perfection.”

  Her lips turned upward in the hint of a smile. “My lord, may I be impertinent?”

  He much preferred it to her being a timid mouse around him. “Of course.”

  “You seem to think I’m a simple-brained ninny and that my only requirement in a husband is a man with a pretty face. I assure you, I am not that shallow.” She let out a soft sigh and leaned closer so that he caught the subtle scent of lavender soap along her slender throat. “I will not deny that my situation is dire. But that does not give me the right to interfere with your future happiness. As you can see, I have little polish. I’m no society gem.” She shook her head and sighed again. “How can you possibly think to make me your countess? I’m a penniless stranger with no family connections.”

  “I gave your brother my word and I intend to keep it. I would do the same if you had the face of a wart hog or the brain of a goose. Thankfully, you have neither of those qualities. All I ask is that you live under my roof - separate quarters, of course - and act as my hostess when the need arises for me to entertain at home. I would also ask that you accompany me to the balls and other social engagements to which we shall be invited.”

  She tipped her head and nibbled her lip as she studied him, her gaze once again direct and assessing. “A business arrangement.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “You shall have an allowance, of course. Your days will be mostly your own.”

  “I see.” She stood and had the courtesy to pretend to study the flames brightly glowing in the hearth while he struggled to his feet in order to stand beside her. “I suppose we ought to shake hands to seal our bargain.”

  Was she accepting his terms?

  She stuck out her small, gloved ha
nd to confirm it.

  He wasn’t used to shaking hands with a woman, for those of his acquaintance merely dangled their fingers before him in expectation that he would bow over them and mutter some polite inanity. But Miss Wilkinson, although quite genteel in her looks and manners, had a no nonsense way about her. He set his cane aside and swallowed her hand in both of his. “Done.”

  He expected a trumpet fanfare. A chorus of angels singing. A tremor along the ground, for the prospect of marriage was no small matter. But all was silent. Even Miss Wilkinson was holding her breath, no doubt contemplating the bargain she’d just made. “One small request,” he said, still holding her hand and noting that she’d made no move to slip it out of his grasp. “In public, I shall call you Lady Exmoor. But I’d hoped for something less formal when we are alone at home. What is your given name?”

  She laughed lightly and shook her head. “Did my brother neglect to mention it?”

  James cast her a wincing smile. “He mentioned it a time or two, but more often he referred to you as... Smidge.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh again, but that melodic trill was punctuated with a groan. “Oh, dear! That was the awful pet name he gave me when we were children. I hope you will banish it from your memory at once! My name is Sophie.”

  “Sophie,” he repeated softly. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.”

  END

  Also By Meara Platt

  Farthingale Series

  My Fair Lily

  The Duke I’m Going To Marry

  Rules For Reforming A Rake

  A Midsummer’s Kiss

  The Viscount’s Rose

  Farthingale Novellas

  Never Dare A Duke

  Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron

  THE BRAYDENS

  A Match Made In Duty

  Earl of Westcliff (Wicked Earls’ Club)

  Kindle World Series

  Nobody’s Angel

  Kiss An Angel

  Bhrodi’s Angel

  DARK GARDENS SERIES

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  About the Author

  Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Dark Gardens Series. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens, as well as Meara’s humorously lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale and Braydens series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.

  Scandalized by my Prince

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Scandalized by My Prince Copyright © 2017 Dawn Brower

  Cover art and edits by Victoria Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Created with Vellum

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Love is a funny thing. It is the one word that has so many distinct connotations for different people and things. A lot of my characters don’t believe they deserve love, and yet love deeply. Killian, more than any of them, fits that description the most. He needs and craves love, but is equally afraid of it.

  The lesson from this story is when you find love don’t let your fear stop you from accepting it. Sometimes the greatest gifts come to you when you least expect them; as well as, need them the most.

  This book is for all my readers. You are the best. I hope you enjoy Killian and Aubriella’s story. Thank you for reading the stories that won’t leave my head. It’s wonderful to hear how much you love this world.

  Prologue

  Dr. Aubriella Byrne pulled up in front of Weston Manor and blew out a breath. She was on a mission and Trenton Quinn would let her help whether he liked it or not. Her cousin, Genevieve had been missing for too many years now. Eve, as everyone called her, was more than family to her. She was her best friend, and Aubriella had sorely missed her. It was time to bring her home where she belonged.

  She slid open the front door and peeked around. No butler and no residents to be found. Sneaking wasn’t something she usually did, but desperate times meant she’d do a lot she normally wouldn’t. Where would Trenton be in this mausoleum? The library would be the best choice for someone studying—at least, that was where she’d be in his place.

  After she’d heard from a mutual acquaintance, a certain professor at Oxford, that Trenton was studying the Marquess of Seabrook’s family journals, she high-tailed it to Weston to confront him. Why wouldn’t he have told her what he suspected happened to Genevieve? He was well aware how close she and Genevieve were. If her cousin was still alive, Aubriella had a right to know about it.

  Aubriella took quiet steps down the hall, heading toward the room she believed Trenton to be in. She didn’t want to alert anyone to her presence before she had the opportunity to talk to him. He’d probably throw her out immediately, but it was a risk she was willing to take. This was too important for her to give up easily.

  “This is useless,” Trenton shouted as he picked up a leather-bound journal and tossed it against a nearby wall.

  “Easy, tiger,” Aubriella said and ducked in the doorway as she dodged the flying journal. She held up her hands and walked into the room slowly. “I come in peace.”

  Trenton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She had no idea what was going through that thick skull of his, but his emotions were broadcasting loud and clear. He was frustrated and about to give up. Whatever was in that journal he’d thrown against the wall hadn’t been the enlightenment he’d hoped to gain. Lucky for him, she was here now. Maybe she would be able to decipher something he had been unable to. At least she hoped to.

  Trenton opened his eyes and faced her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not welcome at Weston Manor any longer?” She lifted a brow and then snapped her fingers. “That’s right, I never really was, but too bad. I’m here to help you even though you keep turning me down. This is what I did my dissertation on, remember? History is my thing.”

  “I don’t want you here.” Duh. Aubriella refrained from saying that aloud and stared at him as he reiterated his lack of intelligence. He glared at her. The muscles in his jaw twitched and then Trenton hammered home the final blow, “I’ve been clear on that point.”

  Yeah, he had—many times. As a rule, she didn’t believe in listening to idiots. She’d respected his wishes at first, but the time had come to toss that aside. He hadn’t brought her cousin home, and she was tired of waiting for him to.

  “And I believe I vetoed that already.” She walked over and picked up the journal he’d thrown. “Is this any way to treat a priceless artifact? I have half a mind to tell the Marquess of Seabrook how you’re treating his family’s journals.” The book was old, and his mistreatment could very well destroy it. His carelessness could be the reason Genevieve was never found.

  “That one doesn’t belong to him,” Trenton said. If it didn’t belong to the Marquess of Seabrook, who owned it? She was about to ask him when he held out his hand and demanded, “Give it to me.”

  She ignored him and opened the journal. If he didn’t want her to look at it, of course she had to. She might discover something, and that was all the incentive she needed. He wasn’t going to get rid of her as easily as he had before. She’d do
g his heels until he had no choice but to let her in. Aubriella wanted to find her cousin, or at least, aid in helping.

  She scanned the pages, reading each word. This was absolutely amazing. The historian in her was thrilled to read a firsthand account from that time period.

  “You just found this?” Excitement thrummed through her like electricity buzzing on a live wire.

  “Why do you ask?” he asked in a cautious tone.

  She flipped through the pages more rapidly now. “Oh, this is so interesting—if I’d had this when I wrote my thesis…” Aubriella chewed on her bottom lip and stared down at the pages. “Do you know what this means?”

  Amazing… How long had he had this journal?

  “Why are you still here?” He reached for the book and almost managed to snatch it out of her hands. She jerked back before he fully grasped it.

  “I’m not done reading this.”

  She lifted her hand and brushed one of her rose-gold locks behind her ear. Her focus was on the journal. She was completely engrossed in the contents. Trenton’s presence started to disappear as she studied the words on the page. This was her specialty and she had an accounting of something she’d theorized on. She’d studied history as an undergrad and finished her doctorate after Genevieve disappeared. She’d believed time travel to be possible, but hadn’t been able to figure it out. It was hard to prove something that was more a concept than a reality. She liked the idea of time travel, and that was why she’d studied the possibility of it. The problem was that even though she’d researched it she hadn’t fully believed it possible. This journal though—no better key existed than it. If she had an idea of what time period her cousin had traveled to, she might be able to find her.