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Wed By Necessity
Karen Kirst
Her Inconvenient HusbandWhen a riding accident strands socialite Caroline Turner overnight with the new stable manager, she gets the one thing she never wanted—a husband! Marrying the infuriatingly stubborn Duncan McKenna wouldn’t have been her first choice, but with her reputation damaged, it’s her only option.Still, there’s something about the brash, rugged Scotsman that fascinates Caroline. If Duncan wanted to wed a society girl, he would have stayed in Boston with his family and his fortune. He expects Caroline to balk at her new modest lifestyle, but instead the strong-willed beauty seems determined to prove him wrong, making her all the more irksome…and irresistible. The marriage of convenience isn’t what Caroline and Duncan planned, but could they be a perfect match?
Her Inconvenient Husband
When a riding accident strands socialite Caroline Turner overnight with the new stable manager, she gets the one thing she never wanted—a husband! Marrying the infuriatingly stubborn Duncan McKenna wouldn’t have been her first choice, but with her reputation damaged, it’s her only option. Still, there’s something about the brash, rugged Scotsman that fascinates Caroline.
If Duncan wanted to wed a society girl, he would have stayed in Boston with his family and his fortune. He expects Caroline to balk at her new modest lifestyle, but instead the strong-willed beauty seems determined to prove him wrong, making her all the more irksome...and irresistible. The marriage of convenience isn’t what Caroline and Duncan planned, but could they be a perfect match?
“This is your fault,” she spat after getting up from her overturned canoe. “If you hadn’t been spying on me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I wasn’t spying on you.” Water lapped at his thighs and seeped into his boots as Duncan stood near her. Even so, his temperature ratcheted up a notch. Would she run to her father with this, too? “Since you neglected to show me this part of the property, I decided to have a look for myself. I didnae ken you were here.”
“We had a deal.” She poked his chest. “This isn’t what I’d call abiding by your word.”
“Do you not know when a man is teasing you? I haven’t the time or the inclination to stand around and watch you sleep.”
Her features pinched and, with a groan of frustration, she pushed past him. She slogged through the muck. Mud clung to the fine peach fabric. By the time he reached the bank, she was already marching through the meadow, boots squelching with each step, outrage obvious in her rigid posture.
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He knew it was wrong, but he kind of liked seeing Caroline with her hackles up.
Dear Reader (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345),
Each book has its own set of challenges. Marriage-of-convenience stories can be especially tricky. In the beginning, I thought Duncan and Caroline were going to give me a lot of problems. They wound up being one of my favorite couples in the Smoky Mountain Matches series. They were both stubborn and prone to making hasty judgments about the other person, as we’re oftentimes apt to do. Putting the brash Scotsman with standoffish Caroline and watching the sparks fly was such fun. I hope you enjoyed their love story!
Look for reclusive Alexander Copeland’s book next. For more information about this series and other books, please visit my website, www.karenkirst.com (http://www.karenkirst.com). You can also connect with me on Facebook and Twitter, @karenkirst.
Blessings,
Karen Kirst
KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. She’s a lifelong lover of books, but it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
Wed by Necessity
Karen Kirst
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
—Philippians 4:11
To my readers. Your letters, emails and messages are a huge source of encouragement. You inspire me to strive to write emotional reads you won’t want to put down. Thank you for supporting my dream job.
Acknowledgments (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
A huge thank you to Stephanie White for her insight into horse wounds and care and for introducing me to her beautiful horses.
Contents
Cover (#u5859b523-0565-5806-986c-b7493f267134)
Back Cover Text (#u35f0f6a4-7f03-5f38-8e65-5f7f5fd6503e)
Introduction (#u97acc017-903f-58a1-a155-043af7132f2b)
Dear Reader (#ue794f56f-2534-5b8e-b640-9a3cc9bd95fa)
About the Author (#uffe7fca2-4eba-5dad-9793-6771abc66b55)
Title Page (#u4e376980-954c-57f3-a024-e9a13676dee0)
Bible Verse (#u52303c72-7b7f-5567-915e-549b0e2e1282)
Dedication (#u82896b5b-3dd4-5767-9f38-59d35c6a4b64)
Acknowledgments (#ufa899dad-fcc3-5d6c-a42d-fb040325a094)
Chapter One (#u99a8d5a4-de2d-503e-ba7a-3e103a403c78)
Chapter Two (#u4c8a9635-af87-5fa9-97e1-8ffdae1f4102)
Chapter Three (#u0e995111-84e7-56bd-8362-031429acc3fd)
Chapter Four (#u6a57f9b3-4612-5363-bc23-15e29742c2db)
Chapter Five (#u38539350-a8b4-57c5-80c9-98e37478b073)
Chapter Six (#u99dc275d-4290-55c9-a680-04926e561022)
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)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
July 1887
As a holiday, Independence Day left a lot to be desired. Independence was a dream Caroline Turner wasn’t likely to ever attain. Crumpling the note in her hand, she surveyed the crowd of people gathered to watch the fireworks display. Her blackmailer could be here tonight. He could be watching her every move.
The fireworks’ blue-green light flickered over the sea of faces, followed by red, white and gold. She tried to shake the sinister feeling. Stuffing the wrinkled paper into the pocket hidden deep in the folds of her skirt, she schooled her features and made her way along the edge of the field to where the musicians were playing patriotic tunes. She wasn’t about to give her tormentor the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her.
“Caroline, we’re running low on lemonade.”
“Then make more,” she snapped at eighteen-year-old Wanda Smith. Surely the volunteers serving refreshments didn’t need her input in every decision.
“We’ve misplaced the lemon crates.”
At the distress in the younger girl’s countenance, Caroline relented. “Fine. I’ll look for them. You may return to your station.”
It took her a quarter of an hour to locate the missing lemons. By then, the last of the fireworks had been shot off and attendees were ready for more food and drink. The celebration was far from over, yet she wished she could return home to her bedroom and solitude. The prospect of having to dole out more money to a stranger made her stomach churn.
She diverted to the drink table and helped serve the press of thirsty folks. The line eventually dwindled, and Caroline drifted over to watch couples dancing to lively music. The summer night air enveloped her, ripe with the scents of fried chicken, honeysuckle and cologne.
A trio of young women approached and engaged her in conversation. As usual, they wanted to know about her outfit, whether she’d had it made by a local seamstress or her mother had had it shipped from New York. Before they’d exhausted their talk of fashion, a stranger inserted himself into their group.
“Excuse me.”
Caroline didn’t recognize the hulking figure. Well over six feet tall, he was as broad and solid as an oak tree and looked as if he hadn’t seen civilization in months. He was dressed in common clothing; his shirt and pants were clean but wrinkled. Dirt caked the heels of his sturdy brown boots. His thick reddish-brown hair was tied back with a strip of leather. If left unbound, it would likely skim the bottom of his collar. While he appeared to have a strong facial structure, his mustache and beard obscured the lower half of his face. His mouth was wide and generous. Sparkling blue eyes assessed her.
“Would you care to dance?” He spoke in a rolling brogue that identified him as a foreigner.
The other girls had fallen silent and were watching him in awed stupor.
“Are you speaking to me, Irishman?” Caroline raised her brows.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “I’m no Irishman. I hail from Aberdeen, Scotland. And yes, I’m wantin’ to know if you’d like to dance.”
The way he pronounced his o’s teased her ears. Interest stirred to life, and she considered accepting his invitation. Then reason prevailed. As a member of one of Gatlinburg’s most prominent families, she couldn’t allow her reputation to become tarnished. In the Turner family, missteps were frowned upon.
“I don’t associate with drifters.”
“I take it your answer is no then?”
Regret sharpened her tone. “I believe I made myself clear.”
His gaze turned mocking as he sketched a bow. “Forgive me for intruding upon your time, fair lass.”
“I’ll dance with you,” Vivian Lowe practically purred.
Caroline and the others gaped at her.
“Will ya now? I’m a fortunate man.”
Then, to Caroline’s chagrin, he shucked the large pack from his back and thrust it at her. “Watch this for me, will ya?”
She struggled beneath its unwieldy weight, glaring as he led Vivian in a routine with the form and grace of an accomplished dancer.
“Caroline Grace Turner, what are you doing standing here dillydallying?” Her mother marched to her side. “You’re supposed to be overseeing the stations. Ida has run out of potato salad and the Jackson sisters spilled a gallon jar of tea on Mr. Williams.” Louise’s upper lip curled. “What is that?”
“Nothing, Mother.” Letting the pack thunk to the dry grass, she shot one last disgruntled glance in the direction of the dancers and trailed behind her mother like the dutiful daughter she was supposed to be.
* * *
Duncan McKenna should’ve known better than to ask the cool blonde to dance, but full of relief that his long journey was at an end, he’d given in to a spurt of optimism. He should’ve guessed that the alluring mystery in her navy-hued eyes and the sweet curve of her mouth were too good to be true. He watched her dump his belongings, her haughty features registering distaste, and march off with the silver-haired matron.
Lanterns suspended from stakes throughout the fields emitted soft light. As she passed one, the diamonds draped around her neck and wrists glittered and the silken, pearl-like fabric of her billowing skirts shimmered. The elegant dress displayed her statuesque, pleasing figure to perfection. A shame her attitude didn’t match her outward beauty.
“Was Caroline right? Are you just passing through?”
Duncan switched his attention to the coy brunette in his arms. “Your friend was mistaken. I’m plannin’ on stickin’ around for a bit.”
Her face brightened. “That’s wonderful news. I’m Vivian Lowe, by the way.”
“Duncan McKenna.”
The music came to an end, and she made no effort to hide her disappointment. “I’m free for the next dance.” Her shining hazel eyes implored him to extend their time together.
