by Bold, Diana
He sighed. “I was just thinking about Ethan. Ever since Harding approached me about bringing him home, I’ve been trying to think of what I could possibly say that would convince him to do so. I regret what I did to him nearly as much as I regret my actions regarding you.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. “You’ll never truly be at peace until you reach out to him. I think you should write to him. Tell him you’re sorry and ask him if he’ll come home for our wedding.”
He stared at her, then smiled. “Do you truly think it could be that easy?”
She shrugged. “I can’t say what his reaction will be. But all you can do is try. You can apologize and ask him to be a part of your life once again. Even if he refuses, you’ll have done what you could to make things right.”
Impulsively, he reached out and hugged her tightly, uncaring that everyone in the room could see them. It wasn’t as if any of them would be scandalized, and he just really needed to hold this incredible woman for a moment. She’d made his life better than he’d ever thought it could be, and he couldn’t wait to make her his bride.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re absolutely right. All I can do is tell him how very sorry I am and hope that he is as willing to forgive me as you have been.”
“You are a good man, Julian,” she murmured, pressing her lips tenderly to the curve of his throat, sending a shaft of pure heat through him. “Once he gets to know you again, I’m sure he’ll love you as much as I do.”
He closed his eyes briefly, treasuring the moment, and then laughed and stepped back. “I’ll write to him tonight,” he assured her. “And then we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
She gestured around the room. “No matter what happens, you have a lot of people who love you.”
He nodded. He’d made many mistakes in his life, but he still had good friends and a good woman to love. “I’m a very lucky man.”
She cast a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching them, then gave him a look filled with heated promise. “I’ll leave my bedroom window open tonight, if you’d like to be even luckier.”
He laughed heartily and hugged her again. His little spinster had finally become the passionate woman he’d always known she could be.
The End
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If you loved SEDUCING THE SPINSTER and would like to read the other stories in the BRIDES OF SCANDAL series, follow the links below!
GAMBLING ON THE DUKE’S DAUGHTER – Dylan and Natalia
MARRYING THE AMERICAN HEIRESS – Michael and Emma
FINDING THE BLACK ORCHID – Ethan and Jessalyn
OTHER BOOKS BY DIANA Bold
ONCE A PIRATE
ONCE A GUNSLINGER
ONCE A BANDIT
ONCE AN OUTLAW
MASKED INTENTIONS
MASKED PROMISES
A KNIGHT IN ATLANTIS
FORTUNE'S GAMBLE
Read on for an excerpt of GAMBLING ON THE DUKE’S DAUGHTER, the first book in the BRIDES OF SCANDAL series.
Chapter One
London, 1867
The Earl of Warren’s London townhouse stood in fashionable Grosvenor Square. The Palladian monstrosity with its imposing white columns had been in the Blake family for generations. On this particular May evening, every window blazed with light, even though dawn would break in a matter of hours.
Dylan Blake, the earl’s youngest son, paid the driver of the hired hack that had brought him and alighted from the vehicle with a jaunty step. His black velvet cloak whipped in the chill spring breeze, and the solid weight of his dress sword bumped against his thigh. He strode toward the red brick mansion, which had never felt like a home, with rebellion in his heart.
Half a dozen footmen in deep blue livery waited on the front steps, their faces impassive as they shivered in the cold. One of the young men bowed deeply and hurried to open the door, letting the festive sounds of laughter and music drift out into the night. Dylan grinned at the lad as he crossed the threshold.
The midnight supper had ended but plenty of guests remained for the dancing. His timing couldn’t have been better.
The butler, Wadsworth, lifted a disapproving brow as Dylan entered, but the old man was too well-trained to chide his employee’s son for his late arrival. “Shall I announce you, sir?”
Dylan nodded, his blood pounding with the thrill of having thwarted one of his father’s plans. Childish, he knew, to continually provoke the man, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.
Surrendering his cloak to one of the footmen, Dylan followed the aging butler up the grand staircase with its intricately carved banisters, then down the long hall that led to the ballroom. He was dressed for effect tonight in his scarlet military regalia, his medals and gold epaulets flashing in the candlelight. They passed several aristocratic guests along the way, but Dylan ignored their stares and whispers.
The heady scents of beeswax and roses assaulted his senses as he entered the ballroom. The laughter and buzz of conversation indicated the earl’s privileged guests were having a good time.
Dylan scanned the crowd, his smile widening. He hadn’t been to one of these affairs in more than a decade, but nothing had changed. Society girls in elaborate gowns still whirled around the parquet dance floor on the arms of suitable young gentlemen. Titled matrons still schemed and plotted from the corners as the older men congregated in small groups, looking bored.
When the last notes of the current waltz faded away, Wadsworth cleared his throat. “The Honorable Captain Dylan Blake.”
For a moment, utter silence reigned. Scores of interested nobles craned their necks for a glimpse of the earl’s prodigal son, home at last after twelve long years of dedicated service to the Crown.
Dylan met his father’s furious gaze. He smiled, then turned his back and skirted the gleaming dance floor. Let the old bastard come to me. His days of seeking the old man’s favor were long past.
After an awkward pause, the music started up again, as did the whispers.
Julian Tremaine, Lord Basingstoke, who was Dylan’s only friend in this whole crowd, strode toward him. Dressed in austere black, as usual, the earl’s eyes glinted with welcome. “Blake! Where the hell have you been?”
Dylan shrugged, amused by the knowledge that everyone else wanted to know the same thing. “I had a prior engagement.”
Basingstoke stared at him for a moment, then chuckled in admiration. “You were with Cassandra, weren’t you?” He shook his head in astonishment. “Has there ever been a woman you couldn’t get, once you set your mind to it?”
“Never.” Dylan grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a long, appreciative drink. “It’s the uniform. Besides, I’m making up for lost time. I was in the Army for a bloody long time, you know.”
Basingstoke laughed, then sobered and nodded in Warren’s direction. “Well, I hope she was worth it. Your father was furious when you didn’t show up for dinner. Threw off the whole thing. Uneven number, and all that.”
Exactly one hundred of London’s most elite and fashionable attended Warren’s annual ball. Because of its exclusivity, the ton considered an invitation to be the height of social accomplishment.
The earl had debated long and hard about allowing his younger son to attend. By selling out early in his career, Dylan had taken the place of some far more deserving social climber. The earl had lectured Dylan endlessly about the importance of the occasion and threatened vague, dire consequences should Dylan do anything beyond the pale.
For these reasons and a thousand more, Dylan had taken a sinful amount of pleasure in the fact that his late arrival had turned his father’s One Hundred Ball into a dinner of ninety-nine.
Ther
e would be hell to pay for this latest transgression, but Dylan was enjoying the moment anyway.
“My father has been furious with me since the day I was born,” he told Basingstoke with a shrug. “I figured I might as well give him a reason.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan saw his older brother, Michael, confer with the earl, then move through the crowd in Dylan’s direction.
As blond and golden as Adonis, Michael had always been the earl’s pride and joy. Viscount Sherbourne from birth, Michael would one day inherit the earldom and all the wealth and privilege that went with it. In return, Michael kept his reputation above reproach and obeyed their father’s every command.
No doubt he was obeying one of those commands now.
“Let’s go down to the billiard room.” Dylan refused to stick around and be chastened in such a civilized manner. He’d much prefer it if his father made a scene and took him to task for his irresponsible behavior once and for all.
But that would never happen. The earl didn’t care enough about his second son to expend such emotion.
"HE’S A DISGRACE! HONESTLY, can you believe the nerve! Making a scene and ruining a perfectly lovely ball!” Lady Amelia Lansdowne fluttered her filigreed fan with unusual vigor, an unbecoming flush on her pale cheeks.
“I wouldn’t call this a scene, Amelia. He merely arrived a little late. I’m sure he had a good reason.” Lady Natalia Sinclair sighed with impatience over her companion’s melodrama, but her own fan fluttered a bit faster as she watched Captain Blake chat with Lord Basingstoke.
Captain Dylan Blake, recipient of the Victoria’s Cross.
Natalia knew all about him. She’d read dozens of newspaper articles touting his courage, but she’d never actually met him.
“He’s dreadfully good-looking,” she mused, as she cast a subtle glance in the captain’s direction.
In his scarlet dress uniform, with his confident military bearing and chest full of medals, he stood out in the crowd of somber, black-garbed lords. His thick black hair, caught at his nape with a piece of scarlet ribbon, contrasted sharply with his light blue eyes. His high, chiseled cheekbones, square jaw, and clear, sun-kissed skin stole her breath.
Amelia gave a delicate shudder. “How can you say such a thing? He hasn’t a title nor farthing to his name. He’s been in the military for years, serving with the very dregs of society, and probably doesn’t know the first thing about how to act around civilized people.”
“Surely, the fact that he fought to preserve our way of life gives him the right to a few eccentricities. He’s a hero, Amelia.” Natalia didn’t bother to point out that a man’s wealth had nothing to do with how attractive he was. It wouldn’t do any good. In Amelia’s eyes, money and power did determine a man’s worth.
Unfortunately, Natalia’s father shared Amelia’s opinions, and he would choose her future husband.
Amelia turned up her nose with a condescending sniff. “Well, hero or not, you wouldn’t catch me marrying such a man.”
“No.” Natalia fought to maintain a civil tone. “I don’t suppose so.” Not that a hero like Captain Blake would want to marry a little cat like you anyway.
To her relief, Amelia soon drifted away, obviously in search of someone more inclined to share her narrow-minded opinions. Natalia found herself alone for a few moments, free to daydream about Captain Blake.
She wanted to meet him, even though her father would never permit a man like Captain Blake to court her. It seemed so unfair. What good were wealth and a title, when so many of those who had them lacked even a hint of character?
Captain Blake had risked his life to save his men. He’d dashed back into the fray three times before he’d been wounded. The mere thought of his courageous actions sent a shiver down her spine.
Unfortunately, Captain Blake and Lord Basingstoke left the ballroom before she could work up the audacity to arrange an introduction. Disappointed, Natalia forced a smile as the next young man on her dance card claimed her for a mazurka.
Lord Roger Densby was the son of a duke. While undoubtedly her social equal, he was at least two stones overweight and stank of sweat and brandy.
He managed to step on her toes twice before he even got her out on the dance floor and didn’t have a heroic bone in his entire well-fed body.
Densby, or someone like him, was her fate. Still, her entire soul rebelled at the thought of spending her life with a man who wasn’t interested in anything but the next hunt or glittering party.
What she really wanted was someone like Captain Blake—a man with poetry in his face and courage in his heart.
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