Table of Contents
Book Description
Look for these titles by Laura Trentham
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 Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Epilogue
About the Author-Copyright
Can a single night’s deception lead to a lifelong love?
On the eve of her wedding to a man she detests, Brynmore McCann can think of only one way to escape—by ruining herself—but the local lads leave her wholly uninspired. Just as she’s ready to accept her fate, she spots Maxwell Drake, home after nearly a decade. Even though he had loved her sister when they were young, Bryn has always considered him hers, and she can’t think of anyone she’d rather have bed her for the first time. Only she never intends for him to uncover her real name.
Upon returning home, Maxwell is stunned by the news that his father may have left him an inheritance. As the unacknowledged by-blow of a local nobleman, Maxwell struggles with resentment over the way he and his mother were treated by his father and the village. To add to his troubles, he discovers the lass he spent an incredibly satisfying night with was not the village whore, but the high-born sister of his first love. He insists Brynmore travel with him to Edinburgh until they determine if she is with child. Because if she is, she’ll marry him whether she wants to or not.
Along the road to Edinburgh, they are attacked by persons unknown. As the list of suspects who want them dead grows longer and his worries deepen, Maxwell prepares for an even more personal battle—how to keep from surrendering his heart to Brynmore.
Warning: Contains a broody Scotsman, a fiery-haired lass, and a night of passion that changes everything. Readers are encouraged to bring a fan.
Reviews for AN INDECENT INVITATION…
“Trentham is careful not to settle for easy answers or simple explanations, making for a tale full of unexpected twists and turns and emotional complications.” – RT Book Reviews
“Danger, intrigue, and passionate love--what more could a Regency romance lover want? The first in Trentham's (Slow and Steady Rush) "Spies and Lovers" series is a well-written, engaging, and very steamy delight.”--J. Harris, Library Journal
“Witty, compelling, and sensuous, Laura Trentham's is a fabulous new voice in historical romance.” – Valerie Bowman, bestselling Regency author
“5 indecently delicious stars for An Indecent Invitation. I love a well written, clever, and sexy historical romance novel and Laura Trentham delivered!” –Samantha, Ramblings of a young girl blog.
“An Indecent Invitation is a cleverly written novel with romance, comedy, and suspense all rolled up in one.” –Evelyn, Buried Under Romance
“Fans of mystery, suspense, and romance will enjoy this all or nothing tale. A remarkable story with engaging and wickedly seductive characters! A must read!” –April, My Book Addiction
Reviews for A BRAZEN BARGAIN…
“I loved Rafe from the first book and was eager to read his story. It was wonderful! Both of the Spies and Lovers books are fabulous. I love how Laura Trentham draws me into the story in every way. The characters come alive beautifully.”—Lily, Goodreads
“Trentham delivers a compelling novel with hints of Gothic romance and Austen wit.”—Kim, Aloha Book Reviews
“I found this to be an exciting and interesting book. Hot and steamy and pulls just enough heartstrings to make it more than just a quick read.”—Kilts and Sword blog
Author’s Note:
I want to mention a couple of historical footnotes to A Reckless Redemption. The former occupation of Maxwell Drake, the hero, is an exploring officer for Wellington during the Napoleonic Wars. Before this time period, spying was thought to be quite ungentlemanly and to be avoided. But it wasn’t long before Wellington and his officers discovered they knew very little about Portugal or their enemy’s movements and created the Depot of Military Intelligence. It was the precursor to modern spy agencies such as MI-6 or the CIA. Exploring officers began by mapping the countryside, then would move behind enemy lines and send back reports. It was solitary and very dangerous work. The most famous of the exploring officers was Colquhoun Grant, the youngest of eight brothers from the Scots aristocracy.
Another historically significant piece of A Reckless Redemption involves roving gangs of apprentices in Edinburgh. The early nineteenth century was a time of great social upheaval and poverty for many. Work was difficult to find. The young out-of-work apprentices banded together in Edinburgh and took to the streets at night, robbing and beating well-off gentleman they would catch alone. They carried bludgeons and would cry, “Mar him!” before falling onto the unfortunate victims. Their activities culminated in the Tron riot and led to laws giving more power to the police in Edinburgh.
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A Reckless Redemption
Laura Trentham
Look for these titles by Laura Trentham
Historical Romance
Spies and Lovers
An Indecent Invitation, Spies and Lovers Book 1
A Brazen Bargain, Spies and Lovers Book 2
A Reckless Redemption, Spies and Lovers Book 3
A Daring Deception, Spies and Lovers Book 4 (May 2018)
Contemporary Romance
Cottonbloom Novels
Kiss Me That Way, Cottonbloom Book 1
Then He Kissed Me, Cottonbloom Book 2
Till I Kissed You, Cottonbloom Book 3
Candy Cane Christmas, Cottonbloom Novella 3.5
Light Up the Night, Cottonbloom Novella 3.75 (FREE)
Leave the Night On, Cottonbloom Book 4
When the Stars Come Out, Cottonbloom Book 5 (Jan 2018)
Set the Night on Fire, Cottonbloom Book 6 (Aug 2018)
Falcon Football Novels
Slow and Steady Rush, Falcon Football Book 1
Caught Up in the Touch, Falcon Football Book 2
Melting Into You, Falcon Football Book 3
Chapter One
Cragian, Scotland. Winter 1813
Brynmore McCann entered the stables with her head down and her thoughts on the evening’s work. Nerves and dread took up too much room in her body. The biscuits she’d choked down for appearance’s sake at tea attempted to claw their way out. Chuffs and the restless shuffling of hooves registered too late. A viselike grip pinched her upper arm, and she was jerked inside a dim, hay-filled stall.
A big, warm body pressed her into the rough wooden planking of the stall. His smell registered. A strange combination of currants and horse, sweet and earthy. Not unpleasant, but lately, every time she was presented with cur
rant bread or wine, her stomach refused what used to be treats.
“You’ve done your best to ignore me, but I’ve caught you now, haven’t I, you little hellion?” Dugan Armstrong’s husky whisper might have been alluring if it had come from someone else entirely.
“You haven’t caught me yet.” She twisted out of his grip. His fingers would leave their mark on her fair skin by morning. She hated the fear he created in her and tried to hold her ground, but she shuffled backward until the jamb of the stall door halted her escape.
Tall and broad, with blond hair and blue-gray eyes, Dugan was a handsome man with a ready, beguiling smile. The women in Cragian were agog if he treated them to any of his attention. He saved his cruelty for her.
“The papers have been signed. You’ll be mine in two days. I’ll be the first man to ride between those long, lovely legs of yours, and it’s going to hurt. I’ll make sure of it.” His eyes had no depth, no softness. They were like pieces of sharp shale from the riverbed.
He closed the distance between them and swooped in for a kiss. She turned her face away, and wood slivers bit into her cheek. His lips left a damp trail along her jaw. She should fight back. She wanted to fight back, but from experience, she knew her ire only prolonged the agony and gave him a perverse joy.
She ducked under his arm and stumbled out of the stall, wiping her face on her cloak as a shudder of disgust trembled through her. Retreating to the other side of the aisle, she sought comfort in a nuzzle from the nearest horse. She couldn’t marry Dugan. Living destitute would be better, wouldn’t it?
Spoken like someone who’s never been starving, her old friend Eden Drake would have said with an ironic laugh. If her foolhardy plan tonight wasn’t enough to stop the wedding, at the very least, Bryn would take away something Dugan craved above all else. He wanted to be her first lover? He wouldn’t be.
“Two more days, Brynmore.” He stalked out of the stables, slapping a whip against his boots. The noise portended something she couldn’t allow herself to contemplate. She stumbled farther into the stables, passed his horse, and had to look away, repulsed by the marks on his coat.
The very first day he’d trotted into their stable yard when she was only ten, she’d known. He had failed her basic tenet of moral fiber. Dugan Armstrong treated his horse poorly.
Old Cadell, the beloved stableman from her youth, judged a man’s character by the way he treated his stock, and Bryn had embraced the philosophy. The lashes on the flanks of Dugan’s bay gelding only reaffirmed her belief.
She slipped into her horse’s stall, huddled in the corner, and rested her chin on tucked knees. Her ancient piebald dropped its head to nudge her shoulder and chuff in her ear while she stripped hay into countless pieces. Would anyone notice if she burrowed into the hay and hid like a mouse?
Bryn was perfectly content to remain a spinster at four and twenty. How then had she ended up in this mess? Her half sister, Mary, along with her husband, Craddock, had devised the match and sprung it on her like a trap.
Wielding her tongue like a rapier, Mary had deftly parried Bryn’s arguments and entreaties to stay the marriage. Her sister had been born knowing when to inflict small, torturing cuts and when to eviscerate. Bryn didn’t have the skill or stomach to respond in kind. Experience urged her to hide, as she’d done all her life. Only this time her problems surrounded her like a brick wall with nowhere to hide, nowhere to retreat.
The crunch of stone penetrated her reverie. She popped up and laid her arms across the low stall door. Bryn’s maid kicked stones along the path. Wearing her best blue dress with a narrow tartan in soft gold and greens cinching a tiny waist, Sarah looked as grim and determined as Bryn felt.
Multiple braids of rich chestnut hair wound from her temples and intersected at her nape. Sarah’s hair was her crowning glory, making her plain, even features special. Bryn fingered the ends of the ghastly red mop hanging to her shoulders. No amount of pins could confine the mess.
“Lud, we aren’t paying a call to Lady MacShane.” Bryn tried to inject a teasing lilt to offset her jumping nerves.
Sarah fluttered hands around her hair, tucking and patting, ruddy color bursting on her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. You’ll be attending to your… well, your business, and there are all sorts of extra lads in town for your nuptials.”
A horrid stew bubbled in Bryn’s stomach. “Don’t remind me. The charming groom-to-be just accosted me.”
“What did he say? Did he hurt you?” Sarah propped her hands on her hips, looking ready to do battle. The man had almost everyone fooled. But not Sarah.
“The usual threats. My wedding night would be a painful experience with any man, but Dugan wants to make it extra-special.”
Sarah covered Bryn’s hands over the edge of the stall door and squeezed. “Tonight you’ll thwart him.”
“He’ll hate me even more for it, and my sister’s not likely to be understanding about the situation either. I worry it won’t be enough.”
“Not enough?” Sarah asked in a tart voice. “What else can you sacrifice? Lady Mary—forgive me for saying this about your blood kin—but she only sees what will make her richer and raise her standing in society. As Ma would say, she’s a grubber. If she were any sort of sister, she would abide by your wishes.”
Bryn didn’t argue the point, as she happened to agree wholeheartedly. Instead, she went to work saddling the old piebald. Sarah scooted into the stall to help. She was more a sister to Bryn than Mary would ever be.
After Bryn’s mother died birthing a stillborn son, Bryn and Sarah had roamed the hills together and spent hours trailing Sarah’s mother, the housekeeper, or idling in the stables with Cadell. Too soon, however, their carefree youths had ended.
Sarah had begun her training for housework, and Mary declared Bryn had turned into too much of a heathen for polite society. Fruitless hours were spent drilling Bryn about silverware, the courses of a formal dinner, the intricacies of embroidery, the pianoforte, and watercolors—the typical education of a young lady of a certain means.
Bryn and Sarah shared her piebald mount, pressed close for warmth. Bryn nudged the horse out of the stables and into the January cold. The ground was frozen but clear. It wouldn’t be for long. Clouds gathered far in the west, dark and ominous in the dimming rays of light. Snow was nigh.
“You could have worn something a bit more enticing.” Sarah locked her hands tightly around Bryn’s waist.
Bryn peeled her cloak open, but the wind barely penetrated the brown, worsted fabric of her dress. Buttoned to the neck, loose around her bosom—like most of her garments—and with long sleeves, the dress was practical, not fashionable. But the woodsy color tempered the red streaks in her hair and matched her eyes.
“It’s not like I had much choice. Every dress I own is either brown or gray. Unless you think I should have worn my breeches?” Bryn asked with a small huffing laugh.
“Perhaps you should have. You’d likely get all sorts of ungentlemanly attention in those. That’s your aim, isn’t it?” Sarah’s soft voice in her ear sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
“I suppose so.” Heat rushed to her face. “I’m nervous. I’ve never flirted or played coy with a man.”
“You’re not trying to get one of the lads to court you, for goodness’ sake.” Sarah paused, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I managed to ask Agnes a few questions after the nooning meal.”
Bryn twisted on the saddle, her heart stuttering into a faster rhythm at the sight of Sarah’s grimace. “What did she say?”
“She said men couldn’t care less who they lay with. It’s an itch they need to scratch. Sometimes they don’t even bother with a bed. They lift her skirts, do their business, and leave without so much as a kiss or a thank-you.” Sarah tried to mask her shock and distress, but the squeak in her voice betrayed her.
With a shaking hand, Bryn tucked her hair behind her ears, but the wind negated her efforts. �
��That’s good news, isn’t it? It could be finished in a matter of moments. Did she say anything about pain?” She gnawed at the inside of her mouth until the tang of blood hit her tongue.
“She said the first time might hurt a little, but no more than a little prick. Then the half-wit nearly fell over laughing, and that’s all I could get out of her.”
“Am I doing the right thing?” Bryn’s voice quavered. Her hands stiffened, drawing the horse to a halt.
“If you do nothing, Dugan and Mary get everything they want. If you go through with your plan, the marriage can’t proceed.”
Bryn wasn’t as confident of the outcome. Sarah hadn’t seen the determination on Mary’s face and in her voice. A niggling sense of foreboding fluttered in Bryn’s chest. She’d interrupted enough whispered conversations to know some piece of vital information was being withheld.
The entire endeavor was Bryn’s idea, and she would need to bear the possible consequences. “I’ll be ruined. If Mary throws me out—”
“You have friends hereabouts and in Edinburgh, don’t forget. Worry about that only if it comes to pass.” Sarah gave her a reassuring squeeze. Bryn nudged them onward, her hands trembling and her shoulders tense, but a steely resolve fortified her bones.
The edge of Cragian materialized through the winter dusk. Bryn guided them to the inn’s stables. “If I’m occupied, you’re to ride the horse home. I don’t want questions raised until morning.”
Bryn ignored Sarah’s cutting, worry-filled glance. Leading the way into Cragian’s only inn, Bryn forced her hands to her sides in a show of calm. Inside, she seethed with anxiety, fear of the unknown, and even a dash of justified vengeance.
A handful of local lads called out greetings, but most of the men packed into the common room were strangers. Strangers were good. Their masters and mistresses were at the house, enjoying Mary and Craddock’s hospitality for the evening.
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