Bronwyn Scott - Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady

‘This is a rather unusual time of evening for a business appointment. I must admit I am quite curious as to why you’re here.’

Paine leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands and trying to look as if he weren’t aroused from the sight of her magnificent figure or the sound of her voice.

He saw the long column of her neck work briefly as she swallowed. For the first time since she’d entered the establishment he felt her resolve waver.

‘I need you to ruin me.’ The words came out in a rush. A light blush coloured her flawless alabaster cheeks.

‘Ruin?’ Paine quirked an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean by “ruin”? Shall I ruin you at the gaming tables? I can arrange to have you lose any amount of your choosing.’

Her gaze met his evenly, in all seriousness, her courage having returned in full force now that she’d begun talking. ‘I don’t wish to lose any money. I wish to lose my virginity. I want you to ruin me in bed.’

Bronwyn Scottis a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. You can learn more about Bronwyn at www.nikkipoppen.com

A recent novel from Bronwyn Scott:

PICKPOCKET COUNTESS

For Scott and Joanne, my agent and editor respectively, who made my goal of being a Harlequin Mills & Boon author before my 40th birthday come true!

And for the kids: Rowan, Catie and Bronwyn. Remember you can have your (birthday) cake and eat it too. Someday when you’re old enough, that will make sense.

Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books aren’t simply the product of one person’s writing but of countless others, who make the writing process successful. Thanks to all of you who support my work.

Thanks to Michele Ann Young for her research assistance on Regency era bankruptcy practices.

Thanks to Ellen Holt, my personal speed reader, who is happy to be a sounding board for early drafts.

Thanks to my kids, Rowan, Catie, for playing outside every afternoon so I could write. And to Baby Bronwyn who took extra-long naps when I needed them most.

Thanks to my whole family, who support each of my projects unstintingly with their interest.

Thanks to my PEO chapter for their support and publicity.

Thanks to my husband for being the best there ever was.

Thanks to my great co-workers at the college: Leon, Ann, Connie and the rest, who celebrate each cover with me and listen to me ramble about new plots.

Special thanks to my agent, Scott Eagan, who knew exactly where I belonged.

Extra-special thanks to my editor, Joanne Carr, for all her attention to detail and her unique brand of polish which gives each book the sheen of perfection.

Chapter One

London, early May 1829

She would not be sold like a prized mare at Tatter-salls! Julia Prentiss’s elegantly coiffed head swivelled in disbelief between Uncle Barnaby and Mortimer Oswalt, the lecherous old cit who had come to offer for her. She could hardly countenance the conversation that flowed around her as if she were not standing in the centre of her uncle’s study listening, nor had a mind of her own and was quite capable of speaking for herself.

‘I would, of course, provide a handsome bride price for your niece. Say, fifteen thousand pounds.’ Mortimer Oswalt spread his hands confidently over the purple expanse of his waistcoat, which gave him the appearance of an overripe grape. He leaned back in his chair, perusing Julia with his dissipated blue eyes, still bloodshot from a night on the town.

Fifteen thousand pounds! Julia fought back a surge of inappropriate comments. How dare he offer for her in the same manner one might offer for goods on the dock or at an auction house. The force of his vile gaze made her skin clammy. She could not bear to imagine how his hands would feel against her skin. But surely there was no sense conjuring nightmares that would not come to pass.

Julia turned her frantic gaze on Uncle Barnaby. Uncle Barnaby would certainly refuse the offer in spite of how advanced the talks had become. After all, Mortimer Oswalt was not from their circles. Her uncle was Viscount Lockhart, a noted politician in the House of Lords. Oswalt was merely a London merchant. A wealthy London merchant, to be sure, but still a merchant, regardless of the fact that his annual income was at least triple theirs. The Lockhart title might not be possessed of a fortune, but they were peers and peers did not marry cits.

‘Fifteen thousand pounds, you say? That is quite generous, a very respectful offer. I am sure we can come to an agreeable accord.’ Uncle Barnaby gave a resigned smile, carefully looking anywhere but at her.

Julia was dumbfounded. What had possessed him to sell her to this old man? She would have dug her toes into the carpet she stood upon if it had had any pile left on it with which to do so. It was time to speak up. This ridiculous notion—nay, this repulsive notion—had gone much too far for her liking. Julia summoned her best manners.

‘I respectfully decline.’

Her voice was sufficiently loud to be heard. It cut across the two men’s conversation. Incredulously, both men shot her quelling glances and continued their discussion.

‘Five thousand pounds now and ten thousand after she is certified by my physician. I will have a draft drawn and deposited for you this afternoon. My physician will return to town in five days. We can do the necessary examinations then and I will write a second draft to you immediately upon his surety of her condition.’ Oswalt was all brusque business in spite of the intimacies of his contract.

Julia blanched at his coarse requirements. She stared directly at her uncle and was gratified to see that he wavered over such terms, but only slightly.

‘I can vouch for my niece’s chastity. I assure you that such indelicate proceedings are not needed.’ Uncle Barnaby coughed with embarrassment at such frank discussion.

Mortimer Oswalt shook his bald pate. ‘I must insist. I have not made a fortune in business dealings without making absolutely sure of the quality of my investment. Let me remind you, I will be sixty in November. My first two wives were unable to give me the heir I required. My medical advisers confirm that whatever prior difficulties have occurred in that area, a virgin wife would overcome those concerns. I must have an heir quickly. My bride must be of virgin stock and must be quite capable of conceiving and birthing a child in short order.’ He fixed Uncle Barnaby with an intimidating eye. ‘I will pay the family an extra five thousand pounds upon the birth of my child.’

Julia watched in horrified fascination as her uncle capitulated to the bribe. Well, she was not dazzled so easily.

‘I will not consider it!’ She stamped her foot for emphasis, making sure the men could not ignore her a second time. ‘Uncle, I cannot be married under duress. There are new laws. The Betrothal Act of 1823 allows people to marry out of free will.’ It was a weak appeal and she knew it. Legislation was only enforced when one had an advocate or the means to acquire one. She had neither.

Uncle Barnaby opened his mouth to scold, but Oswalt raised a hand to stall his reprimand. ‘Lockhart, allow me to explain it to her. She is to be my wife soon enough and must learn to take direction from her husband. Young women are a sheltered lot and must be tutored in the ways of the world.’

Julia fought the urge to cringe. It would be a cold day in hell before she took ‘direction’or anything else from the lecherous likes of Mortimer Oswalt. She struck a defiant pose, disgusted that Uncle Barnaby demurred.

Oswalt continued. ‘Miss Prentiss, the subtleties of this arrangement may have escaped your notice. Young ladies like yourself are often not aware of the rigours associated with maintaining the lifestyle you take for granted—the horses, the country home, the gowns, the entertainments and all the fal-lals a young woman expects as her right.

‘It is especially difficult to raise a beautiful girl like yourself since it is much more expensive to accommodate her needs. A lovely girl stands out. She cannot afford to be seen in the same gowns as a wallflower who isn’t noticed. A pretty girl must always be shown to her best advantage. In short, a lovely daughter or, in your case, a lovely niece, can become an asset to the family.

‘Your uncle has fallen into need of such an asset. His coffers are empty. There is no one who will advance him any further loans. He has mortgaged all he can simply to lease this borrowed town house and to give you one Season. You are the last pearl left to the Lockhart title. Failure to make a financially advantageous match on your part will land your aunt and uncle and cousins in dun territory, to say nothing of yourself. You will suffer the deprivations with them.’ Oswalt finished his lecture and began picking his nails. ‘They have given you this Season not merely for your personal enrichment, but in hopes of getting a return on their years of investment.’

‘Tell me it’s not true, Uncle?’ Julia demanded, whirling on the poor man. Oswalt’s disclosures had discomfited him and he seemed to shrink in the leather chair he occupied behind the desk. Julia’s throat constricted in terror at the morbid truth.

‘It is true. I cannot deny any scrap of it. Our pockets are to let. We need Oswalt’s offer.’

‘There must be another way! I do not love him. I will not grow to love him. He is a despicable old man to buy a bride in this way.’ Julia gave her tongue free rein, not caring that Oswalt sat feet away, absorbed in his nail picking.

‘Julia! Hush. This outburst is most unladylike,’ her uncle admonished. He craned his neck to speak around her and she could see the fear in his eyes that Oswalt would retract his offer at the display of her temper.

Julia put her hands on her hips, ready to do battle. ‘What about Cousin Gray’s ship? Surely the payoff from that cargo will see our problems resolved.’

‘Gray’s venture is fraught with risk. It is a gamble. I would rather bet on a sure thing.’ Uncle Barnaby gave her a terse scolding. ‘Remember your manners, Julia. It is not good ton to speak of money in company.’

‘You don’t seem to mind. You and Oswalt have divided me up like so many stock dividends on the exchange.’ The comment went beyond the pale, but if a temper tantrum got her out of this unholy arrangement, then so be it.

Oswalt was not fazed. He gave Julia all his attention. ‘Ah, I’ve got myself a cinnamon-haired virago, have I? Perhaps all that hot blood is what I need to warm myself. My dear, I welcome your passion and I care not a whit if you love me. I certainly don’t love you, nor do I intend to cultivate affection for you. I merely need a well-bred virgin in my bed from a family who will accept my offer. All that aside, it will be exciting to tame you to my hand. Should all go well with my physician, I’ll have a special licence in hand by week’s end and we’ll be wed by Sunday.’

‘My wife will want to give the wedding breakfast,’ Uncle Barnaby put in, relaxing again now that the deal had not been retracted.