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Compromising The Duke's Daughter
Mary Brendan
Playing with scandalLady Joan Morland has already risked her reputation once with dashing Drew Rockleigh. And when her coach is set upon, it’s Drew who rescues her, more roguish and tempting than ever!Then Joan discovers Drew has lost his fortune and decides to repay her debt by helping him. But, after a sizzling kiss, she finds herself compromised once again! This time, scandal is surely inevitable… And the only thing to quell it is a walk down the aisle!
Playing with scandal
Lady Joan Morland has already risked her reputation once with dashing Drew Rockleigh. And when her coach is set upon, it’s Drew who rescues her, more roguish and tempting than ever!
Then Joan discovers Drew has lost his fortune and decides to repay her debt by helping him. But after a sizzling kiss, she finds herself compromised once again! This time, scandal is surely inevitable...and the only thing to quell it is a walk down the aisle!
With her puny fists Joan battered a chest that felt like granite, trying to squirm away, but he suddenly shifted sideways on the seat and brought her down on her back beside him.
Drew braced an arm over her so she was trapped against the upholstery. Slowly his face descended and, mesmerised, Joan watched his mouth until it blurred out of focus. But he didn’t kiss her; his lips skimmed her hot cheek, the faintest tickle of bristle scouring her skin.
‘Do you know what I think, my lady?’ he murmured against her small, sensitive earlobe. ‘I think my conceit is making me believe your interest in me is personal. I think you’re as eager to taste me as I am to have you.’
Author Note (#u3d8486f4-3769-5b6b-a3d3-32e09db06ec1)
This novel is the second of two books featuring characters linked by family and friendship. In Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed Lady Joan Morland’s beloved stepsister Fiona finds happiness with dashing Luke Wolfson, following an adventure that plunges her into the midst of a smuggling gang.
In Compromising the Duke’s Daughter Lady Joan is aware that impeccable behaviour is expected of a young woman of her privileged status. She is sure that a youthful peccadillo with one of her brother-in-law’s rakish friends is firmly buried in her past. Then Drew Rockleigh bursts back into her life and Joan is astonished to see how low the handsome gentleman has fallen. She knows she owes him a debt of gratitude for having kept her secret...a secret that could ruin her and break her father’s heart should it leak out.
Keen to prove that she trusts him, Joan probes the mystery behind Rockleigh’s downfall. Infuriatingly, he seems not to need or want her assistance. But he does want her, and soon Joan realises that she wants him too, and will do her utmost to help him regain his rightful position in society.
The drama sweeps Lady Joan from the elegant drawing rooms of Mayfair, pitching her headlong into the squalid slums of the East End of London where, unbelievably, this duke’s daughter finds she has fallen in love with a streetfighter and will do whatever it takes to capture Rockleigh’s heart.
I hope you enjoy reading about Joan and Drew’s passionate skirmishes, and the obstacles they must overcome on the road to winning their happy-ever-after.
Compromising the Duke’s Daughter
Mary Brendan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY BRENDAN was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.
Books by Mary Brendan
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Linked by Character
Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed
Compromising the Duke’s Daughter
Society Scandals
A Date with Dishonour
The Rake’s Ruined Lady
Regency Rogues
Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady
Dangerous Lord, Seductive Miss
The Hunter Brothers
A Practical Mistress
The Wanton Bride
The Meredith Sisters
Wedding Night Revenge
The Unknown Wife
A Scandalous Marriage
The Rake and the Rebel
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
For Sheila Hodgson, my editor, with thanks for advice and support given over many years.
Contents
Cover (#ue0458d2f-b0a7-53f5-b8c7-858b182a8e73)
Back Cover Text (#u19251bfd-26d5-52f9-beeb-27cfbc50067e)
Introduction (#u52441c47-ab80-5725-b0de-a191533493a2)
Author Note (#ua29c47aa-1f3f-5682-99ec-41d83455dcda)
Title Page (#udc1ea09f-58d3-50c1-a63a-9d82d6258dd4)
About the Author (#uf77e9c69-1bc9-57d8-a6ef-31bdbfa3d197)
Dedication (#u5386a7b9-cf16-5c2b-9d4e-8cf5c370fcc7)
Chapter One (#udae39725-38d0-579d-b38c-4ba63361810c)
Chapter Two (#ubb270b84-7d69-5a76-b1b9-19e781fadba0)
Chapter Three (#u5de4ea2c-ced3-50c8-83e0-4d4a433d7eb2)
Chapter Four (#u41c5f00d-d356-5c4e-88fa-1ffc990e8e59)
Chapter Five (#uf9a514b7-2e01-5905-91c0-2febe0ebe2da)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u3d8486f4-3769-5b6b-a3d3-32e09db06ec1)
‘Get us from this infernal place at once, you stupid boy!’
‘Calm yourself, Aunt, and please don’t shout at Pip—it will only make matters worse. If he panics he might overset the coach, or trample somebody underfoot.’
‘I wish the horses would trample the savages to death!’ Dorothea warbled hysterically.
‘Hush!’ Joan slammed an unsteady finger to her soft mouth, hissing from behind it, ‘If we infuriate these people, heaven only knows what will become of us all!’
Lady Joan Morland was attempting to combat her fright as well as pacify her companion. Joan knew she was to blame for their terrifying predicament, but her aunt’s callous remark about running over their attackers had shocked and angered her. Just a short while ago Joan had been sitting in the same room as these folks’ youngsters and she’d not willingly orphan any child.
Joan had wanted to visit a ragged school in the eastern quarter of the metropolis to assist her friend the Reverend Walters teaching at his vicarage. Thus, she accepted that it was her fault that their novice driver had taken a wrong turning and ended up in the heart of a slum. Pip was into his apprenticeship and was now allowed to drive the smaller carriages, but this calamity had proved that he hadn’t the necessary experience to negotiate a detour about the London stews as his master would have done. The youth had plunged headlong into the midst of a crowd of spectators at a street fight. Their crested coach and team of fine chestnuts had drawn interest in the way bluebottles would swarm to a joint of prime beef.
‘Get away...you vile creature!’ Dorothea flapped her handkerchief at a bold urchin who’d clung to the side of the vehicle and was thrusting a grimy hand at her, palm up.
‘Come on, lady, give us summat or I’ll have them baubles off yer chest instead.’ The boy bared a set of brown teeth in a grin while his filthy fingers mimicked an approaching spider.
Dorothea squeaked in alarm, jamming a hand over the pearl mourning brooch pinned to her cloak.
‘Here...take this and please leave us be.’ Joan slid forward on the seat to throw the boy some coppers dug from her reticule. He caught them deftly and leapt down.
Had Joan thought more carefully about it she would have realised that her action was inflammatory rather than calming. Within seconds of the boy whooping with glee, his hand aloft displaying his treasure, a horde had clambered on to the running boards. Youthful and aged faces began competing for space at the windows, all with the same wide, avaricious grins stretching their mouths. Dorothea clung to her niece, shivering, as the vehicle swayed precariously from side to side with the weight of unwashed bodies hanging off the coachwork.
‘We are about to be murdered!’ the hysterical widow screeched before rolling sideways on to the seat in a dead faint.
Joan pressed herself back against the luxurious squabs of her father’s coach, her heart hammering in consternation beneath her breastbone. Although her aunt had been raving moments ago, Joan had preferred Dorothea being conscious. At least they might have both alighted from the vehicle and attempted some sort of escape. Now Joan knew she was hampered by the need to stay with her aunt’s comatose form because she couldn’t in all conscience abandon her relative to save herself.
‘Pip!’ Joan yelled above the noise of the baying crowd. ‘Can you hear me? Are you all right?’
‘Can’t move an inch forward or back, my lady. Hemmed in good and proper, we are,’ the youth wailed, sounding on the point of tears.
Joan glanced fearfully at the prominent face at the window. A man who appeared to be middle aged, but might have been considerably younger beneath the caked dirt, was lasciviously licking his lips while looking her over.
‘Reckon your daddy might pay more’n a handful of coins to get you back. You’re a sight fer sore eyes and no mistake.’ He dropped a crusty eyelid in a lewd wink.
‘Miss High ’n’ Mighty won’t be worth a farthing if you tumble her first,’ a rough female voice called out from behind and started off some raucous laughter.
Suddenly the lecher’s face disappeared as he was yanked backwards and the door was flung open.
Joan shot to the furthest corner of the coach, her fists raised in readiness to beat off an assailant. Although she was quaking with fright, there was a piercing sadness in her breast that she’d chalked letters with children who had no better future than this brutishness to look forward to.
‘What in damnation do you think you’re doing here?’ a cultured male voice barked. ‘You stupid little fool!’
Joan blinked in astonishment and her jaw sagged. Heat streaked into her complexion at the sight of a man, stripped to the waist, his muscled chest and solid broad shoulders glistening with sweat. And so were his features, beneath a tumble of matted silvery hair that clung to his bronzed forehead and cheeks. It was a face that seemed familiar, yet she couldn’t understand how that could be. Shock had rendered her speechless thus she was unable to demand he satisfy her curiosity by giving his name. And then he was gone.
But she could hear him shouting abusive commands at the mob and no more people leered in at her. A moment later the coach jerked one final time, then was set into motion. After a laboured start the vehicle picked up speed.
Stunned into inertia for some minutes by her ordeal, Joan shook herself into action and patted briskly at her aunt’s dropped jaw to try to bring her round. When that didn’t work she delved into Dorothea’s reticule for some smelling salts. Having unstoppered it, she thrust the bottle beneath her aunt’s nose, but the woman remained stubbornly unresponsive to her ministrations.
‘Oh, well done, Pip. Oh, very well done, indeed.’
Joan felt light-headed with relief. She slid across the hide seat to peer out of the window at cottages and carts and people going about their business. Thankfully, it seemed they had taken a turning out of that awful place.
‘I shall let my father know how excellently you are learning the ropes, Pip...’
But never must he know all the details of what has gone on today, Joan inwardly wailed. If the Duke of Thornley discovered what dangers his daughter had risked that afternoon, he’d have her under lock and key till Christmastide! Joan knew it would be hard to make her aunt button her lip. Dorothea was the world’s worst blabber and reported to her brother every little slip her niece made.
‘Pip...are we approaching safety yet? Where exactly are we?’
‘Cheapside...now settle down and be quiet,’ growled a rich baritone voice very unlike Pip’s.
Joan dropped the bottle of smelling salts and craned out of the window, looking up. But she couldn’t see any more of him than a long breeched leg and a single sinewy forearm terminating in grazed fingers entwined in the reins.
