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Bride Of Trouville
Lyn Stone
SHE WAS ALL HE HAD EVER WANTED When Edouard Gillet, Comte de Trouville, wed the beauteous Lady Anne of Naincroft, he thought he had found his heart's desire. But was the passion he had willingly declared from the battlements shared by his newly pledged bride? Or would the unspoken secret still between them destroy their newfound happiness?Though it would break her heart, Anne prayed that Edouard would leave Scotland behind and return to the Court of France. For the longer he stayed, the greater the risk he would discover that her son was not all he seemed - and the mighty comte was surely not a man who could accept anything less than perfection.
Praise (#ud7f3419d-e0fc-5fab-bd67-d899c752a4e8)He smiled that wickedly intimate smile of his. (#u6071b4de-df6e-51cd-a46a-7e25aa2215ae)Letter to Reader (#u31293fbd-4521-5fd4-b39c-b96accb2f93d)Title Page (#u81088550-a749-5e7d-900d-c272c3ae1208)About the Author (#u5bf41e50-190f-5c8d-ad1b-29a2f444bdc9)Dedication (#u9e918381-097c-5df6-be76-7b2523311b28)Chapter One (#u12db5355-c4eb-5c50-adb0-c54ef817ef77)Chapter Two (#u3f708147-a081-54ef-8211-566c6466c711)Chapter Three (#u14878b73-79a2-5a8f-b2e6-383a4e41d034)Chapter Four (#u8761d980-8730-5b77-8b2b-e3a85e8d8f57)Chapter Five (#u6565c0e1-13f2-579e-8b16-0fea471f33b5)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)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Praise for Lyn Stone’s
previous titles
The Knight’s Bride
“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story that incorporates a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Wilder Wedding
“...a wonderfully wild adventure...5
s.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“This romance hits all the right spots.”
—Romantic Times
Thar Arrangement
“The words are a symphony of notes that will be remembered long after the last note is performed. ”
—Rendezvous
The Wicked Truth
“Stone has an apt hand with dialogue and creates characters with a refreshing naturalness.”
—Publishers Weekly
“...Lyn Stone could well be a writter ahead of her time.”
—Affaire de Coeur
He smiled that wickedly intimate smile of his.
“I want you here, exactly as you are now.”
Anne gasped. “But—you are to sail! You told me you must meet your ship! Your home is in France!”
All the time she spoke, Edouard kept shaking his head slowly side to side. “My home is here, my love. Here with you and our sons. I meet the ship to collect all that my factor has sent from my estates. How could you believe that I would wed and then leave you?”
Anne gave no answer, for she was speechless. Speechless and terrified.
Even the concern evident in his words did nothing to reassure her. “It is small wonder you are surprised,” he said, “but I never realized you had so misunderstood me. Are you not happy that I am returning soon, my sweet?”
Returning? Ob, mercy. What now?
Dear Reader,
This month we’re giving you plenty of excuses to put your feet up and “get away from it all” with these four, fantasy-filled historical romances.
Let’s start with a spine-tingling arranged marriage in Bride of Trouville by rising talent Lyn Stone. It’s a spin-off of her terrific Medieval. The Knight’s Bride, but you needn’t have read that one to enjoy this breathtaking romance. Here, the Comte de Trouville flees France to marry a young Scottish widow. Lady Anne MacBain has no wish to wed again—especially since she must hide her son’s deafness. But she never counted on her husband falling in love with her—or she with him—which makes her secret harder and harder to contain....
USA Today bestselling author Ruth Langan is back with Conor, the second book in her miniseries, THE O’NEIL SAGA. The roguish rebel Conor is charmed by an Irish noblewoman who helps unravel a plot to murder Queen Elizabeth. And if you enjoy soul-searching Western romances with half-Apache heroes, don’t miss The Merry Widows—Sarah by the gifted Theresa Michaels. Here, a single father finds love—and a mother for his sons—with the self-reliant Sarah.
Finally, we have a pretend marriage between an abandoned wife and her widower neighbor when she moves in to help care for his daughter in The Rancher’s Wife by Lynda Trent.
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical
.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Bride of Trouville
Lyn Stone
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LYN STONE
A painter of historical events, Lyn decided to write about them. A canvas, however detailed, limits characters to only one moment in time. “If a picture’s worth a thousand words, the other ninety thousand have to show up somewhere!”
An avid reader, she admits, “At thirteen, I fell in love with Brontë’s Heathcliff and became Catherine. Next year, I fell for Rhett and became Scarlett. Then I fell for the hero I’d known most of my life and finally became myself.”
After living four years in Europe, Lyn and her husband, Allen, settled into a north Alabama log house that is crammed to the rafters with antiques, artifacts and the stuff of future tales.
This book is dedicated to my son, Eric Stone, and
all the others who have conquered the silence
and made their way in the hearing world.
You are my heroes, every one.
Chapter One
France, Summer, 1318
“Another wife is what you need. And I have the perfect woman for you this time!”
Bdouard Gillet, comte de Trouville, shot the impertinent baron a weary look of forbearance. Here was all he needed to make a disastrous day complete. “I do believe we indulged in this conversation four years ago, Hume. To no good end, I might add.”
He spurred Bayard gently and rode on ahead. The killing heat had abated somewhat as they pushed farther north, but he itched from the collected sweat beneath his padded gambeson and chain mail. Thank God, he’d dispensed with the heavy helm. His troubling thoughts gave him headache enough. And now he must tolerate Hume’s noxious presence. A wife, indeed. The man must be mad to suggest it.
Dairmid Hume maneuvered his mount so that it drew abreast again, and continued, blithely undeterred by Edouard’s contempt. “Your fine lad there could use a mother to impart the ways of courtesy, could he not?” He nodded toward young Henri who traveled several lengths ahead of them. “And if I recall correctly from our former dealings, my lord, you are well past thirty now. Not getting any younger!”
Edouard grunted, a near laugh. “You are the soul of tact, Hume. I do wonder how you have kept your head attached.”
He could not abide this man. Wed to a French noblewoman, the Scots baron had long served as a go-between for the kings of France and Robert the Bruce of Scotland. Hume used any royal association he could foster to elevate his stature at court.
Just as he had four years earlier, the baron obviously had in mind Edouard’s kinship to King Philip and how it might prove useful to him. What would be the man’s reaction if he knew his current prey had just been banished from court by his royal cousin, Edouard wondered?
Philip’s order was not official, but when this particular king grew red in the face and shouted, “Get you from our sight!” he left little room for debate. Not that Edouard would have argued the matter. Though he had spent almost all his years in royal company, he welcomed the change if not the circumstances that caused it.
As comte de Trouville, he counseled the king and planned strategy. He fought and would die for France, but insinuating himself into the English court and gathering intelligence in the indecent manner suggested definitely was not his way. Philip was wrong to demand it of him, and Edouard had told him so.
The king would deal out some kind of punishment for Edouard’s rebellion, no doubt of that, and it would not be long in coming. A wise man prepared for the worst. He would not only leave court, he would leave France altogether.
Thus it was that Edouard, his son, and two knights found themselves upon the road headed north. That they had happened on Hume and his retainers along the way had done nothing to brighten Edouard’s mood. Even so, combining their small parties and riding seven together provided a safety from brigands that Edouard, in his haste to leave court, had found no time to arrange.
He was bound for the low countries. From there he would await word of the king’s plans for him. Possibly that would entail nothing more than forfeiting his role as counselor. Or he could lose his estates, certainly a more dire consequence. In the worst case, he might face a charge of treason.
Wouldn’t Hume fly into retreat on this offer if he knew that! Edouard was almost tempted to tell him, just to see his reaction. But, thus far, he had told no one, not even his son or the two knights who accompanied him. Their duty was to follow where he led and to do so without question.
Hume pushed on. “I’ve only your best interests in mind, my lord.” He held up a hand to halt Edouard’s objection. “You remain unwed, disgusted by my daughter’s foolery, no doubt. But all that’s over and done, and needs be forgotten, eh?”
“Believe me, I have no great desire to recall it,” Edouard said with a wry twist of his lips. “Nor should you if you are wise.”
The baron sighed. He clicked his tongue and shook his head as if sorely dismayed. “You know I would have preferred you as a son-by-marriage to that highland mercenary she chose. I truly do regret my daughter’s actions and her declination of your suit.”
Declination of his suit? Edouard almost laughed aloud at how prettily Hume phrased it. She had run for her life four years ago, or so she thought The poor woman had been terrified at the very idea of wedding him, the dreaded comte de Trouville, a man who had buried two wives and held a reputation worthy of the devil’s own get. Even when Edouard had traveled to Scotland to reclaim her, the little spitfire had defied them all. Declination of his suit, indeed. Small wonder Hume bore the title of diplomat.
Edouard had only himself to blame for his black reputation. He might have changed Lady Honor’s opinion of him, if he had bothered to explain away the rumors that made him so feared.
Since he had not, the woman took it upon herself to arrange her own destiny and fled to Scotland, altered her marriage documents and wed another. He secretly admired her spirit and courage even more than her incredible beauty. In an uncharacteristic fit of sentimentality, he had even fancied himself in love with her for a time.
He had gone after her to slay the Scot she’d wed, intending to make Lady Honor a widow. Perhaps he should have killed them both when he had the chance. Instead, he had given the Scot a sword and offered to fight for the woman.
Edouard’s sudden sneeze in the midst of that encounter had decided the matter. Lying flat with a blade at the throat tended to cool a man’s ardor considerably.
Now here he was, riding along the road beside the woman’s wretched father, with the idiot eager to propose yet another match. Risking an attack by brigands might have been preferable, after all.
He paused in his mental diatribe as a sudden idea occurred. Hume might be of some use yet. Edouard needed lands outside of France now. Living in the low countries, even though most of his shipping enterprises were based there, did not appeal to him in the least. But Scotland might. What he had seen of the wild, free country had impressed him.
Edouard turned in his saddle to speak directly. “How does that daughter of yours these days?”
Hume’s chest puffed out. “Ah! She gave me a grandson this year. That is where I am going now. Business and pleasure.”
“A portion of Lady Honor’s dower lands lie in Scotland, do they not?” Edouard asked the baron.
“Aye, a small keep to the north.” Hume assumed a penitent expression. “I still say you should have taken at least a part of her dowry as settlement for her treachery. Honor even suggested that as reparation, if you recall.”
“No. The lands are hers.” Edouard paused only a moment before adding, “However, I might be willing to purchase that particular property if she and that husband of hers are like to part with it. And if it suits my needs, of course.”
“I have a much better idea, my lord, if you would only consider. You may gain an estate, free and clear! And the income from another!” Hume straightened in his saddle, his calculating smile warning of the aforementioned proposal.
“I do hesitate to ask how,” Edouard muttered.
Hume ignored the sarcasm. “You see, I have a niece, my sister’s only get, who was recently widowed. A comely lass, Anne was when last I saw her, and now she is mother to a fatherless lad of ten. Both of you, as well as your sons, would benefit by an alliance. And it would soothe my conscience with regard to my daughter’s treachery,” Hume said. “I shall have to match my niece with someone while I am in Scotland, and who better than yourself? You see how fate has intervened here?”
Fate. As much as he disliked the man, Edouard wondered if Hume might not be right. Strange that providence had thrown the two of them together at such a time. A time when Edouard really did need a new home, a wife and a mother for his son.
If this niece of Hume’s was anything at all like the Lady Honor... Well, it would not hurt to listen to what the old devil had to say.
“You have disposition of her? What of her parents?”
“Dead for some years, my lord. Her son inherits the Baincroft holdings, but Anne owns those adjoining it. You should gain an adequate income from both. Also, you will have at least eight years to enhance her property while administering her young son’s estate for him. War never touched either place and profits from both are excellent. Trust me, these lands are better located than those you offer to purchase from my Honor and Alan of Strode.”
Edouard did not reject the notion out of hand. No woman since the Lady Honor had appealed to him as a candidate for wife. So unsuitable were those available, he had not even considered marriage for some time now. The French court tended to attract women like his mother, jaded, promiscuous and power hungry. Hume’s suggestion bore looking into.
“One lad of ten, you say, and none since? She must be past bearing,” Edouard said. No man wished a barren wife.
Hume appeared worried as he fingered his beard. “Anne’s twenty-seven, I believe. Aye, that would be right, for she wed at sixteen.” He brightened. “’Twas her husband’s fault she quickened no more. I’m certain of it. He was near sixty, after all.”
“Could be,” Edouard replied noncommitally, but Hume’s supposition made sense. She had already borne one child successfully, and would very likely have more with a younger husband. Being a father again appealed to Edouard.
Owning an estate outside of France appealed even more at the moment. Hume’s offer had merit if the woman did prove suitable.
And the baron was right about a mother for Henri. Living between their bachelor keep and the debauchery of the court had rendered the boy something of a hellion. Learning a few social graces from a feminine hand might soften his rough edges.
The more he thought on it, the greater Edouard’s interest grew. He disliked Hume personally, but the man had fathered that wondrous creature Edouard once despaired of losing. Might his sister have produced one as well?
“Describe her to me, warts and all,” he ordered.
Hume laughed. “No warts, my lord. Anne’s very like my Honor in appearance. Skin smooth as new cream. Her hair, a bounteous length of fine, dark waves. Eyes like the deep, mysterious waters of a highland loch.”
