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  To Romance A Scoundrel

  A Historical Regency Romance

  Rosie Wynter

  Audrey Ashwood

  Contents

  About this Novel

  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

  The Curtis Sisters – Books in the Same Series

  Sneak Peek: A Bride for the Viscount’s Cold Son

  The Authors

  To Romance A Scoundrel © Copyright 2019 Rosie Wynter & Audrey Ashwood

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

  Created with Vellum

  About this Novel

  A wealthy earl.

  A charming but penniless rogue.

  Will she follow her head or her heart?

  After disgracing herself in her first season in London society, Claire is sent to stay with family in the countryside, in the company of her influential aunt, the dowager Duchess of Lynch.

  There, Claire is introduced to the Earl of Dalton, and – much to the liking of her family – they begin a courtship. That is, until she meets Mr Ruben Hawkins, a dashing rogue who seems to have stepped straight from one of her romance novels. Claire is drawn to him in the most vexing way and, suddenly, Lord Dalton seems dull in comparison.

  However, when she sneaks away to meet Mr Hawkins in secret, they are discovered, and not only does the earl turn away from her, but the event threatens to make her an outcast of decent society for the rest of her life.

  To Claire’s surprise, help arrives in the form of the last person she had ever thought would help her…

  Will she find her way back to love and her knight in shining armour?

  Chapter 1

  Claire Curtis was ready to put London behind her. She had enjoyed her stay in the city, but now it was time for a change of scenery. Much as she loved her dear aunt, the dowager Duchess of Lynch, she did not share her opinion that London was the only place to be. Claire delighted in the magnificent architecture. She enjoyed standing in the city’s grand ballrooms, gazing up at dazzling chandeliers. Yes, there were many delights to be had in London, but one had to enjoy them in moderation. Too much time in the city made a soul too busy, too consumed by artifice and materialism. This was why the great and the good made an annual migration to the country in the heat of summer. Aunt Lynch insisted that the nobles only quit London to avoid the stench of garbage rotting in the summer sun. As true as this might have been, Claire chose to believe that there was a higher purpose to the great upheaval. Whether they knew it as conscious fact or not, it didn’t matter.

  A spell in the country was good for the soul. It allowed a reconnection to nature and the wholesome values of country folk. However, once again it was imperative that one not spend too long in the country either. Too much time around pious and old-fashioned farming folk was a recipe for stagnation. To enjoy modern thought and sensibilities, one had to return to the great cities.

  Claire kept her body pressed close to the carriage window, which she had lowered to let in the country air. There was something pleasing about feeling the air rush past her as the carriage moved at speed. She allowed her arm to hang outside the carriage, and she spread her fingers to feel the breeze rushing between them. It gave her the most wonderful feeling of exhilaration and she fancied this must be how birds on the wing would feel. She often pictured herself as an animal, during long carriage rides. She would imagine herself as a horse, but one freed from the shackles of the carriage. She much preferred to believe herself to be a creature that was free from restraints and direction. She did not like to think of herself chained to a wagon, forced to follow a narrow and predefined road. She did not wish to think of herself as blinkered and permitted only to see what lay straight ahead.

  “Are you done waving your arms about in that absurd manner? You are letting in all manner of flies, not to mention that foul odour of manure.” Her aunt’s face was as sour as her words.

  “I have missed that smell,” Claire countered. As if to make the point, she took a deep breath, allowing herself to absorb the unique scent.

  “Of course you have. I have no doubt you associate it with ‘the wonders of new life’ and ‘growing crops in fields of abundance’!”

  “Well, there is that,” Claire admitted, ignoring her aunt’s mocking impersonation of her. “But, to be truthful, what I love most is the feeling of ‘home-ness’ it gives. I breathe in the heady aroma of the fields, and I am transported back to Bradford, sitting on the banks of the Avon.”

  “Oh dear, it’s even more insipid a vision than I thought,” her aunt commented dryly, shaking her head. “Very well, enjoy your foul odours and I will do my best to endure them. Though, I fear I will be overrun and killed by all the flies you are attracting into the carriage.”

  “They are only midges, Aunt – I doubt they will kill you. Perhaps they are attracted to your perfume. It is lovely, but it is so much like real lavender, that I am sure they are quite confused!”

  Claire did not understand why her aunt’s response was to glower at her. She assumed her aunt’s mood was still caught up in the so-called ‘mess’ they had left behind in London.

  Claire really wished her aunt could let it go. It had been weeks since the ‘unfortunate event’. Even the most ardent of London gossips would have found new fare to peck over by now. As for the man she had snubbed at the dance, it did not matter what title and land his father had. He had failed to engage her interest in his conversation, his looks, and in fact, in any way that mattered. He would have done well to take the loss like a man and to retire with dignity. It was his own fault that he had pushed the matter in pursuing her. If he had not done so, Claire would not have felt the need to spurn his advances in front of an audience. She may have been the cause of his public humiliation, but he had brought it on himself.

  If her aunt was indeed still bitter about that whole unfortunate episode, she did not say so. She busied herself with swatting the various tiny insects that buzzed about her. Claire was grateful for the distraction the midges gave. Their sacrifice allowed her to slip back into her pleasant world of fancy and illusion. Once again, she was a swallow on the wing, flying free and unfettered overhead.

  As the carriage wound its way further north, Claire’s mind began to shift. She stopped fantasising about herself as a bird flying high above the carriage. Instead, she cast her mind forward, moving across hills and through woodlands. She took herself to the estate owned by her brother-in-law and her sister, the Duke and Duchess of Cromford.

  Claire longed to see her sister again. The last time she had seen her was when Grace had announced that she was expecting a child. That was five months ago. Back
then, Claire could see no discernible sign of the impending event on her sister. Now, she longed to see Grace with a truly swollen body. Grace had always been the beauty of the family, and Claire imagined her looking even more radiant now. Claire was sure that Grace’s approaching confinement would have brought a new glow to her cheek. Their country estate would be a place of contentment and tranquillity at this joyous time. The infectious mood of the area would calm her aunt and Claire would have time to enjoy the country and her books. It was an ideal situation, and she was quite content to imagine the days of blissful serenity that lay ahead.

  “We’re coming up on Holdenwood Manor now, your Grace.” The voice of the driver broke the hours-long silence.

  Both Claire and the duchess adjusted themselves in their seats. Their numbed joints clicked and groaned as the two women straightened their backs. Even the most luxurious of carriages left a person feeling sore after too long.

  “Is that it?” There was a tinge of surprise in Claire’s voice as she spoke, and the corners of her lips curled downward.

  Ahead of them a large, square building of old grey stone stood on the crest of a modest hill. In times past, the building might well have been white, but age and neglect had been unkind to the structure. Its square walls were straight and unadorned as it sat atop the hill. It added nothing to the beauty of the landscape. Its grim, blockish facade spoiled the gentle rolling of the hills and the orange glow of the sun. Even when a treeline masked the structure from view for a moment, Claire knew it was there, lurking.

  For all her love for the Duke of Cromford and her dear sister, Claire had no love for their country home. She tried to remind herself that she could not hold Cromford or Grace accountable for the look of their home. Holdenwood Manor was the Cromford ancestral home and had been built by one of Cromford’s ancestors. Whoever it was, Claire made a mental note to ask George Cromford to show her the man’s portrait. She wanted to see the face of the man responsible for such an atrocity, so she could fix him with a look of revulsion.

  “What is that face for? Have you swallowed a fly?” the duchess asked.

  “I am just a little shocked by the look of the place. When one hears the name, Holdenwood Manor, one pictures a place much warmer and more inviting to look at. That hall looks to be little more than a carved rock that someone has carelessly dropped onto the landscape. I do not think I have ever seen such an ugly building in my life and if I knew no better, I would assume it to be a prison, rather than a stately home.”

  “Well, I am quite sure it is no prison,” Aunt Lynch assured her coldly. She glanced out of the window at the property once more. “I do concede though – the building lacks flair. I can see why the duke is having the place renovated at present.”

  “He is?” Claire leaned back in her seat, and the tension in her shoulders left her.

  “I told you that weeks ago, back when Grace wrote to us. I swear you never listen to anything unless it is spun as a fairy tale for you.”

  “I am sure I misunderstood you when you read the letter. I imagined some minor work to windows or a new front door. As it stands, I’m not even sure an architect could improve such an eyesore. The duke would be far better off selling the property to anyone who might buy it and moving elsewhere.”

  “I’m pretty sure, no matter what the estate may look like to outsiders, it carries a lot of sentimental weight. I doubt the duke would leave the home where he was born, just so that he could buy up a better-sculpted estate elsewhere.”

  “I suppose I must allow for that. Even so, I hope the duke’s plan to reimagine his home helps to make the estate look more welcoming from the outside. I would not like to think of my future niece or nephew growing up in such a dour and grim looking home.”

  “Well, we both know that George is a sensible man who has good taste. He will do a good job in modernising the look of the place. I am sure he’d welcome any suggestions you might have for improving the property. Although, do try and reign in your criticisms. I do not want another noble gentleman offended by your unguarded tongue this season.”

  “There is no chance of my offending anyone of good character, of whom I am fond of, and love as a brother.” Claire folded her arms and lifted her chin.

  The Duchess of Lynch gave a slow nod, her lips drawn thin and her expression closed.

  Looking back out of the window, Claire found the one redeeming feature to Holdenwood Manor. While the house itself was a grim and imposing edifice, the grounds about it were spectacular. Whoever had designed and built the gardens, was a person of more vision and soul than the architect of the house had been.

  The grounds had a pleasing balance between structured gardening and wildness. Most gardens belonging to the upper classes were not suffered to grow wild and free. Gardeners kept hedges and trees trimmed into regular geometric shapes. Lawn was never permitted to grow beyond a perfect uniform height. There was beauty in such gardens, but Claire preferred to see some wildness in a garden. Holdenwood Manor’s grounds achieved an ideal balance between natural and man-made beauty.

  The inner gardens of the property were all well-tended with crisp lawns. There was an enchanting-looking hedge maze and a stone fountain set in the middle of a circle of flower beds. However, next to these managed scenes of beauty, was a stretch of woodland that had been left free to grow as it pleased. A jagged tree line of silver birch, ash, oak, and wild shrubs edged the grass like the borders of a foreign country. Through the thick foliage, Claire could make out clumps of lush bluebells. They grew in great clusters and stood out amidst the darker greens and browns of the wood. This wild patch of land was obviously allowed to remain on the property and must be from whence the estate had taken its name. Holdenwood Manor. It seemed that the pretty moniker, which the ugly grey house claimed as its title, was not wholly undeserved.

  At length, the carriage made its way down the gravel path to the front door of the estate. It seemed that the duke and duchess were keeping a weather eye out for their guests. As the vehicle arrived at the front entrance of the property, a party of people lined up to meet them.

  As soon as the carriage drew to a halt, Claire moved to open the door. The footmen and servants would have been more than happy to oblige her, but she could not bear to wait. She had caught sight of her sister, and that glimpse had been enough to overturn her sense of propriety.

  Fumbling with the door handle, Claire managed to release the catch. At the same moment as her aunt uttered “Child, be patient, where are your mann–” the door swung open all at once, and Claire found herself falling out of the carriage.

  She let out a short scream, closing her eyes as she anticipated hitting the hard stones beneath her. Instead, a strong arm caught her, holding her tight about the waist. The sure grip that held her helped her right to her feet. Claire expected it to be the driver or some servant of the duke who had caught her. She turned to thank the man, but her words caught in her throat when she saw her rescuer.

  “Are you alright?”

  The man addressing her was tall, and very well-built. Claire had had a taste of the strength in his powerful arms when he had caught her up. Seeing those same arms with her eyes was quite another thing. They were broad and powerful. His shirt struggled to contain the muscles held within, and Claire felt at once that his was the body of a labourer. Yet, one look at his gold-brocaded waistcoat suggested he was a man of means. His face was square and set like stone. The jawline and cheekbones were hard-edged, and his eyes were a grey granite. The hair on his head added a slight softness to his look. It was a honey-brown colour and was kept quite long and tied with a bow. Claire had to admit his look was quite elegant, and she offered a warm smile as a blush rose to her cheek.

  “I am alright, thank you. I... I did not expect the door to swing out quite so quickly. I am amazed that you were able to catch me so promptly.”

  “Happy chance,” the man replied, seeming to shirk off the praise given to him. He took a deep breath, and the muscles in his ch
est were clear to see beneath his shirt and waistcoat.

  “Well, I am indebted to you all the same, Mr...?”

  “Lord Dalton,” the voice of the duchess sounded behind them, “My, you’ve grown since I last saw you. Still wearing that foolish mop of hair, I see.”

  Claire turned towards her aunt, who had stepped out of the carriage with the assistance of the driver. The duchess prided herself on knowing all the best families in the country.

  “Lord Dalton?” Claire could not disguise her astonishment. No lord she had ever met carried the rugged and hardy physique of the man before her. Looking at his hands as he ran his fingers over his neck, she could see callouses.

  “Yes. John Graham, Earl of Dalton,” he gave a stiff bow, and then turned to the duchess. “Duchess, I am afraid I have not had much time to acquaint myself with the present styles in the city, to know how else to present myself.”

  “Of course you haven’t… you are never there,” the duchess replied somewhat sardonically.

  “Well, you know my work is in these grand old houses and estates. There is no call or reason for me to take my work to London.”

  “Perhaps I should make proper introductions.” The Duke of Cromford, Claire’s brother-in-law, stepped forward and introduced them. Then he put his hand on Dalton’s shoulder and smiled at Claire. “This man has been a friend of mine for a good many years. We studied at university together and have kept in contact ever since. Sad to say, we do not see as much of each other as we ought. Having him renovate the exterior of Holdenwood Manor felt like the perfect excuse to see him again.”