At Your Pleasure
BY CANDLELIGHT, SHE LURES HIM . . .
Glittering court socialites and underworld cutpurses alike know that Adrian Ferrers, Earl of Rivenham, is the most dangerous man in London. Rivenham will let nothing—not the deepening shadow of war, nor the growing darkness within him—interfere with his ambition to restore his family to its former glory. But when tasked by the king to uncover a traitor, he discovers instead a conspiracy—and a woman whose courage awakens terrible temptations. To save her is to risk everything. To love her might cost his life.
AT SWORDPOINT SHE DEFIES HIM . . .
Lady Leonora knows that Rivenham is the devil in beautiful disguise—and that the irresistible tension between them is as unpredictable as the dilemma in which Nora finds herself: held hostage on her own estate by Rivenham and the king’s men. But when war breaks out, Nora has no choice but to place her trust in her dearest enemy—and pray that love does not become the weapon that destroys them both. . . .
“Meredith Duran just keeps getting better and better.”
—All About Romance
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“Readers need to make room on their keeper shelf for the books of the talented Meredith Duran.”
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All available from Pocket Books
© Shelley McGuire
MEREDITH DURAN blames Anne Boleyn for sparking her lifelong obsession with British history (and for convincing her that princely love is no prize if it doesn’t come with a happily-ever-after). She spends her free time collecting old etiquette manuals, guidebooks to nineteenth-century London, and travelogues by intrepid Victorian women. Her five previous novels are published by Pocket Books: The Duke of Shadows, which has reached a worldwide audience by being translated into eleven languages and was the winner of the Gather.com First Chapters Romance Writing Competition; Bound by Your Touch and its sequel, Written on Your Skin, chosen by All About Romance for its first inaugural book club meeting on Twitter; Wicked Becomes You, a Romantic Times Top Pick included on the Woman’s World list of Best Beach Reads for Summer 2010; and A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal, also a Romantic Times Top Pick as well as a Desert Isle Keeper for All About Romance.
Visit www.meredithduran.com.
Enticing . . . Heartwarming . . . Witty . . . Sexy . . . Fabulous . . .
Praise for Meredith Duran’s novels of scandal and seduction in nineteenth-century London— “romance at its finest” declares New York Times bestselling author Liz Carlyle!
A LADY’S LESSON IN SCANDAL
A July 2011 Top Pick of Romantic Times magazine and one of All About Romance’s Desert Isle Keepers!
“Compelling, exciting, sensual, and unforgettable . . . a nonstop read everyone will savor.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
“The fascinating and compelling characters, the vivid imagery and dynamic prose, the wonderful romance—it was all I can ask of a romance [novel.] Meredith Duran just keeps getting better and better.”
—All About Romance
“Delightfully honest.”
—Library Journal
“Well-developed lead characters and a perceptive portrayal of a poor woman’s reaction to the lush lifestyle of the nobility highlight a top-notch romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
WICKED BECOMES YOU
A May 2010 Top Pick of Romantic Times magazine
“So much fun. . . . Charming and deliciously sensual from beginning to end.”
—Romantic Times magazine
“Witty, often hilarious, sensuous, and breathlessly paced . . . [an] engaging mystery-enhanced escapade [with] charmingly matched protagonists.”
—Library Journal
“The book to beat for best historical romance of the year. . . . Sexy, inventive, and riveting, it’s hard to put down and a joy to read.”
—All About Romance
“A fascinating, passionate tale . . . you won’t want to miss.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Rousing . . . delightful. . . . Wicked Becomes You enthralls with particularly likable characters and a heartwarming romance with deeply affecting emotions.”
—SingleTitles.com
WRITTEN ON YOUR SKIN
An August 2009 Romantic Times Top Pick . . . Nom inated for the Romantic Times award for Best Historical Romance Adventure
“Remarkable. . . . Meredith Duran is one of the shooting stars of romance.”
—All About Romance
“Mesmerizing . . . a glorious, nonstop, action-packed battle-of-wills romance.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
“Wildly romantic.”
—Dear Author (Grade: A+)
“Everything a great historical romance should be.”
—Romance Junkies
BOUND BY YOUR TOUCH
One of the Best Books of 2009 in All About Romance’s Reviewer’s Choice column
“Entertaining. . . . Historical romance fans will enjoy the adventure.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A story that packs a powerful punch.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Sophisticated, beautifully written, and utterly romantic.”
—The Book Smugglers
“A great love story. . . . I found new layers and meaning each time I read it.”
—Dear Author
“Sizzling sexual tension. . . .”
—All About Romance
THE DUKE OF SHADOWS
A 2008 Finalist for the Romantic Times Best Historical Debut award
“Evocative and enticing . . . a luscious delight.”
—Liz Carlyle
“Fascinating, emotionally intense.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
“Riveting. . . . emotion-packed. . . . A guaranteed page-turner.”
—The Romance Reader (4 stars)
“Without a doubt the best historical romance I have read this year.”
—Romance Reviews Today
All of Meredith Duran’s novels are available as eBooks
ALSO BY MEREDITH DURAN
The Duke of Shadows
Bound by Your Touch
Written on Your Skin
Wicked Becomes You
A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal
Pocket Star Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Meredith Duran
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition April 2012
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Designed by Jill Putorti
ISBN 978-1-4516-0695-9
ISBN 978-1-4516-0701-7 (ebook)
For Steph,
for innumerable reasons—“friendship” being too pallid and commonplace a word to begin to describe them.
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Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Author Bio
Author’s Note
When Queen Anne died, in 1714, the English crown passed to her second cousin, George of Hanover, who had been born and raised in what is now Germany. (Anne’s half brother, James Stuart, was not eligible to inherit the throne because of his Catholic faith.) The accession of George I was marked by a dramatic shift in political power. The long-reigning Tory party saw many of its greatest leaders arrested and forced from office, and in the general elections that followed, the Whigs assumed almost complete control of the government.
Believing that their faith, powers, and privileges were threatened by the new king and his allies, many English Tories decided to take up the Jacobite cause and champion James Stuart’s claim to the throne. Across England, 1715 was a year marked by treasonous rumors, riots, and repressions . . . and, ultimately, war.
Prologue
ENGLAND, 1709
Faster.
Adrian had abandoned the lathered horse a mile behind. He ran now, his feet no sooner striking the ground than lifting again, all his instincts and memories combining to aid him, directing him sure-footedly and safely over the darkened field where he had played as a boy and later loved her as a man.
Faster.
The lights of Hodderby, which had flickered in the distance for long minutes, grew brighter. He could see now the draperies thrown back, the windows blazing like torches. Behind them moved darkened shapes, perhaps looking out, one of them Nora: she was watching for him. She was strong. She would hold out. He would not be too late.
Faster.
He stumbled and the pain speared up his side, so that all at once, he grew aware of his breath sawing razor-like in his throat—the burning in his chest—the ache in his shoulder that had not yet healed; the throb in his ribs where his father had struck him. On the ship they had chained him to keep him in place, claiming that they did it with love; they were saving his life from ruin, they said. His brother had clapped him on his wounded shoulder and laughed at his expression—and then, when Adrian had hawked spit across that smirking mouth, had cursed and kicked him like a mongrel dog.
“You will thank me for that one day,” his brother had said by way of farewell. Wiping his jaw, he had added, “I will have your apology then.”
There would be no apology.
Faster.
Out of the dimness of twilight emerged a group of people in festive finery, men and women stumbling into each other, their wine-drunk laughter light in the cool autumn air. The girls wore bracelets of flowers braided round their wrists and brows; the flowers were orange blossoms, bridal flowers, purloined from a wedding.
Not hers, he told himself. Not yet. She will not bend for them. She will wait for me.
The group, seeing him, called out greetings. He had no breath for a reply. He was flying now, flying toward the manse. Faster, he thought. Faster.
1
ENGLAND, 1715
Nora was sitting at her dressing table, her maidservant Grizel braiding her hair for bed, when she heard hoofbeats on the road without. For a moment her heart swelled with relief: David, she thought. Her brother had finally returned, and she could surrender his cares to his own keeping. Thank God for it: they had worn her to the bone.
The next second, the maid crossed to open the window. Peering down, she gasped. “King’s riders, my lady,” she said over her shoulder.
Nora felt the blood drain from her head.
King’s riders, approaching by night with no message sent ahead to announce them: the only conclusion was that they meant to take the household by surprise. Their mission was not a friendly one.
Somebody had betrayed her.
“My gown,” she said as she rose. “Lace me quickly. And leave the window open.”
As she impatiently submitted to Grizel’s nimble hands, she heard the household stirring back to life. Dogs barked in the inner courtyard. Tack jingled and a horse whinnied. Low voices rose on the cool night breeze, impossible to discern. She caught three distinct timbres, and then a fourth. Her chest tightened. “How large is the party?” she asked. “Could you tell?”
“I saw . . . eight, nine mounts?”
“So many?” Nora cast her mind back to the letter she had received last week. Since the riots at Oxford, the government had recalled the old act, passed before the Civil War, that allowed the king’s agents to search any house suspected to harbor traitors. But to come this far into the Lancashire wilderness, with so very many men . . .
Evidently they felt certain they would not leave this place empty-handed.
She took a deep breath. No cause to fear, she told herself. As Grizel’s hands fell away, she squared her shoulders. In the standing mirror in the corner, she saw herself: small, dark, half-lost in the shadows of the room.
It would not do. She lifted her head, trying for a prouder look. These visitors would behave as her manner instructed them. Best that they see a grand lady, deserving of respect.
“What can they want now?” Grizel whispered.
Turning, Nora found her maid twisting a lace cap in her hands. Her anxious gaze begged for reassurance.
Not for the first time, Nora felt a stab of anger. Her brother’s mad schemes had endangered every soul in his care. At a time when heavy rains and failing crops should have riveted his attention to his estates, he conspired instead in French palaces, and exposed every throat in this house to the axe.
The thought was disloyal. She forced it away. David had no choice, after all. When her majesty had died and the German had come from Hanover to take the throne, their father’s enemies had been waiting. They had whispered lies into the new king’s ear. In the end, Father had been impeached, stripped of his title, and driven from England.
Neither Father nor David could be expected to tolerate such insult. As her brother often said, only dogs and cowards licked the boot that kicked them. And if the Colvilles did submit . . . who was to say that next, these lands would not be taken from them, too? The crown had already seized their more far-flung holdings, but Nora’s late husband had labored to ensure that Hodderby and its environs were spared.
Now that her husband was dead, the Whigs no longer had cause to treat the Colvilles kindly. Before David could tend to these estates, he first must ensure that they remained his to protect.
As the panic ebbed, she began to think more clearly. Why, of course—nobody had betrayed her. The king’s men did not come because they had learned of David’s activities. More likely they came because this household had once belonged to her father, who had fled to the Jacobite court. They came on a mission of simple harassment.
“I cannot guess why they have come,” she lied to the maid. “But I am sure there is good reason for it, and no cause for our anxiety.”
“Yes, my lady,” murmured Grizel. She did not sound convinced, but no matter. So long as the men did not know about David’s affairs, there truly was nothing new to fear.
Unless, of course, it occurred to these visitors to dig up the cellar floors . . . or seize the s
tores of wine. The double-chambered barrels concealed more than canary and port. They housed enough gunpowder to demolish a fortress—or this house, if handled roughly.
A knock came at the door, causing her to jump. Surely they would not come straight to her rooms? Such boldness would bode very ill.
“Come,” she called.
At least she sounded calm. That was a good beginning.
The door opened to reveal the steward, Mr. Montrose. He looked harassed, his white wig sitting askew on his heavy brow, revealing a wisp of gray hair beneath. “My lady,” he said breathlessly. “I beg your pardon, but Hooton says a party of riders has come—they are demanding entrance—”
“On whose authority?”
“My lady . . .” He faltered, swallowing loudly. “They carry a writ of Parliament.”
She refused to show how these words chilled her. “Then we have no choice. Permit them entrance and tell Hooton to make them comfortable.” She bent her head so Grizel could pin up her braid.
“But, my lady—”
She looked up. Montrose was wringing his wrists. “What? Speak, sir.”
“My lady, the party is led by Lord Adrian.”
Grizel’s hand slipped. A pin stabbed Nora’s scalp, but she barely registered the pain. Montrose could not mean . . .
“Lord Adrian?” Her voice no longer sounded calm; it came out rough and choked, though she felt nothing, nothing at all but a prickling disbelief. Surely she was dreaming. Surely he could not mean—
“Ah, forgive me,” Montrose stammered. “I forgot myself. I mean the Earl of Rivenham. He is Rivenham now.”
My God, she thought. Then this was a mission of vengeance, indeed.
David, what have you done to me?
How could you leave me alone to face him?
They were installed in a small parlor with cups of buttered ale. Adrian watched his men assort themselves, settling with unaccustomed hesitance into chairs around the fire. The dark-paneled room seemed too fine for muddied leathers and woolens, but the stench of the journey, horse and smoke and sweat, quickly overwhelmed the sharp, clean scent of wood polish.