A Carnal Agreement (Regency Intrigue Book 1)

by Silvia Violet

  Contents

  Title

  Blurb

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Thank You

  Author Bio

  Titles by Silvia Violet

  Cassandra Braxton's husband, Viscount Reddington, made her life hell. When he’s murdered, she cannot mourn him, especially when he continues to plague her from beyond the grave. His will stipulates that she cannot claim her inheritance unless she has a child. The clause is a cruel joke. Reddington never consummated the marriage.

  Refusing to be defeated, Cassandra conspires to keep Reddington's death a secret. She goes to the home of Mark Foxwood, a handsome rake she’s admired from afar, and makes an outrageous proposition.

  After being mocked by a woman he loved, Mark Foxwood retires to the country to spend the winter months alone. When Cassandra breezes into his study, he is aroused and provoked by her determination. As the two grow closer, Mark realizes Cassandra’s open, honest passion may be the only thing that can save him from despair.

  A Carnal Agreement by Silvia Violet

  Copyright © 2007, 2016 by Silvia Violet

  Cover art by Meredith Russell

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in the United States of America.

  A Carnal Agreement is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Meredith, who furthered my love for history and demanded the best from my writing. Thank you for giving me the confidence to write this book.

  London, June 1818

  Cassandra Braxton, Viscountess Reddington, rarely moved in society, but this Season she felt an obligation to lend her sister moral support as Amanda made her debut. Cassandra was no fan of overly crowded balls filled with pushy mamas eager to see their young daughters married off. But for the sake of her sister, she was willing to endure almost anything.

  She’d been tempted to acquire a sudden headache and excuse herself from the festivities on this particular evening, though. Cassandra’s aunt and her sister were attending an engagement ball given in honor of Cassandra’s former schoolmate, Lady Katherine Wentworth. When Cassandra left Miss Langford’s Academy for Young Ladies, she’d hoped she would never lay eyes on Katherine again.

  Alas she had seen her former schoolmate several times in the last few years, once in a rather compromising position. Now Katherine was to marry the Earl of Southwood, a man known for his quiet, bookish nature, a strange catch for a woman such as she.

  The party proceeded as any other. Cassandra circulated dutifully through the ballroom and several small salons, skillfully avoiding Katherine and other young ladies she was loathe to converse with. When time came for the formal announcement of the betrothal and the ensuing congratulatory speeches, she breathed a sigh of relief. She could soon return home and seek her bed.

  Katherine’s father droned on and Cassandra’s attention wandered. She observed a rather striking man standing in one of the doorways leading to the balcony. He was nearly concealed by a large potted plant, but she saw him well enough to tell he wore no jacket. His cravat was untied, and his waistcoat wretchedly crumpled. One might suppose he’d been in an altercation or had scaled the side of the house to reach the balcony rather than using the stairs.

  Cassandra took a few steps back from the crowd to better study this curious man. He was tall, several inches over six feet and more muscular than most men of the ton. He looked as if he used his body for things far more vigorous than driving a curricle through Hyde Park. His golden hair and the powerful lines of his face made her think of a lion on the prowl. Something about him seemed familiar though surely she would remember the occasion if they had been formally introduced. He was not a man many women would forget.

  As he drained his glass of champagne, he flashed a wicked smile. What was he up to?

  Cassandra forced herself to stop staring before anyone noticed her inappropriate attention. Katherine’s brother was giving the engaged couple his blessings. He blathered on about what an upstanding man Southwood was when the stranger from the balcony approached the family as if he intended to give the next speech.

  Intrigued, Cassandra worked her way through the throng to stand closer to the unfolding drama.

  Katherine’s brother stopped mid-sentence, and the stranger took the pause as his cue to begin. “I couldn’t resist taking this opportunity to give my congratulations.”

  Frantic whispers rustled through the crowd. Lady Bowerton looked as if she might faint. Katherine’s face grew red, and she stepped between the two men.

  The intriguing man turned to face the crowd. “I can see you didn’t expect me. But since I’m here, I thought the happy couple would be offended if I failed to offer a toast.” He looked down at his empty champagne glass. “Blast! It's empty.”

  “You have had quite enough, sir,” Katherine said. “It would be best if you left before embarrassing yourself further.”

  “Oh no, my dear.” He dared to reach out and stroke her face. “Learning your true nature has made me more sober than I’ve ever been.”

  Suddenly Cassandra realized why the man looked familiar. A year ago, she had come to London to discover the true measure of her husband’s depravity. Katherine had attended one of her husband’s orgiastic parties, and this man had been her escort.

  He reached around Katherine and relieved Southwood of his champagne. The earl’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. Cassandra expected footmen to come forward and remove the intruder, but even the servants appeared too fascinated to move.

  The man smiled and raised his glass. “To an old school chum.” He looked at Southwood. “Congratulations on securing the hand of the coldest bitch in all of London.”

  The intruder downed his champagne in one swallow as chaos erupted in the ballroom. He walked away before any of Katherine’s stunned relatives could respond, and his path brought him toward Cassandra. As he moved past her, his arm brushed her bare shoulder. The heat of his body was a shock to her system. When she steadied herself, she searched the crowd for him, but he was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  January 1819

  Once Mark Foxwood made the decision to leave London, he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  The jolting carriage provided little comfort, but it was the best money could buy. While Gillinvray had never officially recognized him, being the duke’s bastard had some advantages. His father showered him with money and gifts, and bored society women flocked to men who stood at the edge of their world. Of course, his lack of bloodline played merry hell with his worth in the marriage market.

  He’d had given up the r
omantic fantasy of marrying and having a family of his own, and he had damn sure given up the notion of falling in love. Katherine had seen to that.

  Since making an ass of himself at her engagement ball, Mark had tried his damnedest to blot her from his mind. But neither the gallons of liquor he drank, nor the endless stream of women he bedded helped.

  He’d spent evenings in the lowest, scariest drinking holes he could find, beating the stuffing out of more than one of London’s lowlifes. Still, he dreamed of Katherine, her soft, lush body, the light in her eyes when she cried out his name. He’d thought her passion genuine. But it had all been a game.

  He slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. Damn her for her treachery!

  The vehicle slowed to a stop, and a footman appeared at the door. “Yes, sir?”

  “Why have we stopped?”

  The footman averted his gaze. “You knocked, sir.”

  “That wasn’t a knock. Tell the driver I expect to reach Devon by nightfall. And look at me when I speak to you.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy looked up, but he failed to keep the quiver from his voice.

  Mark cringed at the fear he had put in the boy’s eyes. The lad could not be more than fifteen. Since when had Mark become such a tyrant?

  Katherine, you vicious bitch! See what you’ve reduced me to.

  He sighed and closed his eyes. If he did nothing else in this new year, he would stop wallowing in grief. Months of excess had not rid him of his memories, so he would purge his mind with asceticism, wintering in the country and continuing a series of improvements on Northamberly, the partially ruined castle given him by his father—or rather his patron as Gillinvray preferred to be called.

  He told no one where he was going, and he hoped to God no one had the audacity to come looking for him. He especially didn’t want to see any of his mistresses. An overabundance of sex had not served to drag him out of hell, perhaps a few months of celibacy would do the trick.

  Part of his mind, the sensible part, told him he couldn’t survive months without the company of a woman, but he was determined. If he wanted to truly live again, he had to rid himself of this curse Katherine had set on him. If living like a monk would cure him, that was exactly what he would do.

  ***

  Devon, three days later

  A child? Cassandra’s husband had known better than anyone how impossible that was. She’d guessed he would find a way to plague her from beyond the grave, and he had.

  For three years she’d suffered the humiliation of being Lady Reddington, never thinking she might be freed from her chains so soon. But now, when her inheritance could protect her sisters from a similar fate, she learned that no money would be forthcoming.

  Mr. Jenkins, her solicitor, had worked for Lord Reddington’s family for decades. He understood the cruelty they were capable of, but, unfortunately, he saw no way to break the will. The clause sealing her fate was completely legal. But she’d asked Mr. Jenkins to remain at Reddington Abbey on the wild hope that somehow they would find a solution.

  Once she made arrangements for the solicitor to be shown to one of the guest rooms, she donned her riding habit and headed for the stables. Even the sight of Artemis, her beloved mare, did little to improve her mood.

  The air was bitterly cold. Martin, the head groom, asked her more than once if she truly wanted to venture out. In the state she was in, she doubted she would even feel the wind. Riding had been her only taste of freedom during her marriage, and she was desperate to escape the confines of the house.

  As Cassandra galloped across the fields, faster and faster, her cares lifted. She no longer had to think, only to feel. She longed to keep flying free, but she slowed as she and Artemis approached the base of the cliffs, which obscured her view of the sea. Artemis could only cover the rocky terrain at a walk, and while Cassandra had allowed herself a brief escape, she needed to face her dilemma head on.

  As she pulled her wrap tighter against the cold, the words of Reddington’s will echoed in her head. No matter how many times she went over them, she had no idea how to beat Reddington at his final game. Of course, like all his schemes, it was genius. How could she have had a child when he… No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Such memories would only lead her deeper into despair.

  There had to be a way around his stipulation. She couldn’t let Reddington ruin her chance for freedom, not after everything she had suffered at his hands.

  When they reached the cliff top, Cassandra brought Artemis to a stop and looked out at the sea. The presence of a rider on the beach arrested her attention. None of the villagers had reason to be out in this frigid wind. No gentlemen from the area had the equestrian skills to negotiate his way down. None of her neighbors were so tall or golden-haired, nor did they move with the grace she observed as the man dismounted in one fluid motion.

  When he turned in her direction, she was suddenly back in London at Katherine Wentworth’s engagement ball. The alluring stranger. His daring toast. This was the same man.

  In the ensuing whirlwind after he left the ball, she’d managed to discover his name, Mark Foxwood. He was rumored to be an unprincipled rake of the first water, the bastard son of the Duke of Gillinvray, and Katherine’s former lover.

  Now as Mr. Foxwood stood on the beach below her, her heart raced. She had been unable to put him from her mind since that evening. Night after night he had appeared in her dreams.

  What was he doing in this remote, unfashionable part of Devon? As she pondered, she remembered a conversation overheard last week in the milliners. Northamberly, the half-ruined castle on the parcel of land next to hers, was to have a resident after years of vacancy. She’d known it was owned by someone connected to Gillinvray, but she had been unaware Mr. Foxwood had property nearby. Gillinvray gifting the damp, drafty castle to his bastard made perfect sense. It was nothing a legitimate son would care to inherit.

  As she continued to watch Foxwood, inspiration hit like lightning. He might just be the answer to her prayers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You’re going to do what?” Cassandra had never seen Mr. Jenkins so flustered, not even when she’d told him of Reddington’s death.

  “I’m going to conceive a child,” Cassandra repeated. “The will says I must have a child, but surely if I’m carrying one, that will be sufficient.”

  Mr. Jenkins nodded. “It would, my lady, but—”

  “It’s the only solution. No one knows Reddington’s dead. We will postpone the announcement of his death as long as we can.”

  Mr. Jenkins stared at her as though she were some exotic creature in a menagerie. “I don’t know how long—”

  She interrupted him again. “Three months. Give me three months. If I’m not with child by then, I will start looking for a position as a governess or companion. It’s unlikely an English family will have me after my association with Reddington, but my French is excellent, and I can always go to America if I must.”

  “Certainly such action won’t be necessary, my lady,” Mr. Jenkins replied. “I would be glad to assist you in finding a situation more comfortable for you.”

  “While I am grateful for your offer, I cannot settle for such unless I make every effort to thwart Reddington first. I have spent my whole life being controlled by others. I want an opportunity to be on my own.”

  Cassandra turned toward her husband's valet, Loring. He'd been more of a friend to her than anyone in the household, and she hoped he would see the sense of her plan.

  “Do you really think we can hide his death so long, my lady?” Loring asked.

  “I don’t see why not. You said he had little contact with his London friends while in Paris. Besides, it’s winter and hardly anyone is in town.”

  “What about the fact I have returned?” Loring asked. “While I took care not to appear at Reddington House, I might have been seen in London. We cannot hide my presence for long.”

  “We simply say Reddington finally tired of yo
u trying to curb his excesses and turned you out. When I learned of his actions, I insisted you remain with the family.”

  “I suppose such an explanation is plausible,” Mr. Jenkins said. “But I do have one serious concern.”

  He paused and his face reddened. Cassandra guessed what he intended to ask, but she didn’t want to volunteer more than she had to. “What is it, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “Who will you get to… assist you in producing this child?”

  “Ah. I saw the perfect candidate when I went riding this morning: Mark Foxwood.”

  “No!” Mr. Jenkins yelped.

  Loring choked on his tea.

  Cassandra bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I don’t see why not. He’s unmarried, and his reputation indicates he’d be more than willing. I believe he’s spending the winter at Northamberly Castle.”

  Loring shook his head vehemently. “I cannot agree to it, Lady Reddington. I could not permit you to so much as dance with a man like Foxwood. He’s one of the worst rakes in London.”

  “He’s exactly the sort of man I need for a scheme like this. It’s hardly something a gentleman would agree to.”

  “Nor is it something a lady should do,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Give me a few days to research the will. There may be a way to break it that I hadn’t thought of.” A troubled looked passed over his face, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I might even be convinced to lose the will if necessary.”

  “No.” Cassandra barely restrained herself from leaping out of her chair. “I will not permit you to further compromise your integrity for me. You are already on shaky ground for helping me hide his death.”