My Fair Lover
My Fair Lover is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Anne Bushyhead
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN 9780553392579
Ebook ISBN 9780553392586
Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi
Cover illustration: Alan Ayers
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Epilogue
Dedication
By Nicole Jordan
About the Author
London, May 1817
The last time she visited Brandon Deverill in his hotel rooms, she had climbed into his bed naked—a foolhardy scheme that ended in utter disaster.
Wincing at the scalding memory, Lady Katharine Wilde raised her hand to knock on the door to Number 7, then promptly lowered it again as the swarm of butterflies resumed dancing in her stomach. Gaining access to the second floor of Fenton’s Hotel this afternoon was the easiest phase of her clandestine mission. Disguised as a nobleman’s liveried male servant, she didn’t fear recognition. No, her anxiety stemmed from having to face Deverill again after six long years.
She fervently hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself today. Before, when she’d brazenly thrown herself at his head, he had rebuffed her offer, gently but firmly.
“That is far enough, Kate.”
She froze in confusion, wishing she could express all the yearning she was feeling. All the chaotic mix of uncertainty, desire, and hope. “But I thought…”
His jaw flexed with determination or regret, she wasn’t sure. “You were mistaken.”
Remembering her abject humiliation that night, Kate bit her lower lip and stepped back from his door. How she had longed to crawl into a hole and die! Maddeningly, her wounded pride still stung all these years later, as did her foolish heart.
Turning, she paced the corridor in an effort to drum up her courage. Unmarried young ladies simply did not visit gentlemen’s hotel rooms unaccompanied—although at four-and-twenty, she was hardly young. And Brandon Deverill—a rich American merchant and former privateer whose fleet of ships had battled the British Navy—was barely considered a gentleman, even if he had recently inherited the title to an ancient English barony.
Yet she had numerous reasons for risking scandal today: To prove she had recovered from her hurt and show him she was not still nursing a broken heart. To test her fortitude and confirm that she could handle meeting him alone. To deal with her certain embarrassment out of the public eye. And to make her unusual proposition in private.
She’d vowed to have nothing more to do with Deverill, but her aunt by marriage, Lady Isabella Wilde, had asked for her help in turning him into a proper English lord. Since Aunt Bella was her dear confidante and the prime mother figure in her life, Kate felt she could not possibly refuse. Not at least without good reason.
Which would mean confessing the mortifying details of the most lowering experience of her life, when she’d pursued Deverill like the lovesick, starry-eyed, half-witted females she deplored.
Scolding herself for her cravenness, Kate returned to his door and managed to subdue the violent flutters raging in her stomach long enough to rap lightly. Last time, Deverill had unequivocally rejected her amorous advances. This time, however, she had something he wanted.
When eventually the door swung open, the first thing that struck her was his bold, dark eyes. They were much as she remembered—deep, penetrating, black-fringed. His arresting eyes had always matched his daring demeanor and actions, she thought in bemusement.
In their dark depths she saw his instant recognition of her, even though she was garbed in her noble family’s livery, complete with silvery powdered wig covering her auburn hair.
She had clearly taken him by surprise. Kate herself was startled by the sight of Deverill wearing only breeches. He was bare-chested and barefoot, while his overly long raven hair was damp and curling. Apparently he had just bathed and was about to shave, for he held a razor in one hand.
A stubble of beard shadowed his strong jaw, a raffish look that only accentuated his appeal, much to her vexation. A ruffian—a pirate, at that—should not look so blasted appealing. He smelled delicious as well, deuce take him.
Confounded by his unwanted impact on her senses, Kate stood staring back at him speechlessly.
When his gaze drifted down over her attire, one eyebrow lifted and she could see amusement spark in his eyes.
“I should have expected you to act unconventionally,” he remarked in that rough-velvet voice that never failed to rake her feminine nerve endings.
She could say the same of him. He didn’t seem at all nonplussed to be caught in a state of near undress. But then Brandon Deverill was the most infamous man of her acquaintance, which was saying a great deal, considering that she hailed from the scandalous Wilde family, who could boast centuries of notorious ancestors.
There were lines on Deverill’s face now that made his striking features more mature. But shirtless, with his sun-bronzed, muscular torso exposed, he was even more devastatingly handsome than she recalled. His masculine beauty put classical statues to shame—
Oh, merciful heavens, gain hold of yourself, you moonling.
She was badly mistaken about having conquered her vulnerability, though. She most certainly was not over him. Deverill still had the power to make her knees weak. And she was still swamped by the undeniable, unquenchable attraction that had hit her the first moment she met him so long ago.
Kate gave herself a violent mental shake. She would be in deep, deep trouble if she couldn’t contain her captivation.
Thankfully Deverill interrupted her muddled ruminations. “How did you find me?” he asked with a note of curiosity.
“At my request, the harbormaster was on the lookout for your ship and alerted me when you docked. I sent a servant to question him about where you were lodging.”
“I admire your resourcefulness, if not your prudence. What the devil are you doing here?”
“May I come in?” Kate pressed. “I wish to speak to you, and I would rather not hold our conversation out here in the corridor.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped back to allow her entrance and closed the door behind her, although he didn’t appear elated by her presence. “Could you not have waited until I called on you tomorrow?”
“I felt sure there would be awkwardness between us, and thought it best to deal with it in private.”
“Will you be seated?”
Glancing around the small chamber, she saw a table and two chairs, a washstand, and a bed that reminded her uncomfortably of their last ign
ominious encounter. Kate smiled amiably to cover her discomfort. “I will stand, thank you. This should not take long.”
“Good. It would be best if you weren’t seen visiting my bedchamber. Does your brother know of your whereabouts?”
“No, and I don’t intend for him to find out.”
“Beaufort would have my head if he knew you were in my rooms.”
“You needn’t worry. Ash is in the country and is not expected to arrive in London until tomorrow.”
Deverill scrutinized her costume. “You aren’t concerned that someone might recognize the beautiful Lady Katharine Wilde?”
“No one looks twice at a footman.”
“Thus the disguise. You make a fetching lad.”
His compliment flustered her, but he followed it with a censorious remark. “Evidently you haven’t changed. You make a habit of frequenting gentlemen’s hotel rooms.”
“Not all gentlemen,” she returned archly. “Only yours.”
“Should I be flattered?”
She sent him her most charming smile. “Indeed, you should,” she quipped before catching herself. She had no business engaging in spirited repartee with Deverill as they’d enjoyed in the past.
Fortunately, he changed the subject by rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “Would you object if I continue shaving while we talk? My cousin Trey should arrive shortly to convey me about town. I have business with my solicitor regarding issues of the inheritance, and then plan to dine with Trey and his wife, Antonia, this evening.”
Kate had met Brandon’s distant English cousin Trey Deverill years ago, although she had not seen him recently and had not met his new wife. “No, I wouldn’t object.”
Deverill went to the washstand and picked up a cake of soap. “It has been a while since I last saw you,” he mused aloud as he began making a lather.
Six years, two months, and nine days. With another mental shake, Kate focused her thoughts on the future, not the past. “Aunt Bella has generally kept me abreast of your situation. I was sorry to hear of your uncle’s passing.”
Deverill nodded solemnly. “Reportedly Valmere was in a great deal of pain, so perhaps it was a blessing. I plan to travel to Kent this week to pay my respects to his remaining kin and make arrangements to provide for them.”
Kate was aware of Deverill’s lineage. His late grandfather, a younger son of a British baron, had immigrated to Virginia in America decades ago and married into a prominent merchant family that owned a fleet of sailing ships. This past January the current Baron Valmere—Augustus Deverill—had succumbed to a lingering illness, leaving behind a widowed daughter and two young granddaughters. The title and entailed properties had devolved to Brandon as the closest male relation.
For a moment, silence reigned as he lathered his face with soap. Watching, Kate found herself distracted by the sheer allure of his bare torso. Without volition her gaze skimmed over his wide shoulders and followed his tapered back to his lean waist, then lower to his tight buttocks and powerful thighs encased in buff knit breeches—
She looked away quickly so Deverill wouldn’t catch her admiring his lamentably impressive body. “Would you mind donning a dressing gown?”
“Regrettably, I don’t have one with me.”
“A shirt, then?”
He hesitated. “I will when I finish shaving.” Deverill glanced over his shoulder at her. “Have you turned missish all of a sudden?”
That tender, amused light that she’d loved so well had returned to fill his eyes. Seeing it, Kate remembered another provoking quality of his: No other man could make her blush as he could. She always felt as if he knew what she was thinking. And sometimes he seemed to be laughing at her—or at himself—inviting her to share a private jest.
It had been that way from the very first. He’d always taken vast liberties with her and never stood on formality. On the contrary, he’d teased her intimately, the way her brothers and cousins did. She could also count on Deverill to be candid, even brutally honest.
She had never minded his casual familiarity before, for it felt amiable, comfortable. Indeed, she had prized his frankness after all the sycophants who had toadied to her all her life as a wealthy, noble heiress.
They had met seven years ago when Deverill was visiting his uncle in Kent, the introduction made by Lady Isabella, who knew him from the days when he worked for the British Foreign Office. It was an unusual occupation for an American—a career that had originated because of his cousin Trey Deverill, and was cut short when war broke out between their countries.
“I have not been completely sheltered,” Kate answered lightly. “I grew up with male relatives, so I’ve seen partially unclothed men. But you and I are not at all related. Just because I dared call at your rooms twice does not mean I am unaware of the impropriety.”
“You forget I’ve seen your charms as well,” he murmured.
With her face flaming, she ducked her head. “You needn’t remind me,” she said in a low voice. “I once felt a foolish infatuation for you, but that is long over.”
Realizing how fainthearted she sounded, Kate raised her chin and met his gaze bravely. It was best to confront her embarrassment head-on.
Deverill was regarding her with that penetrating look, as if he knew all her secrets. Defensively, she flashed him her most winsome smile. “Never fear, Mr. Deverill. I am not here to throw myself at you again. I promise I won’t accost you or try to sneak into your bed.”
He looked as if he might reply, for his mouth curved for a moment, but he only shook his head and commenced shaving.
When he turned his back to her again, she noticed a wicked-looking scar beneath his right shoulder blade, perhaps three inches long, as if a knife or bayonet had speared his flesh. It must have hurt dreadfully, Kate thought, biting her lip in sympathy. She started to ask how he had come by the scar but stopped herself. The condition of his body was far too personal a matter for her to contemplate.
She changed her mind about taking a seat, however. Pointedly ignoring the bed, Kate crossed the small chamber to one of the chairs and sat down so she wouldn’t have to gawk at him directly. Deverill was pure physical temptation. More than that, he possessed the type of raw, vital presence that was supremely dangerous to any woman’s virtue. Any woman’s but mine, she amended. Her virtue had been perfectly safe in his hands, to her immense regret.
Kate cleared her throat. “Aunt Bella wishes she could be here to greet you, but she recently travelled to Cornwall to attend the lying-in of a friend’s daughter and needs to remain there a while longer. Meanwhile, she solicited my aid in her absence. I don’t know all the particulars of your correspondence with her, but I understand you intend to fully assume your role as Baron Valmere?”
“Yes.”
“I would like to hear from you what your aim is.”
He complied as he scraped off his whiskers. “You know that when the conflict between our countries escalated, my father requested I come home to Virginia? When he died a year later, I assumed the reins of our shipping company. I’ve spent the past several years rebuilding, since commerce suffered significantly during your British blockades of our harbors, and a portion of our fleet was destroyed. Now we are finally on solid enough footing that I can turn the enterprise over to my younger brother and fulfill my duties here.”
Kate eyed him inquiringly. “You actually mean to settle here in England?”
“In all likelihood, although my mother is not happy about it,” Deverill said dryly.
“I find it surprising that you would even consider it, given where your loyalties lie.”
“My loyalties?”
“To America. It is no secret that you were devotedly engaged in privateering.”
When his gaze sharpened at her disapproving tone, Kate pressed her lips together. There was no point in arguing the past with Deverill. The fact remained that he was the bold American seafarer who had stolen her heart and left her pining, which was his greatest offense.
She’d thought he could be her perfect mate, but he’d spurned her and then gone off to fight a war against her countrymen, and thus had become her enemy. Now, not only was he back in England but she had promised to consider helping him.
“What do you wish of me?” she finally said.
“To start, I need an introduction to society. The enchanting Lady Katharine is the toast of the polite world. Who better than you to help pave my way? From what I hear, you rule the ton with your charm and wit.”
Kate laughed. “Hardly. But with Ash being a marquess and my cousin Quinn an earl, I do have noble family connections that might benefit you.” Her expression sobered. “Aunt Bella also mentioned that you are looking to wed.”
Deverill nodded. “I am three-and-thirty. It’s time I settled down and took a wife.”
Hearing him confirm what she already knew—that he wanted to marry—affected her oddly. But she had vowed to repress any rebellious pangs of jealousy and turn his need to her advantage. “Are you interested in making a marriage of convenience? Or something deeper?”
He cast her a swift glance, although his expression was inscrutable. “Nothing deeper. Isabella claims that you can find me a suitable bride. She says you are a matchmaker at heart, and that your past endeavors have been highly successful.”
“I have developed something of an expertise at matchmaking, true,” Kate admitted. “Not to boast, but I aided most of my family in finding their ideal mates. I am willing to advise you as a favor to Aunt Bella, but I would like to make a bargain with you in exchange.”
“What sort of bargain?”
She took a deep breath. “If I find you a bride, you must escort me to France at the end of the Season.”
Deverill rinsed his face with water from the washbasin and began drying it with a towel. “Why do you wish to go to France?”