Janice Preston - Saved By Scandal's Heir

Harriet could not read his expression in the dim light that filtered through the window, but she did see the muscle leap in his jaw. The air between them crackled with intensity, and her pulse responded with a lurch and a gallop. She licked at her dry lips as he moved closer. His gaze fastened on her mouth, sending desire sizzling through her. Pure instinct tilted her head, lifted her lips to his.

The most delicate of touches. Lip to lip…sweet, gentle…almost worshipping. Memories of love and laughter and pure joy. They had been so young. A shared future planned. They had followed the instinctive desires of their youthful bodies. She had felt so secure in his love for her. Before…

Saved by Scandal’s Heir is the second of two linked books—the first of which, Return of Scandal’s Son , was published in October 2015. This is, however, a stand-alone title, and it’s not necessary to have read the first book in order to enjoy the second.

Benedict Poole, hero of Saved by Scandal’s Heir , is the friend and business partner of Matthew Damerel, hero of Return of Scandal’s Son , and both Matthew and his new wife, Eleanor, appear in this book. You might be interested to note that, as a peeress in her own right, Eleanor has not become Mrs Damerel but retains her title of Lady Ashby.

The heroine of Saved by Scandal’s Heir is Harriet, Lady Brierley, who first appeared in From Wallflower to Countess (April 2015) as the hero’s former mistress. The hero and heroine of Wallflower (Richard, Lord Stanton, and his wife, Felicity) also appear in this book.

I do hope you enjoy reading about the dire predicament Harriet finds herself in following Benedict’s reappearance in her life, and that you, like me, have fun revisiting old friends from my previous books.

Saved by

Scandal’s Heir

Janice Preston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JANICE PRESTONgrew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call-handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats and has a part-time job with a weight management counsellor (vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!).

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To my wonderful editor, Julia, who first sparked the idea of rewarding Harriet with her own Happy-Ever-After.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Mid-February 1812

Harriet, Lady Brierley, paced the lavishly furnished drawing room at Tenterfield Court, mentally rehearsing the words she would say to Sir Malcolm Poole. If she had known the baronet was hovering so close to death, she would never have made the journey from London at this time of year. She had not known, however, and, now she had come all this way into Kent, she might as well ask the questions to which she sought answers. She had come to Tenterfield to find the truth of the past, in order to help her friend Felicity Stanton come to terms with her sister’s death...and Harriet was certain that Sir Malcolm held the key to that particular puzzle.

Felicity’s older sister, Emma, had been just eighteen—an innocent girl seduced and impregnated, who had seen no way out of her predicament other than to take her own life when the man she’d believed loved her had cruelly abandoned her.

Harriet suppressed her shiver. She could so easily have suffered the same fate. Was that why she had been so quick to come to Tenterfield? The empathy she felt for Felicity’s poor sister? There but for the Grace of God...

She crossed the room to stand again before the portrait of the baronet, painted in his younger days, although he was still far from being an old man even now. He gazed down at her, devastatingly handsome, with his lean aristocratic features, dark auburn hair and deep green hooded gaze. Harriet shuddered, partly at the knowledge of what this man was—or what he had been, in the past—partly at his resemblance to... Resolutely, she steered her thoughts in a different direction. This trip was bound to resurrect painful memories... She must rise above them...concentrate on—

‘Lady Brierley. To what do we owe this pleasure?’

Harriet froze. It could not be. Had she conjured him up in the flesh, just by allowing her thoughts one tiny peek at those memories? Moisture prickled her palms even as her mouth dried. She drew a calming breath, gathered her years of experience in hiding her feelings and turned.

He was framed in the open doorway.

Benedict.

After all this time.

He had the same long, lean legs and wide shoulders, but this was a man, not the youth she’d once known. His chin was just as determined but the high forehead under the familiar fox-red hair now sported faint creases. His lips were set in an uncompromising line and his leaf-green eyes pierced Harriet as he stared into her face, his gaze unwavering. A cat stalking its prey could not be more focused.

Harriet swallowed past the jagged glass that appeared to have lodged in her throat.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Poole.’ Had those composed words really come from her lips? She took courage. She had faced worse than this. ‘I apologise for calling uninvited. I did not realise your...’ What was his relationship to Sir Malcolm again? All she could recall was that he had been Benedict’s guardian. ‘Sir Malcolm was so very ill. I had hoped for a few words with him.’

‘He is my second cousin. I’m the only other Poole left now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

The platitude slid readily from her tongue. She wasn’t sorry. The world would be well rid of the Pooles. But she would remain polite. Let nothing of her bitterness show. Sir Malcolm had spent his life in pursuit of his own pleasures, a dissolute rake with not a care for the ruined lives he left in his wake. Felicity’s poor sister had been just one of his victims. And Benedict had proved himself equally as contemptible, equally as careless of the heartbreak he had left behind. Hardly surprising with Sir Malcolm as his only role model since childhood.

Benedict prowled into the centre of the room, nearing Harriet. The very air seemed to vibrate between them. She stood her ground, although she could not prevent a swift glance at her maid, Janet, who had accompanied her, sitting quietly on a chair near the beautifully carved stone fireplace. Benedict followed her gaze.