Overview
A free-spirited lady falls for her matchmaker in this Regency romance series opener by the USA Today–bestselling author of Duchess If You Dare.
Lunden Beckford, Duke of Scarsdale, has chosen to exile himself far from London, with its painful memories and cruel gossip. Forced back to town on business, he’s eager to make his stay as brief as possible. But first, he must honor his promise to find a suitable husband for his friend’s little sister. On one hand, Amelia Strathmore has grown into a stunning, statuesque beauty. On the other, the willful chit is more likely to scandalize a drawing room with her outspoken opinions than blush prettily. At least she agrees to accept his help—if he fulfills certain conditions . . .
Though duty-bound to marry, Amelia longs to secretly enjoy some of life’s freedoms first. In this, as in many things, Lunden proves an excellent guide. In fact, Amelia’s girlhood admiration for her brother’s friend is fast becoming something far less innocent. Lunden believes he’s known too much darkness to offer any woman happiness. Yet Amelia is starting to see how much pleasure can lie within the right partnership—especially if one is willing to be a little wicked . . .
Praise for London’s Wicked Affair
“Entertaining . . . . Those who appreciate headstrong heroines will appreciate [Amelia’s] story.” —Publishers Weekly
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781420146448 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 08/28/2018 |
| Series: | Midnight Secrets , #1 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 333,734 |
| File size: | 815 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
London, England, 1817
Matthew Strathmore, Earl of Whittingham, examined the array of puzzle pieces strewn across the mahogany table positioned near the paned glass windows of his study. A map of the world awaited his skill and attention. With a satisfied grunt, he completed another portion of the puzzle and reached for what could be Sicily as much as Sardinia, when a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter."
"Milord, you have a caller." The butler stood within the door frame without his customary salver in hand.
"Thank you, Spencer. Has the visitor presented a card?" Whittingham turned and stepped forward, his limp pronounced as he maneuvered with care.
"He did not, nor did he offer his name."
"Then I have no time." The earl retrieved his cane from where it rested against the desk and spared a glance, intent on progressing further with the puzzle before he focused on more purposeful matters.
"Milord?"
Spencer's tone gave him pause and he angled toward the butler in curiosity. "Yes?"
"The gentleman requested I offer this if you refused him admittance." The servant advanced, a suede pouch in his gloved palm.
"What the devil?" Whittingham snatched the bag from the servant's extended hand and spilled the contents. His sharp gasp overrode the foreboding chime of the hallway clock as a wave of recognition gripped him. "Show him up at once."
The butler walked with brisk steps toward the door.
"Hurry, Spencer, before the gentleman takes his leave." Whittingham barely recovered his composure before the Duke of Scarsdale entered. Then a devilish smile broke loose and he embraced his friend in a hale and hearty welcome.
"Scarsdale, I can't believe my eyes." They moved apart, shook hands, and the ten years separating their last visit evaporated as if it never existed.
"Nor can I. You, more than anyone, know how much I despise this city."
His reference to the turn of events that sent Lunden Beckford, third Duke of Scarsdale, as far from England as possible, charged the air with unresolved tension, but Whittingham refused to allow it to taint their visit. He was much relieved to see his old friend and harbored no ill feelings despite how society viewed Scarsdale's unexplained voluntary exile.
For a moment, no one spoke and then Matthew reached for the pocket watch where it rested on his desktop and slipped it into the suede pouch. He offered it with a solemn exhale.
"Thank you." The two words expressed volumes as Lunden returned the pouch to his trousers pocket.
Matthew leaned against the front of his desk and with a wag of his chin, indicated his friend take a chair. "Brandy? Or have you sworn off the poison?" He looked toward the liquor cabinet. "Last time we were together, you were drunk out of your wits."
"Don't look at me that way. You were equally impaired." Lunden declined with a nod. "Besides, you didn't expect me to sink to the bottom of a bottle and stay there for ten years, did you?" He shifted in his chair and his gaze traveled down Matthew's left leg, then upward along the curve of the cane.
"I do all right, you know." Matthew offered no further reassurance, and none was warranted. "So, why have you returned?"
"My solicitor transferred the ducal title and all entailments after my brother's death, but Douglas had some sort of damnable clause added to the paperwork in regard to his town house. I've allowed the property to be leased since I abandoned London, but the tenant has created a problem and I can no longer wait for solicitors and their legalities to unravel the mess. I want to sell it and detach from this city forever."
"No doubt you'll be able to resolve it with your solicitor's assistance now that you're here." Matthew walked to the cabinet intent on a drink. "Perhaps your brother had a specific reason for the clause. I think of him often. Douglas was a good man."
"Yes, he was." Lunden touched his fingers to the suede pouch secured in his pocket.
Matthew didn't wish to resurrect dead memories and silence descended like a heavy rock thrown into a deep puddle. "So how can I help? Do you need a place to stay?" He carried his brandy in one hand, his cane in the other, and took a seat behind the desk. "You're welcome to live here as long as needed. I would enjoy the company."
* * *
Lunden viewed his friend, as convivial as always, and a sliver of long-lost reminiscence pricked his conscience. He might loathe the city, but he missed companionship of friends, no matter his chosen isolation. For years he'd declined every invitation sent to his country estate until the few friends he'd possessed stopped requesting his attendance. And no fault could be found. He made it clear he wanted no part of fine society and did not still. Once the business at the bank concluded, he planned to return to Beckford Hall and exercise permanent rustication.
"I do need a place to stay. Thank you. It will be hellish trying to keep a low profile, but that's my hope." The Whittingham town house was situated on Cleveland Row, adjacent to Pall Mall, and not nearly as discreet as he'd prefer, but his choices were limited to one in number. "Do me a favor though and keep my presence here under wraps."
"Done. I will place the staff on notice. The servants have no need to know your name or purpose."
Matthew leaned back in his chair and for a fleeting moment Lunden thought he detected the beginning of a grin.
"Perhaps you would grant me a favor in return."
His friend was an astute thinker, even as a lad. There was no way Lunden could deny him; Matthew had taken a bullet to the leg defending his honor. "Of course. Name it."
Matthew briefly flashed a smile. "Excellent. Allow me to explain. My parents have retired to Lakeview. Father struggles with his breathing at times and the city air proves damp and dense. They've seen decades of Seasons and no longer desire the social obligations, most especially with Father's health in question. To that end, they've asked me to find Amelia a husband."
"Amelia." Lunden hadn't thought of Matthew's sister in a number of years. He remembered her as a willful chit, more vinegar than sugar, with remarkable green eyes. The kind of eyes that distracted a man so thoroughly, the unsuspected soul never realized she'd kneed him in the groin until scorching pain shot through his lower body. He cleared his throat and said, "How very fine," although his inner voice screamed, Good luck with that.
"To no surprise, my sister proves unwilling to cooperate. We are like oil and water, always have been, and I suspect she resists my matchmaking attempts for no other reason than to vex me. Meanwhile, Mother desires results and she worries Father will find scant peace until he sees Amelia settled."
A shadow of unease enveloped the room and Lunden ran a hand along his jaw in an attempt to relieve the sudden tension. "What are you asking me to do?"
A second panicked question rose to mind, but he did not lend it voice. Was Matthew asking him to wed his sister? It couldn't be true. All London thought the worst of him. No man would want a scourge for a brother-in-law.
An insufferable silence ensued until at last Matthew replied. "Help me. I'm at wit's end. Find her a husband or facilitate the process. I need her married and out of my hair. The sooner, the better. Life is complicated enough without Amelia's difficulties."
"And how am I to accomplish this and likewise remain undetected? I've been gone for a decade and everyone in this city thinks poorly of me. Once society gets wind I've returned ..." With a twinge in his chest, he recalled how polite condolences after his brother's unexpected death became veiled inquiries into the circumstances of the accident, and then later transformed into invidious questions and blunt accusations of the vilest nature.
"I'm not asking you to escort her to a ball." Matthew appeared to warm to the idea. "Just help her realize she's fighting an unwinnable battle. She needs to be married, and although I'm not convinced she's opposed to the idea, she objects to any gentleman who pays her favor. Influence her. She hung on your every word when we were children."
"Well, we're all grown up now. I haven't seen her in years." Lunden doubted he could serve any real purpose in the plan. "You're asking me, a notorious blight suspected of murder and collusion, to somehow remain in the background and achieve a small miracle?"
Matthew grinned. "I've always believed you invincible."
"Foolish notion." Lunden shifted in his chair. "I hadn't planned on staying in the city overlong."
"Those are my terms. Take it or leave it." Matthew stood and took a few steps, his limp a constant reminder of the heroic deed for which he'd paid a heavy price. "Besides, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish the task with ease and we'll all be the better for it."
A remembrance of those very same words echoed in his empty chest and Lunden swallowed past the lump in his throat. Matthew was one of the few friends who didn't ostracize him after the sketchy details surrounding Douglas's death became public. How difficult could it be to see his sister matched? He'd make quick work of marrying her off to the first bloke who proposed and then pursue his personal plans.
"Agreed." Lunden took a deep breath and extended his hand for a firm shake.
With more agility than he'd shown earlier, Matthew rounded the desk and rifled through papers spread across the felt blotter. "My mother composed a list for me. I'm sure it will assist."
"Brilliant. Candidates will make the matter much easier." Lunden's apprehension waned. Perhaps he was getting worked up for nothing.
"Not candidates." Matthew laughed a deep rumble. "If it were that easy, I'd have undertaken the task myself. Now here it is." He pulled a sheet of foolscap from a long drawer. "It lists the qualities Mother insists her son-in-law possess. By my guess she assumed I would marry Amelia to the first bloke who proposed and then move on." He aired a wry smile. "What little confidence she has in me. Anyway, here it is."
Lunden accepted the paper with trepidation. He scanned it with a flick of his eyes and then folded it to place inside the left breast pocket of his waistcoat. "Anything else?" "Just a thought. When you consider candidates, you should avoid Lord Trent. He would not be amendable. Last month, Amelia set his crotch on fire."
"Pardon?" Lunden's bottom half tightened involuntarily and he shifted in his chair. Again.
Matthew's expression wavered between humor and exasperation. "We recently attended a dinner party where I planned to pursue my mother's objective. Through no easy manipulation I changed Amelia's seat assignment to a position adjacent Lord Trent. Not only is he a respected peer, but he manages his estate masterfully and is rarely seen out of form. A perfect candidate." Matthew paused for a short breath. "My sister can be charming at times and I hoped she'd become smitten with the young earl, as most other ladies fawn at Trent's every word.
"The dinner was going well, at least I believed so, and the conversation turned to social news. I was thrilled. Surely the Fates were smiling on me. Unfortunately, Trent in a brain lapse I cannot explain to this day, commented that women won all the benefits of marriage, while men were doomed to a future of henpecking.
"Amelia sprung from her chair with such vehemence she dislodged the silver epergne at the center of the table and it tumbled forward, dropping six burning candles into Lord Trent's lap. Had I not reacted so swiftly and doused him with the contents of the water pitcher, the man would have no hope of propagating a future heir."
Lunden cleared his throat. Twice.
"Needless to say, I wouldn't bear him in mind." Matthew turned to where his ongoing puzzle lay spread in hundreds of pieces. "It will take a unique man to appreciate Amelia's adventurous spirit."
"Is that how you label it?" Lunden joined him beside the table and assessed the project strewn before them. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?"
"Lords Riley and Lennox." Matthew placed a piece into the Atlantic Ocean near the edge of the new continent. "That should be everyone."
"Clever how you've foisted this task onto me because you detest it yourself." Lunden watched as his friend fitted three more pieces in succession to form a short portion of Egypt's border. Egypt; now there was a place far from the painful memories found in London and the foolish endeavor he'd agreed to accomplish. The puzzle offered myriad escape opportunities.
"You'll do better at it. Amelia resists my suggestions before she considers them, simply because I'm her sibling. She gainsays me at every turn."
"Shall I tell her that you've engineered this Machiavellian plot? If she's as sharp-witted as I recall, she'll discover the truth without difficulty."
"I'll leave Amelia in your capable hands. I trust you. You're like a brother to me."
It was a poor choice of words and the look of dismay on Matthew's face confirmed he regretted the statement, but the sentiment was well meant and Lunden wouldn't allow his friend remorse.
"Now show me to my rooms, before I reconsider and flee this house." Lunden waited for no further remarks and aimed for the doorway with purposeful strides.
CHAPTER 2Amelia Strathmore twirled the rod of her pink silk parasol, her chin high, as she strolled the sidewalk toward her dearest friend's residence. Her chaperone trailed behind like the ribbons of Amelia's bonnet fluttering on the warm spring breeze. When she reached the home of Lady Charlotte Dearing, she opened the wrought-iron gate and strode up the limestone path to knock on the front door. Thank heavens Charlotte had not moved farther away after her recent marriage.
Amelia would be lost without their morning ritual of a walk to St. James Square, where they sat on a marble bench and confessed secrets before they returned the same way they'd come. At times they would feed pigeons, read poetry, or watch pedestrians, but always they conversed about matters of the heart. Amelia focused on her brother's haphazard attempts to see her married, while Charlotte lamented her current unhappiness, trapped in a practical match when she desired true love.
Amelia dropped the knocker and waited, the butler accustomed to her frequent visits. True to form, the two ladies departed arm in arm only moments later, their chaperones in step behind.
"I'm surprised your brother persists when you've made it clear you will choose a man to marry when you are ready."
Her friend's loyal support served as a balm to her soul. With Father's health failing, Amelia suspected time was running out on her independent status. "I don't think Matthew believes me. Meanwhile, I have no idea what he'll attempt next." A sudden giggle escaped. "Although I daresay I'll never forget the look on Lord Trent's face when his pants lit on fire."
"If only I had been there. I would have applauded your valiant defense."
No one knew, save Charlotte, the true reason Lord Trent's comment incited Amelia's temper and spurred her vehement response. "You're my dearest friend. I could never allow anyone to spout blithe nonsense when you're living proof men have all the advantages in marriage and women have none."
Charlotte's expression turned solemn and for a few breaths only the clicking heels of their boots marked their progression along the cobbles. A carriage rolled by and a small dog chased its rear wheels. Amelia watched it pass as her heart ached for her disconsolate friend.
"It hasn't been so bad of late."
Amelia squeezed Charlotte's arm tighter. "That's what I fear the most. At least when Lord Dearing behaves with his usual surly demeanor, we know what to expect. When he's kind, I'm terribly suspicious." An unbidden shiver passed through her and she hugged Charlotte closer. "Did you mention how much you'd like an animal companion? A dog or a cat would keep you company when he's locked in his study or otherwise occupied. Pandora is always there for me no matter my mood, and even though cats cannot speak, she never fails to console me."
"Yes, but consider the trouble Pandora has caused. Lord Dearing wouldn't be pleased if a pet scratched the furniture or stained the carpet."
Amelia's scoff overrode Charlotte's objection. "Does he plan for a family someday? Children do the very same things and worse. Besides, just because Pandora finds mischief does not mean all cats have the same temperament." She smiled. Her cat was her second dearest friend to Charlotte and she would not trade either companion for all the chocolate in the world.
"When I suggested we purchase a pet, he didn't reply with keen approval."
"Did you mention it would bring you happiness?" Amelia prodded, determined to improve Charlotte's situation.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "London's Wicked Affair"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Anabelle Bryant.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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