My Lord Protector

My Lord Protector
Deborah Hale

TORN BETWEEN DUTY… AND DESIREFitzhugh was willing to thrust his head back into the matrimonial noose to protect Julianna from her wicked stepbrother. But the maiden was betrothed to his nephew, gone at sea. So their forbidden union was secretly a marriage in name only., sharing his home with the much younger beauty fueled a passion he'd thought long buried… . Julianna Ramsay was at sixes and sevens! Who would have thought that Edmund's gentle care could ignite in her a woman's ardor that far eclipsed her girlish fancy for his absent nephew? And what of the day when her fiance returned? Would she then have the courage to choose love over duty?

“This house was my sanctuary when I most needed one.” (#u939c13fb-f6f0-50fc-9f42-a1fe1e1e9c32)Letter to Reader (#u71cd611f-449a-5070-8107-2c314eb926f6)Title Page (#u492f7c35-9904-5bcd-a62e-2fb99732263c)About the Author (#u877823b3-e2b9-5e32-bd75-dd72d41578b0)Dedication (#u4ec30f79-92f3-5b20-b158-db6d022b037d)Chapter One (#u91df5da3-917a-52ca-a2d1-13ec058bc7ea)Chapter Two (#u14589ed9-747f-5973-a879-523c19b56f30)Chapter Three (#ua9994dda-b6c1-564a-985e-4b4a6745e818)Chapter Four (#u15a17fae-78cf-57fa-a151-4d6f2354e0c4)Chapter Five (#ueed0e65c-3906-540d-8f40-da6280d0d704)Chapter Six (#udd76b88b-74ad-5605-b8d8-40fa9c13298a)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“This house was my sanctuary when I most needed one.”

Julianna spoke quietly, as if bestowing a confidence. Every word went straight to Edmund’s heart. “You were my protector when I had no other. I owe you past what I can ever repay. If you want me to stay, you have only to say the word.”

If she had drawn a fixed bayonet and plunged it into his chest, she could not have inflicted so deep and gaping a wound. For a moment, Edmund could find neither the breath nor the courage to reply. Then the harsh lessons of his childhood came to his rescue. Bury the hurt—bury it deep.

Without turning to look at Julianna, he spoke as if her offer did not matter to him in the least. “Any debt you owe me may be discharged by making my nephew a loving and faithful wife. I will file an annulment petition before the week is out.”

Dear Reader,

Entertainment. Escape. Fantasy. These three words describe the heart of Harlequin Historicals. If you want compelling, emotional stories by some of the best writers in the field, look no further.

We think Deborah Hale is one of the best new writers in the field. Her debut book, My Lord Protector, is a sigh-inducing “older man, younger woman” romance set in Georgian England. Here, Julianna Ramsey is forced by her elder stepbrother to marry while her betrothed, Crispin, is away at sea. Unknown to Julianna, the stern, wealthy man who offers for her is her tiancé’s uncle—he’ll “protect her” until his nephew returns. Loyal to the memory of Crispin, Julianna and Edmund must fight the forbidden love that bums between them. Don’t miss it!

The Bride of Windermere by Margo Maguire is another terrific first book. In this heartfelt medieval tale, a rugged knight falls in love with a woman he has been sent to protect on her journey to see the king. And Jackie Manning returns this month with a sparkling Western, Silver Hearts, featuring a doctor turned cowboy and the feisty Eastern miss he rescues.

Rounding out the month is Joe’s Wife by Cheryl St.John. Tye Hatcher, the town bad boy, returns from the war to prove his worth. He marries the widow of the once most popular man in town, Joe, and must live up to the memory of him. Keep a hankie close by!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical®.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

My Lord Protector

Deborah Hale

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

DEBORAH HALE

After a decade of tracing her ancestors to their roots in Georgian-era Britain, Golden Heart winner Deborah Hale turned to historical romance writing as a way to blend her love of the past with her desire to spin a good love story. Deborah lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, between the historic British garrison town of Halifax and the romantic Annapolis Valley of Longfellow’s Evangeline. With four children under ten (including twins), Deborah calls writing her “sanity retention mechanism.” On good days, she likes to think it’s working.

Deborah invites you to her one-of-a-kind web site to catch the flavor of eighteenth-century London, from a cup of the most decadent chocolate to scandalous tidbits of backstage gossip from the Green Room at Drury Lane. To get there, follow her author’s link on the Harlequin web site http://www.romance.net (http://www.romance.net).

To Judy Gorham,

who read this book before anyone else knew

I was writing it.

Chapter One

October 1742

“Dearly beloved.” The curate’s whistling treble voice echoed through the vast vaulted emptiness of St Martin’s in the Fields, one of London’s most fashionable places of worship. “We are gathered in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate....”

Honorable estate? Julianna Ramsay could barely contain a shriek of bitter laughter. Bondage—certainly. She wanted to tear the prayer book from the curate’s plump fingers and hurl it through the massive window above the altar. She longed to scale the stone pillars and batter the hypocritical smirks off the faces of those smug plaster cherubs.

“If any here can show just cause why this wedding should not take place, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Jerome’s blunt fingers tightened around her wrist. Julianna cast her stepbrother a sidelong glance. Unshaven and disheveled from the previous night’s debauchery, he glared back at her with eyes as black and pitiless as his conscience.

Thick lips curled in a gloating sneer. By all means, sister, he wordlessly urged her, indulge in a fit of hysterical fury. I’ll see you shackled in the bowels of Bedlam before the day is out.

Summoning every ounce of composure, Julianna fought to master her impotent rage. Her features cold and rigid as a marble effigy, she focused her answer into a scornful look. I would not give you the satisfaction, Jerome. Refusing to meet the curate’s questioning glance, she clenched her lips to imprison the words of protest she dared not utter.

A raw autumn wind keened around the church’s lofty spire, nearly drowning out the words of the wedding service. The little curate cleared his throat and pitched his delivery louder. “Dost thou, Julianna, take this man to thy lawful wedded husband...”

Reluctantly, Julianna’s gaze shifted to her bridegroom, Sir Edmund Fitzhugh. He could not have looked less like Crispin Bayard, the man she had hoped to wed. Thinking of her handsome young sweetheart, Julianna’s heart quailed. The words she must soon speak would destroy any chance of a future with Crispin.

Oh my love, her soul cried out across the miles that separated them, how could you have abandoned me to this? Even as that anguished question rang in her thoughts, a countering voice of reason objected. How could Crispin have known, when he sailed for the South Seas, that her father would shortly die bankrupt, leaving her at the mercy of her feared and despised stepbrother?

An expectant silence wrenched Julianna back to the present. Jerome prompted her with another bruising squeeze of her wrist.

“I do.” She fairly spit the words.

The curate smiled indulgently. No doubt he mistook the force of her answer for eagerness to wed a man of wealth and position.

“And dost thou, Edmund, take this woman to thy lawful wedded wife, to live together under God’s holy ordinance...”

While his attention was fixed on the clergyman, Julianna stole a look at her bridegroom. She would have guessed him a former sea captain, even without Jerome’s telling. The intrepid set of Sir Edmund’s broad shoulders and his wide stance bespoke years spent on a pitching quarterdeck. His large hands looked capable of nimbly lashing a sail or holding a tiller steady in rough seas. His firm jaw, slightly cleft chin and the stern line of his mouth all suggested a temperament resolute—even obdurate. His deep-set eyes, which seemed to search out some distant horizon, were cold and gray as the North Atlantic.

Where was the pitiful old wreck she’d expected to find at the chancel steps this morning? That had been Julianna’s desperate plan to foil her stepbrother and to keep herself unsullied for Crispin. When Jerome had demanded she take a husband immediately, she had sent her trusted cousin, Francis, to seek a bridegroom too old and decrepit to consummate their union. Since then, she’d not had a private moment to ask Francis how he’d fared. Noting his complacent manner, she’d assumed all was well.

Jerome’s derisive account of Sir Edmund’s proposal had made him sound ideal for her purpose. “We met at the Chapterhouse while I was posting my notice of the books for auction. He collects book and antiquities. Indeed, he is something of an antiquity himself. Affects to wear his own hair, mind you, though it’s sparse enough in places to excuse a good periwig.”

Antiquity? Under other circumstances the idea might have struck Julianna as amusing. Jerome had overestimated Sir Edmund’s age by more than one good year. Though perhaps not in the peak of condition, her bridegroom appeared well capable of undertaking his marital duties. So much for her pathetic plan.

“...and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, until death dost thou part?”

“I do.” The timbre of Sir Edmund’s voice was deep and resonant, with more than a hint of sharpness. Such a voice brooked no dissent from a crew, a household or a wife. And, God help her, she had promised to obey.

A blessed numbness stole over Julianna. Her budding dreams of an unconsummated marriage had died stillborn. Jerome had sold off all her worldly goods—her beloved books and even her treasured harp, insisting he needed the money to discharge her late father’s debts. Soon she would belong to this stern, forbidding man. Yet she was able to view it all calmly, as though this marriage were being perpetrated upon a stranger.