Mary Brendan - The Wanton Bride

“I’m avoiding someone, sir.”

“Avoiding someone?” Mark prompted easily, as though the incongruity of conversing with her in a musty office in the City rather than in an elegant drawing room in Mayfair had not occurred to him.

“Yes,” Emily breathed. “The door was open and I just quickly darted in, as I didn’t want to speak to him anymore.”

“If he’s making a nuisance of himself I’m sure I can persuade him to desist.” As Mark drew level to her, a frisson of something akin to excitement jolted through her. The corridor was narrow and shadowy, and a musky sandalwood scent seemed to emanate from the warmth of his body.

Mark felt blood thicken his veins. He had an almost undeniable urge to trap her against the wall and kiss her senseless. She was the most unbelievably desirable little minx, even garbed in a voluminous cloak that disguised all her sweet curves. Miss Emily Beaumont might not like him, but he feared he might like her…a little too much….

The Wanton Bride

Harlequin ®Historical #894—April 2008

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A Practical Mistress

“Brendan has created a heroine to root for, and the indignities she suffers will pull at readers’ sympathies.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Silver Squire

“Mary Brendan delivers a lively tale with unconventional lovers and good characterization.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A Kind and Decent Man

“Accomplished talent Mary Brendan is very adept at telling both sides of a love story, which easily doubles the readers’ pleasure.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

During the Regency period, genteel ladies hoping to find a husband were expected to be of impeccable reputation. In writing THE HUNTER BROTHERS duet of books, I have created heroines who don’t quite fit Polite Society’s view of an ideal wife.

In the first novel, A Practical Mistress, Sir Jason Hunter is captivated by a young widow brazen enough to proposition him.

The subsequent novel, The Wanton Bride, features Mark Hunter and his pursuit of a woman with a guilty secret in her past.

I hope you enjoy reading about two eligible gentlemen who are prepared to fight for the unique women they love.

* Wedding Night Revenge #203

* The Unknown Wife #205

* A Scandalous Marriage #210

* The Rake and the Rebel #211

** A Practical Mistress #865

** The Wanton Bride #894

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

‘Nonsense, my dear! There is nothing sinister in it. Boys like to go off gallivanting once in a while. You’re worrying unnecessarily, I tell you!’ Mr Cecil Beaumont gave his beautiful blonde daughter a beaming smile. ‘Don’t look so glum. He’ll turn up when he’s good and ready.’

‘Tarquin is not a boy, Papa,’ Emily Beaumont pointed out quietly. ‘He is a man of twenty-seven and I suspect he has got himself into one scrape too many. Perhaps he has not succeeded in stalling his creditors and is in trouble.’ Her silver-blue eyes took on a faraway look as she pondered on instances when her older brother had brought himself close to ruination through gaming and wild ways. But he had never yet disappeared for more than a few days before turning up, like the proverbial bad penny, sober and remorseful. ‘Perhaps we ought to check with the authorities in case he is again in the Fleet.’

Mr Beaumont waved a dismissive hand. ‘No need…no need, my dear.’ He picked up his pen, idle on a page of his ledger, and set about using it.

His daughter was not so easily put off. Emily paced to the window of her father’s den, stared out sightlessly, before wandering back into the room, deep in thought. With a sigh she sank into an old armchair.

Tarquin had been due to come to their parents’ home in Callison Crescent and take their brother Robert to the outfitters. But he had failed to arrive at the appointed hour five days ago and had not contacted his family to make his excuses or his apologies. Emily thought it highly irregular behaviour, even for someone as self-centred as her brother.

Mrs Beaumont’s reaction on that afternoon was to mutter about the inconsiderate knave before she got her husband’s valet to take Robert to the tailors instead. When Emily had earlier today approached her mother about Tarquin’s lengthy silence, she showed herself no more concerned over her eldest son’s whereabouts than did her husband.

Mr Beaumont raised an indulgent paternal eye to his daughter. He tossed his quill on to the blotter and clucked his tongue. ‘Come, my dear, no long face, I beg you. If Tarquin had been threatened with prison, he would have by now summoned my help, you may take my word on it.’ Cecil gave a cynical little laugh. ‘I’ll not go looking for him to sort out his troubles—if troubles he has—for they always find me soon enough.’ A nod concluded his philosophy and he resumed his writing. A quiet moment passed. Warily he peeked up to find his daughter still in the room and looking no less melancholy. ‘Emily!’ he expostulated with a hint of impatience. ‘If you’re unable to put your mind at ease over it, I’ll call in to Westbury Avenue and see if his landlady knows where he might be.’

Emily brightened. ‘You promise you will do that, Papa?’ she asked.

Cecil nodded affirmation. ‘I can go that way to Boodle’s later.’

A smile erased the strain from Emily’s lovely features. Her father bowed his head over his ledger once more, gave a couple of short coughs, firmly letting Emily know their conversation was definitely concluded.

Emily rose gracefully from his armchair and went upstairs to her bedchamber.

Feeling lighter in spirits, she gazed out on to the street scene. She watched with an amount of amused interest as their neighbour’s footman strutted back and forth on the pavement, trying to catch the eye of the housemaid scrubbing the front step of the house opposite. The young woman’s complexion was as fiery as her hair and she looked too hot and bothered to presently entertain any thoughts of flirtation. Emily glanced up at a clear azure sky, then at fat green buds beginning to break on the lime trees guarding the crescent of townhouses. She decided she would call on her friend Sarah Harper who lived just a few turnings away. They could go for a stroll if Sarah was amenable to the idea of whiling away the afternoon with a chat and a browse in the shops. The day was clement and after a week of unremitting rain it would be nice to get out of the house and into the fresh air.