Diane Gaston - Bound By A Scandalous Secret

A most shocking betrothal!

The pleasure-seeking Marquess of Rossdale has little interest in his birthright and even less in finding a bride. So he comes up with the perfect plan to survive the Season unscathed—a fake engagement to a most unsuitable girl!

Outspoken Genna, the youngest of the scandalous Summerfields, has no wish to marry, either. So agreeing to be Ross’s temporary fiancée will grant her freedom for a little longer. But with every kiss, both Ross and Genna must face up to what they really desire...a true match!

The Scandalous Summerfields

Disgrace is their middle name!

Left destitute by their philandering parents, the three Summerfield sisters—Tess, Lorene and Genna—and their half brother, Edmund, are the talk of the ton...for all the wrong reasons!

They are at the mercy of the marriage mart to transport their family from the fringes of society to the dizzy heights of respectability.

But with no dowries, and a damaged reputation, only some very special matches can survive the scandalous Summerfields!

Read where it all started with

tempestuous Tess’s story

Bound by Duty

Read Edmund’s story in

Bound by One Scandalous Night

Read Genna’s story in

Bound by a Scandalous Secret

All available now!

And look for Lorene’s story,

coming soon!

Author Note

In my Author Notes for Bound by Duty and Bound by One Scandalous Night, I explain that The Scandalous Summerfields series was inspired by my mother, her two sisters and their brother. Their actual life stories are nothing like those in my books, but, without intending it, I realize there are similarities.

Like Genna, my aunt Gerry was the youngest in the family. Their parents died when Gerry was still a teenager and my aunt Loraine became her legal guardian. The three sisters lived together and took care of each other. Their sisterly bond continued all their lives. Although we never lived near Aunt Gerry, we visited her and her family every year. My mother and Aunt Loraine talked to her on the phone at least once a week even when long-distance phone calls could be expensive.

Also like Genna, Aunt Gerry was strong, resourceful and creative. Gerry’s creativity showed itself in her sewing and needlework. Several of her handmade Christmas ornaments still decorate our Christmas trees. Aunt Gerry had her share of adversity in her life, but she met adversity with strength. She could sew anything, grow any kind of flower and she knew the name of every one of them.

Like the Summerfield family, Aunt Gerry had three daughters and a son (who died tragically in his thirties). I can see parts of her in my cousins Gail, Marge and Marty, so it is a little like not losing her at all.

Bound by a Scandalous Secret

Diane Gaston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DIANE GASTONalways said that if she were not a mental-health social worker, she’d want to be a romance novelist, writing the historical romances she loved to read. When this dream came true, she discovered a whole new world of friends and happy endings. Diane lives in Virginia near Washington, DC, with her husband and three very ordinary house cats. She loves to hear from readers! Contact her at dianegaston.comor on Facebook or Twitter.

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To the memory of my aunt Gerry, who was endlessly energetic, efficient and, it seemed to me, could do just about anything.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Lincolnshire—December 1815

Genna Summerfield first glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye, a distant horseman galloping across the land, all power and grace and heedless abandon. A thrilling sight. Beautiful grey steed, its rider in a topcoat of matching grey billowing behind him. Horse and rider looked as if they had been created from the clouds that were now covering the sky. Could she capture it on paper? She grabbed her sketchpad and charcoal and quickly drew.

It was no use. He disappeared in a dip in the hill.

She put down the sketchpad and charcoal and turned back to painting the scene in the valley below, her reason for sitting upon this hill in this cold December air. How she wished she could also paint the galloping horse and rider. What a challenge it would be to paint all those shades of grey, at the same time conveying all the power and movement.

The roar of galloping startled her. She turned. Man and horse thundered towards her.

Drat! Was he coming to oust her from the property? To chase her from this perfect vantage point?

Not now! She was almost finished. She needed but a few minutes more. Besides, she had to return soon before someone questioned her absence—

The image of the horse and rider interrupted her thoughts. Her brush rose in the air as she tried to memorise the sight, the movement, the lights and darks—

Goodness! He galloped straight for her. Genna backed away, knocking over her stool.

The rider pulled the horse to a halt mere inches away.

‘I did not mean to alarm you,’ the rider said.

‘I thought you would run me down!’ She threw her paintbrush into her jug of water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress.

He was a gentleman judging by the sheer fineness of his topcoat and tall hat and the way he sat in the saddle, as if it were his due to be above everyone else.

Please do not let this gentleman be her distant cousin, the man who’d inherited this land that she once—and still—called home.

‘My apologies.’ He dismounted. ‘I came to see if you needed assistance, but now I see you intended to be seated on this hill.’

‘Yes.’ She shaded her eyes with her hand. ‘As you can see I am painting the scene below.’

‘It is near freezing out,’ he said. ‘This cold cannot be good for you.’

She showed him her hands. ‘I am wearing gloves.’ Of course, her gloves were fingerless. ‘And my cloak is warm enough.’

She looked into his face. A strong face, long, but not thin, with a straight nose that perfectly suited him, and thick dark brows. His hair, just visible beneath his hat was also dark. His eyes were a spellbinding caramel, flecked with darker brown. She would love to paint such a memorable face.

He extended his hand. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rossdale.’