Brenda Joyce - Persuasion

Betrayal Tore Them Apart

Amelia Greystone was deeply in love when the earl of St. Just abruptly ended his courtship and left Cornwall ten years earlier. So she is stunned when Simon returns, recently widowed. Now she must forget the past they shared and his betrayal and console him as any neighbor would. Simon has changed—he is dark and haunted now—but he can still make her reel with a single look. When he offers her the position of housekeeper, Amelia knows she must refuse. But for the sake of his children,she throws all caution to the wind....

Passion Will Reunite Them

A British spy, Simon Grenville is now playing both sidesin a time of war, his goal to keep his sons safe. Yet when heis brought face-to-face with the woman he once loved, he realizes nothing about his feelings for Amelia has changed—if anything, they are even stronger. Still, Simon knows he must stay away from Amelia; his life is too dangerous now. But sometimes passion is too strong to be denied....

Praise for the novels of

New York Times bestselling author

Brenda Joyce

“Merging depth of history with romance

is nothing new for the multitalented author,

but here she also brings in an intensity of political history

that is both fascinating and detailed.”

—RT Book Reviews on Seduction

“Joyce excels at creating twists and turns

in her characters’ personal lives.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Another first-rate Regency, featuring multidimensional protagonists and sweeping drama... Joyce’s tight plot and

vivid cast combine for a romance that’s just about perfect.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on The Perfect Bride

“Truly a stirring story with wonderfully etched characters, Joyce’s latest is Regency romance at its best.”

—Booklist on The Perfect Bride

“Romance veteran Joyce brings her keen sense of humor

and storytelling prowess to bear on her witty,

fully formed characters.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Lady at Last

“Joyce’s characters carry considerable emotional weight, which keeps this hefty entry absorbing,

and her fast-paced story keeps the pages turning.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Stolen Bride

Persuasion

Brenda Joyce

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Contents

PROLOGUE

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

PROLOGUE

La Prison de la Luxembourg, Paris, France

March, 1794

THEY WERE FINALLY COMING for him.

His heart lurched with fear. He could not breathe. Slowly, filled with tension, he turned to stare into the dark corridor. He heard soft, steady footfalls approaching.

He knew he needed his wits. He walked over to the front of the cell and grasped the ice-cold iron bars there. The footfalls were louder now.

His insides shrank. The fear was cloying. Would he live to see another day?

The cell stank. Whoever had inhabited it before him, they had urinated, defecated and vomited within its confines. There was dried blood on the floors and the pallet, upon which he refused to lie. The cell’s previous inhabitants had been beaten, tortured. Of course they had—they had been enemies of la Patrie.

Even the air flowing into the cell from its single, barred window was fetid. La Place de la Révolution was just meters below the prison’s walls. Hundreds—no, thousands—had been sent to the guillotine there. The blood of the guilty—and the innocent—tainted the very air.

He could hear their voices now.

He inhaled, sick with fear.

Ninety-six days had passed since he had been ambushed outside the offices where he clerked at the Commune. Ambushed, shackled, a hood thrown over his head. “Traitor,” a familiar voice had spat as he was heaved onto the bed of a wagon. An hour later, the hood had been ripped from his head and he had found himself standing in the midst of this cell. He was being accused, the guard said, of crimes against the Republic. And everyone knew what that meant....

He had never seen the man who had spoken, yet he was fairly certain that he was Jean Lafleur, one of the most radical officials of the city’s government.

Images danced in his head. His two sons were small, handsome, innocent boys. He had been very careful, but not careful enough, when he had left France in order to visit his sons. They had been in London. It had been William’s birthday. He had missed him—and John—terribly. He hadn’t stayed in London very long; he hadn’t dared linger, for fear of discovery. No one, outside of the family, had known he was in town. But with his departure hanging over him, it had been a bittersweet reunion.

And from the moment he had returned to French shores, he had felt that he was being watched. He had never caught anyone following him, but he was certain he was being pursued. Like most Frenchmen and women, he had begun to live in constant fear. Every shadow made him jump. At night, he would awaken, thinking he had heard that dreaded knock upon his door. When they knocked at midnight, it meant they were coming for you....

As they were coming for him now. The footsteps had become louder.

He inhaled, fighting his panic. If they sensed his fear, it would be over. His fear would be the equivalent of a confession—for them. For that was how it was now in Paris, and even in the countryside.

He seized the cell bars. His time had just run out. Either he would be added to the Liste Générale des Condamnés, and he would await trial and then execution for his crimes, or he would walk out of the prison, a free man....

Finding courage was the hardest act of his life.

The light of a torch was ahead. It approached, illuminating the dank stone walls of the prison. And finally, he saw the outlines of the men. They were silent.

His heart thundered. Otherwise, he did not move.

The prison guard came into view, leering with anticipation, as if he knew his fate already. He recognized the Jacobin who was behind him. It was the rabidly radical, brutally violent Hébertiste Jean Lafleur as he had suspected.

Tall and thin, his visage pale, Lafleur came up to the bars of his cell. “Bonjour, Jourdan. Comment allez-vous, aujourd’hui?” He grinned, delighting in the moment.

“Il va bien,” he said smoothly—all is well. When he did not beg for mercy or declare his innocence, Lafleur’s smile vanished and his stare sharpened.

“Is that all you have to say? You are a traitor, Jourdan. Confess to your crimes and we will make certain your trial is swift. I will even make certain your head comes off first.” He grinned again.

If it ever came to that, he hoped he would be the first to the guillotine—no one wanted to stand there for hours and hours, in shackles, watching the ghastly executions while awaiting one’s own fate. “Then the loss would be yours.” He could barely believe how calm he sounded.