Liz Tyner - Saying I Do To The Scoundrel

A scoundrel of the ton...

Her knight in shining armor?

Katherine Wilder will do anything to escape her forced marriage, even ask Brandt Radcliffe to kidnap her! Only she doesn’t expect a man so disreputable to say no! With her father now desperate to marry her off to line his own pockets, widower Brandt has become her reluctant protector—and it seems the only way he can do that is to marry her himself...!

“The rigid rules of the Regency period is always the perfect backdrop for Tyner’s mischievous, rule-bending characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on Redeeming the Roguish Rake

“A headstrong heroine, a determined hero, secrets, family squabbles and a large dose of pride propel this plotline...a fast, enjoyable read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Wallflower Duchess

LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com.

Also by Liz Tyner

The Notorious Countess

The Runaway Governess

The Wallflower Duchess

Redeeming the Roguish Rake

English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses miniseries

Safe in the Earl’s Arms

A Captain and a Rogue

Forbidden to the Duke

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

Liz Tyner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07394-3

SAYING I DO TO THE SCOUNDREL

© 2018 Elizabeth Tyner

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Dedicated to my generous, thoughtful

and always encouraging friend, Charlotte Schrahl.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The knocking on his door pounded like hooves against Brandt’s head, bringing him from ravaged dreams into the summer-baked room. He didn’t care where the hands on the clock might be—the hour was too early for him to awaken. He needed another bottle of brandy to cleanse his mouth. He called out to his valet, ‘Enter.

‘Enter,’ he commanded again when he heard no footsteps.

The door swung open.

‘Heathen.’ The word screeched into his ears as if attached to flying glass. A woman wearing a bonnet the size of a parasol stood beneath the transom. For a moment, he thought he dreamed of a butterfly, the dress fluttered so and bead trim sparkled. A pale face, with dark eyes rimmed in lashes any siren could be envious of, stared at him.

The drunken haze confused him. This was a boarding house—not his home. For a moment, he had forgotten.

Memories returned, anger flooding his body.

He rolled on to his side, and propped himself on his elbow, re-orienting himself, and feeling a breeze waft over his body. Completely over his body.

Everything came back to him. Or enough of it did. He’d shed his clothing when he’d returned from the tavern. He felt beside him for a covering. Nothing touched his fingers but a mattress so thin he could feel the ropes beneath.

‘Why did you call for the door to open?’ The woman at the door had her hand over her eyes—and her cheeks were flushed. The one behind her seemed to be taking measurements.

‘I was dreaming of—’ He could not tell her he dreamed of Mary. Of a world of servants and health and sobriety. ‘I dreamt of a swarm of annoying bees and I called for the door to be open so they might fly out,’ he said. ‘Instead one rushed in.’

How had he wronged the woman at the door? He couldn’t recall her face, and she didn’t look at all the kind he consorted with. She had the look of an outraged wife on her face, but she wasn’t his outraged wife.

He took a breath to calm himself and wished the night hadn’t been so warm he’d shed his clothing, his covers and the last threads of his dignity.

The female at the threshold looked as if she’d been snatched from Sunday services and plopped in the middle of a brothel.

But no devil had forced her to open his door.

He reached to the side of his bed, ignored his small clothes and went straight for his trousers.

With his body turned away, he pulled his clothing over his legs.

‘Perhaps you could introduce yourself.’ He spoke calmly to the daft one even as the second woman tiptoed to examine him. He was at a blasted soirée and he had not accepted the invitation. ‘You are under the impression we are acquainted. And I am under the impression we are not.’

She sputtered.