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  For my sister, Melanie Minot Bowman Pikor, who said to me one day, “You should write a romance novel.”

  And I did.

  Good idea.

  I love you, Moosey.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, thanks to my fabulous editor, Holly Blanck. If you hadn’t been digging my little story, it never would have seen the light o’ day. You made my dreams come true.

  To my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, who saw something in my writing she liked and stuck with me till we hit the mark. The day you first called me remains in my memory forever.

  To my amazing critique partners past and present: Mary Behre, Lena Diaz, Sheila Athens, and Erica Barton. Your help and support have meant more to me than I can say.

  To my mother, Judy Bowman-Rhodes, for the gift of storytelling (cough, cough, hyperbole); to my six actual sisters Janet, Laura, Leslie, Sandra, Sarah, and Melanie for your influence and support; and to my BFF Danielle Aguirre for being sister #7.

  To the First Coast Romance Writers in Jacksonville, Florida, and the Beau Monde online chapter of Romance Writers of America. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the RWA and my chapter’s support.

  To marvelous Regency author, Gail Ranstrom, for giving me a kind and supportive critique at a time when I had no idea what I was doing.

  To my Lalalas. I don’t know what I’d do without you every day. I feel like this little book is a tribute to all of us. Keep the faith! La, la, la.

  To Cheri Radliff for being my very first fan.

  To my cousin, Kate Buckley, for being my fan, my friend, and my secret Carson. Much obliged. And to my aunts, Susan Spitz and Gale Bowman, for being so proud of their romance novelist niece.

  To my father, Minot Bowman, who is not here to read my stories and to my stepfather, Stan Rhodes, who is.

  To Jenni McQ, Rom, and Ash for your wise and honest beta reads. And to Candice for looking out for my commas.

  To Dr. Janell Hart for your wise insight into the human condition. I’ll get you reading romance novels yet!

  Curtsy to my Secret Curtsy Society and 2011 Golden Heart nominee sisters, Ashlyn, Anne, Erin, and Sara. I’m so happy to be on this journey with you.

  To the Dashing Duchesses for being such generally fabulous blog partners. Historical romance rocks! Your graces, I adore you.

  To the incomparable Lisa Kleypas for saving me from a boring night stuck in a snowed-in airport in 2007, inspiring me to write, and for reading my story and providing the most beautiful cover quote a romance novelist could ask for. I am forever your fan!

  To amazing historical romance authors Suzanne Enoch and Donna MacMeans for their generous praise. I owe you both a large and expensive drink.

  To everyone at St. Martin’s Press for publishing my story so well. I appreciate everything you do and I cannot stop staring at the gorgeous cover.

  And finally, thank you to my tall, dark, handsome, and supportive fiancé, Marcus. You totally have a historical romance hero name (sigh) but you’re better than any fictional character I could conjure.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Teaser

  Praise for Valerie Bowman

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  London, April 1816

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The blows on the door echoed through the foyer. Lily heard them all the way in the study where she was poring over the dismal household accounts for the hundredth time.

  “I demand to see the countess,” a deep male voice thundered.

  Lily stopped scribbling. She glanced at Leopold, the scruffy brown terrier who sat curled on a worn cushion at her feet. “Demand? Good heavens.” She shook her head. “Which one of my so-called admirers is at it today?”

  Returning her attention to the ledger, she mumbled, “Who knew? Apparently, twenty-two-year-old widows are all the rage this Season. That is, twenty-two-year-old widows reportedly worth a small fortune.”

  Leopold cocked his head and barked. Lily bit her lip. “Or it could be a debt collector.”

  Evans appeared in the doorway. Lily regarded her old friend with a weary sigh. “So, which is it? A fortune hunter or a creditor?”

  “My lady, Lord Colton is in the white salon. He insists upon seeing you.”

  Lily sat up straight. “Colton?”

  “The Marquis of Colton,” Evans clarified, clearing his throat.

  Leopold yipped as if he recognized the name. Evans gave the dog a dubious glance indicative of the strained relationship the two had shared over the last several years.

  Lily rubbed the feathered tip of her quill against her nose, her brows knitting together. “Hmm. This is an interesting development.”

  She was grateful Evans had been awake to answer the door. Her butler had an unfortunate penchant for falling asleep at the most unexpected times. Though she suspected the racket had roused him.

  Plopping the quill back into the well, she stood and smoothed her palms down her worn, gray skirts.

  “Tell Lord Colton I’ll be in momentarily, Evans.” She nodded, enjoying the jolt of anticipation that leaped to life in her belly.

  Devon Morgan, Marquis of Colton, in her house. Well. Of course she’d relish a distraction from the depressing house accounts, but there was something else. She’d relish the distraction from the simpering fops who’d been appearing on her doorstep smelling of too much sweet cologne and desperation. Lord Colton might be trouble, but there was nothing desperate about him.

  She clapped her hands and her canine companion fell into line behind her. She and Leo whisked up the back staircase. Lily squelched the little smile that popped to her lips. Oh, yes. She knew exactly why Lord Colton was sitting in her salon. Though she hadn’t expected to see him quite so soon.

  * * *

  A quarter hour later, Lily made her way down the main hallway, past the tattered carpets she couldn’t afford to replace. She’d changed from the threadbare dove-gray gown into the darker morning dress she saved for company.

  She drew in one last deep breath and pushed open the double doors to the white salon with both hands. She let the doors close behind her while her gaze scann
ed the room. It was beautifully decorated with delicate rosewood chairs, sterling silver candlesticks, and lovely antique vases filled with fresh flowers. The only room in the house so well appointed. Another concession to appearances.

  Lily squared her shoulders. The confident smile she had pasted on her face belied the nervous knot of anticipation that roiled through her belly. She folded her hands serenely—a trick her mother taught her long ago—and made her way into the room.

  Lord Colton sat in an embroidered chair, facing the window, his profile to her. He’d turned his head at the sound of her entrance. His countenance was a study in barely controlled anger. But years of breeding could not be denied. He rose to greet her.

  Lily sucked in her breath. My, my, she hadn’t seen the Marquis of Colton up close in an age. He’d always been handsome—how could she forget?—but she had failed to remember him being quite this good-looking.

  He stood easily two inches over six feet tall, with slightly curly, raven-black hair. He had chiseled cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted mouth that could linger in one’s memory, if one were interested in such things, which Lily decidedly was not. But most intriguing of all were his eyes. Deep, dark, and coffee brown, they shone with an off-putting intelligence and were framed by thick, long lashes that held an appeal all their own.

  Lily pressed her lips together. Oh, yes, the Marquis of Colton was tall, dark, and handsome. Too much of all three for Lily’s peace of mind.

  She swept toward him, meeting his eyes, and his anger seemed to diffuse a bit. His shoulders settled and his stance became less rigid.

  “Lord Colton.” She curtsied and her dark skirts pooled around her ankles. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I haven’t seen you in—what’s it been—three years? Four?”

  Leopold trotted past—affording Lord Colton with a distinctive growl indicative of the strained relationship they had shared in the past—before taking up residence on his favorite cushion in the corner.

  Lily hid her smile and offered her hand to the marquis.

  When he touched her small, cold fingers with his strong, warm ones, a frisson of awareness skittered up Lily’s spine. He bowed. There was that breeding again.

  “Four years, perhaps,” he answered. “And whether or not this visit is pleasurable remains to be seen, my lady.”

  His voice seemed to seek out some sensitive place along her nerves and thrum a thrilling tune. Deep, masculine, and oh-so-powerful was Lord Colton’s voice. And confident. She mustn’t forget confident.

  Pulling her hand away from his unsettling touch, Lily crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her fingertips along her elbows. Four years? It had been nearly five and he knew it.

  They both knew it.

  “How did you find me, my lord? Seems the last time you were expected to pay me a visit, you lost your way.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It was quite simple, really. I merely followed the trail of men to your door. Rumor has it your butler has had to beat away your suitors with a stick. When he can stay awake, that is.”

  Lily gritted her teeth. “It’s indelicate of you to mention Evans’s unfortunate condition, but I suppose I should expect no more of you. I also employ a maid who cannot remember her name from one moment to the next. Not all households can be as illustrious as yours, now can they?”

  His only reply was a smirk. So much for that good breeding.

  “But now that I think upon it, it is a fine idea,” Lily continued. “I shall have to ask Evans to fetch a stick. It’s unfortunate he didn’t have one before you arrived.”

  Leopold’s ears perked and Lily shook her head, assuring the dog there was, in fact, no stick to be had. He slumped back onto his cushion and closed his eyes.

  Lord Colton’s smile was tight. “I am not a suitor, and I assure you, your butler would need more than a stick to keep me from my mission today.”

  “Mission? My, it sounds dire. But please, be quick about it. I’m quite busy of late, planning Annie’s debut.” And keeping the creditors at bay, she thought with a grimace.

  His face registered only mild surprise. “Annie? That little imp is eighteen already?”

  Lily nodded. No doubt he recalled how a thirteen-year-old Annie used to hide behind the banister at the top of the staircase in their parents’ house and giggle when Colton would come to pay a call on Lily.

  She shook her head. That was all a long time ago. A very long time ago.

  Colton’s voice held a note of sarcasm. “No doubt your sister will be as sought after as you are.”

  Lily shrugged. “Annie doesn’t know the dangers that await her in the marriage mart, but her heart remains set upon a debut and I would do anything to make her happy.” Lily waved a hand in the air, dismissing the subject. She rang for Evans. “Would you care for some tea, my lord?” she asked in a deceptively sweet voice.

  “No, thank you.”

  Lily sighed. Lord Colton’s dark eyes tracked her every move. They seemed omniscient, as if he knew her secrets. Could he tell how relieved she was that he’d refused the tea? Cream and sugar were as precious as gold.

  “I’d prefer a brandy,” he quickly added.

  “It’s half two,” she replied with a disapproving stare. And brandy isn’t cheap either.

  His hooded eyes showed no emotion. “Your point?”

  The muscles in Lily’s cheeks ached from keeping the fake smile plastered to her face. She let the smile fade and turned to the sideboard where she splashed only a bit of brandy into a glass for Lord Colton. The man was exactly like her father, a drinker and a gambler.

  And she’d known no one as useless as her father.

  “I see in addition to your renowned gambling and your rakishness, you’ve also turned to the bottle. Are you trying for all seven of the deadly sins?”

  His voice was calm. “And I see in addition to your renowned flirtations and your fickleness, your skills as a hostess leave much to be desired.”

  Hmm. Well-played.

  Smile firmly in place, she turned back to begrudgingly hand Lord Colton his drink. His gaze flicked to Leopold. “I see you’ve still got your mongrel.”

  Leopold lifted a floppy ear and growled again.

  Lily stiffened her spine. “I would never part with my Leo.”

  Lord Colton smiled a smile that made Lily wonder why it was so hot in the salon of a sudden. Some dark emotion kindled in his eyes. “You never could resist a stray.”

  Lily gave Colton a blatant once-over. Oh, no, they weren’t talking about Leo anymore. She delicately cleared her throat. “Do tell me, what brings you here this afternoon?”

  He waited for her to sit first, of course, before taking his place in the chair across from her. His size made the piece look like doll furniture. Her gaze traveled from the tip of his black Hessians up his long legs stretched in front of him, encased in biscuit-colored trousers. Her eyes lingered on his narrow hips and broad shoulders, before moving up to the decidedly irritated look on his perfect face.

  Confound it. The man looked even better than he had five years ago. Five long years ago.

  Lily shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me why you’re here,” she repeated. “And I shall attempt to seem as if I care what you have to say.” She smiled prettily.

  Colton’s eyes narrowed. “I’d be surprised, Countess, if you did not already know the reason for my call.”

  She bristled at his not-so-subtle emphasis on her title. If he hoped for a reaction to his veiled barb, he was about to be disappointed. The title was hers. She’d paid for it dearly.

  She refused to let him see it bothered her. “Is that so? Should I guess then? Stop me as soon as I am correct.” She took a deep breath, prepared to rattle off a list of innocuous motives.

  He thrust up a palm, stopping her. “That is unnecessary. I’m here to discuss a certain pamphlet that has been circulating in the company of young, unmarried females. A pamphlet entitled S
ecrets of a Wedding Night.”

  Lily kept her face blank. As if on cue, the butler carried in a tea tray and set it on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Evans.”

  Lily busied herself with pouring the tea. “Hmm. Secrets of a Wedding Night. Yes, I’ve heard rumors of that scandalous bit of writing.”

  Colton crossed his long legs at the ankles. Casual. Perhaps too casual. She could be that casual if she chose.

  “I assume you have also heard, then, my lady, that you are widely rumored to be the author of that particular piece.”

  She kept her eyes downcast and dropped only one costly lump of sugar into her teacup. She stirred slowly, set the tiny silver spoon aside, and raised her chin to stare him in the eye.

  “Me?” she asked in a falsely shocked voice.

  “Yes, everyone knows you and Viscount Medford are thick as thieves. He’s been known to publish that sort of drivel.”

  “Keeping track of my friendships, are you, my lord?”

  “Only when it affects me, my lady.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Ghastly thing, gossip.”

  “Well?” His voice held an edge.

  This called for an innocent look, and Lily just so happened to have perfected an innocent look. “What are you asking, my lord?” Positively saintly.

  His black eyebrow arched, his gaze pinning her in a way that made her teacup shake a bit on the saucer. Drat! She hastily set the cup on the table and snatched her hands away.

  “Did you write it?” He drew out the words slowly. His deep voice echoed off the salon’s aging wallpaper.

  “My, my, my, Lord Colton.” Thank heavens she’d also perfected tinkling laughter. “I must say you’re the very first person to come out and ask me.” Disconcerting. Most disconcerting.

  “Did. You. Write. It?” he repeated, sounding like a man who was used to having his questions answered the first time.

  Lily retrieved her teacup and took a tiny sip. Ah, yes. This was one of the reasons it hadn’t worked between the two of them—one of the many reasons. “I’d forgotten you were this direct. Direct, domineering, and completely used to getting your way. Tiresome qualities in a man.”