More or Less a Marchioness Read online

  Cover Copy

  Finding a worthy husband should be simple for three beautiful debutantes in Regency London. But the Somerset sisters have a way of making it delightfully complicated…

  Violet Somerset has always preferred a library to a ballroom, but to please her grandmother she agreed to one London season. With nothing to show for it but heartbreak, she’s reconciled to spinsterhood. Until a notorious rogue known as the Devil of Dare requests an introduction to her timid, gentle youngest sister, Hyacinth. Violet will do anything to stop the match—even if it means posing as Hyacinth herself…

  Nicholas Balfour, the Earl of Dare, is enjoying the life of a rake far too much to take a wife. But he must keep his promise to his grandmother. He’ll simply choose the meekest bride he can find, install her at his estate, then carry on as before. Hyacinth sounds perfect—until he discovers that her sweet demeanor hides the tongue of a viper and the mind of a bluestocking…

  As Violet’s ruse threatens to unravel, however, she may find the tables turned. Soon she may have no choice but to tolerate her handsome fiancée—or fall in love with him…

  Books by Anna Bradley

  LADY ELEANOR’S SEVENTH SUITOR

  LADY CHARLOTTE’S FIRST LOVE

  TWELFTH NIGHT WITH THE EARL

  MORE OR LESS A MARCHIONESS

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  More or Less a Marchioness

  Anna Bradley

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Anna Bradley

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  First Electronic Edition: February 2018

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0532-8

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0532-X

  First Print Edition: February 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0535-9

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0535-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  Prologue

  London, late April, 1817

  An honorable gentleman would never be so callous as to wager a lady’s future on the turn of a card. Most of the time, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was an honorable gentleman.

  This wasn’t one of those times.

  “Disgraceful, Huntington.” Lord Derrick, who was a gentleman all the time, sat next to Finn at the gaming table, his lip curled with disgust. “Disgraceful, and unworthy of you.”

  Finn didn’t argue the point. God knew the whole business was despicable enough. Unless he happened to win, of course. Then the wager simply became a neat way to rid himself of a troublesome rival.

  Neat, and quick. A card turned, and the matter settled.

  The economy of the thing appealed to Finn. As far as the winnings themselves were concerned, they were a secondary consideration, and a distant one at that.

  Either of the two young ladies in question would do.

  “It’s too late for regrets now, Derrick. The game has begun.” Finn drummed his fingers on the table, one eye on his cards, the other shifting back and forth between his two opponents.

  Lord Harley, as usual, was grinning like a fool. One didn’t like to lose to a half-wit like Harley, but men like him were much like rookery vermin—disgusting enough, but so common one hardly gave them a second thought.

  Lord Wrexley, however, was another matter. Of the two men facing Finn across the table, Wrexley was the one who’d slide a blade between his ribs the moment he turned his back. Wrexley bore watching, because there was nothing more dangerous than a reckless man who didn’t have a thing to lose.

  “You’ll regret it soon enough, Huntington. Harley has the devil’s own luck at cards. Damn it, Harley.” Lord Derrick raised his voice. “Why can’t you wager over bank notes, like every other scoundrel in London?”

  Harley peered over the edge of his cards, his infuriating grin widening. “We are wagering over bank notes. If you recall, Lady Honora has fifty thousand of them.”

  “Miss Somerset has forty thousand, and eyes so deep a blue she’s brought half of London to its knees.” Lord Derrick shot a contemptuous look across the table. “But I suppose that isn’t bloody good enough for you, is it, Harley?”

  Harley laughed. “What a romantic notion. But if forty thousand and a pair of blue eyes were enough to tempt any of us, we wouldn’t be in the middle of this wager.”

  “Quite the opposite, Harley. Why bother to wager for a lady who doesn’t tempt you?” Lord Wrexley curled his fingertips over the edge of his cards, his lips stretching into a provoking grin as his gaze met Finn’s. “I’d sink lower than my knees for Miss Somerset.”

  Lord Derrick snorted. “So low you’d wager over your own cousin’s future, as if she were a prime bit of horseflesh at Tattersall’s? Lady Honora deserves better from all of you, but especially from you, Wrexley.”

  Wrexley shrugged, and rapped a knuckle on the table. “Finish it, Harley.”

  Lord Harley tossed a card across the table to him, then looked at Finn. “Well, Huntington? Another card, or will you hold?”

  Finn glanced down at his hand again. They were playing vingt-et-un, and he held fourteen points. It didn’t look promising.

  He tapped the table once. Harley passed him a card, then placed the deck face-down beside him, without taking a card for himself.

  Another bad sign.

  “What the devil have you got against Miss Somerset, Huntington?” Lord Derrick’s scowl was turning blacker with each card tossed across the baize.

  “She’s well enough.”

  This terse answer didn’t satisfy Lord Derrick. “She’s as lovely a lady as I’ve ever seen, and you don’t give a bloody damn if her fortune is ten thousand shy of Lady Honora’s. Why not just court Miss Somerset, and be done with it?”

  For any other gentleman, Miss Somerset was a tempting option. She’d been raised in Surrey, and still had a tedious whiff of the country in her manners, but even so she was undeniably a diamond of the first water. Despite her success on the London marriage mart, however, she wasn’t Finn’s first choice. She did have beautiful eyes—that much was beyond dispute—but there was occasionally a flash of willfulness in those blue depths Finn didn’t quite like.

  “Too lively for my tastes.”

  Lady Honora Fairchild, on the other hand, was the type o
f young lady who’d never give him a moment’s concern. She was as docile and sweet-tempered as a new spring lamb, and thus the perfect choice for a wife. She’d make a splendid marchioness.

  Lord Derrick crossed his arms over his chest and lapsed into a moody silence.

  “Well, Huntington?” Harley was licking his lips like a man who already tasted victory. “Are we to sit here all night while you ponder the vagaries of fate? Look at your bloody card.”

  Finn turned over a corner of his card.

  A five.

  He flipped it face up, then tossed all his cards to the middle of the table. “Nineteen.”

  Not a flicker of emotion crossed Wrexley’s face, but Finn could see right away his hand wouldn’t beat Harley’s. A man with losing cards didn’t wear such a gleeful smirk.

  Harley slapped his cards down. “Twenty. Bad luck, Huntington.”

  Finn frowned at Harley’s cards, scattered on the table in front of him. Well, that was it, then. Harley would snap up Lady Honora at once and get to work straight away on squandering her fortune.

  “Well, Wrexley?” Lord Harley could hardly contain his delight. “Is Huntington to remain a bachelor until next season, or not?”

  Lord Wrexley flicked a careless gaze over Harley, then Finn, and tossed his cards into the pile. “Twenty-two.”

  “Damn shame, Wrexley.” Harley was more amused than sympathetic.

  A shame, or potentially ruinous. The present Lord Wrexley, like every Lord Wrexley before him, had an inconvenient fondness for wagering, and his fortune hadn’t survived his latest run of bad luck. He still had his title, of course, but little else aside from his handsome face and charming manners to recommend him. He’d aimed rather high with Miss Somerset to begin with. If he’d had hopes of her, she must have encouraged him.

  Not very discerning of her, particularly since Wrexley didn’t appear to return the sentiment. If he was devastated by his loss, his face didn’t reflect it. He merely shrugged, and pushed his chair back from the gaming table. “There are other heiresses. But you look glum, Huntington. Not at all like a man who’s just secured a chance at forty thousand and London’s most celebrated blue-eyed belle. Don’t say you’re in love with my cousin.”

  In love, with Lady Honora? Hardly. If he was in love with the chit, he’d never marry her. A man didn’t want to lose his head over any woman, but especially not his wife. It would only complicate things, and Finn didn’t care for complications. “Love hasn’t got a damn thing to do with marriage.”

  “Well, what’s the trouble, then?” Harley gathered up the cards and slipped them into his coat pocket. “One would think you were being forced to marry a lady with empty pockets and a face like a sheep. If you don’t fancy Miss Somerset, leave her to Wrexley. He seems keen to have her.”

  Finn leaned back in his chair and studied Wrexley’s face. Losing a wager brought out Wrexley’s vengeful tendencies, and he’d never been as good at hiding them from Finn as he was the rest of London. “Is that so, Wrexley?”

  “I only think it’s a pity to see such a lovely lady wasted on a man who doesn’t have a proper appreciation for her. But perhaps you’d care to make another wager on her, Huntington?”

  Given that Finn had already wagered on Miss Somerset once, he didn’t have much right to be offended by Wrexley’s crass offer, but irritation made his lips tighten. “Make another wager on her? Now, Wrexley. That’s no way to talk about my future betrothed.”

  Wrexley shrugged again, then shoved his arms into his coat. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations, then.” He nodded at Harley and Lord Derrick. “I wish you a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”

  Harley watched him go, then turned back to Finn. “A friendly word, Huntington. Wrexley can be vicious when he wants something, rather like a highwayman after a gold pocket-watch. If he’s made up his mind to have the lovely Miss Somerset, he might sink to questionable stratagems to get her. If you do decide to court her, you’d do well to keep an eye on him.”

  Finn had long since made it a point to keep an eye on Wrexley, but he merely nodded. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “You’d be a fool not to court her, you know. It won’t be a hardship to bed her.” Harley grinned like a man who’d given the matter a good deal of thought. “I’d wager she’s a spirited one.”

  Lord Derrick, who’d remained silent during this exchange, slammed his fist down on the table. “No, you won’t. Haven’t you two disgraced yourselves enough for one night? No more bloody wagering.”

  “Yes, if it’s all the same to you, Harley,” Finn drawled, “I’ll decline that wager, for Miss Somerset’s sake.”

  “That’s good of you, Huntington, but it’s a bit late for chivalry now. I can’t help but feel sympathy for the lady, to be wasted on such an indifferent husband. Rather like being married to a block of ice, isn’t it? Once she’s done her duty and squeezed out an heir or two for you, she may have a mind to take a lover, and I’ll take care to be in her way when she does.”

  Finn gave Lord Harley a sour look. “If you’re so enamored of her, why did you wager for the right to court Lady Honora?”

  “Money, of course. What else? Besides, I don’t think Miss Somerset cares for me, despite my many charms. I have a suspicion she’d refuse me if I offered for her.”

  “If she wouldn’t accept you as a husband, Harley, she won’t accept you as a lover.”

  Harley laughed. “Marriage has a way of lowering a lady’s expectations in that regard.”

  “A gentleman’s, as well.” Though if boredom was the only challenge he faced in his marriage, Finn would count himself fortunate enough.

  Harley pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That’s what mistresses are for. But you already know that, don’t you, Huntington?”

  Lord Derrick waited for Harley to leave before he turned a disgusted look on Finn. “Bloody waste of time. You were a damn fool to let Harley talk you into that wager.”

  “No real harm was done.” Harley was right. If Finn couldn’t have Lady Honora, he’d settle for Miss Somerset. She’d do well enough. Willfulness could be tamed, after all.

  “No harm to you, but what if Miss Somerset should hear of it? It will hurt her feelings, and she might just decide to discourage your courtship. What then, Huntington?”

  “Don’t be absurd, Derrick. There isn’t a lady in London who’d discourage a marquess. In any case, she won’t hear of it. Wrexley and Harley can’t say a word without implicating themselves. None of us will speak of it.”

  Lord Derrick frowned as Finn rose and plucked his coat off the back of his chair. “Now you’ve settled the question of a wife, it’s off to see your mistress?”

  “I may as well enjoy her while I can.”

  He’d end it with her once he was betrothed. He was the Marquess of Huntington, after all, and despite his occasional lapses into the wickedness he’d inherited from his mother, he was a man of honor, like his father before him.

  But he wasn’t betrothed yet, and Lady Beaumont was just a short carriage ride away, waiting for him, her lush body warm and eager.

  As for Miss Somerset…

  He’d have preferred Lady Honora, but Miss Somerset was nearly as pliable as her rival, and her grandfather had been an earl. Once the question of lineage was settled, what difference did it make which lady became his marchioness?

  When it came to wives, one of them was as good as another.

  Chapter One

  Three months later

  “Lord Huntington won’t kiss me.”

  Iris Somerset drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then heaved it back out again in such a long sigh her lungs flailed in protest.

  Goodness, it felt good to say that at last.

  It had been weeks since she’d drawn a full breath. She’d been dangerously close to suffocation since the start of the seaso
n, when the Marquess of Huntington had singled her out as the fortunate recipient of his exalted attentions.

  Of course, she hadn’t meant to blurt out her confession here. One didn’t speak of kissing in the middle of Lady Fairchild’s rose garden. It was considered a great honor to be invited to her ladyship’s Hampstead estate for her annual scavenger hunt, and a certain level of decorum was expected.

  But she’d come this far, so she may as well finish it. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to lure him into an indiscretion, but it’s like trying to coax a fish to hang itself on the hook.”

  Iris crossed her arms over her chest, eyed her two companions, and braced herself for the inevitable uproar.

  As usual, Lady Honora broke first. “Hush, Iris! He could be right on the other side of this hedge!” She darted a panicked look around the garden to make certain they were alone, then swung back to Iris, a scandalized expression on her pretty face. “What do you mean, he won’t kiss you? Of course he won’t kiss—”

  “Why don’t you just kiss him, then? He’ll succumb to his savage desires the moment your lips touch his, and that will solve the problem in an instant.” Violet snapped her fingers.

  At any other time Iris might have found it amusing they’d each reacted just as she’d predicted they would, but Lord Huntington’s lack of interest wasn’t a laughing matter. “As far as I know, he hasn’t got any savage desires. That’s the problem, Violet.”

  Lady Honora winced at the word desires. “My goodness, Iris. What do you expect? He’s an honorable gentleman.”

  Violet frowned. “Honorable gentlemen don’t have desires?”

  “No! I mean, yes, of course they…oh, how should I know?” Lady Honora turned on Violet. “If they do have desires, they keep them well hidden out of respect to their betrothed.”

  Iris couldn’t deny Lord Huntington treated her with the utmost respect. He was unfailingly solicitous and polite, just as one would expect from a gentleman of such impeccable character. No proper young lady could complain of such treatment.