Seducing Charlotte (19 page)

If you enjoyed
Seducing Charlotte
, you’ll definitely love the following excerpt from the next book in the series,
Tempting Bella
,
coming Fall 2013.

Prologue

Oxfordshire, England

Sebastian Stanhope’s first glimpse of his future wife came minutes before they were bound for all eternity.

He’d rushed from university in a haze of disbelief after receiving the urgent summons from his father. The stupor ebbed slightly during the long carriage journey to the bride’s ancestral home. His father sat across from him, barely acknowledging his son’s presence, his open disdain crowding the closed space.

Sebastian sucked air into his lungs, his unease growing as the coach-and-four closed the distance between him and the stranger with whom he would be forever intertwined. He should be grateful. Being joined to the daughter of a duke was a much better match than he, a mere mister, had a right to expect. And, more importantly, the alliance would save his family from certain financial ruin.

A mammoth baroque edifice rose into view, dwarfing the surrounding landscape. Sebastian’s stomach loosened, a faint cramp stirring deep in his belly. With its numerous chimneys, towers and domes, the imperious structure clearly meant to awe approaching visitors with its sheer mass.

The fortress hovered over them as the carriage jerked to a full stop on the circular drive. The heavy front doors gaped open. Sebastian alighted and strode into the clutches of a murky future, barely noticing the stone-faced butler who showed them in. Squaring his shoulders, he walked ahead of his father through the mirrored hall. His black Hessians clicked a protest against the marble floor, the sound echoing high into the endless ceilings before trembling away.

His hand went to his cravat, adjusting it even though it had been perfectly wrought that morning. He always took care with his grooming because his appearance was not extraordinary. He stood only average in height, lacking the towering elegance of his four brothers. But then again, he’d always been different from the rest of the family. His powerful build and dark features lacked the gleaming, gilded radiance, which shone off his lithe brothers. And his father.

They were shown into a massive receiving room, which smelled of beeswax and lemon. Wood surfaces shimmered, reflecting shards of sunlight from tall arched windows at the far end of the chamber. Formal furniture in the French empire style milled about the space, lions’ faces carved into the mahogany side tables seemed to mock him.

He surveyed the chamber, every muscle in his body taut, and caught sight of a girl sitting in a window seat by the arched windows. Swinging her hanging legs to and fro, she regarded them with an expression of mild curiosity.

He looked in askance at the butler, acknowledging the portly man for the first time. “Will Lady Mirabella be joining us?”

The butler nodded in the direction of the girl. “This is my Lady Mirabella. His Grace will join you presently.” He bowed out of the chamber.

For a moment, Sebastian’s mind went blank. Feeling the blood drain from his face, he turned to his father and murmured, “You cannot be serious.” The bride, apparently having already lost interest in them, turned her gaze to the bucolic scene outside her window.

Cyrus Stanhope, never a patient man, was always even less so with his third son. “It is done. You will make the best of it. One day you shall thank me.”

Nausea swelled, threatening to topple his composure. “That
cannot
be she.”

His father shot him an obdurate look. “You are nine-and-ten with no serious prospects. Duty requires that you do as you are bid.”

Sebastian turned back to the girl. Plain and somewhat plump, her large almond-shaped eyes were dark and her nose pudgy. His betrothed’s full heart-shaped mouth looked like it belonged on a doll. A fresh white dress matched her wintry skin.

Anxiety stretched his chest. She didn’t deserve this. The poor girl clearly had no understanding of what they all planned for her. A booming voice from the room’s threshold startled his thoughts away from the girl.

“Ah, there you are! I see you have met your future bride.” Aubrey Wentworth, Duke of Traherne, lumbered toward them. A tall man, he was almost slender except for a prominent belly which seemed too much of a burden for his bird-like legs. Sebastian had never met Traherne, but the man had a reputation for whoring, drinking and gaming. The latter was no doubt the reason Sebastian found himself in this predicament.

The duke’s bleary gaze rolled over him, his loose jowls hanging like drapes beneath a florid face. “You are Sebastian.” He bounced a bloodshot glance between father and son, seeming to enjoy the contrast between the two, between light and dark. “The boy must take his looks from his mother.”

Cyrus’ stiff lips contorted into a joyless smile. “Perhaps it is time for Sebastian to meet his betrothed. After all, there is no reason to delay.”

Traherne’s features grew more pointed. “No reason at all, it will be my pleasure to have Sebastian Stanhope as my son by marriage.”

Cyrus flushed beneath his polite mask. Narrowing his gaze, Sebastian darted a look between the two older men. Their obvious mutual dislike arced through the air. The undercurrent of an unspoken conversation – one that only the two of them seemed to understand – raged between them.

Traherne held a beckoning hand out to his daughter. “Bella,” he said, loose jowls flapping like curtains in the breeze. “Come and make yourself known to Mister Sebastian.”

The girl’s almond-colored gaze edged in on them, as though she’d just parsed that the appearance of these strangers had something to do with her. Her eyes rested for a moment on Sebastian before she rose from the window seat and came toward them.

“There now,” Traherne said to her. “This is Mister Stanhope and one day you shall be obliged to obey his commands.” She hesitated, a spark of something
—
mutiny?
—
crossed her face.

Sebastian’s gut gnarled. The poor girl. This was wrong. Abominably so. Yet, minutes later, after a stilted exchange of pleasantries, he found himself back in the carriage with his father while his betrothed rode in the forward carriage with Traherne.

“How did this happen?”

His father stared ahead. “Your betrothal settles a gaming debt. It is an incredible coup for our family.” Cyrus flicked an unseen spot of dirt from his sleeve. “I am still waiting to hear your thanks, but then again, you’ve always been an ungrateful boy.”

Sebastian braced his jaw, well aware this marriage would save the family from destitution. His father should be thanking
him
. “I see.” He gazed briefly out the window, not seeing anything, a winch screwing ever tighter around his future. “Traherne must owe you a great sum of blunt.”

Even now, the man could not spare him a glance. “You have no idea. Do you realize what I have done for you?” Cyrus turned a frosty gaze on his third-born son. “He has no male heir. She is to inherit it all. A special act of Parliament assures that girl will be a duchess in her own right. You will wield the power of Traherne until your own son becomes the next duke.”

Icy disbelief whooshed through him. “Why have you chosen me for this great honor? Why not Arthur or Edward?”
The sons you love
he wanted to say. But, of course, did not.

“Don’t be absurd,” his father retorted. “Your uncle has no male heirs and that ancient wife of his is unlikely to give him one. God willing, Arthur will be the next Marquess of Camryn and Edward must be available as well.”

Ah. The heir and the spare. As the third son, this grand alliance
—
and the burden of rescuing the family from destitution
—
fell to him. The enormity of it astounded. As consort to a future duchess, untold power and prestige awaited him. Although the Traherne finances must not be particularly healthy if the duke had to resort to this farce in order to satisfy a debt.

Confusion and incredulity clouded his ability to think. Something was amiss. He shot a suspicious glance at Cyrus. Why would the father who rarely showed him anything other than cool contempt arrange an exalted marriage for him when another of his younger brothers would do just as well?

The conveyance jerked to a stop in front of a white stone structure. The chapel. For a brief moment, madness loomed and he contemplated bolting. Of course, he could never act so dishonorably as to break the marriage contract his father signed on his behalf. He would never allow his brothers, mother
—
or his father for that matter
—
to fall into the misery of destitution.

Reality and acceptance settled over him like a heavy blanket on a sultry summer day. The entire family would benefit from the alliance
—
his younger brothers’ place at university would be assured, long-time family servants could be properly pensioned
—
while he endured the consequences; a loveless marriage with no hope of escape. After all these years of suffering Sebastian’s presence, Cyrus had finally found the perfect way to exact his revenge.

The duke clapped a weighty hand on his shoulder as they entered the chapel. “I want you to know I take my daughter’s future seriously. When your father proposed this alliance between our two families, I stipulated that I would only accept you as my daughter’s husband. All of your brothers are fine gentlemen, but I quite insisted upon you.”

Understanding hit like a blast of frigid air. Of course, his father would never arrange this grand alliance for him. Cyrus had no real choice in the matter.

Traherne chuckled at the surprised look in his future son-in-law’s face. “I am a betting man but I am not an idiot. Despite your youth, you’ve developed a reputation for your clever mind and firmness of character. It is what I want for my Mirabella.” He looked toward his daughter, who had taken a seat in the front pew, her narrow shoulders rigid. “You have the correct temperament to oversee the dukedom until my daughter’s son can inherit it.”

His head swimming, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for your confidence in me, Your Grace. I will endeavor to live up to your high opinion of me.” He willed himself to ask the question which had troubled him from the first moment he set eyes on Mirabella Wentworth. “May I ask, Your Grace, how old your daughter is?”

Traherne gave the girl a fond look. “Bella is in her thirteenth year. Sadly, she is plain but the girl will be a peeress in her own right. That should be recompense enough for you. And she is young enough to be biddable.”

Practially a child
. And she appeared even younger with her round face, pudgy form and complete lack of customary female curves. Nausea bubbled into his chest. Gulping a wretched breath, he swallowed down the sensation, his face breaking into a cool sweat. He darted a look at the girl, who stood to the side of the altar with her wide arms folded tight across her flat chest. Her full face pale, she focused on something on the floor, an unreadable expression on her face. He realized he hadn’t heard her speak. Did she even comprehend what was happening? He could learn to live with a dowdy for a wife, but what if she was simple as well?

Wrongly guessing at the trail of his thoughts, Traherne bared his crowded teeth in a knowing smile. “You impudent pup.” The smell of vodka blasted Sebastian’s face. “I know young flesh has its appeal but there is to be no wedding night until my daughter is ten-and-seven. Until then, you must slake your desires elsewhere. Has Stanhope not explained any of it to you?”

Perspiration scurried down Sebastian’s back. “He has not, Your Grace.”

Traherne’s generous eyebrows rose. “Then allow me to. For all intents and purposes, you become my heir after today. You will return to Cambridge post haste to continue your studies. Traherne assumes all costs of your education. Once you complete your university studies, a tutor will be employed to accompany you on a grand tour of the continent.” He clapped Sebastian’s shoulder again. “You will assume most of the ducal duties until my grandson, your son, comes of age. You will move at the highest levels of government. You must be educated in a way that does credit to your new station in life.”

He mopped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. His own father was merely the second son of a marquess, he himself was untitled but would now one day assume the reins of one of the largest dukedoms in the realm. The Traherne holdings were of enormous consequence, the political clout unparalleled. He should be pleased, honored even.

He discreetly tugged at his cravat, trying in vain to improve his air flow. Mirabella Wentworth was ushered to the altar. The duke’s firm hand touched his shoulder, urging him toward his bride. Sebastian’s fine lawn shirt clung to clammy skin underneath his waistcoat. Forcing his tense jaw to relax, he stiffened his spine and went to it.

Upon reaching his bride, it occurred to him that he should reassure her. He forced a smile but it did not have the desired effect. She squinted back at him, suspicion edged her gaze in a way that made her appear older than her years. She might be young, but perhaps life with a father like Traherne had taught the girl to be wary. Disheartened by the thought, Sebastian turned to face the vicar, barely registering the murmur of words which made them man and wife. All he heard were shackles snapping shut around his future.

When it was over, the groom headed back to university while the bride returned to the nursery. After a while, as memories will do, the events of the day faded into a gossamer sort of thing. In the years that followed, Sebastian sometimes wondered whether the dreamlike afternoon wedding had ever happened at all.