Anne Herries - Bartered Bride

“No. Jilt me and you will be ruined, your father and sister with you.”

“But why?” Lottie was puzzled.

“Because I need an heir. One woman is as good as another in the dark. Your father owes me and you chose to deceive me. You will keep your part of the bargain whether you wish it or not.”

Tears were stinging behind her eyes, but Lottie refused to let them fall.

“Have it your own way, sir. You hold all the cards it seems but you may come to regret this…” She walked past him and this time he let her go.

Bartered Bride

Harlequin ®Historical #303—March 2011

Award-winning author Anne Herries lives in Cambridgeshire, England. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She invites readers to contact her on her website: www.lindasole.co.uk.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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*A Knight of Honor #184

* Her Knight Protector #188

**Lady in Waiting #202

** The Adventurer’s Wife #208

†† Forbidden Lady #209

† An Improper Companion #227

†† The Lord’s Forced Bride #231

† A Wealthy Widow #235

†A Worthy Gentleman #243

††Her Dark and Dangerous Lord #249

‡Marianne and the Marquis #258

‡ Married by Christmas #261

‡ Marrying Captain Jack #265

The Unknown Heir #269

Ransom Bride #276

†† Fugitive Countess #279

Bought for the Harem #285

The Homeless Heiress #292

Secret Heiress #297

Bartered Bride #303

Did you know some of these titles are also available as ebooks? Visit www.eHarlequin.com

A Season in Town

a new miniseries from Anne Herries

Look for

A Country Miss in Hanover Square An Innocent Debutante in Hanover Square The Mistress of Hanover Square

Coming soon

“In An Innocent Debutante in Hanover Square, Anne Herries shows us how life was not always easy for the less fortunate in Regency England… These and other social issues combine with danger…making it a great read from beginning to end.”

—Cataromance

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

Nicolas, Marquis of Rothsay, nine and twenty, tall, strong, handsome, and known to most of society as a cold heartless rake, looked helplessly at the diminutive lady before him. Henrietta, Countess Selby, might reach no higher than his shoulder in her heels but she was the only person he would heed, the only person he truly cared for in the world—and, he sometimes thought, the only person who cared two hoots for him.

‘Marry to get an heir, dearest Henri?’ he murmured, looking at his godmother with a sceptical expression. ‘Who do you suppose would have me? The matchmaking mamas take one look and stay well clear of me for fear I may corrupt their little darlings.’

‘More fool them,’ Henrietta replied, a sparkle in her eye. ‘Besides, it is no such thing. You know very well that there are many young ladies who would be happy to become your wife.’

‘Why, for the sake of my fortune?’

His dark eyes smouldered, a mutinous, brooding expression on lips that could at certain moments be sensual and passionate, but were, these days, more often set in lines of disdain or disappointment. His memory strayed to a woman he had known some years previously, when he was first a green youth on the town.

‘The lady will give you an heir—or more than one to be safe. In return, you will keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Surely an heir is worth a little effort? You owe it to the family, Nicolas. Also, you should remember your father’s last request. He did not exactly make it a condition of his will, but it was his dying wish that you should provide the estate with an heir. You are in your thirtieth year, dearest, and while I would not suggest you are past your prime, I should hate you to leave things too late.’

‘Should you, dearest Henri?’ Only his beloved godmother would dare to say such a thing to him, and only she could make him smile at the idea that he might soon be past his prime. ‘I suppose Cousin Raymond might be called my heir?’

‘That nincompoop? He has no more brain than a pea-goose and thinks only of his appearance and what is the latest scandalous tale upon the town.’ Henrietta fixed him with a compelling stare. ‘If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for me. Had I to refer to Raymond as the head of the family, I should soon find myself in my grave.’

‘Poor Henri.’ Nicolas smiled affectionately, becoming in that moment a very different man than was known in the clubs and certain drawing rooms in London. ‘Has my cousin been lecturing you on my morals again? He tried to remind me of my duty to the family name recently. I fear I sent him about his business with his tail between his legs.’

‘Perfectly understandable. I should have done the same in your place. He has no right to tell you how to behave, Rothsay. Yet, do you not see, that makes it all the more important for you to set up your nursery? If Raymond begins to imagine himself your rightful heir, it will make him more conceited than ever—and perhaps resentful if at the last minute you produce an heir. Besides, the children of old men are often weaklings.’

‘Henrietta, I adore you.’ Nicolas swept his godmother from her feet, planting a kiss on her cheek. She gave him a mocking wrathful look and he set her down carefully. ‘Forgive me, but you tempt me so.’

‘Remember I am more than twice your age and to be treated with respect,’ Henrietta said, but there was a smile in her eyes. ‘Will you at least consider marriage, Nicolas?’

Nicolas caught the hint of tears in her eyes and realised that the matter of his heir was important to her. She had no children of her own and, although not precisely lonely, for she had many friends, she must wish for a child to dote on. He suspected that his godmother had not been truly well for a while now. She might be thinking of making her own will, and, while he knew himself her favourite, he believed she would leave her fortune to his son if he had one. She was forever telling him he had more money than was good for him.

In his heart Nicolas knew that her pleas made perfect sense. It was time he produced an heir for the family. His father had begged him to do so on his death bed and Nicolas had pushed the memory to the back of his mind, a little resentful that his father should make such a demand after the neglect of years.