Secrets of a Wedding Night
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.
For my sister, Melanie Minot Bowman Pikor, who said to me one day, “You should write a romance novel.”
And I did.
Good idea.
I love you, Moosey.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, thanks to my fabulous editor, Holly Blanck. If you hadn’t been digging my little story, it never would have seen the light o’ day. You made my dreams come true.
To my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, who saw something in my writing she liked and stuck with me till we hit the mark. The day you first called me remains in my memory forever.
To my amazing critique partners past and present: Mary Behre, Lena Diaz, Sheila Athens, and Erica Barton. Your help and support have meant more to me than I can say.
To my mother, Judy Bowman-Rhodes, for the gift of storytelling (cough, cough, hyperbole); to my six actual sisters Janet, Laura, Leslie, Sandra, Sarah, and Melanie for your influence and support; and to my BFF Danielle Aguirre for being sister #7.
To the First Coast Romance Writers in Jacksonville, Florida, and the Beau Monde online chapter of Romance Writers of America. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the RWA and my chapter’s support.
To marvelous Regency author, Gail Ranstrom, for giving me a kind and supportive critique at a time when I had no idea what I was doing.
To my Lalalas. I don’t know what I’d do without you every day. I feel like this little book is a tribute to all of us. Keep the faith! La, la, la.
To Cheri Radliff for being my very first fan.
To my cousin, Kate Buckley, for being my fan, my friend, and my secret Carson. Much obliged. And to my aunts, Susan Spitz and Gale Bowman, for being so proud of their romance novelist niece.
To my father, Minot Bowman, who is not here to read my stories and to my stepfather, Stan Rhodes, who is.
To Jenni McQ, Rom, and Ash for your wise and honest beta reads. And to Candice for looking out for my commas.
To Dr. Janell Hart for your wise insight into the human condition. I’ll get you reading romance novels yet!
Curtsy to my Secret Curtsy Society and 2011 Golden Heart nominee sisters, Ashlyn, Anne, Erin, and Sara. I’m so happy to be on this journey with you.
To the Dashing Duchesses for being such generally fabulous blog partners. Historical romance rocks! Your graces, I adore you.
To the incomparable Lisa Kleypas for saving me from a boring night stuck in a snowed-in airport in 2007, inspiring me to write, and for reading my story and providing the most beautiful cover quote a romance novelist could ask for. I am forever your fan!
To amazing historical romance authors Suzanne Enoch and Donna MacMeans for their generous praise. I owe you both a large and expensive drink.
To everyone at St. Martin’s Press for publishing my story so well. I appreciate everything you do and I cannot stop staring at the gorgeous cover.
And finally, thank you to my tall, dark, handsome, and supportive fiancé, Marcus. You totally have a historical romance hero name (sigh) but you’re better than any fictional character I could conjure.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
London, April 1816
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blows on the door echoed through the foyer. Lily heard them all the way in the study where she was poring over the dismal household accounts for the hundredth time.
“I demand to see the countess,” a deep male voice thundered.
Lily stopped scribbling. She glanced at Leopold, the scruffy brown terrier who sat curled on a worn cushion at her feet. “Demand? Good heavens.” She shook her head. “Which one of my so-called admirers is at it today?”
Returning her attention to the ledger, she mumbled, “Who knew? Apparently, twenty-two-year-old widows are all the rage this Season. That is, twenty-two-year-old widows
reportedly
worth a small fortune.”
Leopold cocked his head and barked. Lily bit her lip. “Or it could be a debt collector.”
Evans appeared in the doorway. Lily regarded her old friend with a weary sigh. “So, which is it? A fortune hunter or a creditor?”
“My lady, Lord Colton is in the white salon. He insists upon seeing you.”
Lily sat up straight. “Colton?”
“The Marquis of Colton,” Evans clarified, clearing his throat.
Leopold yipped as if he recognized the name. Evans gave the dog a dubious glance indicative of the strained relationship the two had shared over the last several years.
Lily rubbed the feathered tip of her quill against her nose, her brows knitting together. “Hmm. This
is
an interesting development.”
She was grateful Evans had been awake to answer the door. Her butler had an unfortunate penchant for falling asleep at the most unexpected times. Though she suspected the racket had roused him.
Plopping the quill back into the well, she stood and smoothed her palms down her worn, gray skirts.
“Tell Lord Colton I’ll be in momentarily, Evans.” She nodded, enjoying the jolt of anticipation that leaped to life in her belly.
Devon Morgan, Marquis of Colton, in her house. Well. Of course she’d relish a distraction from the depressing house accounts, but there was something else. She’d relish the distraction from the simpering fops who’d been appearing on her doorstep smelling of too much sweet cologne and desperation. Lord Colton might be trouble, but there was nothing desperate about him.
She clapped her hands and her canine companion fell into line behind her. She and Leo whisked up the back staircase. Lily squelched the little smile that popped to her lips. Oh, yes. She knew exactly why Lord Colton was sitting in her salon. Though she hadn’t expected to see him quite so soon.
* * *
A quarter hour later, Lily made her way down the main hallway, past the tattered carpets she couldn’t afford to replace. She’d changed from the threadbare dove-gray gown into the darker morning dress she saved for company.
She drew in one last deep breath and pushed open the double doors to the white salon with both hands. She let the doors close behind her while her gaze scanned the room. It was beautifully decorated with delicate rosewood chairs, sterling silver candlesticks, and lovely antique vases filled with fresh flowers. The only room in the house so well appointed. Another concession to appearances.
Lily squared her shoulders. The confident smile she had pasted on her face belied the nervous knot of anticipation that roiled through her belly. She folded her hands serenely—a trick her mother taught her long ago—and made her way into the room.
Lord Colton sat in an embroidered chair, facing the window, his profile to her. He’d turned his head at the sound of her entrance. His countenance was a study in barely controlled anger. But years of breeding could not be denied. He rose to greet her.
Lily sucked in her breath. My, my, she hadn’t seen the Marquis of Colton up close in an age. He’d always been handsome—how could she forget?—but she had failed to remember him being quite
this
good-looking.
He stood easily two inches over six feet tall, with slightly curly, raven-black hair. He had chiseled cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted mouth that could linger in one’s memory, if one were interested in such things, which Lily decidedly was
not
. But most intriguing of all were his eyes. Deep, dark, and coffee brown, they shone with an off-putting intelligence and were framed by thick, long lashes that held an appeal all their own.
Lily pressed her lips together. Oh, yes, the Marquis of Colton was tall, dark, and handsome. Too much of all three for Lily’s peace of mind.
She swept toward him, meeting his eyes, and his anger seemed to diffuse a bit. His shoulders settled and his stance became less rigid.
“Lord Colton.” She curtsied and her dark skirts pooled around her ankles. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I haven’t seen you in—what’s it been—three years? Four?”
Leopold trotted past—affording Lord Colton with a distinctive growl indicative of the strained relationship
they
had shared in the past—before taking up residence on his favorite cushion in the corner.
Lily hid her smile and offered her hand to the marquis.
When he touched her small, cold fingers with his strong, warm ones, a frisson of awareness skittered up Lily’s spine. He bowed. There was that breeding again.
“Four years, perhaps,” he answered. “And whether or not this visit is pleasurable remains to be seen, my lady.”
His voice seemed to seek out some sensitive place along her nerves and thrum a thrilling tune. Deep, masculine, and oh-so-powerful was Lord Colton’s voice. And confident. She mustn’t forget confident.
Pulling her hand away from his unsettling touch, Lily crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her fingertips along her elbows. Four years? It had been nearly five and he knew it.
They both knew it.
“How did you find me, my lord? Seems the last time you were expected to pay me a visit, you lost your way.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It was quite simple, really. I merely followed the trail of men to your door. Rumor has it your butler has had to beat away your suitors with a stick. When he can stay awake, that is.”
Lily gritted her teeth. “It’s indelicate of you to mention Evans’s unfortunate condition, but I suppose I should expect no more of you. I also employ a maid who cannot remember her name from one moment to the next. Not all households can be as
illustrious
as yours, now can they?”
His only reply was a smirk. So much for that good breeding.
“But now that I think upon it, it is a fine idea,” Lily continued. “I shall have to ask Evans to fetch a stick. It’s unfortunate he didn’t have one before
you
arrived.”
Leopold’s ears perked and Lily shook her head, assuring the dog there was, in fact, no stick to be had. He slumped back onto his cushion and closed his eyes.
Lord Colton’s smile was tight. “I am not a suitor, and I assure you, your butler would need more than a stick to keep me from my mission today.”
“Mission? My, it sounds dire. But please, be quick about it. I’m quite busy of late, planning Annie’s debut.”
And keeping the creditors at bay,
she thought with a grimace.
His face registered only mild surprise. “Annie? That little imp is eighteen already?”
