The Scarlet Bride
Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith
P
RAISE FOR THE
S
CHOOL FOR
B
RIDES
R
OMANCES
“Chockablock with plot twists…Plenty of passion and intrigue.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Smith makes a dazzling entrance to the romance community with a charming, sexy, innovative tale that sparks the imagination. There’s a bright future ahead of Smith.”
—
RT Book Reviews
“An unusual premise and an interesting story…Readers are in for a treat…It has…everything readers want in a romance.”
—
Romance Reviews Today
“Delightful…And I
loved
the twists.”
—
The Romance Dish
“A great read.”
—
Night Owl Reviews
“Brings an interesting twist to this era of historical romance.”
—
Fresh Fiction
“I was completely captivated…Sharp and highly entertaining…Incredibly fun to read.”
—
TwoLips Reviews
“A warm gender-war historical romance…Fans will cheer.”
—
Midwest Book Review
Berkley Sensation Titles by Cheryl Ann Smith
THE SCHOOL FOR BRIDES
THE ACCIDENTAL COURTESAN
THE SCARLET BRIDE
C
HERYL
A
NN
S
MITH
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE SCARLET BRIDE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / June 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Cheryl Ann Smith.
Excerpt from
A Convenient Bride
by Cheryl Ann Smith copyright © 2012 by Cheryl Ann Smith.
Cover art by Judy York.
Hand lettering by Ron Zinn.
Cover design by George Long.
Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56913-9
BERKLEY SENSATION®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For Duane, Regan, Paige, and Ethan.
All my love.
Chapter One
S
imon Harrington, an ill-tempered brute if Lady Jeanette Abbot was to be believed, rode down the deserted streets of London with no particular destination in mind. Lamplight flickered in fresh puddles gathered from the same light rain that splattered his coat, dripped off the brim of his hat, and trickled in cold rivulets down the back of his neck. The discomfort fit his mood, as his sober expression was on the edge of turning grim.
The blasted wench had refused his suit again, calling him untamed and beneath her consideration as a husband, in spite of his family’s wealth. She’d flashed an abundance of tiny albeit slightly crooked teeth, stepped away from his bent knee as if he had some horrid disease, and politely asked him to leave lest she have him tossed out into the street by her footmen.
Now as the horse beneath him ambled freely down the street, he considered letting the beast carry him all the way to Scotland, where no one knew his history, and the women had much less starch in their drawers. His father had married Irish, so taking a Scotswoman as his wife wouldn’t shock the Ton. The path to scandal had already been paved
with the bodies of all the disreputable Harringtons before him.
Unfortunately, as the elder son of his branch of the family oak tree, he had to make a wise marriage. If his uncle and father decided to drop over dead, he’d be the earl and head of the notorious clan of bounders and rakes. Without Lady Jeanette, his chances of dragging the family firmly into societal favor were slim. Tonight’s rejection was certainly a blow to his carefully laid plans. Though a few Harringtons had risen to prominence in society, Simon’s Irish blood and lack of a title made the path nearly impossible for him. He’d not care what anyone thought of his family if not for his sister, Brenna.
“Onward to Scotland then, er, Horse,” Simon commanded, his voice a touch slurred from several pints downed at a bawdy pub somewhere near Whitechapel.
He really should name the beast, he decided, as he peered down at the pair of furry ears that had turned backward to listen for his commands. After all, he’d owned the large gray for over a week now. The finely bred animal needed something majestic to make him stand out among less well-bred and costly beasts.
But the search for a name was to be delayed, as a piteous sound, carried on the wind, immediately brought him upright, sober, and nearly off his horse. Horse himself nearly leapt out of his hide and braced to bolt. Only sawing at the reins kept the gelding in check.
It was the cry of a child in distress. Wait, no. Not of an infant but of a woman in trouble. Serious trouble, if the second louder cry was to be believed.
Simon jerked up the reins, startled the horse a second time, and kneed the beast in the direction of the sound. As soon as he rounded a corner, he spotted two large men in footmen’s livery, struggling with a woman in rumpled clothing. She appeared to be fighting for her life, or perhaps only her virtue. Truthfully, it didn’t matter which. Trouble was trouble, and she was outnumbered.
At least that was how Simon saw it. He wasted no time
on further speculation. The damsel was in danger, and by the looks of the empty street, he would be pressed into service as her knight in damp armor.
She struggled mightily against two brawny pairs of hands as the men did their best to unwrap her arms from a streetlamp. She wasn’t weeping and her cries were more of the desperate sort. Simon was impressed by her determination to succeed against greater forces than she.
“No! You will not take me back!” she cried as one arm was finally dislodged. It would be but a matter of seconds before she was carried away in the waiting coach.
Simon wasted no time. He kicked Horse to a run and barreled down on the trio in a clatter of racing hooves. The two men had just a moment to register their surprise when one of them took Simon’s knee to the chest. The man flew up with a pained grunt, landing awkwardly backward on cobblestones. The other jumped back to avoid the horse. Simon shot out a foot and kicked him in the face. His nose shattered.
The woman swayed but reclaimed the pole. Simon spun Horse around as the first man shook his head and began to rise. The other cupped his broken nose and groaned.
There was no time to spare. He edged the horse close to the woman and reached out a gloved hand.
