Raves for the Novels
of Tracy Anne Warren
“An exceptionally entertaining Regency historical [that] offers readers a delectable combination of lushly elegant writing and lusciously sensual romance.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Warren’s emotionally wrought protagonists are beautifully portrayed.”
—Library Journal
“I loved this story! LOVED IT! Warren delivers exactly what I’m looking for in historical romance! Sexy and wildly emotional… should be on the top of all historical romance lovers’ to-be-read list.”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“Warren is masterful at her craft, creating a story full of a rich story line, peopled with interesting, intriguing characters, [and] weaved with decadent seduction.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Another top-notch read from Ms. Warren.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Warren crafts an unforgettable Regency in this compelling blend of bliss and angst.… True emotional ambrosia. Fabulous.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“Trumps most of the paranormal and contemporary romances that I’ve read—ever.… Engrossing… I didn’t put it down once.”
—The Eclectic Book Lover
“Another fabulous story… Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed is definitely remaining on my keeper shelf and is most assuredly one of my picks for a Selected Read.”
—Romance at Heart Magazine
“Seduced by His Touch is one book that I would never part with; it goes on my bookshelf with my other keeper novels, to be brought out and read while waiting for the next masterpiece from this author. Brilliant!”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“A terrific Regency romance.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“A rich book full of elegance, desire, and romance.… Tracy Anne Warren sketches a magnificent tale that grasps hold of the reader.… This is one impressive read that I will always remember.”
—Coffee Time Romance
“Readers are gifted with the awe-inspiring genius of Ms. Warren’s talents.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Warren’s wickedly wonderful and witty romances enchant readers and have made her a shining star.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)
TRACY ANNE
WARREN
A SIGNET BOOK
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58020-2
First Printing, April 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © Tracy Anne Warren, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Printed in the United States of America
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For all those who dare to dream
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Her Highness and the Highlander
Prologue
The Scottish Highlands
September 1815
Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Rosewald stared at the letter held within her eighteen-year-old grasp, her fingers grown icy against the elegant cream-colored vellum. It was a lucky happenstance, she realized, that she’d seated herself in one of the school chairs in her small tower bedchamber before she’d broken open the thick red wax seal that bore her brother’s royal crest. Otherwise, she feared her knees would have given way and she’d presently be sprawled in an ignominious heap on the castle’s unforgiving stone floor.
“Well? What does it say?” her friend Mercedes asked from where she sat opposite, the words coming to Emma’s ears as if from a great distance.
“Obviously nothing good,” her friend Ariadne declared. “Can you not see she’s gone pale as a ghost?” Reaching across from where she too sat among their cozy group of three, Ariadne began chaffing Emma’s hands. The letter crinkled slightly beneath their joint touch. “Fetch the smelling salts, Mercedes. It won’t do to have her faint.”
Mercedes stood, the skirts of her pink silk day dress falling into neat folds around her trim ankles. Emma had always secretly envied Mercedes’s pleasingly curvaceous figure, as Emma’s own frame was on the willowy side of slender. Mercedes’s rich sable hair was beautiful as well, a deep shade that provided a stark contrast to Ariadne’s reddish blond locks and Emma’s own shining golden tresses.
But Emma reached out to stop Mercedes. “No, stay where you are,” she said. “I am not an old woman. And I have no need of a restorative.”
Ariadne’s strawberry blond brows drew tight in obvious disagreement, her green eyes fierce behind the rectangular lenses of her spectacles. “No need? You look nearly ready to expire on the floor. Get the salts, Mercedes!”
�
�No!” Emma stated in a voice that rang with the authority of four centuries of royal command. “Do not fetch the salts.”
“But—” Mercedes sputtered.
“You know how I detest that foul-smelling brew,” Emma said, wrinkling her pert nose at the idea. “Truly, it is unnecessary. I was overset for a moment, I admit, but I have recovered now.”
She lifted her chin and met the concerned gazes of the two young women who were her closest friends at Countess Hortensia’s Academy for Elegant Young Ladies of Royal and Noble Birth. As princesses themselves living in a country far from their homelands, Mercedes and Ariadne had always understood her better than anyone else.
Emma gave them what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
“So,” Mercedes pressed in a quiet tone, her chocolate brown eyes wide with worry, “what does the letter say?”
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but there were no words. Instead, she thrust the missive toward them.
Their two heads, one light and one dark, bent close to read.
“Oh, he cannot have done!” Mercedes exclaimed.
“It would appear that he has,” Ariadne stated condemningly, her bow-shaped lips pursed as she looked up once more. “Try as I might, Emma, I have never much cared for your brother. This”—she shook the letter between two fingers as though it reeked of the refuse bin—“has in no way improved my opinion. Of all the cold, arrogant—”
“You know Rupert is under a great deal of strain these days,” Emma defended loyally, “what with the Congress of Vienna redrawing half the territorial boundaries of Europe. The countries with the most power are busy carving up weaker ones for their own benefit and eliminating scores of others. I am sure he has agreed to this only as a way of preserving the sovereignty of Rosewald.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Emma wished she could retract them, seeing the stricken expression on Ariadne’s face. Of all people, Ariadne had the most reason to know about the reapportionment of lands in Europe. First had come the tragic death of her family during the war. Then, only a few weeks ago, she had learned the dreadful news that her nation was being dissolved, its lands annexed by another country. As Ariadne had remarked at the time, she was a princess now in name only, left without a country or a home.
“I can well understand the prince’s desire to defend and maintain his kingdom,” Ariadne said in a deliberately calm voice. “But that doesn’t mean he has to do so by marrying you off to a man three times your age.”
“Twice,” Mercedes piped up in a helpful tone. “I believe King Otto is in his late thirties.”
Ariadne gave an indelicate snort that would have earned her a scold from the headmistress had she heard it. “Twice? Three times? He is far too old for a girl of eighteen. Surely your brother could have come up with a solution other than forcing you into a cold, dynastic marriage.”
Taking the letter back from Mercedes, Emma folded it neatly in half. “If he could, I am certain he would have done so. Rupert loves me,” she added, trying to reassure herself as much as the others.
“Perhaps. But he loves his country more,” Ariadne said.
Emma drew in a breath. “Father is old and ill and Rupert will succeed him soon. He is simply doing his duty.”
Silence fell as the three young princesses contemplated Emma’s fate.
“I suppose your news is only to be expected,” Mercedes mused with a sigh of resignation.
“Mercedes, how can you say such a thing?” Ariadne turned to her, aghast. “Have you no care for Emma’s feelings?”
Before Mercedes could defend herself, Emma broke in.
“No. She’s right,” Emma said in a firm voice. “Having a marriage arranged for me should not have come as a surprise. It is the way things are done—at least it is if you are royal.”
“But, Em—” Ariadne began.
Emma shook her head, ignoring the knot of misery wedged like a stone within her chest. “Life is not like one of the Minerva Press novels the other girls are always sneaking into school. As much as each of us might dream of finding a true and perfect love, of meeting a gallant knight who will sweep us off our feet and give us a lifetime of happiness, such ideas are naught but fantasies. Other girls, even aristocratic ones, may hope to find affection in their marriages. We do not have that luxury.”
“We should,” Ariadne declared bitterly. “You’ve said yourself how wrong it is that women are bartered and sold into wedlock, no better than pawns on a chessboard.”
She met her friend’s outraged expression, a numbness spreading through her veins. “Yes, but the time has come to put aside girlish dreams. We are princesses, born to a life of privilege and wealth. With such rewards come obligations. Much as I might wish for more, for love, I shall fulfill my duties.”
“Without so much as a protest?” Ariadne said.
“What would be the point when I shall only lose in the end?”
Ariadne huffed in disgust. “Perhaps I am an idealist—yes, yes, I know that I am—but nothing shall ever change for our sex if we remain silent.”
“You’ve been reading too many texts by Mrs. Wollstonecraft and her like,” Emma remarked, well aware of the radical literature her friend managed to sneak into the castle with the help of a like-minded correspondent who hid the works inside the dry religious tracts Ariadne received in the post.
“The bluestockings are shockingly daring,” Mercedes remarked in a hushed tone. “Personally, I wouldn’t have the nerve.”
Ariadne sent her an encouraging look. “You have a great deal more nerve than you think, if only you would apply yourself to the effort.”
Mercedes shook her head. “You’re the brave one, Arie. I could never go against the rules. If my parents even knew we talked of such things…” She gave a delicate shudder.
“Or mine,” Emma agreed. “Which is why I must go when my brother sends the coach.”
Mercedes’s mouth turned down, and she dabbed at her suddenly damp eyes with her silk handkerchief. “The letter said you are to leave next week. Must you go so soon?”
The pain in Emma’s chest returned at the reminder. “I expect I must.” A sudden burst of fear rushed through her. Leaning forward, she reached for the other girls’ hands, clutching them inside her own. “Promise me we won’t lose touch. Promise me that, no matter what, we shall always remain friends. That we shall visit. That we shall be each other’s strength, comfort, and best hope.”
“Of course we shall,” Mercedes exclaimed. “I could not bear to lose you. You know that.”
Emma waited, unsure of her other friend’s answer, especially in light of their disagreement. But then Ariadne’s hand tightened around hers, gripping hard and fast. “Yes, you have my faithful promise,” Ariadne said. “The three of us are—and shall always be—the very best of friends. Sisters not by blood but by choice.”
“Sisters by choice,” the three of them solemnly recited together. “Forever.”
Chapter 1
“How is it possible that my brother has been delayed again?” Emma demanded nearly a month later, her nuncheon growing cold on her plate. “He was supposed to arrive by week’s end.”
“Unforeseen circumstances have arisen,” her chaperone, the Duchess of Weissmuller, responded. “The prince sends his apologies and begs your continued indulgence, Your Highness. As you know, he is an extremely busy man.”
“But how much longer will he be? And why did he not write to me himself?”
The duchess, who was the widow of Rosewald’s former ambassador to Britain, raised a single jet-black eyebrow at Emma’s outburst. “That is for the prince to know and for you not to trouble yourself about.”
Her chaperone’s dark eyes were cool with reprimand—not surprising, Emma knew, since the middle-aged woman didn’t approve of outbursts. Nor did she approve of questions from young ladies who were in possession of too many opinions.
“His Highness sent word through his envoy that he shall arrive in due time,” the duches
s added, raising her wineglass for a careful sip. “Until then, we must be content to wait.”
Oh, must we? Emma repeated sarcastically to herself.
But she had waited.
And waited some more, confined inside a large estate on the outskirts of London.
In the three weeks since her arrival from the academy, she’d seen nothing beyond the estate’s boundaries. And to think she’d considered herself isolated in Scotland. How mistaken she had been.
As for companionship, there was only the duchess, the servants, and a dance master who had come twice to the house in order to refresh her abilities on the dance floor. But even the prospect of future balls and entertainments had done nothing to lighten Emma’s spirits. Because, in spite of the luxuriously appointed house and grounds, she’d come to know how the canaries felt, trapped inside their elegant cages in the upstairs drawing room. Did they cry out for freedom when they sang? she wondered. Did they wish, as she did, to take flight?
If only she were allowed to visit London and see the sights, visit a shop or two, the passing weeks wouldn’t have seemed nearly so bad. But any visit to London must be an official one with a presentation at the English court—or so Duchess Weissmuller informed her whenever Emma dared broach the topic. Until Rupert arrived, she wasn’t to go anywhere.
If he ever does arrive! she thought, thoroughly exasperated with her older brother.
Daily, she wished she were back at Countess Hortensia’s Academy with Ariadne and Mercedes. She’d exchanged several letters with them, always taking care to sound far less miserable than she truly was. After all, she didn’t want to alarm them with the truth. Instead she talked about the house, the army of servants, the delicious food, and the beautiful pianoforte that she had the luxury of playing anytime she liked, day or night. She told them about all the places she planned to see in the city. But for now such ideas were nothing more than wishful dreams.
Speaking of wishes, she mused with wry irony, she wished with all her heart that Rupert would change his mind about the dynastic marriage he planned to arrange for her—or at least allow her some say in it. King Otto was a stranger, after all. She hadn’t even seen a likeness of him, so how could she possibly contemplate becoming his wife? Or bearing his children? Or reigning for a lifetime at his side? The very idea made her throat tighten and her palms grow slick with perspiration.
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