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His Convenient Marchioness
Elizabeth Rolls
With this ring…After the loss of his wife and children, the Marquess of Huntercombe closed his heart to love. But now he must marry to secure an heir, he’s determined that the beautiful, impoverished widow Lady Emma Lacy should be his…I thee claim!Emma has vowed never to marry for money so must refuse him. But when her children’s grandfather sets to steal them away from her, she has no other option: She must become the Marquess’s convenient bride!
With this ring...I thee claim!
After the loss of his wife and children, the Marquess of Huntercombe closed his heart to love. But now that he must marry to secure an heir, he’s determined that the beautiful, impoverished widow Lady Emma Lacy should be his...
Emma has vowed never to marry for money so must refuse him. But when her children’s grandfather sets to steal them away from her, she has no other option: she must become the marquess’s convenient bride!
“So, you wish to remarry—”
“Yes.”
‘And for some reason you think I might do?’ Emma said.
Hunt winced. ‘I beg your pardon if I gave that impression. But, yes, you do…er…’
‘Fit your requirements?’
A long-forgotten burning sensation informed him that he had actually blushed. ‘Something like that.’
‘And along with your requirements are you also going to ask for references?’ Her chin was up.
Hunt looked at her. The brief hint of laughter was gone. In its place was…bitterness? No, not that. Resignation. As if she expected rejection.
‘If you will forgive the impertinence, Emma, I think your children are your references.’
She stared at him. ‘Oh.’
And that lovely soft mouth trembled into a smile that shook him to his very foundations. Was he insane? He wanted a wife who would not turn his life inside out. Now it would serve him right if he found himself fronting the altar with London’s most notorious widow! Only… Could she really have done anything truly scandalous? He was finding it harder and harder to believe…
Author Note
Somewhere in writing each book I start to worry about the next. Never mind that my current characters are still stuck in whatever mess I’ve concocted for them, I’m off on a tangent, worrying about what I’ll write next. It’s pointless. I know perfectly well from experience that well before I finish the next book will be running around in my head. Very often at least one of the characters is right there under my nose in the book I’m just finishing. This is one of those times.
If you read In Debt to the Earl, you may remember James’s friend the Marquess of Huntercombe. Hunt was grieving for his half-brother Gerald, who had been murdered. From the moment Hunt stepped—quite literally—out of the shadows to help James and avenge Gerald, I wanted to know more about him. And I wanted him to have his own happy ending. I hope you enjoy his story.
His Convenient Marchioness
Elizabeth Rolls
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ELIZABETH ROLLS lives in the Adelaide Hills of South Australia with her husband, teenage sons, dogs and too many books. She is convinced that she will achieve a state of blessed Nirvana when her menfolk learn to put their own dishes in the dishwasher without being asked and cease flexing their testosterone over the television remote. Elizabeth loves to hear from readers and invites you to contact her via email at books@elizabethrolls.com (mailto:books@elizabethrolls.com).
Books by Elizabeth Rolls
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
His Lady Mistress
A Compromised Lady
A Regency Christmas
‘A Soldier’s Tale’
Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride
A Magical Regency Christmas
‘Christmas Cinderella’
Lords at the Altar
In Debt to the Earl
His Convenient Marchioness
Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebooks
A Scandalous Liaison
A Shocking Proposition
M&B
Royal Weddings Through the Ages
‘A Princely Dilemma’
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
For Anne, Linda, Lynn and Suzie.
Because you inspire me and keep me going.
And because we can put away more champagne, cheese and tea at a critique group meeting than anyone would ever believe.
You’ve seen a fair bit of this story over the past year.
Now it’s yours.
Contents
Cover (#u49dca1ba-66ea-518b-abaf-0ad5a7fc0aae)
Back Cover Text (#u85c2a223-8576-5bd6-8772-fac1800f92ec)
Introduction (#ufb4be1e9-8e74-593f-87e9-8c12ba4e85a3)
Author Note (#u774d1b1f-83c7-5b49-b7c2-743f6bae9012)
Title Page (#u90ad697f-72a4-5482-8df1-ab2b3d2d360d)
About the Author (#ue1573c4a-1af1-5e0b-8f1e-a32070ddf1a3)
Dedication (#u8facc682-54ce-5fb5-94e1-b7623ca18b47)
Chapter One (#ueb9d0659-aaf2-5879-82c0-3a7b2f060623)
Chapter Two (#u1b8719f9-eed5-518a-899d-40d93745a979)
Chapter Three (#u0b4bdc13-9b87-559c-8267-825e5647f534)
Chapter Four (#u19fdce05-dfa8-5f32-bf1c-e3b998c9ddaf)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u9d6976ef-7b7b-525e-ac34-b183c310d744)
Late October, 1803
The Fifth Marquess of Huntercombe perused the list in his hand with something akin to panic. He gulped. No, not merely akin, it was the thing itself: sheer, unadulterated panic. His hands were damp and a thin line of perspiration—damn it to hell—trickled down his spine. In his own library. All because of a list his elder sister had handed him. And he’d only read the first few names. That was quite enough.
He cleared his throat. ‘Letty, this is not—’
‘Huntercombe,’ Letitia, Lady Fortescue, silenced him with an unnerving stare as well as his title. ‘You acknowledge that you must marry again.’
She always called him Huntercombe in just that tone when she wished to remind him of his duty. As if he needed reminding. The Marquess of Huntercombe always did his duty. To the family, his estates and Parliament.
‘And that it is a matter of some urgency. With which,’ Letty added, ‘I wholeheartedly concur. Gerald’s death was a disaster.’
Hunt’s jaw tightened. ‘Yes, quite. But—’
‘Caroline and I have listed all the eligible girls currently on the market.’
Market was definitely the right word. And girls. He accorded the list another glance—it reminded him of nothing so much as a Tattersall’s sales catalogue of well-bred fillies, with said fillies paraded, albeit in absentia, for his consideration. Letty and their sister Caroline had included each filly’s sire and dam, notable connections, looks, accomplishments including languages spoken, and fortune. Staying power wasn’t included, although he sincerely doubted his sisters had heard of, let alone seen, Harris’s infamous list of Covent Garden Impures. He looked again at the list, forced himself to read all the names...
‘For God’s sake, Letty!’
By the fire, his spaniel, Fergus, raised his head and cocked his ears.
‘What?’
‘Chloë Highfield?’ He signalled for Fergus to stay put and the dog sank back with a sigh.
Letty looked affronted. ‘Well, of course. She’s—’
‘My goddaughter!’ Hunt could imagine the reaction if he attempted to pay his addresses to Chloë. His imagination didn’t merely quail; it turned tail and fled. Although not before he had an all-too-likely vision of his good friend Viscount Rillington’s approaching fist.
‘Oh.’ Letty had the grace to look disconcerted. ‘I’d forgotten. How very awkward. Cross Chloë off, then. It can’t be helped.’
Cross Chloë—With a strangled curse, Hunt strode to the fireplace and consigned the entire list to the flames.
‘Giles! Hours of work went into that!’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said through gritted teeth. If only a similar amount of thought had gone into it. ‘Letty, you wrote to me last month wishing me a happy birthday. Do you recall how old I am?’
Letty scowled. ‘Since I turned fifty-six in March, it was your fiftieth birthday. Although what that has to say to anything I’m sure I don’t know!’
Hunt stared at her in disbelief. What the hell did she think a man of fifty was going to do with an eighteen-year-old virgin?
