Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward

Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward
Bronwyn Scott

THE VISCOUNT CLAIMS HIS BRIDEFor years Valerian Inglemoore, Viscount St. Just, lived a double life as a secret agent on the war-torn Continent. Returning home, he knows exactly what he wants: to claim Philippa Stratten, the woman he gave up, as his bride.But Philippa is not the naive debutante he left behind…Also includes: The Earl's Forbidden Ward

About the Author

BRONWYN SCOTT is 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.

Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, www. bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, www.bronwynswriting. blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.

Rake

in the

Regency Ballroom

The ViscountClaims His Bride

The Earl’sForbidden Ward

Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

In The Regency Ballroom Collection

Scandal in the Regency Ballroom –Louise Allen April 2013

Innocent in the Regency Ballroom –Christine Merrill May 2013

Wicked in the Regency Ballroom –Margaret McPhee June 2013

Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom –Deb Marlowe July 2013

Rogue in the Regency Ballroom –Helen Dickson August 2013

Debutante in the Regency Ballroom –Anne Herries September 2013

Rumours in the Regency Ballroom –Diane Gaston October 2013

Rake in the Regency Ballroom –Bronwyn Scott November 2013

Mistress in the Regency Ballroom –Juliet Landon December 2013

Courtship in the Regency Ballroom –Annie Burrows January 2014

Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom –Marguerite Kaye February 2014

Secrets in the Regency Ballroom –Joanna Fulford March 2014

The ViscountClaims His Bride

Prologue

London, June 1820

Valerian Inglemoore, the Viscount St Just, had a secret, a dreadful secret that caused him to tremble in guilt and self-loathing as he stood alone on Lady Rutherford’s veranda, gazing at the paper lantern-lit garden beyond the balustrade, but not really seeing it.

His secret was all consuming, too consuming to spare a glance for the elegant town garden with its fountains and well-laid paths that wound through knot gardens and small privet hedges.

Under normal circumstances, the garden would have been quite enticing. But tonight, his secret was nearly too much to bear. He was twenty-one and he was in love with Philippa Stratten, Baron Pendennys’s daughter, and she was in love with him. She was to meet him here tonight.

But nothing would ever come of it.

That was the secret.

Tonight, he was breaking it off with her, at her father’s request. Tonight, he had to convince her after two months of stolen kisses and clandestine meetings that his affections were nothing more than a young man’s fleeting fancy. He didn’t know how he’d manage. He loved her so much.

After tonight, he’d never take her in his arms, never feel her run her fingers through his hair, as if it were the rarest silk. The last two months had been heaven. He’d danced with her at her début in April and every night since. They’d made a habit of heated kisses in curtained alcoves, and taking long walks in gardens during Venetian breakfasts and afternoon teas. It had been simple enough to manipulate time alone with her. He was an avid botanist as well as a horseman. It was plausible enough to say they were going off to look at a certain variety of flower or to see a new colt in the stables.

Oh, yes, they’d fallen madly in love with each other. One could almost say it was love at first sight except that he had known Philippa for years. She was his best friend Beldon’s sister. The threesome had spent school holidays roaming the Cornish coast together. He’d known since his first visit home with Beldon that his heart could belong to no other.

Behind him, the Rutherfords’ ballroom played host to three hundred of London’s finest dancing away the night in their silks and satins, champagne never more than a footman’s tray away. But he cared not a whit. His heart was breaking.

‘Valerian.’ A familiar, dear voice spoke his name in the darkness. He drew a final breath, praying for the strength to give her up. It would be for her own good, although she’d never believe it.

He turned towards the sound of her voice, letting her beauty overwhelm him as it always did. The effect was no less devastating tonight. This evening, her beauty was at its zenith, shown to perfection in the pale blue fabric of her gown. In the moonlight, the fabric appeared to shimmer when she moved. A soft summer breeze drew the thin fabric of her gown against her body, reminding Valerian of the fine figure beneath the filmy layers of summer chiffon.

‘Val.’ She whispered his name in response, moving towards him, her hands outstretched. ‘I could hardly wait.’ She wore a gentle smile on her lips, a soft look for him alone in the blue depths of her eyes. It was intoxicating to think the excitement that simmered beneath the surface of that gentle smile and soft look were all for him.

He savoured it. After tonight, he would not feel such joy again.

She slipped her gloved hands into his, expecting him to take her in his arms as he usually did. He swallowed hard against the temptation. He’d come out here to do his duty to her family, a family which had loved and harboured him since his adolescence. They’d asked him to give her up for sake of their finances and her future. It was a difficult task at best. Her merest touch, her slightest affection, made it Herculean.

The embrace did not come. He could not give it to her as much as he desired to take her in his arms and feel her against him. To do so would be to fail the family in the only thing they’d ever asked of him. As a man of honour, he owed them more.

She looked up into his face, reading him aright, unconsciously warning him to better school his features if he was to carry off his task believably. ‘Aren’t you happy to see me?’ Philippa began.

‘Of course I am happy to see you. I am always happy to see a dear friend,’ Valerian said, hoping Philippa didn’t hear the unspoken lie. He’d always seen her as much more than a friend.

‘Then kiss me. I’ve waited all day for you, for this moment.’ She flirted, trying to press up against him, to make him take her in his arms.

He was too skilled for her untutored efforts. ‘Philippa, stop. We have to talk.’

‘Here?’ She glanced around curiously, disappointment evident on her features. Valerian wondered what she’d been expecting that this location was not suitable. Certainly, she wasn’t expecting what he had to tell her. Her father, Baron Pendennys, had indicated that Beldon and Philippa were completely in the dark about the family’s situation.

The balcony was mostly empty, but there were a few couples strolling about. It wasn’t nearly as private as he’d hoped. Valerian shook his head. ‘No, not here. Come walk in the garden with me.’

They found a bench settled among rhododendrons in full bloom and sat. Valerian kept her hand. He nodded towards a bower of roses across the pathway. ‘The roses are lovely. I hear Lady Rutherford has imported a special yellow rose from Turkey.’