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Unveiled
Courtney Milan
Ash Turner has waited a lifetime to seek revenge on the man who ruined his family - and now the time for justice has arrived.At Parford Manor, he intends to take his place as the rightful heir to the dukedom and settle an old score with the current duke once and for all. But instead he finds himself drawn to a tempting beauty who has the power to undo all his dreams of vengeance. Lady Margaret knows she should despise the man who's stolen her fortune and her father's legacy - the man she's been ordered to spy on in the guise of a nurse.Yet the more she learns about the new duke, the less she can resist his smoldering appeal. Soon Margaret and Ash find themselves torn between old loyalties - and the tantalizing promise of passion.
Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author
Courtney Milan
Trial by Desire
“An exquisitely sensual and unforgettable romance by one of the genre’s incandescent new stars.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Milan’s strength of writing draws the reader into her deeply emotional love stories, which are romantic yet brimming over with sexual tension and marvelous characters…filled with enough wit and wisdom to make it a ‘keeper.’”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)
Proof by Seduction
“Historical romance fans will celebrate Milan’s powerhouse debut, which comes with a full complement of humor, characterization, plot and sheer gutsiness.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“One of the finest historical romances I’ve read in years.”
—New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn
“A brilliant debut…deeply romantic, sexy and smart.”
—New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James
“With a tender, passionate romance, a touch of sly humor, and a gruff and incredibly sexy hero, Courtney Milan’s Proof by Seduction is a delicious read from the first page all the way to the very satisfying ending.”
—New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Hoyt
“Sexy, hilarious, and deeply, deeply touching. Courtney Milan writes with the keenest understanding of the heart. It is a cliché to say so, but I laughed and I cried. And I cannot wait to read her next book.”
—Sherry Thomas, author of Private Arrangements
COURTNEY MILAN
Unveiled
Dear Reader,
One of my first memories is waking up very early in the morning to play with my sister. Anyone who has brothers, sisters or children can guess what my second memory is: getting into a massive screaming fight with that same sister. (She won. She always won.)
There’s nobody I love quite like my family. They know all of my embarrassing secrets. They can make me laugh with a few short words that make no sense to anyone else. But anyone who knows me that well inevitably knows how to get my goat—all of my goats.
When I started to write about Ash Turner, I knew he was going to be the kind of man who could accomplish anything—whether that was making a fortune for himself, seducing a reluctant woman or simply solving a problem on a tenant farm. With a hero that capable, I knew that Ash needed a challenge—something so impossible that even he could not overcome it.
So I gave Ash brothers. His brothers can see past all that strength and still laugh at him. Deep down, when Ash thinks of his brothers, he knows he’ll never be good enough for them. Family is Ash’s greatest strength and his biggest weakness. He’ll do anything for his brothers…and, as Margaret Dalrymple soon discovers, he’s ruthless enough to do it, even if it causes other people problems.
I’m really excited for you to meet the Turners, and I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I loved writing them.
Courtney
Acknowledgments
I had a lot of help writing this book.
The discussion about marriage I had with Tessa gave rise to the central premise of this book; Tessa, Amy and Leigh talked me through the basics one cold morning in Vail, and the Northwest Pixies brainstormed titles on a Friday night (Darcy Burke gets the credit). I couldn’t do anything without Kristin Nelson, my wonderful agent, as well as the remainder of the agency staff: Sara, Anita and Lindsay. My editor, Margo Lipschultz, pushed me to make this the best book I could, and the team at Harlequin Books once again did a phenomenal job with the amazing cover and the work in producing this book.
The Vanettes, the Pixies, Destination Debut and the Loop that Must Not Be Named—without any of you, I would have gone insane.
The lovely staff at Montacute House answered numerous strange and silly questions. Darren did his best to correct my execrable Latin. Franzeca Drouin, as always, went above and beyond the call of duty. Elyssa Papa is still my favorite beta reader ever, and I rely on Kim Castillo for pretty much everything else.
Finally, I need to thank my husband for listening to me read parts aloud and not wincing, and my dog, for curling up patiently at my feet when I was too busy writing to take him to the dog park.
The cat gets no thanks. I still have scars.
Unveiled
For Mom, who always believed I could do anything despite copious evidence to the contrary.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Somerset, August 1837
SO THIS WAS HOW IT felt to be a conquering hero.
Ash Turner—once plain Mr. Turner; now, so long as fate stayed Parliament’s hand, the future Duke of Parford—sat back on his horse as he reached the crest of the hill.
The estate he would inherit was laid out in the valley before him. Stone walls and green hedges hugged the curves of the limestone hill where his horse stood, breaking the brilliant apple-green growth of high summer into gentle, rolling squares of patchwork. A small cottage stood to the side of the road. He could hear the hushed whispers of the farm children, who had crept out to gawk at him as he passed.
Over the past few months, he’d become accustomed to being gawked at.
Behind him, his younger brother’s steed stamped and came to a halt. From this high vantage point, they could see Parford Manor—an impressive four-story, five-winged affair, its brilliant windows glittering in the sunlight. Undoubtedly, someone had set a servant to watch for his arrival. In a few moments, the staff would spill out onto the front steps, arranging themselves in careful lines, ready to greet the man who would be their master.
The man who’d stolen a dukedom.
A smile played over Ash’s face. Once he inherited, nobody would gainsay him.
“You don’t have to do this.” The words came from behind him.
Nobody, that was, except his little brother.
Ash turned in the saddle. Mark was facing forwards, looking at the manor below with an abstracted expression. That detached focus made him look simultaneously old, as if he deserved an elder’s beard to go with that inexplicable wisdom, and yet still unaccountably boyish.
“It’s not right.” Mark’s voice was barely audible above the wind that whipped at Ash’s collar.
Mark was seven years younger than Ash, which made him by most estimations firmly an adult. But despite all that Mark had experienced, he had somehow managed to retain an aura of almost painful purity. He was the opposite of Ash—blond, where Ash’s hair was dark; slim, where Ash’s shoulders had broadened with years of labor. But most of all, Mark seemed profoundly, sacredly innocent, where Ash felt tired and profane. Perhaps that was why the last thing Ash wanted to do in his moment of victory was to hash through the ethics.
Ash shook his head. “You asked me to find you a quiet country home for these last weeks of summer, so you might work in peace.” He spread his arms, palms up. “Well. Here you are.”
Down in the valley, the first ranks of servants had begun to gather, jockeying for position on the wide steps leading up to the massive front doors.
Mark shrugged, as if this evidence of prosperity meant nothing to him. “A house back in Shepton Mallet would have done.”
A tight knot formed in Ash’s stomach. “You’re not going back to Shepton Mallet. You’re never going back there. Do you suppose I would simply kick you from a carriage at Market Cross and let you disappear for the summer?”
Mark finally broke his gaze from the tableau in front of them and met Ash’s eyes. “Even by your extravagant standards, Ash, you must admit this is a bit much.”
“You don’t think I would make a good duke? Or you don’t approve of the method I used to inveigle a summer’s invitation to the ducal manor?”
Mark simply shook his head. “I don’t need this. We don’t need this.”
And therein lay Ash’s problem. He wanted to make up for every last bit of his brothers’ childhood deprivation. He wanted to repay every skipped meal with twelve-course dinners, gift a thousand pairs of gloves in exchange for every shoeless winter. He’d risked his life building a fortune to ensure their happiness. Yet both his brothers declared themselves satisfied with a few prosaic simplicities.
Simplicities wouldn’t make up for Ash’s failure. So maybe he had overindulged when Mark finally asked him for a favor.
“Shepton Mallet would have been quiet,” Mark said, almost wistfully.
“Shepton Mallet is halfway to dead.” Ash clucked to his horse. As he did so, the wind stopped. What he’d intended as a faint sound of encouragement sounded overloud. The horse started down the road towards the manor.
Mark kicked his mare into a trot and followed.
“You’ve never thought it through,” Ash tossed over his shoulder. “With Richard and Edmund Dalrymple no longer able to inherit, you’re fourth in line for the dukedom. There are a great many advantages to that. Opportunities will arise.”
“Is that how you’re describing your actions, this past year? ‘No longer able to inherit?’”
Ash ignored this sally. “You’re young. You’re handsome. I’m sure there are some lovely milkmaids in Somerset who would be delighted to make the acquaintance of a man who stands an arm’s length from a dukedom.”
Mark stopped his horse a few yards before the gate to the grounds. Ash felt a fillip of annoyance at the delay, but he halted, too.
“Say it,” Mark said. “Say what you did to the Dalrymples. You’ve spouted one euphemism after another ever since this started. If you can’t even bring yourself to speak the words, you should never have done it.”
“Christ. You’re acting as if I killed them.”
But Mark was looking at him, his blue eyes intense. In this mood, with the sun glancing off all that blond hair, Ash wouldn’t have been surprised if his brother had pulled a flaming sword from his saddlebag and proclaimed him barred from Eden forever. “Say it,” Mark repeated.
And besides, his little brother so rarely asked anything of him. Ash would have given Mark whatever he wanted, so long as he just…well, wanted.
“Very well.” He met his brother’s eyes. “I brought the evidence of the Duke of Parford’s first marriage before the ecclesiastical courts, and thus had his second marriage declared void for bigamy. The children resulting from that union were declared illegitimate and unable to inherit. Which left the duke’s long-hated fifth cousin, twice removed, as the presumptive heir. That would be me.” Ash started his horse again. “I didn’t do anything to the Dalrymples. I just told the truth of what their own father had done all those years ago.”
And he wasn’t about to apologize for it, either.
Mark snorted and started his horse again. “And you didn’t have to do that.”
