A Lord's Kiss Read online

  A Lord’s Kiss

  Her Unrepentant Rogue

  Melting the Snow Queen

  The Highlander’s Unexpected Bride

  Dreaming of a Gentleman

  Not Another Nob

  Lord Keeper

  The Maid of Inverness

  One Last Promise

  Marrying the Belle of Edinburgh

  Lady Victoria’s Mistake

  A Lord’s Kiss

  Copyright © 2020 Scarsdale Publishing, Lt

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: dreams2media

  Contents

  Her Unrepentant Rogue

  Melting the Snow Queen

  The Highlander’s Unexpected Bride

  Dreaming of a Gentleman

  The Flowers of Scotland

  Not Another Knob

  Lord Keeper

  The Maid of Inverness

  One Last Promise

  Marrying the Belle of Edinburgh

  Lady Victoria’s Mistake

  Her Unrepentant Rogue

  Forbidden Love

  The Marriage Maker

  Book Thirty-One

  Louisa Cornell

  Chapter One

  September 1817

  London

  Given the choice between a London ballroom on Grosvenor Square and several hours in the most disreputable gaming hell in Seven Dials, followed by meeting the dawn under the tender mercies of the most enthusiastic lady plying her trade at Mrs. Denman’s establishment on Marlborough Street, Ethan Dorrill regretted that the latter had no place in his future, at least for the next few weeks. Had he known he’d be blackmailed into prancing about London in tailored clothes on his best behavior, he’d never have come ashore.

  “Family is a right pain in the arse.”

  “You said arse. A gentleman does not say arse.”

  Ethan turned to find a boy of no more than ten years, a boy who, frankly, looked a bit familiar, dressed in a miniature version of a man’s nightshirt. His young etiquette tutor joined him at the balustrade overlooking the Farnsworths’ ballroom.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be down there?” the lad inquired.

  “Would you want to be down there?” Ethan propped his elbows on the carved marble railing and surveyed the kaleidoscope of ladies in brightly colored gowns and jewels swirling around ribbons of gentlemen in black and white evening clothes.

  The lad raised up on his toes and imitated Ethan’s posture. He appeared to give every inch of the scene beneath the heavy gilt chandeliers very careful study. Finally, he pointed at a long buffet on the far side of the room. A buffet covered with a pristine white cloth, several candelabras, two ridiculously large flower arrangements, and an array of silver trays bearing every sort of cake, tart, and sweet imaginable. “I would for that.”

  Ethan nodded. “A fair reason. What of the silk knee breeches, and the stockings, and the jacket and waistcoat, and neckcloth tied so tightly you cannot breathe? Not to mention the shoes. Still worth the trouble?”

  “You’re wearing boots. Gentlemen don’t wear boots to a ball,” his companion observed.

  “True. I never wear shoes. They pinch my feet.” Ethan had to say, this was the most enjoyable, and frankly intelligent conversation he’d had in the three weeks since he’d arrived in London.

  “A fair reason,” the boy said with a solemn nod. “I never wear drawers. They chafe my rudder. A gentleman should not have to wear something that chafes his rudder.”

  Ethan choked and loosed a bark of laughter, which had half the eyes in the ballroom looking up for the source. He stepped back and pulled his young friend with him.

  “A bit of wisdom imparted by your father?”

  “No. My Aunt Ellie.”

  “Your aunt sounds to be a very wise woman.”

  “She’s my Mama’s sister, but Mama died when I was born, and Papa married my Aunt Ellie, so now she makes all of the decisions a mama is supposed to make. Papa says life is much quieter that way.” His oration had been delivered in such a rush, it took a moment for Ethan to sort through what the boy had said. Once he did, a singular prickle of recognition clamored in the back of his mind.

  “We have not been properly introduced, sir,” Ethan said with a click of his heels and an inclination of his head. “I am Captain Ethan Odysseus Dorrill, at your service. And you are?”

  The lad’s eyes grew wide. He stepped closer and tugged on Ethan’s sleeve until Ethan bent his head closer. “You’re a pirate,” he whispered none too quietly.

  “I’m your father’s elder brother, which makes me your uncle,” he whispered back, glancing down the corridor behind them, playing into the diminutive conspirator’s game.

  The child, who suddenly reminded Ethan of the brother he’d left behind all those years ago, nodded solemnly, face still agog. “And you’re a pirate. Papa and Uncle Daniel said so. I heard them.”

  Who the devil was Uncle Daniel and what the devil did he know about anything? Ash, my brother, you have some explaining to do.

  Ethan preferred to steer clear of words like pirate, if at all possible. “And your name is Matthias Dorrill, is it not?”

  His nephew stood up straight and offered him a very proper bow. No mean feat when dressed in a nightshirt and soft wool slippers. This Aunt Ellie must be a formidable woman. “Matthias Daniel Dorrill, sir. At your service.”

  “A pleasure, Master Dorrill.” They moved back to the balustrade together. “Tell me, sir, how is it you are here in your nightclothes rather than at home in St. James Square?”

  Matthias rolled his eyes and delivered a credible, long-suffering sigh. “Aunt Ellie is helping Aunt Emmaline hostage the ball. Papa said she’ll be here until the last matchmaking mama surrenders. Uncle Arthur said we should stay the night.”

  Ethan surreptitiously slid two fingers up to rub his temple. He’d correct the boy’s use of hostage if it did not fit so perfectly with his own opinion of the purpose of most society balls. But, Uncle Arthur? Aunt Emmaline? He’d not been in London long, but he’d been acquainted with Captain Lord Arthur Farnsworth since long before Waterloo. The gossip of the duke’s son marrying Emmaline Peachum, daughter of a notorious criminal, had died down, but not before it had reached even Ethan’s jaded ears. His brother had come up in the world and acquired some powerful friends. No wonder their grandfather had sent for Ethan.

  “I take it your Papa and Aunt Ellie are down there somewhere?”

  His newfound nephew peered over the wide marble balustrade and conducted a steely-eyed search of the opulently decorated expanse below. He pointed to a group of people standing before French windows a ways down from the buffet.

  “There’s Papa,” Matthias said. “Aunt Ellie is the pretty lady in the blue dress.”

  Ethan followed the boy’s direction and spotted his brother Ash dressed in the finest black and white evening clothes. Ash stood next to a petite lady with luminous blonde hair who wore an elegant gown of sapphire silk. Ethan straightened his own attire and turned toward the wide staircase that led into Society’s version of a lion’s den. As he continued to watch the group around his brother, Ash stepped closer to his wife and, in
doing so, revealed a tall, dark-haired beauty standing just inside the open French windows. Ethan’s mouth went dry. The beauty’s mahogany-colored hair was piled atop her head in an intricate arrangement of braids and curls. The warm, golden light from the chandeliers drew rich wine hues from her coiffure when she turned her head. Her sharp cheekbones, squared jaw, and blade of a nose gave her the haughty expression Ethan always found too much the challenge to resist. Her form was delicate for so tall a lady and she had the bearing of a Celtic warrioress. A lady spoiling for a fight. Even better.

  “Who is the lady speaking with your Aunt Ellie?” he asked. “The one in the red dress?”

  “That’s Aunt Georgiana. She’s not really my aunt, but her sister is my aunt, so I call her Aunt Georgiana. She was supposed to marry my Uncle Daniel, but he married her sister instead.”

  Even better. Aunt Georgiana had been unlucky in love. Ethan had just the cure to heal a lady’s broken heart. He squatted to meet Matthias eye-to-eye.

  “Matthias, my good man, let us keep this conversation between us, shall we?” He glanced back toward the ballroom. “Do so, and there is an entire tray of delicacies from that buffet in it for you. What say you?”

  The lad offered him his hand. “Done, sir.” They shook on it.

  “Excellent.” Ethan stood and started for the stairs.

  “Uncle Ethan?”

  His chest tightened in an odd sort of start. “Yes?” He glanced back at the boy in the nightshirt and slippers.

  “I am partial to raspberry tarts, if it’s all the same to you.” That face, all hopeful solemnity, shook Ethan to his core. Ash. His younger brother. And the things he never did to save him.

  “Depend upon it, Master Dorrill. Wait here.” Ethan descended the stairs. He ignored the scandalized glances and furtive whispers. Over the years, those glances and whispers had accompanied him like old friends. The kind who were wont to hang back and watch until they were in need of something from him.

  Ethan kept his sights set on the knot of people between the buffet and the musicians, on the lady in their midst, the warrioress in the wine-red dress. He did so even as he, with a wave of two fingers, summoned a footman. Even as he ordered an entire tray filled with selections from the sweets table, with an emphasis on raspberry tarts, delivered to the “young gentleman in the nightshirt at the top of the stairs.” His mission dispatched, he strolled along the ballroom’s edge, past the shocked chaperones and dowagers seated on their dainty gilt chairs until he stood directly behind his brother.

  His eyes met those of the dark-haired beauty. She raised her chin ever so slightly and tilted her head. To his amused consternation, she did not look away, but rather, gave every inch of his person—from his entirely too-long hair, tied back in a braided que, to the tips of his mirror-shined Hessians—a condescending perusal.

  “Good evening, Ash.”

  In the teeming noise of a ball in full flight, the sudden silence that fell over his brother’s group landed with an awkward thud. Ash turned slowly and took a step back.

  “Farnsworth,” Ethan greeted the former Navy man with a nod.

  “Dorrill.” The man’s normally austere features registered surprised, but softened when the brown-haired, green-eyed, generously curved lady on his arm raised up and murmured something in his ear. “My dear, may I make known to you Captain Ethan Dorrill? Dorrill, this is my wife—”

  “Lady Arthur,” Ethan said as he stepped around his apparently stunned brother and bowed over the hand Farnsworth’s wife offered him. “Rumors of your beauty do not disappoint, my lady. How did you end up with this old stick?”

  “I married him for his library,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

  “I knew there had to be a good reason.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ash finally asked.

  Ethan turned slowly and met his brother’s scowl with a grin. “It’s a ball, brother. What do you think I am doing here?”

  “You’re dressed for a Cyprian’s masquerade. When did you return to England?” Ash’s tone and stiff posture had his friends glancing about uncomfortably whilst the woman Ethan knew to be his new sister-in-law merely stared, her face utterly unreadable. Good for her. Bad for his brother.

  “I have been in London these three weeks. Are you going to introduce me to your lovely wife?” Ethan watched the lady in red from the corner of his eye. Like so many of Society’s ladies, she simply pretended all was well and the current tension was not happening.

  “Why are you here?” Ash snapped.

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” The pretty blonde in the sapphire dress punched Ash in the arm and offered Ethan her hand. “Please pardon my husband, Captain Dorrill. I am Eleanor, your sister-in-law.”

  “I have been pardoning him for years, Mrs. Dorrill.” Ethan gently grasped her fingers and bowed over them. Then he straightened and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family. Such as it is.” He stepped back to enjoy the full force of his brother’s muttered curse and infuriated glare.

  The only member of the party to whom he still needed an introduction leaned in to whisper to Lady Arthur. Ethan caught her words and smiled.

  “Allow me to escort you to the refreshments, Miss…?” He winged his arm at the lady Daniel McCormick had cast aside. Fool.

  “Ethan,” Ash growled.

  “Do stop,” Eleanor demanded, pulling Ethan’s brother back a step. She rolled her eyes at Lady Arthur, who laughed and shook her head. “You’re causing a scene, husband.”

  Farnsworth sighed. “Lady Georgiana, Captain Ethan Dorrill. As I am certain you have surmised, he is Dorrill here’s brother. Captain Dorrill, may I make known to you Lady Georgiana. Her sister is married to Daniel McCormick.”

  “I see.”

  “Of McCormick Shipping,” Farnsworth added.

  “My condolences, Lady Georgiana. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ethan offered his arm once more. She considered it for a moment and then rested her silk-gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?” he inquired as he led her away from her grimly silent companions.

  Slowly, they strolled back past the chaperones and dowagers.

  “I take it you and your brother are not fond?” Lady Georgiana observed.

  “Do you have brothers?”

  “I have not been so blessed.”

  “Have you ever wanted one?”

  “I have seen little to recommend one.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Precisely. My brother has not liked me for quite a while now.”

  “So, you are estranged?”

  “You could say that. We have not seen each other these ten years.” Ethan’s body simmered, a languid, ambling crawl of heat through his veins, starting where her hand rested atop the fabric of his coat. A delicate perfume of jasmine melded with gardenia invaded his senses. The brush of her hip against his elicited a noticeable hitch in her breath.

  “You say he has not liked you. And for your part?” They came to a halt before a punch bowl. Only four or five inches shorter than he, she turned startling blue eyes up to him and his heart stumbled for a beat and then another.

  “I love my brother very much. Punch or lemonade?” What the devil had he said? And why?

  “I would prefer some champagne,” she replied and selected a glass from the footman’s offerings. “Someone has eaten all of the raspberry tarts. I love raspberry tarts.” She turned her attention to the dancers forming up under the light of the chandeliers.

  “A woman after my own heart.” Ethan plucked a glass from the tray.

  “You may keep your heart, sir.” Lady Georgiana downed her champagne and dipped her head in negligible acknowledgement. “And your escort. I prefer you not use your attendance on me to pick a fight with your brother.”

  The musicians struck up the first, quiet strains of a waltz.

  Ethan finished his drink, stepped before her, performed a courtly bow and took her in his arms. “My escorting you to the refreshments will not provoke Ash.” H
e swept her onto the dance floor. “My dancing with you, however, is another thing entirely.”

  She gasped and stumbled a step or two but did not push out of his embrace. Her hands fell naturally to his shoulder and arm, then tightened. In moments, they were sweeping around the ballroom amidst the other dancers. Flags of color added a glow to her elegant cheekbones. The grip she kept on him, coupled with the fury in her icy blue eyes, put him in mind of a depiction of the Hindu goddess Kali, bent on murder.

  “Is my dancing so bad, Lady Georgiana?” He flinched as her fingernails dug into the embroidered brocade of his frock coat.

  “Not at all, Captain Dorrill.” She bared her teeth in a frighteningly polite smile. “The quality of your dancing is not in question. The necessity of it is. And I have not yet been granted permission to waltz by the patronesses.”

  “The patronesses?” Ethan pulled her closer and whirled them in ever quicker circles about the polished parquet floor.

  “Of Almack’s. I would say holding me in this fashion is bound to cause a scandal, but I suspect that is your bread and butter. Your attire is testament enough to that. That coat alone is a singular piece.”

  “My attire? You cut me to the quick, Lady Georgiana. This coat is the height of fashion and cost me a small fortune.”

  She smiled, genuinely this time.

  He’d actually coaxed the tiniest of genuine smiles from his dance partner.

  “It is indeed, if you are on the deck of a ship, cutlass in hand, repelling boarders. I daresay, at least a dozen needlewomen made their year’s wages on that embroidery.”

  Ethan threw back his head and laughed, which caused her to miss a step. He flexed his hand against the small of her back and steadied her as they waltzed back up the dance floor.

  “There you have it. My singular coat may draw Society’s censure, but I am willing to make the sacrifice for the better good. An act of charity, if you will.”

  A hint of white teeth sank into her bottom lip. She shook her head. The lady wanted to laugh. Badly. Her décolletage, glittering with perspiration, rose and fell in short, quick beats. Not from the exertions of the dance. She was lithe and light and danced with the innate grace of one who did so often. He’d knocked her the tiniest bit off the pedestal of hauteur from which she viewed the world. As beautiful as he’d found her from across the room, now, fighting laughter, reveling in the waltz, and flushed under his blatant admiration, she was magnificent.