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Saying I Do To The Scoundrel
Liz Tyner
A scoundrel among the Ton…Her knight in shining armour?Katherine Wilder will do anything to escape her forced marriage—even ask Brandt Radcliffe to kidnap her! Only she doesn’t expect a man so disreputable to say no! With her father now desperate to marry her off to line his own pockets, widower Brandt has become her reluctant protector—and it seems the only way he can do that is to marry her himself…!
A scoundrel of the ton...
Her knight in shining armor?
Katherine Wilder will do anything to escape her forced marriage, even ask Brandt Radcliffe to kidnap her! Only she doesn’t expect a man so disreputable to say no! With her father now desperate to marry her off to line his own pockets, widower Brandt has become her reluctant protector—and it seems the only way he can do that is to marry her himself...!
“The rigid rules of the Regency period is always the perfect backdrop for Tyner’s mischievous, rule-bending characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Redeeming the Roguish Rake
“A headstrong heroine, a determined hero, secrets, family squabbles and a large dose of pride propel this plotline...a fast, enjoyable read.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wallflower Duchess
LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com (http://www.liztyner.com).
Also by Liz Tyner (#u55217e6c-c35f-540e-9d60-aac153df2186)
The Notorious Countess
The Runaway Governess
The Wallflower Duchess
Redeeming the Roguish Rake
English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses miniseries
Safe in the Earl’s Arms
A Captain and a Rogue
Forbidden to the Duke
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Saying I Do to the Scoundrel
Liz Tyner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07394-3
SAYING I DO TO THE SCOUNDREL
© 2018 Elizabeth Tyner
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to my generous, thoughtful
and always encouraging friend, Charlotte Schrahl.
Contents
Cover (#u55e2393e-b51a-50ae-a2d9-49253f5b5906)
Back Cover Text (#u70e5e310-f3e8-5937-a888-62b69bf9607c)
About the Author (#u9df14cda-b235-5fa2-a790-7cb6ab69ddc9)
Booklist (#ub312fe6b-0309-52ab-90a3-c50a437a8c8f)
Title Page (#u928ac1d9-7e31-596d-b161-fc5e46a4d38e)
Copyright (#u2e46b141-4eb6-5aa8-9bd9-446a34ed1e39)
Dedication (#ua226a15c-bd4a-5293-8578-fccd856bff7a)
Chapter One (#u56dfefac-7a4c-5f0e-a23d-824f53be9089)
Chapter Two (#ud292bc86-b7b5-5658-afba-4949d86c2291)
Chapter Three (#u7fef674d-35d8-5c5d-b5fd-355249bd8dd4)
Chapter Four (#u8cf3a757-915d-5e15-b642-f74f8665211a)
Chapter Five (#u625d610e-fbfd-5f97-993b-7218d339701c)
Chapter Six (#u7c7c0b54-6231-5379-aedb-fea965de505e)
Chapter Seven (#u57b32162-44e1-543f-b263-9229a7edd288)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u55217e6c-c35f-540e-9d60-aac153df2186)
The knocking on his door pounded like hooves against Brandt’s head, bringing him from ravaged dreams into the summer-baked room. He didn’t care where the hands on the clock might be—the hour was too early for him to awaken. He needed another bottle of brandy to cleanse his mouth. He called out to his valet, ‘Enter.
‘Enter,’ he commanded again when he heard no footsteps.
The door swung open.
‘Heathen.’ The word screeched into his ears as if attached to flying glass. A woman wearing a bonnet the size of a parasol stood beneath the transom. For a moment, he thought he dreamed of a butterfly, the dress fluttered so and bead trim sparkled. A pale face, with dark eyes rimmed in lashes any siren could be envious of, stared at him.
The drunken haze confused him. This was a boarding house—not his home. For a moment, he had forgotten.
Memories returned, anger flooding his body.
He rolled on to his side, and propped himself on his elbow, re-orienting himself, and feeling a breeze waft over his body. Completely over his body.
Everything came back to him. Or enough of it did. He’d shed his clothing when he’d returned from the tavern. He felt beside him for a covering. Nothing touched his fingers but a mattress so thin he could feel the ropes beneath.
‘Why did you call for the door to open?’ The woman at the door had her hand over her eyes—and her cheeks were flushed. The one behind her seemed to be taking measurements.
‘I was dreaming of—’ He could not tell her he dreamed of Mary. Of a world of servants and health and sobriety. ‘I dreamt of a swarm of annoying bees and I called for the door to be open so they might fly out,’ he said. ‘Instead one rushed in.’
How had he wronged the woman at the door? He couldn’t recall her face, and she didn’t look at all the kind he consorted with. She had the look of an outraged wife on her face, but she wasn’t his outraged wife.
He took a breath to calm himself and wished the night hadn’t been so warm he’d shed his clothing, his covers and the last threads of his dignity.
The female at the threshold looked as if she’d been snatched from Sunday services and plopped in the middle of a brothel.
But no devil had forced her to open his door.
He reached to the side of his bed, ignored his small clothes and went straight for his trousers.
With his body turned away, he pulled his clothing over his legs.
‘Perhaps you could introduce yourself.’ He spoke calmly to the daft one even as the second woman tiptoed to examine him. He was at a blasted soirée and he had not accepted the invitation. ‘You are under the impression we are acquainted. And I am under the impression we are not.’
She sputtered.
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked, finishing the last button and turning. He would have preferred to have on his small clothes, but then he would have preferred to have drunk a lot more and fallen asleep at the tavern.
The drink had finally destroyed him, but not in the way he had expected.
‘Cover yourself,’ the young woman commanded. ‘You heathen.’
‘You can take your hand from your eyes,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my trousers buttoned.’
Eyes, which reminded him of sunlight shining through sparkling glass, took a quick look at him. ‘A shirt?’
‘Oh, let’s save that until after we’ve been properly introduced.’
‘We will never be properly introduced.’
She wouldn’t be in a tavern, or on the darkened streets. And she shouldn’t be in his room. He paid little care to the society folks with their haughty stares. They didn’t interest him at all. Never had—even when he’d lived the other life.
‘Your shirt.’ She waved a finger, pointing at a direction beyond his back, and her eyes appeared to be fixed on his torn window curtain.
He looked around. The peg where he usually put his shirt stood empty. He picked up his waistcoat and slipped an arm into it, then the other. ‘Since you’ve seen me from top to bottom, this will have to do, Love.’ He fastened one button as a kindness.
‘Save your words for the lightskirts,’ Miss Butterfly Bonnet said.
Calling her love had snapped her out of her embarrassment.
‘So you are not of that business,’ he muttered. ‘Pity.’
Her eyes turned to slits. ‘Until I opened the door, I was quite innocent. Now I’m tainted for ever by what I’ve seen.’
